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“Don’t! I mean it. If you walk out that door, it’s over between us. You either want all of me, or you don’t, but I’m not stickin’ around as your convenience for another second of my life. Do you hear me, Wyatt Daughtrey? Not one more goddamn second!”
My sudden bravery feels amazing until Wyatt opens the door and walks out without another word.
I wish I could discuss what happened with my parents, but I’m too afraid they’ll be upset with me. Sadly, my relationship with them is much like mine is with Wyatt. As long as I do what they expect of me, they’re happy. They’ve sheltered me to the point I feel like I haven’t transitioned into adulthood.
My friends and co-workers assume because I own my own home, have a college degree, and a steady relationship that I’m a responsible adult. But emotionally, I feel like I haven’t matured, or grown into a woman. I depend on my parent’s input to make decisions as if I’m still a little girl.
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I’ve always kept my head down and did exactly as I was told. Only now I feel like I’m manically searching for who I am, and what I truly want out of life. The pressure to keep pretending I want the life my father planned out for me, makes me feel like I’m going to explode.
Times like now, I miss my grammy. She died last year; killed by a drunk driver. I always thought the two packs a day and bourbon for breakfast would take her, but no, in the end, it was some asshole that was too irresponsible to call a cab.
Grammy used to say life has a way of working out exactly as it’s supposed too. I disagree. That asshole wasn’t “supposed” to be driving. They never caught the man responsible. Living in a town no larger than a potato chip crumb on a map, the police suspect the driver was merely passing through. A witness claimed to see the male driver in a red sports car. Her description was all they had to go on and it wasn’t enough to lead to an arrest.
My heart aches every day when I wake up, remembering she’s gone. I miss her terribly, and I need her right now. She liked Wyatt enough, but she always told me someday, someone else may come along and surprise me. Someone who would make butterflies dance in my tummy. “When you find him, Faye, never let him go.”
Our talks annoyed my father. My close relationship with her bothered him a great deal. Grammy lived life spontaneously. He was afraid she’d erase all the hard work he’d put into molding me. Maybe she has. It didn’t help that I not only related to Grammy, but I’m the spitting image of her younger self.
At twenty-two, the tiny blonde haired, green-eyed beauty from Alden, Kansas was the reigning Miss Kansas, on her way to a successful modeling career. She gave up her dream for love. My grandpa died before I was born, but I’ve heard his marriage to my significantly younger grandmother caused quite a stir in town.
Despite the judgmental rhetoric of small town life, Grammy was always true to herself. I want to hear her tell me how she loves my daddy, and tried to raise him right, but he’s a boob. How it’s okay if I don’t marry Wyatt, because I feel like nothing will be okay, like I’ve made a huge mistake.
I feel horribly alone.
Marty and Ginger push past me into my house. I called them after I spent twenty minutes bawling my eyes out. Like true best friends, they came over immediately. They’re not in the same league as Gram when it comes to girl chats, but I know they love me.
“We came prepared,” Ginger says. Her almond-shaped brown eyes sparkle with excitement as she holds up a bottle of Jack Daniels and several chocolate bars.
I smile at my friends. I met Marty first. When my mother had read the class list for kindergarten, no one in my family recognized her last name; McDaniel. It’s a small town. We knew everyone, which meant Marty was new. I assumed she was one of the six boys in my class. I was bummed because six boys, meant they outnumbered the girls. But, it turned out, Mr. McDaniel, a diehard Kansas City Chiefs fan, we all are, wanted a boy. Marty hates the name and the fact she was named after a coach who could never win the big show makes it all the more annoying to her.
I met Ginger about five seconds after Marty. The three of us have been inseparable ever since.
I follow my girlfriends into the kitchen. They’re both looking at me like I’m a homeless kitten. I roll my eyes. More at myself than them because I’m pretty pathetic.
“You look pitiful,” Marty says, pouring the Jack Daniels into a glass of pop and ice. I grumble how I’m fine, although, I can’t even convince myself. “Come on. Don’t sweat this. Wyatt loves you, and he’ll be beggin’ your forgiveness in a few days.”
He will, but what does it say about me if I take him back with a smile? I want to be a stronger person. I refuse to continue a relationship with a man who doesn’t respect me. “Yeah, like he always does after he’s slept around. I’m over it, Mar! Maybe we aren’t meant to be together.”
She taps my hand. “If you and Wyatt aren’t meant to be, no one is. He loves you, but he’s young and scared to fail.”
“No, he’s young and horny. He won’t stop if I continue to forgive him. How long am I’m supposed to wait around until he decides he’s ready to be a grown-up?”
“You don’t have to wait around.” She twirls her long dark braid around her pointer finger with a devious smirk. “Maybe you need to sample the menu for a while, too. You’ve never been with anyone except Wyatt.”
“I can’t sleep with a random guy. I’m not a one-night stand kind of girl.”
“Why?” Marty asks. “Because society says it’s wrong for women? That you’re a slut if you do? Bullshit. We all have the desire in us, but unlike men, we won’t sleep with anything on two legs. We seek a certain kind of guy for the job.”
Marty’s found two guys ‘for the job’ since college. She’s also had two long-term relationships with guys that didn’t deserve her, who ultimately broke her heart. She means well, but I want a life like the one I planned with Wyatt. The one where I’m already engaged and preparing to walk down the aisle. I want stability.
“Well, obviously I haven’t encountered that ‘certain kinda guy’ for a one-nighter.”
“Not yet.” She slides the glass of booze across the counter. “This should make you feel better. Drink. We’re goin’ out.”
“Drinkin’ might worsen my mood. Where’s the chocolate?” I ask, knowing if I go out I won’t be any fun.
Ginger pulls a small calendar from her purse. She’s been quiet, but I hope she’s not about to give me dating advice as well. Ginger’s never even had a steady boyfriend.
