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“Hi. Faith for ten o’clock.”
“Oh, yes. Please, follow me.” Her accent is strong, but her English is clear. I follow her past several rows of attached desks to the first in the fourth row. An even younger woman sits scrolling through her phone. When we approach, she lifts her head, exchanges words in a language I don’t understand, and then tells me to sit.
Her nametag reads Sarah, but I would bet my bottom dollar it’s way more complicated than that. I tell her I want “a French manicure please,” and she nods and gets started.
I allow myself to relax. It’s been so long since I’ve been inside one of these salon and spa places, but the sights and smells haven’t changed.
Within an hour, I’m out the door with a beautiful manicure that I can’t stop looking at all the way home. Thanks to a wireless headset, I tidy up the house while making phone calls. Today, not even the rude comments can get to me.
I have a fresh new paycheck, however modest, in the bank, and I feel good.
When it reaches 4:00 PM, I hang up the work hat and get started on dinner. I’ve decided on shrimp scampi. Glenn likes it well enough, but I love it, and I’ve decided that while I should be good to Glenn in his final days, it’s about time I’m better to myself, and this meal is my absolute favorite. Not even the famed Olive Garden can beat the rich, lemony flavors with a hint of heat I put into it.
While I squeeze lemons, I wonder if Cal likes seafood. I’m not a huge fan of it, but I have my days and my favorite dishes. Of course, while I entertain thoughts of Cal being the one to come through the door after a long day of work, his rare smile reserved just for me, Glenn bursts the bubble by entering instead.
He’s been working out and trying to take better care of himself lately, for all the good it’ll do. I can see hints of his labors in his face, though, a slight trimming down of his jowls and the swollen look in his cheeks fading just a touch. For once, he’s not winded from climbing the four steps outside.
He sniffs the air as he closes the door. His shoes make a loud thud as they drop, one by one, beside the door. When he takes off his jacket, I shift my gaze. I hate his work shirts. They do nothing for his pudgy frame, only serving to enhance the size of his love handles. I suppose if I loved him, it wouldn’t matter, but I don’t, and it does.
Repulsed, I give the red pepper container a few violent shakes into the pan.
“Hey, honey.” Glenn approaches from behind and leans over my left shoulder to inhale the aroma of dinner, his nose whistling in my ear, then kisses the side of my head.
An irrational sense of anger rushes through me like a bolt of lightning. I grit my teeth, withholding the emotion so I don’t say or do anything I’ll regret later. Sometimes, it’s better not to say anything if you have nothing nice to say.
“Dinner will be ready in five.”
“Great. I’ll go change and be right back down.” Glenn bounds up the stairs, sounding more like a herd of elephants than a single man.
I shake my head. What good are the workouts if he’s not going to take it seriously? He must think I’m an idiot if he doesn’t think I could smell the cheeseburger on his breath. It’s such a common occurrence, I shouldn’t be offended or annoyed by it anymore. But it’s hard ignoring something so seemingly benign when I’ve gone through the effort of putting together a nice meal only to find out he’s been filling his body with trash.
This is just another example of what I’ve had to deal with over the years. Is nothing I do good enough? Is it too much to ask to be appreciated?
In my anger, I decide not to wait for Glenn to return before I sit down at the dining table and help myself to a heaping plate of buttery shrimp and noodles. My mouth is already watering in anticipation of the zing from the lemon and the hint of heat from the pepper flakes.
Glenn doesn’t seem too surprised to find me eating alone or without him. In fact, he takes his plate from the setting across from mine and, while standing, scoops three giant helpings onto it. Completely ignoring the white wine I set out for the two of us, he goes off to the kitchen and gets one of his cans of soda from the fridge instead.
Soda and shrimp scampi. It’s like he’s completely devoid of basic class and culture.
“Hope you don’t mind,” he says as he heads toward me again, “but there’s a basketball game on tonight that I can’t miss.” He bends down and drops a quick, rough kiss to the top of my head that jostles me enough to reignite my festering anger. Flashing a wide grin, he says, “Me and the boys at work took bets. I got twenty bucks riding on this one,” and he walks off into the den where I know he’ll remain until the game is over.
If I’m lucky, he’ll go on his nightly jog, and Cal will be there waiting to off him.
I stab a shrimp and shove it into my mouth, chewing with aggravation that I’m too aggravated to enjoy my meal as thoroughly as I should. Glenn ruins everything.
Nine
~Declan~
Glenn doesn’t leave the house tonight. I’m surprised. And a little disappointed. I’ve come up with a surefire way to kill my mark, and I’m eager to get on with it.
I end up sitting in my car until one in the morning, just in case he decides to go out for any reason. Especially after Brenda made her way upstairs hours ago. I know, because she stood in front of that damn window again, removing one article of clothing after another, as slowly as possible.
Still, all I could make out was her silhouette, long and lean and full of curves that I won’t soon forget. I could have dismissed the first time as a one-off. She forgot to close her blinds. Maybe she just wasn’t aware of her surroundings—you’d be surprised how many people aren’t. Or maybe she was just one of those people who were so comfortable with themselves that they didn’t care what the world thought or how they viewed them—or how much they viewedofthem.
Tonight, I could almost swear she was watching me, though. I have the distinct impression she did it on purpose.
Does she want me to see her? Is she baiting me?
