Page 208 of Love in Riverbend
How many people have that last name?
The two of us haven’t spoken since Devan and Justin’s wedding.
Lifting the receiver, I hit the numbers on the paper.
The call rings twice, before I hear his voice.
“Marilyn, thanks for calling me back.”
Ricky.
I don’t know if I’m happy or agitated.
Why call me at work?
Chapter 5
Rich/aka Ricky
Earlier
Even the closed door won’t deafen the vibrating bass shaking the walls of our apartment. There’s no sense telling Max to turn down the music. I learned that fight wasn’t worth my breath. Besides, I’ve rarely won that argument since we first moved in together. Truth be told, I prefer the music to what it’s hiding. Max Brenner and I met at Foot Locker, the store in the mall where I work part time. While I’m ready to leave the days of selling athletic shoes behind, Max is living his best life.
The idea of living together came from me. Max, five years younger than me, constantly complained about living with his parents. My apartment had two bedrooms, and a roommate meant half the expenses. I hadn’t thought the whole thing through. Cramming extra classes into each semester, as well as taking summer courses, meant I finished my degree a semester early. When combined with a part-time job, it left little to no time for much of anything else.
Max makes up for my lack of socialization.
That is why, if I were a cartoon character, there would currently be smoke coming from my ears. In the three-dimensional world, my temples are pounding in time with the bass. The music is Max’s way of letting me know that I’d rather hear the booming sound than the noises coming from his bedroom. From the glittery purse and strappy high heels in the living room, I know he’s got some girl in there.
Her name, I have no idea.
I gave up trying to keep track a long time ago.
Max practices what he calls free love, as if he should have been born fifty years ago. He would have made the perfect hippie in my grandparents’ generation.
Lying back on my bed, I flop my arm over my forehead and stare up at the ceiling. My degree is complete, and I want a real job, one utilizing that piece of paper. It’s my fault for thinking the job offers would roll in. I should have started looking earlier. The thing is, that after eighteen months of watching every dime, I want more.
I close my eyes and let out a long breath.
More.
I want more.
First on my list is a house or apartment for myself.
Second is a life beyond school and work.
Fuck, I’m thirty-five years old, and I have little to show for my life.
When my parents sold our land in Riverbend—a small town in southwest Indiana—they gave a healthy chunk of the profits to me. After all, over the last ten years, I’d put in as much, if not more work than my dad, keeping the farm going. That nest egg is smaller than it was when I first put it in my bank account, but I’ve managed to keep most of it by watching my expenses.
To say I’m tired of living whatever this life is with Max and his parade of women is an understatement. I’m ready for a life.
My life.
I must fall asleep, because when I open my eyes, it’s morning and the apartment is peacefully quiet.
“Fuck,” I murmur as I roll off the bed and reach for my phone. In my head, I’m doing mental gymnastics.
