AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She almost hisses at me before regaining her composure.
“We’re supposed to want better lives for our children than what we had ourselves. How can you pressure him into an empty, loveless marriage, when you yourself know how joyless that feels? Intimacy for procreation, and not because your husband is desperate to taste your flesh after being away from you all day long. Intimacy that isn’t intimate at all. You claim you’ve kept your marriage vows, but has he? When was the last time he shared your bed?”
“Enough!” Remi’s mother demands, blood rushing to her face. Her body is caving, shoulders slumping—bowing to protect itself from my attack. “You’re delusional, and you’ve overstepped your bounds. Life isn’t about getting what we want. I’d expect you of all people to understand that.”
“Me?” I query, caught off guard by her accusation.
“Yes, you!” she attacks. “Raised by another because your mother slit her wrists. You of all people should understand that sometimes we have no choice in the path our life takes.”
My breathing starts to shudder, and I take a step away, bringing my hands to my chest. I can’t—I can’t believe she’d say that!
“This is Remington’s life,” she snaps, seeing my weakened state and moving in for the kill. “This is his path. He has no choice. Neither did I. Life is about making the best of what we have to work with, and Remington’s best does not include you! If he would simply accept his responsibilities, instead of fighting every step of the way, this would be easier for everyone. He will live a happy life, despite your desperate melodramatics.”
I shake my head, grasping my clutch in my hand before it falls to the floor. I dig my fingers into the soft suede material and use it as an anchor for my buffeted soul.
“No,” I say firmly, knowing in the pit of my stomach she’s wrong. “I feel sorry for you, I do. But Remi doesn’t have to live the life you did. Alone and miserable, despite a partner at his side. I won’t allow it. I won’t stop fighting for him. He doesn’t have to be with us, but I will not allow you to pigeonhole him into this state of existence that sees him quietly dripping with despair. I’m sorry you couldn’t see how miserable his life is, but we did. We did, and we made him whole again, despite the constant pain caused by you and your husband. I won’t simply step aside and let it happen again.”
She stands to her full height, towering over me, though not as tall as her son. Her features smooth into calm acquiescence, all signs of our battle cleared from her face. The bar bracketing her spine is back, and the mask of Mrs. Lancaster has replaced that of Remi’s mom.
“I’m sorry for you then,” she says tightly, looking over my head. “But leave my family alone. If I see you again, I’ll have you arrested for harassment.”
She steps aside and around me, exiting the tiny alcove that hid us. I watch with tears in my eyes until she turns from my view, her feet gliding as if she were on air.
I take my phone from my clutch and send a message to Remi’s new number, not that I’ll get a response back.
Me: I won’t give up on you.
FIVE
JUSTIN
I’m seriously considering switching my major to library studies. I think I’d make an awesome librarian. All I’m missing is a pair of glasses. You have to have a master’s degree to get the job, and I’m already in a master’s program. Most of my credits would transfer over to the new degree. It’s perfect; it would only add one year of school onto my current program, but still take off the extra two or three required for a PhD in literature. Plus, it might—and I use that word loosely—make my parents more charitable towards my chosen career path. Librarian sounds better than a professional reader, right?
What’s brought on this craziness, you ask? I chose two library information sciences classes as my electives this semester, and against my better judgment, I’ve kind of fallen in love with it.
What I’d really love to do is create a new organizational system, since I think we can all agree that the Dewey Decimal System sucks ass. Alas, I have severe doubts about that becoming one of my life’s accomplishments.
The doorbell rings, but I barely look up from the living room floor, where my schoolbooks and laptop are spread out.
“Will you be a dear and get that, Mr. Williams?” Mrs. Jones yells from somewhere inside the apartment.
“Isn’t that your job?” I yell back sarcastically, rolling my eyes when I actually hear her huff.
“I’m busy at the moment,” she replies, and somehow, I doubt that, as I haven’t seen her in ages. I climb from the floor when the bell goes off again.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” I grumble, though they can’t hear me through the door.
“What are you doing?” I yell at Mrs. Jones, and I laugh outright when she cries back, “Using Julia’s new foot massager!”
Naturally, I wouldn’t expect any less of her.
Julia is at the doctor’s, finally succumbing to the pain of a sinus infection. She gets one almost every year when the summer turns to fall. I thought she’d avoided it this season. Maybe her body was too distressed with emotional upheaval to submit to something as pedestrian as a sinus infection. Alas, three days ago, she woke up with her head fit to bust and her nose doing precisely that.
Sleeping Beauty, she is not right now. I told her if she ever wanted me to kiss her again, she needed to get antibiotics, stat.
The laughter dies when I pull open the door to find Deb standing stiffly on the other side.
“Deb!” I exclaim, falling over my feet to reach out and grab her hand. My stomach drops to somewhere between my knees to see her stand on the other side of our door. I yank her over the threshold, jabbering at a thousand miles an hour.
