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“To talk to you. You won’t take my calls and won’t respond to my texts. Do you have me blocked?”
“Here’s a hint, Tommy. When someone doesn’t answer your calls or respond to messages, that person doesn’t want to communicate with you.”
“Baby, don’t do that. Don’t be mad at me.”
Who does this man think he is? More so, who does he think he is to me?
“I’m not your baby. You don’t get to call me that. And I’m not mad at you. I don’t think of you. There’s a difference. Anger is one thing; apathy is a whole different animal.”
“You’re just saying that because I hurt you.” He reaches up to brush his hand across my hair.
I slap his hand away. “Stop it. And step back. Now.”
He doesn’t, and his eyes turn manic. “I’m sorry, Livylicious. I never wanted to hurt you. I think of you… when I’m with her. You were the best I ever had.”
Uh, no. That’s gross. “Last chance, Tommy. Last chance. Step back.”
“Baby.” He leans forward, hands going to my hips, pinning me to the sink.
I lift a knee to his groin. His eyes go wide, and he groans when I make contact.
I smile when he crumples in front of me. Nothing has made me this happy since I landed in the state of Massachusetts.
“Stop.” His words are harsh, but airy as he tries to breathe, and his grip on my hip tightens. “Stop it. You know you want me too.”
“I do not. I can’t believe how foolish I was to believe you or trust you all those years ago.”
“Baby, we were good together.” He stands, looming over me. His anger and desperation becoming a dangerous combination.
I knock him off with my other hand, still holding my clutch. “So long as the “in sickness” part didn’t factor in, right? Or the “for worse” part either? You are an expert at being selfish. Now, step back. I won’t say it again.”
He pushes into me, pressing his hips into my stomach. “Livy.”
I throw a punch but miss wildly, hitting his Adam’s apple. I scrape my knuckles against the doorframe as I pull back, shaking my wrist furiously. Ow. “No means no. No, Tommy. Never again with you.”
I flee the bathroom and take the stairs two at a time to my childhood bedroom. I don’t want to be here, but I need to get an Uber, and I won’t stand alone on the street while I wait.
By the time the car arrives, I’m pissed but not afraid, and my hand is swelling and I could’ve avoided that with ice. The delay in waiting until I get to the hotel isn’t ideal, but it’s a better option than another confrontation downstairs. It also beats any explanation that a pack of frozen vegetables would warrant with Mother and Father’s guests.
I slide into the car and hold my wrist in my good hand, wondering what came over me that I hit Tommy.
I know what... anger, indignation, frustration. Not from rejection or jealousy or fear. Though I guess the man in question would prefer the latter to the former.
He never did get it.
“In the top of the seventh, the Rangers lead the Sox two to one. Time for the seventh inning stretch, folks. Sing with us now,” the man on the radio launches into ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame’ and the recording as his background warbles with him.
“I can’t tell you the last time I heard baseball on the radio,” I muse as the driver negotiates Boston traffic.
“It’s getting harder and harder ta find. Better radio, more stations, lotsa choices, nothing great to listen ta anymore.” His accent is pronounced and makes me smile on the inside.
“Are you a Red Sox fan?”
“Well, yeah. Boston born and raised, Miss. Hard not to love the Sox.”
Hard not to love the Sox. Hmm. I was raised here and never went to a game. Academics over athletics is or was the family motto.
He pulls over at the hotel curb and offers the pleasantries most drivers do.
