Page 48 of Roses for Rosie

“I wish. She walked in like she owned the place and shoved her left hand in my face. You should see the rock on her ring finger. It must be three carats! She said she and Adam are engaged. He just proposed.”

“But he’s with you.”

“Not anymore. But you haven’t even heard the best, or worst, part yet. She’s pregnant with his baby.”

“That jerk.”

“What an asshole!”

“I’m never reading another one of his books ever again.”

“How could he do such a thing?”

Suddenly everyone is talking at once and I am overwhelmed with love for my friends. Adam might have betrayed me, but these three women will be here for me no matter what. They are the definition of loyalty. I just wish I had a happier story to tell. I know they were looking forward to all the juicy details from my trip.

“Hey, it’s okay. I have the best friends ever and a job I love. I could do worse.”

“You are so good at seeing the silver lining in things, Rosie,” Joanne says. “I can’t believe you are taking this in stride.”

“You know you deserve so much better than him, Rosie.” Vivian reaches out for my hand, looking me in the eye. “You are so amazing.”

“That city boy man slut is going to regret losing you for the rest of his life,” Susie adds, cackling. I can always count on Susie to add an irreverent twist to a sentimental moment.

“Thanks, you guys. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“We would be lost without you too, sweetie.”

“Let’s talk about the book,” I suggest, ready for the spotlight to shift away from me.

“I loved it!” Joanne gushes.

The conversation takes off from there. All three of them enjoyed the book and debate the merits of the various characters with gusto. I smile and nod along, but don’t comment much.

They think I am little miss sunshine, but even my normally perky outlook can’t penetrate my current fog. I’m sure the bitter feelings I have about Adam and about romance in general would show if I join in the conversation. I found the book’s plot line to be cliché, the characters to be maudlin, the conflict to be contrived and the whole book to be generally abhorrent. I won’t ruin their good time with my rain cloud. I will make sure the next book we read isn’t a romance though. I can’t take it right now.

My father is home when I get there, sitting in the kitchen listening to the game on the radio.

“Hey, Dad,” I greet him.

“It’s about time you got home.”

“Tonight was book club night.”

“I don’t care what damn night it is. You know I don’t like to wait for dinner.”

“I left some soup in the fridge for you.”

“Leftovers? You think I’m a dog?”

I don’t have it in me to placate him tonight. He will just have to take care of himself.

“Good night, Dad,” I say as I walk down the hall toward my room. I hear his voice trail after me as I go, but I don’t care enough to tune in to his words. If he’s hungry enough, he’ll eat the soup. If he isn’t willing to warm it up himself, he can drink it cold.

I close my bedroom door quietly behind me and flip the lock I installed a few years ago. The lock makes me feel safer when my father has been drinking. I know he would never hurt me on purpose, but alcohol makes him another person, an out of control and sometimes violent person. Locking the door is easier than explaining the bruises.

My bedroom is my haven, my sanctuary. I come here to read and to dream as much as to sleep. The pale pink walls and handmade quilt comfort me. I take a deep breath and feel some of the stress of the day melt away.

A glance at my nightstand brings it all back though. Adam’s book mocks me, his smiling face grinning from the back cover. I pick the book up and study it, staring into his ice blue eyes. Then I hurl the book across the room where it hits the door with a thud and lands on the floor, spine open, pages flapping.

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