“No!” I say, horror struck. “You’d never do that.”
Amanda shivers theatrically. “Oh, God, I hope not. But you never know. Love makes people do crazy things.”
I’m shocked that she feels so vulnerable to what fate might have in store for her.
“You guys have no idea what it’s like,” Amanda continues desperately. “High school is cutthroat for everyone, no matter where they come from. It’s a big survival game.”
I decide to button my lips because maybe she’s right. What do I know about today’s youth culture?
Becky interjects. “Well, if that’s true, I still think you should call the cops. Because if that girl threatened to cut you up, she needs to learn that that’s not okay and you’re going to fight back.”
“By sending the cops to her door?” Amanda asks. “Real brave of me.”
“Itisbrave,” I reply, presenting a united front with Becky because I agree with her wholeheartedly. “Notdoing that is the cowardly thing because you’re afraid of what the other kids might think. But the smart ones will respect you for it.”
Amanda looks off to the side, her expression hollow, like something inside her has just given up. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to decide right now,” I tell her in an effort to hold on to her fighting spirit. “See what happens this week, but if she keeps calling, you might reach your breaking point and be ready to do something about it. Keep me informed, okay?”
“I will.” Amanda chews on her bottom lip. “May I be excused? I have homework.”
I sit back with the pretense of letting it go and moving on. “Of course.”
“I have to go home anyway,” Becky adds. “I have an early meeting in the morning.”
We all rise from the table, and Amanda circles around to give Becky a hug. “Thanks for the advice. I swear I won’t let her walk all over me.”
Becky gives Amanda a tight squeeze. “We know you won’t, because you’ve got a backbone of steel.” She turns and heads for the front hall. “And remember, there are plenty of other hot fish in the sea if Jeff doesn’t work out. You’re only sixteen. You’re just getting started.”
Amanda laughs as she heads up the stairs. “I’ll remember that.”
After she’s gone, Becky pulls her parka from the coat-tree. “I don’t envy her,” she whispers. “I certainly wouldn’t want to repeat that time in my life.”
“Me neither.”
Becky reaches for her purse and opens the front door. “Thanks for dinner. It was a great day. And keep me posted about the bully situation.”
“I will.”
I shut the door behind her and watch from the window as she gets into her car and pulls away from the curb.
The clock on the wall says it’s almost eight thirty. I check my phone, but there are no texts or voicemail messages from Nate, which leaves me crestfallen.
I return to the kitchen to load the dishwasher, wishing he’d been present at dinner to hear about Connor’s game and to learn what his daughter has been going through lately. It would have been nice if he could have offered some fatherly advice. But family time at the dinner table is a rare occurrence.
As I rinse the dishes, I decide that there’s a fine line between being supportive of my husband’s dreams and allowing him to take advantage of my self-sufficiency. Not only do I keep this family financiallystable—because Oblique barely survived COVID—I also take care of all our children’s needs, emotional and otherwise.
I think I’m beginning to harbor some resentment. Or perhaps it’s been growing in me for quite some time.
After the kids are asleep, I pour a glass of wine for myself, just to finish off the bottle. Then I sit in front of the television for two hours, watching a true crime documentary about a woman who was killed by her philandering husband. By the end of the second hour, I’m fighting to stay awake, so I shut the TV off and head upstairs.
It’s almost midnight, and Nate isn’t home yet, but that’s not unusual. He often lingers at the restaurant after closing to talk with his sous-chef, Graham, about the menu and oversee the bank deposits. He’s very hands-on, which is why his staff respects him so much, but his dedication doesn’t provide any leftovers for his wife and children at home.
After I change into my nightgown and brush my teeth, I’m too lazy to take off my makeup, so I crawl into bed, knowing that I’ll wake up to mascara stains on the pillowcase. But what the hell? I don’t care. It’s time to wash the sheets anyway, and who’s going to notice?
I switch off the lamp and snuggle under the covers, on my side, facing the window. My eyes are closed, but my mind races with images from the documentary, then thoughts of Amanda’s threatening phone call. Before long, I’m filled with a dangerous desire to hunt that girl down and tell her to leave my daughter alone or else I’ll rip her to shreds. It’s satisfying to imagine, and with that in my mind, I start to drift off, but I’m soon awakened by the sound of a car in the driveway.
A moment later, the front door opens. Keys are tossed into the bowl in the hall. I listen to Nate’s footsteps from the hall to the kitchen. The refrigerator door opens and closes. Then the TV comes on in the family room, and he lowers the volume.
