Page 17 of The Fake Dating War

Already, she’s given me so much. Two years ago, I was evicted. If Ms.Beatrice hadn’t seen me crying at the grocery store and stopped to listen to my story, I would never have found a kind hand to help me back up. She gave me a bedroom.

Well, bedroom might be a generous word for it. It’s a part of her living room sectioned off with a curtain. Adenyou could say… with a big squint of the eyes.

“Do you want to do the crossword together?” I ask.

“Go to sleep, dear. You look as if you’re about to fall down.”

I could weep. Right now, all I need is a flat surface. I stumble towards the living room, go behind my little curtain and drop straight onto the quilted comforter. It’s cozy… and so is my situation.

The bed is more of a cot that was salvaged from the alleyway behind this building. There’s a broken leg that’s been taped so many times, it’s permanently sticky, which is why I avoid bumping into it. Pillows are cheerily embroidered with images of cats bouncing around. Those were bulk-bought at an estate sale, so cheap they were practically given away. When I rest my head on them and wake up to bristly threads tangled in my hair, I understand why. At least the quilt is great quality. When I spread it out, it covers the multitude of sins.

Two years ago, my bedroom was five times the size. I lived in a luxury penthouse that had sconces for lighting, iron railings flown in from Italy for the staircase, and an entire wall of windows to command a sweeping view of the city. I was still married to Harry.

Everything was different back then, but what I need out of life has changed completely. The poster I’ve got pinned to the wall proves that. My goals written on there are big, black, and underlined.

No more debt

Your own apartment

Dick

The last one is a joke, as if in some alternative universe I have the time, effort, and the care to get laid properly.

One day,a wistful voice sings to me.You will be filled and stretched in all the right ways.

As if summoned from the underworld, Coleman’s voice is cocky as it rasps in my ear.There’s nothing unfulfilling about me, Patel.

Bad brain! I’m not thinking about Satan right now. Not after I embarrassed myself, collapsing into his arms.

Fuck, did that really happen?

I don’t want to think about it. I can’t. I need to focus on how I’m so close to crossing the real goals off my poster. It’s taken two years, but my credit score is not dead and lifeless in some virtual sewer.

Not only that, but after securing this bonus, I’ll have enough money to clear my debtandget a place of my own. The timing is perfect because Ms.Beatrice’s kids are back in the picture. They want her to sell this apartment and live with them on the sunny coast of Florida.

She has pushed the move-out date for as long as she can, but it’s finally happening. In a few months, I have to find another place to live. There are options out there already, but I’m not moving from one curtained-sectioned den to another. No roommates either.

At thirty-five, I crave independence and freedom again. I need to feel like I’m going forward after being knocked back so far.

Those goals on my poster keep me going. Dressing like this, working like this, living like this—it needs to be worth it. There has to be a light at the end of this tunnel…

Soon my mistakes can be erased as if they never happened. And I’ll have done it without anyone finding out about them.

And sure, I know my family would step in if I asked them for help, but I… just…can’t. I’m embarrassed. I don’t understand the woman whose decisions led to this point, so I don’t know how to tell them about her.

I rather it all go away.

My eyes are closed, but I hear Ms.Beatrice flick the light switch off. It’s too early to plunge her living room into darkness, but she does it so I can sleep better.

“Thank you,” I cry out.

“There are some clothes I left by the door that I was going to donate. Would you mind dropping them off when you can, Reema?”

“Of course. Not a problem.”

We don’t mention that I’ll look through the clothes and pick out anything I can keep. Ms.Beatrice has been supplying a lot of my wardrobe. If I thought for a second she was buying me anything new, I would have put a stop to it, but she insists she’s downsizing her closet before the big move.

Even if we’re not the same size, I’m thankful. It’s one less thing I’ve got to spend money on. That night I left the penthouse, there wasn’t time to grab many things. So much was lost in the chaos of our break-up. And by the time I tried going back, locks had been changed. Furniture had been sold.