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I am not the only one who does not know what I want. As I supposed, Lilas and Leon split after a few months. I note that she is progressing. Usually the count was in weeks. It is a pity. I like Leon. We saw each other several times for our foursome outings and I admit a friendship was born between us. Even today, despite the fact that he is no longer with Lilas, we continue to see him. He is by the way the only friend I can really confide in without him judging me. He has kind of become my confidant, and I can never thank him enough to be there for me under all circumstances. After an umpteenth argument with Brandon, he told me in a joking tone that I should leave Brandon and start a relationship with him. I adore Leon, but I don't see him that way. Despite our rants, I'm addicted to Brandon and our quarrels are always white-hot knives stabbed in my heart. Even today I am afraid to walk through the front door and tell him that I got kicked out of my child care job. I thought this job would be a good workout for our role as parents, but the parents in question, for whom I worked, did not like my presence in their house. Well, especially the lady, who suspected her husband was feeding fantasies about me. Jealousy, when you have a hold on us! So, she fired me manu militari after catching her husband intently admiring my ass while I bent down to pick up a toy, and now I have to tell my fiancé who doesn't give a damn what were the reasons for my dismissal. All he sees is that I have no job, period. My phone rings, offering me a reprieve before the upcoming argument, and in spite of myself I smile when I see the name that appears on the screen.
— Hi.
— Hi pretty Mal. What's new?
A deep sigh escapes from my lips while my shoulders sag.
— Mallory?
— I got fired.
A first tear comes down my cheek at full speed. The first of a long series that I have been holding back since I left the house of my former employers.
— Hey Mal, don't cry my beautiful. You know I can't stand it. Tell me what happened?
— The husband was staring at me once again without being discreet and this did not suit his wife's taste!
— OK, OK. Calm down. It's not your fault, sweetheart. You couldn't help it if the guy couldn't handle his libido in the face of your beauty. Their marital relationship doesn't concern you. They're the ones who have a problem to deal with. Come on, stop crying.
I continuously sob and I wonder how Leon is understanding what I am trying to say.
— What will Brandon say? We're going to fight again and...
— Stop Mal. Brandon loves you and if he is not able to accept you as you are then he does not deserve you. You are a great girl and any man would be happy to be with you, okay?
I am still down, but Leon has the knack for doing good to my ego. I breathe deeply several times to get over it.
— Thank you. It felt good to release the pressure.
— You´re welcome. I have told you this already. I will always be here for you. You can call me day or night.
I do not know how to answer to so much kindness. Sometimes, I think he expects from me more than I can give him, only, in a very selfish way, I do not want him to walk away from me.
— Thanks again. I have to go.
— Call me later to tell me how it went. I'll be there in a minute if you need to.
I do not answer. I'm not sure I'll be able to call him after the conversation that awaits me.
— Promise me, Mal.
— I'll try.
I hang up before he goes on. I have already involved him too much in my relationship. It is time for me to act as an adult and take responsibility for my actions.
Despite my good intentions, I very reluctantly come into the house. Brandon is there, on the sofa, arms folded and eyes fixed on me. Obviously, he was waiting for me.
— Hello.
— You don't have a job anymore?
I shudder despite of myself as I take off my shoes. I am trying to buy some time, but he is not in the mood to give me a break.
— You don't have to put this off. You stayed in the car for half an hour. Were you looking for a way to once more tell me the news?
— It' wasn’t my fault, Brandon…
He does not let me finish the sentence, he stands up abruptly and raises up his arms.
— It's never your fault Mallory. You are never to blame, but it ends up being the same: you don't have a job and it's still up to me to take care of everything, from groceries bills to the gas of my car that you use to go to interviews that again lead to nothing.
This is the first time he has accused me of being a kept woman and I take it very badly, to say the least.
— I'm sorry to be a burden to you. I thought that by living together, the couples were united, but obviously I was wrong.
He raises his voice, getting more and more angry as he begins to pace the room in front of me.
— United doesn’t mean that I have to pay for everything while you take it easy.
I, too, am exasperated by his unfounded words.
— Because according to you I don't do anything? I spend my time looking for a job!
— That’s the point Mallory. You're just looking. Only, you find less and less, and the few times you're hired, you barely hold a job for a week before leaving and then it starts all over again. It's endless and I'm sick of it!
I don't know if I should laugh or cry. I am so worn out to see our relationship crumbling for so little. Because for me it is ridiculous. As long as we love each other, that should be what mattered the most and our relationship should strengthen through the trials we go through. Only, on the contrary, our relationship is torn apart at every obstacle and I am afraid that soon there will be nothing left despite all the love that we have. I then launch the first idea that comes through my head.
— We should have a child. With no delay.
This has the merit of stopping him and then he sets his eyes on me. I try to explain myself before his anger resumes and he will no longer be listening to me.
— Why wait? You said it yourself, I'm available, I'll have plenty of time to take care of this. What matters is that we love each other and that this child is a proof of it.
Brandon laughs out so loud that it echoes in our sparsely furnished living room.
— You suggest to me to have a baby you will take care of, while I toil like a mad man to take care of you and your offspring?
My offspring? I almost choked on my saliva and somehow I sit down on a chair before collapsing on the floor.
— Because do you really imagine that I still want to have a baby with you? After all our arguments, do you really think I want to be this committed to you?
His eyes are icy while he scrutinizes me, waiting for my answer. However, what can I answer to this? I realize that I was not aware of the gap there was between us. I thought it was only a passing setback and that eventually we would get over it. However, I am far away from reality. I can only speak in a whisper, my voice is stuck in my throat.
— No, I suppose not.
Brandon is worn out. He collapses on the sofa with all his weight, making the seat squeak, while he resumes in a dreary tone.
— Honestly Mallory, I'm not even sure I want to go on.
Second dagger in my heart. I do not want him to clarify his thoughts but at the same time, I need to understand the extent of the damage.
— Continue what?
— Us.
I have to be masochist, asking him to clarify.
— That is?
— I'm not sure I want to live with you anymore. I think we should take a break for a while.
A break... Everyone knows the meaning of "taking a break" for a couple. It is a polite way, if there is one, to break up without saying it clearly. If I had not been sitting, I probably would have fallen to the ground in pain. I'm losing my footing and I need Beth more than ever. I need my best friend to heal my wounds. However, I'm too proud to call for help.
— I'll give you time to turn around, but I'd like you to pack your bags as soon as possible.
Because on top of that he is kicking me out of the house? I stand there with my mouth open and my arms dangling, while my life goes adrift.
— You don't have to look at me that way. You can't afford to pay the rent and the expenses. In any event all the bills already come to my name, and I'm the one who paid for all the furniture.
In one day, I lost everything. My job, my dreams of an ideal life and my fiancé. Ex-fiancé. So I better get used to it right away. I get up with a stiff movement.
— Why wait? I'm going to pack my bags.
— Mallory.
He sighs before he continues.
— Don't take it like that. I do it for the both of us.
I'm choking with rage.
— For us? So, you are kicking me out to repair our relationship?
At least he has the decency to look down.
— You only do it for yourself. And now, if you allow me, I will hurry to pack my things so that my presence will no longer bothers you.
Luckily, Brandon doesn't follow me into the room. I wouldn't have had the courage to continue our verbal jousting. The day is not over and my heart is already in tatters when I pack my clothes in a travel bag. I only take the essentials, having no more space, and the sound of the zipper when I close the bag makes me realize the finality of the last events. I am going to have to start from scratch, to rebuild myself, and I'm going to have to do it alone. Go back to my parents? No need to even think about. I am old enough not to live with mom and dad and then have to account for everything I do.
I leave the house without saying a word and without looking back. Brandon kindly offered me to take his car. I bite my tongue so as not to tell him that he could shove the key up to where I thought. As if it were not to later on scold me for having used HIS car! I'd rather have my feet on fire walking than endure another humiliation.
Chapter 3
Mallory
I don't know how long I have been walking along the road, but the strap of my travel bag is starting to hurt my shoulder and my legs have trouble supporting my weight, to which it is now added the weight of my big bag. I drag myself around aimlessly, not knowing where to go, when a car pulls up next to me. I turn my head in the opposite direction, having no desire to explain to a stranger what I am doing on the side of the road with my stuff on my back. The unwelcome stranger decides otherwise. I hear the passenger window coming down and the music coming from the car twists my eardrums. The hard-core music is carried by the wind at a mind-boggling sound level. Suddenly the sound dies off and a voice that I did not expect addresses me.
— Mal? What are you doing here?
I turn around to be sure I am not hallucinating, but no, it is my friend behind the wheel of his car. I would cry for joy if my tears were not dry. All I do is stare at him, without moving or answering. He then decides to pull over to the side of the road and goes around the car to join me.
— You're okay?
I nod, unable to speak.
— Let me help you.
He takes my bag and throws it in the trunk before opening the passenger door.
— Hop in. I'll take you home. Let’s both talk and you’ll tell me what's going on.
I get into the car like an automaton, always silent, and my friend straps on my seatbelt that I did not even have the reflex to do. I suddenly feel less alone and I hope that emptying my bag will allow me to see more clearly and have a plan for the future, because I cannot wander aimlessly forever.
I realize I had never been to his house. Not even once. His house is small, away from the road and from any neighbors. The small path which leads to his front door is rough and I jump on my seat. That dangerously stirs my stomach, which revolts with these chaotic movements.
— Sorry. I haven't had time to fix the outside of the house yet.
I give him a weak smile, keeping my mouth tight so as not to vomit on the gear stick. Fortunately, it does not last more than a minute and we park in front of a small exposed brickwork house that has a crazy charm.
— It's very pretty.
He smiles at me and a dimple appears on his left cheek.
— Thank you, I inherited it from my grandmother a few years back and I've been trying to revamp it ever since.
He goes around the car to open my door, very gentlemanly.
— Come on. I'll make you a nice cup of tea and we can talk.
He grabs my hand and I think of rejecting it. I have not held the hand of any one but Brandon’s for a long time and this strange, bigger, stronger hand leaves an unpleasant impression on me. My host does not notice my distress and makes me go inside by an old wooden red door that closes after I come in. I barely have time to detail his entrance decorated with a mirror that leads me to a state-of-the-art kitchen, perfectly equipped, with a huge piano and a large island lined with comfortable high stools.
— Sit down there. I'll prepare you some tea.
I take the opportunity to turn around and look at the house with curious eyes. Everything is modern, friendly looking, and yet I feel awkward. There are no photos, no trinkets, no traces of life. Everything is superb, but sanitized, like a show house without a soul. It is difficult to imagine that a single man lives in this place. Where is the mess? The dirty laundry lying around? Any sign of life, please!
— You take two sugars, don’t you?
I turn my attention back to my friend.
— Yes, thank you.
He places my cup in front of me and I take advantage of the warmth on my hands to refocus. It feels good to be taken care of. However, I have to think about what comes next.
— Are you ready to tell me what happened after you hung up?
It is true that when we spoke, I was in tears, confined in my car. My ex-car. Everything became ex after that phone call.
— I told you to call me if you needed to.
