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So I shut my mouth and march into the kitchen, grabbing his dirty plate on the way. Slamming it down in the sink, I shut my eyes and think about the thousand dollars I have stashed in the bottom of my underwear drawer. Once I get up to two thousand, I can get out of here. Away from his house. Away from him.
I used to think it would get better. He loved me once—he could do it again.
He used to be kind, but now I’m nothing but the scapegoat for everything that goes wrong in our lives. The bad days outnumber the good to the point where I can’t remember the last time I felt the warmth of his smile.
Shoving the thought down, I turn on the faucet and start washing off the dirty plate in the sink.
Unexpectedly, I feel the harsh impact of his hand as it slams against the side of my head. Then he yanks violently on a fistful of my hair, sending me to the ground as I let out a scream.
“I’ve been at work all day, and I come home to a messy house. Now you want to slam dishes and throw a fit?” he yells. “You are such an ungrateful bitch.”
As I curl up into a ball on the kitchen floor, crying into the dirty linoleum and listening to his footsteps as he stomps angrily away, I realize that it doesn’t matter what I do anymore.
There are no more good days, and there may never be any ever again.
“Mama, wake up.”
Jack’s soft voice whispers against my ear as I feel him climb over me in my bed, nuzzling himself under the covers and using my arm as his pillow. His little pajama-clad body is warm as I scoop my arm around his waist and tug him closer, breathing in his familiar scent.
Daylight shines through the cracks between the curtains and the walls, so I reach for my phone and check the time.Nine fifteen.
I can hear cartoons playing on the TV hanging from my bedroom wall over the dresser. Jack watches an animated Spider-Man swing between buildings while I slowly wake up.
“Mama, do you know what today is?” he whispers.
“Saturday,” I reply, feigning sleep.
“Mamaaaa,” he whines. His tiny fingers try to pry my eyes open, and I laugh, quickly pinning them to his side.
“It’s my birthday!” he shrieks.
My eyes pop open and I stare at him in dramatic surprise. “Your birthday?”
“Yeah!” he replies excitedly.
I shrug dramatically. “Well, if you’re seven now, then you can make your own breakfast.”
He giggles. “No, I can’t.”
“Sure, you can. I’ll take an omelet, too, while you’re at it. Oh, and some pancakes.”
He laughs again, tugging on my arm to try and get me up, but I crack a smile as I fake sleep.
My eyes open as I pin him underneath me and cover him in kisses and tickles until he’s howling with laughter, fighting to get out of my reach.
Even as he leaps out of bed and sprints toward the kitchen, I follow him, but with a lot less energy. He launches himself onto the couch while I stumble toward the coffeepot.
While it brews, I watch him scrolling on his tablet, a smile stretching across my face. Inevitably, I do that thing I’ve been doing a lot lately. I imagine someone else standing in this kitchen with me. Or maybe sitting on the couch next to Jack.
I imagine his long brown hair with Saturday morning bed head, sipping coffee with me while Jack plays quietly by our side. The image of Clay existing in my everyday life grates on my nerves. How on earth did I let him get under my skin in such a short amount of time? After so many clients, how didthis oneget to me?
I’m perfectly content living alone with Jack. He doesn’t need a father or a family.Weare a family, and I’ve never once felt wrong or bad about that. And I sure as hell don’t feel bad about that now.
There is no need or room for a partner in my life. I provide for Jack. I can handle it all on my own.
But then…that damn image of Clay standing in my kitchen, flipping pancakes while I pour the coffee ambushes me again. It’s so irritating I want to throw my cup across the room.
No matter how alluring that thought is, it’s not worth the risk. I have no reason to believe Clay would ever pose a threat to me or Jack, but I used to think the same thing about my ex.
