Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
“This drink is going right through me,” I say, forcing a smile and standing. “Bathroom break.”
I feel Hendrix’s perceptive stare on my back all the way down the hall to her gorgeously appointed powder room. The soft lights rimming the mirror over her sink expose the defeat in my eyes, the bitter set of my lips. I brace my hands on the vanity and stare back at a stranger, a woman who looks lost and let down, my expression belying the high pony tied atop my head this morning in hopes it would make me feel bouncy.
I’m not bouncy.
I’m not buoyant.
I’m sinking.
I’m so fucking tired of holding back my tears for the girls, for my friends, for the moms at Harrington whose judgmental stares noted when I had to trade my new Rover for a secondhand Honda. I had to avert my eyes when I saw someone wearing my favorite off-the-shoulder cashmere sweater. There was the tiniest irregularity in the pattern, so I recognized it immediately. That was my irregularity. I paid four hundred dollars for it and accepted a fraction of its worth at the consignment shop so I could cover the gas bill.
Every month I ask myself how much longer I can hold on to our house. I could sell it and make things easier on myself, but I don’t want easy. I want my home; I want the place in the world I carved out for my family. It holds all our memories, and I’m not ready to surrender it. On some level, I think I just can’t take another loss. The marriage I thought was this family’s anchor forever has dissolved, and even though I know Edward destroyed it, not me, the divorce still left me with an unreasonable sense of failure.
As I stare at that defeated stranger in the mirror, the weariness of just getting up every morning and keeping this ship afloat bends my will. My backbone feels like a Twizzler, and I can barely stand under the weight of impending doom.
As soon as I lower the wall holding them back, the tears fall, burning my cheeks and surprising a sob from me. I cup my mouth, afraid of what else will come out. A primal scream of frustration? A wail? I flush the toilet a few times to camouflage my sniffles and hiccups.
“Shit,” I mutter, assessing my splotchy cheeks and red nose in the mirror. Like sharp-eyed Hendrix needs physical clues to my despair. Turning on the cold water, I splash my face and flush my eyes, trying to clear the telltale signs of breakdown. I probably reek of crisis, and Hendrix will start digging for answers right away.
If she does, what will I say? That I think I’m going to lose the house that means so much to me? The one I dedicated years to renovating and decorating and making a haven for my family? The one I thought I’d see my grandchildren running the halls of?
“It’s just a roof and some walls,” I remind myself. “You can find another roof and cheaper walls if it comes to that.”
I stride back up the hall, smile pinned in place. “That drink hit the spot, but we need to eat. Want me to see what I can whip up? A frittata?”
“Or we could order. Give you the night off. You choose.” Hendrix studies her phone. “Yas says she and Josiah are meeting with their adoption counselor tonight. They’re still trying to decide if maybe fostering is a better option, I think.”
“Okay. So it’s just you and me, huh?” I sit beside her on the couch and reach for my phone, frowning at the email notification. Same old pattern. The collectors call and then send an email saying We called and you still owe us money, bitch. I hit the notification to clear it from my screen without reading too closely. The email opens up and I do a double take. It’s a notification from my bank that I’ve received ten thousand dollars from…
“Hen,” I whisper. “What did you do?”
“Same thing you’d do for me if I was about to lose my house and you had the money.” She looks up from her phone, the regal lines of her face softening. “I spent that in bags and shoes last month, Sol. I’m doing really well. Ain’t no way I’m standing by and watching you and your girls get put out when I could help.”
“I—I can’t accept this.” I click my banking app, my mind spinning, hoping I can figure out how to reject a transfer. She snatches my phone and shoves it between the couch cushions.
“You gonna.” She huffs a short laugh. “’Cause I ain’t taking it back and you ain’t sending it back. Girl, pay your mortgage and whatever else that can help with.”
The tears I thought I’d gotten out of my system in secret make a public appearance, falling heedlessly. “You and Yasmen are the best friends I’ve ever had. We wouldn’t have made it the last few months without you.”