If his intention is to hurt me, mission accomplished. Only the fact that we’re in my store keeps me from lashing out. But if I do, he’ll just use it against me anyway. So I’m fucking trapped.
You think I’d be used to it by now. I’m not. I’m a caged animal wanting to break fucking free and find freedom, but I can’t. I’m angry but not stupid, so I just stare at him in silence. He thinks I’m a warden? Fuck him.
He waits several seconds to see if I’ll respond. I don’t. His eyes search my face. "What would make you happy? What do you need, Julie?"
Out, I think.I need out.
But there’s a sword hanging over my head that means I can't say that. Truthfully, I also can’t imagine staying for another few years of this. In my heart of hearts I know I made a horrible mistake marrying Asher. I just don’t know how to extricate myself from the situation without losing everything. So the best option at the moment is silence.
"I need to finish this batch," I answer, turning back to the double boiler.
Behind me, I hear him exhale. It's a sound that might be frustration or resignation or both. Maybe he’s annoyed that I’m not engaging. I don’t care. I just want him gone. "Julie."
"I need to focus onwork, Asher. Not on this constant drama that I didn’t sign up for.”
"Right." His voice is flat now. Annoyed. "Of course. I know how important your little shop is."
Only the fact that I instinctively knew he'd go low keeps me from tensing up even more. It's like his father is in the room with us. Hell, it's like my father is here, too. Only the best men, I think darkly.
I don't rise to the bait. My shopisimportant to me. If it weren’t, I would burn this marriage to the goddamn ground and move to Fiji or Italy or somewhere far, far, FAR away. Maybe I should care that he’s annoyed. But I don’t. So I stay silent.
"Listen. There’s a reason I’m here. Devon has requested that you take her to her therapy appointment tomorrow," he says quietly.
My body goes from tense to stiff as a board. I want to scream. He didn’t come here to check on me. He came here for this. To ask for something forher. Tone-deaf, thy name is Asher Stevens. "Why would I do that? She has a car.”
A Mercedes G Class SUV. Top of the line. When you add in the custom paint job, the damn thing cost more than a lot of starter homes. Asher’s dad bought it for her as a bribe to do well in school. My father-in-law bought a lot of things for a lot of people as a way to control their actions.
“She’s anxious about driving right now and wants you to take her.”
That’s preposterous. She loves driving that status symbol on wheels and she's never anxious around me. There’s something else happening here. I don’t know what, but I know shedoesn't want to be in a car with me alone. “She asked for me specifically?"
"Mm hmm. Yeah. She said she'd feel more comfortable with you."
It’s laughable. I don’t know why he’s saying this or why she would have told him that, but it’s straight up bullshit. Maybe he's trying to force us into spending time together alone to try and forge a bond. Because there’s no way she wants to hang out with me for even five seconds.
Devon hasn't felt comfortable with me since she moved in. She's been cold, distant, making little comments that sting like paper cuts. Last week she told me my body butters were "cute" in a tone that made it clear she meant stupid. One time, she wrinkled her nose at one of my bath bombs and said she preferred high end brands from "real" stores. I've never wanted to slap a teenager before. I wanted to then. She lies, manipulates and causes problems. And with each passing day, I'm more and more certain that she's doing it on purpose.
So this, wanting me to take her somewhere? It rings false. I bet it's a way for her to turn the screws on me by setting up an impossible situation. If I say yes, I’m stuck spending time alone with her, which will give her an opportunity to needle me, which will piss me off, which will then cause more tension in my marriage, not that we need any help with that. If I say no, I’m a monster. If I say yes, I’m a glutton for punishment.
Of course, I can't say any of this to Asher. Because no one can say anything about his poor stepsister. Devon is grieving. Devon is traumatized. Devon lost everything, and I'm supposed to be understanding. Devon is an angel. Devon is a broken eighteen-year-old who needs help, and I'm a fully grown woman who needs to push it all down and keep my head up for as long as I can. "Whatever. Fine. What time?" I ask.
"Two o'clock. I have a meeting and I can't move it."
The apologetic way he says that doesn’t ring true at all. He says it like he’s trying to project that he knows what he's asking. Like he understands that this is just one more thing, one more way Devon comes first. But if he really understood, he wouldn’t be asking. "Okay."
"Thank you. Really, Julie. You’re a big help."
A big help. Thank you.Like I'm a fucking babysitter or helpful friend instead of his wife. Like taking his stepsister to therapy is some generous act instead of just another day in the slow erosion of our marriage. I want to scream. But I don’t. I push it down. "Okay."
Behind me, I hear him move closer. For a moment I think he's going to touch me, really touch me, the way he used to, the way that made me feel seen and wanted and loved. I think if he did, I’d slap him silly. And that scares the shit out of me. Instead, he just squeezes my shoulder. A gesture that feels more like gratitude than affection. More like goodbye than hello.
"I'll see you later," he says.
And then he's gone.
I stand alone in my production room, surrounded by the scent of sweet almond oil and let my shoulders sag. I'm tired. I'm defeated. I’m miserable and alone. I’m barely hanging on, so I do what I can to cope.
I make bath bombs and body butters. I doom scroll on TikTok. I order new product labels and bitch about the rising cost of shipping. I think about life before Asher. I fantasize about one where we never met. Where I’d still be happy and I wouldn’t have the weight of the fucking world on my shoulders.
