Page 36 of Dirty Husband
Once upon a time, I dreamed of volunteering at community theater productions. Or even teaching high school students theater. I've never had time. Or knowledge.
It's been forever since I've read a play, much less practiced acting.
How would I teach a thirteen-year-old the basics when I barely know them myself?
I guess this is my chance. I'm unemployable in the world of venture capital. Wherever I work next, it's going to take a while to find a new gig. To find an industry where my status as the future Mrs. Shepard Marlowe doesn't hurt me.
Or maybe I should live more like Amanda. Fall in love with the life of luxury. Spend my days fixing tea and taking private acting classes. Spend my nights attending every play in the city. And, while I'm at it, why not fly to London once a month to take in some theater in the West End?
Shep can find a helicopter likethat. A first-class ticket to London is nothing. Probably not enough for him. He probably demands a private jet.
It's ridiculous. But then it's more ridiculous to deny his wealth.
If Dad knew I was rejecting Shep's generosity, he'd shake his head.We have limited resources in life, Jasmine. You need to take advantage of them when you have a chance.
It's smart. Smarter than letting my pride rule my decisions. I'm not too good for Shepard's money. I've got the paperwork to prove it.
And now…
I suck in a deep breath. Press my lips into my best smile.
It's not good. Too customer service. TooI will not allow you to ruffle me.
This is my father. I don't want to lie to him.
I may not be happy about my current circumstance, but I'm happy Shep paid for Dad's treatment. That's something. That's huge.
I try to focus on the weight no longer on my shoulders. It's bigger than that. A noose no longer around my neck.
An ability to breathe again.
I take Shep's hand and follow him down the hallway. All the way to Dad's room in the corner. "I'll go first. Explain the surprise."
Shepard nodssure.
I take a deep breath. Exhale all the tension in my shoulders. Dad's treatment is covered. That's what matters. That's the only thing that matters. I turn the handle. "Hey."
Dad lights up as I step into the room. "Jasmine. You're early today."
"You don't want to see me?"
"Mariah promised she'd bring me tea from that shop down the street." He motions to the tin in the corner, next to Mom's statue. "I'm out of Oolong." He smiles that same warm smile. A happy memory. He's so positive, even after everything. "She's not as pretty as your mother, but she's a looker."
"Isn't she wearing a wedding ring?"
"I still have a chance."
A laugh spills from my lips. "You are her type." I motion to the stack of historical fiction, all secondhand, courtesy of Mariah's husband. Because we can't afford new books.
Though now… I can buy my dad a new book. One of those hardcovers that goes for some ridiculous twenty-dollar-plus price. I can buy an over-priced tea from the bookstore while I'm there.
I can probably buy the café.
At the very least, I can book an expensive afternoon tea for two at some hotel that charges four-figures a night.
My chest warms at the thought. This is good news. For him. For us. Maybe not for me. But that's okay. It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make.
"I have something to tell you," I say.
