forget when she stopped saying it back. Tears prick at my eyes and I head inside before anyone can see me making a fool of myself on the front porch. Unfortunately, someone has already spotted me: His name is Carter Blackwood. He waves but I’m not in the mood for sarcastic hand gestures, so I step inside the house and close the door. After a minute or so of agonizing contemplation, I peek out through the front window’s curtain to see if he’s still there. He’s not.
There’s a lot to do today. I head for the bathroom to get a shower because at this point I’m already behind. However, the phone rings and because I’m hoping it’s my daughter saying she’s so incredibly sorry for leaving the way she did, I answer it. My throat tightens when I see it’s not her. It’s just a reminder of one of the men who dominated my brain, previously.
“James? Why are you calling here so early?”
“Just wanted to check in on you, that’s all. Is that a crime?”
Right . Like my ex-husband has done one selfless thing for me in I don’t even know how long.
“Check in on me?”
“Ally bear said you were having some sort of mid-life crisis or something.”
“She what? When did you talk to Ally?”
“Last night when you went over to play cards with those old bitties you hang out with. You know that’s not healthy right? You should find some friends your own age, Iris.”
I really hate it when he calls them that. They’re younger than most twenty year olds I know.
“James, who my friends are is none of your business anymore – and they are not old bitties; they’re fun, and they get me.”
They do. Not many people can say that.
He snorts. “Get you?”
I know precisely how this conversation is going to go from this point. He tells me, “Well I’m glad somebody does,” and I say, “Screw you James,” then he continues to get me riled up. I let him. I yell and scream and he tells me all the reasons he left, then I spend the rest of my day wallowing in self-pity via a showing of Gone with the Wind and Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia, even though I hate cherries and despise paying that much for ice cream. I don’t have time for self-pity today. Or Gone with the Wind .
“I’m not having a midlife crisis, James,” I say. “I’m not even forty yet, for Christ’s sake.”
“It’s right around the corner though.” He laughs.
Ass .
“I’m busy, I have to go.”
I end the call before he can say another word. It’s not something I would normally do but the pitch of his voice makes me feel as though I have the potential of ending up on an episode of Snapped one day. Since that type of notoriety would cause me to miss out on Ally’s everything, I breathe in several long, controlled breaths, before I move on.
The air feels thicker though, despite my attempts at forgetting James. Even though it’s been over a year since our divorce was final, I still feel his controlling personality hit too close to home at times. I wouldn’t give up Ally for the world but because we have her, he will never be fully out of my life; that knowledge makes my chest tighten. My feet move quickly down the hall for that shower I need to take. I’m anxious to move away from the thoughts I’ve let slip in. The conversation lingers with me and I wonder why in the world Ally would think I’m having a crisis of some sort. Not to mention why on God’s green earth would she tell her father? I turn the shower on, test the temp, get undressed and step inside the glass walls of the only peace and quiet I’ll have today. The entire time I try to think of how Ally has come to this conclusion, and then it hits me.
My forgetfulness. It must be my forgetfulness .
It’s not like me to draw a blank on picking her up, or having a simple conversation with her, even. The child probably thinks I’m in the beginning stages for Alzheimer’s or something. I laugh. That’s it. That must be it. Just a young girl’s
There’s a lot to do today. I head for the bathroom to get a shower because at this point I’m already behind. However, the phone rings and because I’m hoping it’s my daughter saying she’s so incredibly sorry for leaving the way she did, I answer it. My throat tightens when I see it’s not her. It’s just a reminder of one of the men who dominated my brain, previously.
“James? Why are you calling here so early?”
“Just wanted to check in on you, that’s all. Is that a crime?”
Right . Like my ex-husband has done one selfless thing for me in I don’t even know how long.
“Check in on me?”
“Ally bear said you were having some sort of mid-life crisis or something.”
“She what? When did you talk to Ally?”
“Last night when you went over to play cards with those old bitties you hang out with. You know that’s not healthy right? You should find some friends your own age, Iris.”
I really hate it when he calls them that. They’re younger than most twenty year olds I know.
“James, who my friends are is none of your business anymore – and they are not old bitties; they’re fun, and they get me.”
They do. Not many people can say that.
He snorts. “Get you?”
I know precisely how this conversation is going to go from this point. He tells me, “Well I’m glad somebody does,” and I say, “Screw you James,” then he continues to get me riled up. I let him. I yell and scream and he tells me all the reasons he left, then I spend the rest of my day wallowing in self-pity via a showing of Gone with the Wind and Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia, even though I hate cherries and despise paying that much for ice cream. I don’t have time for self-pity today. Or Gone with the Wind .
“I’m not having a midlife crisis, James,” I say. “I’m not even forty yet, for Christ’s sake.”
“It’s right around the corner though.” He laughs.
Ass .
“I’m busy, I have to go.”
I end the call before he can say another word. It’s not something I would normally do but the pitch of his voice makes me feel as though I have the potential of ending up on an episode of Snapped one day. Since that type of notoriety would cause me to miss out on Ally’s everything, I breathe in several long, controlled breaths, before I move on.
The air feels thicker though, despite my attempts at forgetting James. Even though it’s been over a year since our divorce was final, I still feel his controlling personality hit too close to home at times. I wouldn’t give up Ally for the world but because we have her, he will never be fully out of my life; that knowledge makes my chest tighten. My feet move quickly down the hall for that shower I need to take. I’m anxious to move away from the thoughts I’ve let slip in. The conversation lingers with me and I wonder why in the world Ally would think I’m having a crisis of some sort. Not to mention why on God’s green earth would she tell her father? I turn the shower on, test the temp, get undressed and step inside the glass walls of the only peace and quiet I’ll have today. The entire time I try to think of how Ally has come to this conclusion, and then it hits me.
My forgetfulness. It must be my forgetfulness .
It’s not like me to draw a blank on picking her up, or having a simple conversation with her, even. The child probably thinks I’m in the beginning stages for Alzheimer’s or something. I laugh. That’s it. That must be it. Just a young girl’s
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