11. Cora
eleven
cora
I ’m in desperate need of a girls night, not that I’ve ever really had any real friends in years. Those teen movies from the 90s gave me some seriously unrealistic expectations for how easy it would be to make friends, especially in adulthood.
Bethany unlocks the door to her apartment and leads me into the small kitchen. Placing the groceries we picked up on the counter, the bottles of wine clink together. My heart races as I prepare to meet Bethany’s friend. I hope she likes me.
Out of habit, I cross to the door and lock it. As I turn, Bethany is beside me.
“It’s safe here,” she reassures me, “but we can totally keep it locked if you’d like.”
I clear my throat, shifting on my feet. “Yeah, I’d feel better with it locked, but only if that’s okay with you.”
Bethany gives me a soft smile. “Of course. Let’s go get ready for dinner.”
I follow her back into the kitchen.
“Would you mind grabbing three wine glasses from that cabinet by the sink?” Bethany asks.
“Sure. So, you said that your friend is coming tonight, right?”
Bethany unloads the snacks from the canvas totes. “My friend Imogen is coming over. She has a toddler at home and needs a night to relax and recharge. That son of hers is cute as a button, but a complete menace, just like his mama.” She laughs, carefully arranging a charcuterie board for us to snack on.
“Scientists need to study charcuterie boards, because they’re so damn addictive.” I walk back to her with the glasses in hand, placing them on the counter before snagging a cracker and piece of cheese.
“I couldn’t agree more. Give me a plate of fancy ass crackers, meats, and cheeses any day of the week, and I’m a happy girl,” Bethany says, uncorking the bottle of wine. She pours an even amount of the deep red liquid into each glass.
“I knew that you were my kind of people,” I tell her, popping an olive into my mouth.
There’s a loud knock on the front door that makes me freeze, and Bethany goes to answer it. I’m thankful that she didn’t seem to notice my reaction.
“B, I’m claiming an entire bottle of wine for myself tonight,” a voice calls down the hallway. A petite woman with dirty blonde hair emerges with two pizza boxes in her arms. Her face looks familiar, but I can’t place where I would know her from.
The woman sets the boxes down and the heavenly aroma of garlicky sauce and cheese hits my nostrils. Bethany follows behind her and grabs a glass off the counter to hand to her friend. She then opens one of the pizza boxes and the smell is heavenly.
“Imogen, this is Cora, my new vet assistant I was telling you about. Well, vet assistant and new friend, to be precise.” Bethany smiles over to me.
I go to shake Imogen’s hand, but she ignores it and wraps me in a welcoming hug.
“I’m a hugger, girl. You’re going to have to get used to it.” She laughs, but it isn’t a typical laugh. Imogen laughs with her whole body and her charm is infectious.
After my initial shock, I return her hug with enthusiasm. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
Bethany hands us each a plate that we load up with pizza and small bites from the charcuterie board. In the living room, she has the comfiest sofa I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s deliciously overstuffed and huge, making it the perfect place to chat and binge watch trashy TV shows.
I take a seat and Bethany turns on the latest episode of Below Deck , but we don’t end up watching. Instead, we talk for what feels like hours about our lives, the strangest romance novels we’ve ever read, and laugh until our stomachs hurt. Within such a short amount of time, these women make me feel like I belong.
The conversation turns to the topic of the worst partners we’ve ever had.
“I once dated a guy with a ponytail that cheated on me constantly,” Bethany admits and makes a gagging noise. “It was a dark time, let me tell you that. I woke up one day and didn’t understand how I ever found him or his BS attractive.”
“Oh gross, I remember him. What a fucking weirdo,” Imogen replies, rolling her eyes. He must have been bad to have that reaction.
Imogen bounces on the couch. “My turn. I once dated a guy who, in the middle of a date, asked me to help him set up his dating profile because he wanted to keep his options open. He knew that I enjoyed writing and thought I could really help sell him on the sites.”
“Shut up!” I cackle. “What the hell is wrong with men?”
“I’m so thankful that I found my husband. The man is quirky, but in an adorable way, you know? Not in a sleep with one eye open kind of way. Plus,” Imogen adds, wiggling her eyebrows, “he’s good with his hands. What about you Cora? Spill sister!”
“Um, well…” Do I tell the truth or make up something? I don’t want to be the bummer that ruins the night.
“Hey.” Bethany places a comforting hand on my arm. “At the coffee shop, you mentioned that what you went through with your ex is still fresh. You don’t have to share anything you aren’t comfortable with.”
I avert my eyes, and my fingers latch onto a strand of my hair. The shame I feel for accepting his abuse for so long claws at me.
“Oh shit, I had no clue that you just recently went through something. I’m so sorry for asking,” Imogen says, giving me a look of compassion, not pity, which I appreciate.
My hands tremble and I can feel the burn of tears threatening to escape. Maybe it would feel good to get this off my chest? It may seem fast, but Bethany and Imogen feel like genuine people. I’ve avoided speaking about this out loud to anyone besides Jack, as if not talking about it would make it all go away. So far, it hasn’t worked.
I lean back against the sofa, folding my feet beneath me. “Where do I even begin?”
“At the start?” Imogen blurts out, immediately slapping a hand over her mouth.
Her outburst lightens my mood a bit.
I release a shaky breath. “Being with my ex was always a mind fuck.”
Talk about an understatement.
“On paper, Ryan was a perfect catch. He graduated from an Ivy league school, helped run his family’s business, and was impossibly charming.” I pause and look at the women who, just hours ago, were acquaintances, but now hold space for me to share my experience. Each has placed their wine glasses on the coffee table and turned to give their undivided attention.
I take a deep breath and continue.
“I just couldn’t believe that a man like that would be attracted to me. It’s embarrassing to admit, but my self confidence was so low at the time that I was willing to accept scraps of attention from him.
“Being a narcissistic bastard, Ryan loved having me fawn all over him. The real trouble began when he met my parents for the first time. Mom and Dad instantly knew that something was off, but I didn’t want to hear it. Ryan convinced me that my parents just didn’t understand our love, and that distance would be for the best.”
I pause, eyes burning, trying to figure out how I’d gotten to that point, how I allowed myself to be sucked in by that man. My heart aches for the time I lost with my parents, especially my dad, during those years.
“Cora,” Imogen’s voice snaps me out of my self-loathing and reaches an arm around my shoulders. “Honey, you aren’t the first woman to be fooled by a man, and you won’t be the last. My Granny always told me to never trust a man with a pretty face, because they always have a hidden agenda. That man you were with sounds like a piece of work already.”
A laugh bursts from me, a warm feeling spreads across my chest. “I could’ve used your grandmother back then,” I reply. “Unfortunately, I ignored every single red flag that was screaming for me to pay attention.”
Relaxing against the back of the couch, I feel comfortable enough to continue. “It started out small, with him wanting to spend every moment together. It didn’t seem like a big deal. I mean, most couples spend a lot of time together. But with Ryan, it was every waking moment. God forbid I wanted to spend time with my friends or family every now and then. He would throw a fit and say I didn’t love him, or question if I was seeing someone else. Then there were his sneaky criticisms. My hair was too red. I should join a gym. Was I sure I wanted to eat that cookie? My job wasn’t good enough. He beat me down mentally and isolated me until there was nobody left but him. Actually, him and his rich mommy, who’d coddle him like the manchild he really is.”
At this point, my face burns and my hands shake with barely contained rage. I put up with that asshole’s abuse for years, willingly letting him put a divide between my parents and I. Hell, I almost missed being able to say goodbye to my dad at the hospital before he passed because of him.
No, that’s not true. I allowed myself to be manipulated.
My self-loathing kicks into overdrive. “The worst part is that I actually moved out of his place and went back to my own apartment to get some space. There I was, on the verge of freedom, and I allowed myself to get sucked back in. He would show up there all the time, begging me to take him back. He’s even shown up at my work crying about how he was a changed man. Stupidly, I believed him when he said he changed and moved back in. Of course, nothing changed. Things only got worse until I knew that I had to leave him for good.”
“Babe, I can see those wheels turning. You know that you aren’t to blame for what happened, right?” Bethany asks quietly, reaching over to squeeze my hand.
“Bethany’s right. You were manipulated and emotionally abused by someone that you thought loved you. There are far too many women who have experienced the same thing and stay in it. You are strong for getting out.”
I can’t express how badly my soul needed Imogen’s words.
The tears that I’ve been holding back break free, streaming down my cheeks. My shoulders shake as heavy sobs wrack my body, my hands covering my face. Ryan treated crying as a sign of weakness, but these tears are anything but weak. It’s cathartic to release years worth of frustration, fear, and despair, even if it is in front of women that I’m just getting to know.
A short while later, the tears stop and my breathing returns to normal instead of feeling like I just ran a marathon. Bethany hands me my glasses that apparently fell off my face at some point.
“Thank you both.” I smile at them both. “Next time, I promise I won’t have a breakdown.”
The three of us laugh, and Bethany adds, “We all need a good cry sometimes. That’s what friends are for. To pick you up when you’re feeling down.”
“Basically, she’s saying that you’re stuck with us, and that we have your back,” Imogen chimes in, snagging a chip from the bowl on the table and popping it into her mouth.
The rest of the night flies by eating way too many snacks, drinking way too much wine, and laughing harder than I thought possible. For the first time since childhood, I have friends and feel like I’m enough.