Page 75 of Home Wrecker

The initial hour ends and Marie holds the door for Bhodi, who bee-lines to rest his head at my belly. William follows them.

My ex is thin in the chest. His shoulders hunch forward disguising a rounding paunch at his midsection. He has more salt in his salt and pepper hair. His pants and collared shirt match but there’s nothing that distinguishes him as handsome the way I’d admired him a decade ago in his military uniform.

He glances my way, looking me up and down. The telltale signs he doesn’t approve of my outlandish wardrobe and my full-body tattoo are noticeable to me by the same way his left eye squinted ever so slightly when I’d mucked up a meal.

William was never mean to me, but I’d forgotten he was critical of appearances. Almost like he stuck little needles under my fingertips to see if I’d squirm while he molded me into the person he needed me to be.

In all likelihood, it was a younger version of his wife. But who the hell cares now?

Obviously not William if he left her… twice.

Cary’s gracious enough to shake William’s hand when Marie extends introductions. I have no desire to and remain cool and polite when Marie explains things went well. We’re given reminder cards of when the next time is that I have to produce my son for these ridiculous sessions.

On the way home Bhodi tucks into his gaming system. The sole peep from the backseat is to ask if we can have stir fry bowls for supper. I send him and Cary off for a late lunch to satisfy the craving. I have to nap because I need to come through tonight to cover for Kelsey.

The days tick by. I scoot between Davina’s house and Laurel’s condo, forgetting things in both places for both Bhodi and myself.

Bhodi brings the first true cold of the season home from school. The symptoms hit me late in a shift. I oversleep the next afternoon and miss picking up Bhodi and Emory, who is now in kindergarten, from the bus stop. The kids walk home. Bennett has to wait for me to get the last of Emory’s clothes from the laundry basket folded and into her overnight bag when he arrives to get my niece. I scamper back to Sweet Caroline’s with a drippy nose and a pounding headache.

Cary picks up the slack with Bhodi. It makes me feel awful that he does, and that I have zero reserves left in me to give to others what they need.

Jake happens into the club. He takes one look at me and tries to send me home.

“You can’t be a corpse bride in front of the customers,” he balks when I refuse to go.

Snotty isn’t sexy. It’s bad for business.

Unable to stand up to my boss. I wind up with my head propped on the arm of his leather sofa, glad my nose is stuffing so badly the room’s aromas won’t penetrate my sinuses.

Jake shoves his cell in his shirt pocket after calling Cary to fetch me. Apparently, being a cunt about leaving Sweet Caroline’s during my shift—something I’ve never done—renders me incapable of driving.

Though, perhaps that’s a smart move. My addled brain can’t figure out if Bhodi is at Davina’s or with Laurel.

I shiver, and Jake throws a blanketatme.

“Get yourself together,” he reprimands, shutting the office door behind him.

My cheeks grow wet. I lie to myself it’s migraine pressure. Since Cary found me in the garden, I’ve hidden the moments I’ve cried out of anger and desperation from him. More times than I can count the tears haven’t come at all as frustration swallows me whole.

A racked sob leaves my chest and I pull the thin blanket up, clutching it to cover my body, using it as a shield.

Distraught, I cry the way I had when I knew for certain William had always intended to abandon us, and when my mom and dad soared into the sky together. My sister may have been there. My friends. Even so, I’ve kept myself in an obscure pit of loneliness because I was too inept as a young woman to open my eyes to the imminent signs of danger and it sealed my fate.

I’ve taught my mistrustful heart to head unnecessary warnings. It doesn’t know any better anymore.

The things I tell myself—the words I’ve lived by that William is not worth wasting my breath on—are getting drowned out by my fears. I’m seeing every fatal flaw in what I’ve done, and what I haven’t done, to protect Bhodi.

I can’t organize my thoughts. I’m never on time. The rockabilly clothes—were they to make me happy or was my original intent to ward off strangers? Testing who to let into my inner circle and revealing the people who couldn’t accept me if I wasn’t their version of perfect. I’ve never considered that before. I was too busy pointing out that the way I dressed wasn’t attention-seeking.

The mix of emotions is the most tiresome I’ve endured. I’m being dragged in one direction just to be pulled back in the other. My internal gyroscope can’t right me. I’m less than good enough for my son, my sister, my niece. My friends shouldn’t have thrown that party. There are better people to fawn over.

There’s a woman out there that a stupid society woman like Isobel should be planning Cary-freaking-Cass’s wedding to.

But I want him to love me.

I don’t know how to make him choose meforever. Is it selfish that a small part of me wants Cary to give up so that I’m not the one who failed?

I’d thought he’d have walked away by now.

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