Page 59 of Bossy Hero

This one is harmless.

Probably.

Well, as harmless as any man can be, which is minimal.

I raise my hand in a half-wave and lower my head in silent greeting.

Once they slide into the booth on the opposite side of the table, he extends his hand. “Hi, Madeline. Nice to meet you.”

Finding my voice, I eke out, “Same to you, Rick. Janice speaks fondly of you.”

It’s true. My coworker is incessantly rambling about how wonderful her boyfriend is. I attempted to use her infatuation with him to escape this absurd happy hour idea. Rather than agreeing with me that he’d be lonely at home without her, she called him to join us.

Talk about a backfire.

Now I’m stuck here with the both of them, forcing meaningless conversation when I’d rather be anywhere else.

Like packing for the big move to Florida.

Janice beams at him, tucking her hand around his elbow and snuggling close. “Isn’t it adorable how he came right out when I called?”

I widen my eyes and nod, forcing a smile.

At the risk of being overly critical of their relationship, is it possible for a man to be as perfect as she paints him out to be? I doubt it. Every story is more fantastical than the last. From the way he showers her with gifts to his sexual prowess. I’ve heard it all.

Once upon a time, I did that sort of thing too. Minus the sharing of our bedroom activities. For whatever reason, I’d rave about Travis to anyone who would listen.

Lies. All of it.

We were still in the early years of our marriage when the abuse started, but it never stopped me from telling wild stories about how he doted on me and treated me like his queen. Oddly enough, the more he hurt me, the more I painted him as my savior to any open ear.

Silly, isn’t it? Did I do it to hide my shame? To give myself an escape? Was it pure delusion? Was I trying to convince myself of those lies or will them into existence?

I wonder if people saw through my bull.

After a while, whether or not they believed me became irrelevant, considering I wasn’t permitted to see them very often. Eventually, not at all.

As my therapist said, Travis used isolation as a tool to further his goal of controlling me and making himself the center of my world. It kept others from becoming concerned about me. And once I felt alone, I was too scared to seek help. I was trapped. Especially when my sister stopped providing me refuge, rightly so after what happened the last time.

My gut twists at the memory.

The lesson about isolation was the first and last thing I learned from my therapist. She started out as easy to talk to. But the more of my truth I confided, the more judgment I saw reflecting in her expression. During one session, I talked about hiding in the closet while Travis went after Leo.

Her condemnation suffocated me almost instantly. In retrospect, since she was a mother, it had to be especially hard for her to look into the eyes of another mother who could fail her children so tragically.

How could she not judge me for such an atrocity?

She didn’t say it in so many words, but I saw her disgust. It was right under the surface with every word she spoke from that moment on. The slight narrowing of her eyes. The curl in her upper lip she struggled to suppress. The tone of her voice. Judgment and revulsion permeated her every nonverbal message.

I never went back after that session. Unsurprisingly, neither she nor her assistant called to see why I missed my next appointment. That cemented my decision to move on. My truth was so treacherous that a trained professional could no longer help me.

Can’t say I blame her.

Janice’s booming laugh shakes me back into the here and now. Nervously, I sip my glass of chardonnay, my eyes scanning the area. She and Rick are canoodling. There’s no other way to describe it. Giggles, lingering touches, heated gazes, and hushed words.

I’ll flag down the server and get my check. I had two drinks, thus fulfilling my happy hour obligations. I can leave in good conscience.

Rick’s arm shoots up suddenly, and his voice thunders. “Here he is.” He waves his beer around to get someone’s attention. “Isaac. Over here.”

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