Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 147136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 736(@200wpm)___ 589(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 736(@200wpm)___ 589(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
I caught the last remaining notes of my generic ringtone as I reached my bedroom. And because I didn’t know who was calling me and Brian had texted me “Talk later,” this being Later, I lunged for the phone and accepted the call, not bothering to glance at the name flashing on the screen before I did it.
“Hello?”
“Sydney Dawn, how are you, sweetheart?”
I fell back on the bed with a hand pressed to my forehead, the heel digging into my closed eye.
I should’ve checked the caller ID.
Rookie.
“Hey, Mom. I’m good. How are you?”
“You’re good?” She sounded appalled. “You leave your husband and you’re good? Well, I’m sorry, darling, but I don’t like this. I don’t like it one bit. You should not be good, Sydney.”
“Mom.”
I clenched my teeth.
“You know what scripture says. Marriage is a binding contract. One you do not simply walk away from. You should be sticking this out, in your home, not shacking up with Tori and living the single life doing God knows what. She’s always walked a thin line, if you ask me.”
“Mm. That’s funny. I don’t remember asking you anything.”
“Don’t give me lip,” my mother snapped in her finger-waving-in-my-face tone. “It’s disrespectful.”
I bent my knees and dug my bare toes into the comforter. My calves tensed.
“Don’t talk about my best friend, Mom. It’s really uncool.”
“I’m simply saying, you should be home, with your husband and dealing with this as a couple. It takes two, dear, and you’re backing out when you should be fighting for your marriage.”
“I’m not backing anywhere! He wanted out!”
My mother gasped, breathed heavily through lingered seconds, then queried, “My God. Why are you yelling?”
“Are you serious?” I sat up, punched the mattress with my fist, and cried, “You’re making me crazy! That’s why I’m yelling.”
My face and neck warmed in exhausted anger.
How could she throw all of this on me? I didn’t understand her. She knew Marcus was the one who ended things. I’d told her the entire play-by-play three nights ago, and it’s my fault?
Was she serious?
“Marriage is a covenant, Sydney,” she started again in a soothing but instructive tone.
I pressed my lips together so tightly I could feel my pulse against my teeth.
“An unbreakable vow between you, Marcus, and God. Now, I’m not saying I ever thought much of your husband, because truth be told, I didn’t. Thought my baby girl could do a thousand times better, but you chose him, vowed to him, ’til death do you part, and that is not something you should take lightly and just throw away when things aren’t working.”
“I didn’t throw anything away,” I replied after taking a breath, willing my battering heart to slow.
“Well, it sure sounds like you did,” my mother argued. “And divorce is not an option.”
“Do you even hear yourself, Mom? What about women in abusive relationships? Or adultery? What if Marcus would’ve cheated, would divorce be an option then?”
“Abuse, adultery, drug use, those are all acceptable reasons for divorce if people cannot change. Not someone wanting out because they fell out of love with their spouse. There is marital counseling for that, which is what you should be seeking right now instead of living in sin in Dogwood Beach.”
My mouth fell open with a gasp.
“Now …” My mother cleared her throat, not even missing a beat. “If you would like me to set you and Marcus up for an appointment with Father Frank, I would be more than happy—”
I disconnected the call.
My throat burned like I had been breathing fire. Tears threatened to pour down my face, but my head was the holder of the worst of my pain.
A thousand tiny needles stung my scalp, and the base of my skull throbbed so violently, my vision blurred.
Footsteps lifted my eyes as I dug the points of my fingers into my temples.
Tori appeared in the doorway with a green Christmas quilt draped over her shoulders and head.
She always wrapped up in blankets like a cocooned caterpillar when she watched television.
“You okay, hon?”
I shifted my eyes to the phone next to my knee.
“My mom,” I explained.
“Again?”
Behind heavy lids, I nodded. I couldn’t look at her as I clung to my lie from earlier.
It sucked.
“You wanna talk about it?”
I shook my head and stared at my eggplant-colored toenails.
“All right, well, I’m LaLa’d out for tonight. You change your mind, come get me. Otherwise I’ll see you in the morning, Hookah.”
I gave her a weak smile and my hazel irises, nodding when she asked in silent question with a hand on the light switch if I wanted the room dark, then I fisted my phone and slid under a heavy teal comforter and champagne satin sheets, pressing my head between two pillows and praying for reprieve.
My mouth tasted like sweet sparkling wine and mango salsa. A combination I needed to kill with Crest and mouthwash, but the throbbing in my skull kept me horizontal.