3. Audra #2
"Did you talk to Pete?" I ask because that's the only explanation I can think of. My husband would have had to have authorized this. Right?
"No worries, Mrs. Hale, you're our ten thousandth customer since we opened; the repairs and replacements are on us. Your Altima is as good as new. Stevie will drive it by later."
I blink. What? "What?"
"The boss said you're our ten thousandth customer, so the repair was on us." He repeats like I didn't hear him the first time.
"That can't be?—"
"Have a nice day, Mrs. Hale." He hangs up, and I stare at the phone.
"Bad news?" Mom asks.
I shake my head. "No, not really, I guess I won a car repair."
"Like the purse?" Mom's suspicion radar moves up into the red. "Like you not getting a ticket when you were arrested?"
I shrug. "All good things come in three, right?"
As if on cue, the doorbell rings.
"There's someone at the door," Mom observes.
That must be my car. Fishing a five from my Gucci wallet, I run to the door.
It's not Stevie. It's a woman in one of those casino outfits, holding up two garment bags and an envelope.
"Congratulations. You've won our contest and are invited to The Dominion for the annual masked ball, The Obsidian Masquerade. "
"What?" It seems I've been asking that a lot lately.
The woman smiles happily, holding out the garment bags, "It's all paid for. You also get a full weekend at the royal suite at the Dominion."
She pushes the card and bags into my hand and takes off.
"Well, looks like someone is on a lucky streak," Mom observes.
I close the door, still holding the five dollars in my hand that I was going to tip Stevie. A ball?
There's no way Pete and I can go. A small laugh escapes me. We can't even leave the house together for a date night or to go out to dinner. Mom always calls thirty minutes after we leave with a panic attack, real or imagined.
"Sounds like fun," Mom says, eyeing the bags.
"We can't go," I shake my head.
"Nonsense, of course you can. I've been feeling so much better lately."
Really? That's news to me.
I pull out a drawer to put a few pens away, and my eyes fall on the little orange pill bottle that holds my Zoloft.
My brows knit in concentration when I try to remember if I took one of them this morning.
I've been doing that a lot lately, forgetting simple things, like did I take my pill?
Before I can decide if I did or didn't and if I should just take one, my phone rings again.
"Pete!"
"Hi, sweetheart. How are you?"
The second I hear his voice, something inside me settles.
It's ridiculous how fast it happens. The tightness in my chest from walking into the house, the way Mom's eyes scanned the bags, the way she stood too close, it just…
loosens. Pete always does that. He's been the calm in my storm since I was eighteen.
Why did I forget about that? Why have I been harping and focusing so much on the negative lately? That's mom, not me.
"I'm good," I tell him, and I mean it. "Guess what?"
"What?"
"They fixed the car."
He laughs. "Already?"
"Already. And they didn't charge us a dime. Said we were the ten thousandth customer."
"Oh wow. That's super. I have good news too. Your luck is contagious," he laughs, giddy as a schoolgirl.
I feel a twinge of unease deep in my stomach. Because all this luck? This isn't us. Who wins a freaking Gucci purse, matching wallet, and the whole nine yards? Then gets their car fixed for free and wins tickets to a masque ball that costs as much as our house?
I'm about to voice it, but Pete beats me. "You're not going to believe this."
"What?"
"I got it."
My heart jumps. "Got what?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.
"The promotion. Senior analyst."
For a second, I just beam at the wall like an idiot. "Oh my God, Pete. That's amazing. Congratulations."
He's been working himself into the ground for this, even more than before. Late nights. Extra certifications. Volunteering for projects no one else wanted. More money for us. More security. More breathing room.
"You deserve it," I say softly, pushing my doubts about our luck back down, because I don't want to spoil his moment, no matter my misgivings.
Because honestly, I can't figure out any sinister motives behind somebody orchestrating me winning all these things, and Pete's promotion is well deserved. Maybe it is just luck.
"I was hoping you'd say that."
Mom clatters something loudly in the sink. One dish. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Six. She has two cats. Two! How often does she feed them? I wonder if I should be concerned about that.
"Hey," Pete brings my focus back on him. "The guys want to take me out to celebrate. Just drinks. Nothing crazy."
He hesitates. Like he's asking permission.
"That's great," I encourage immediately. "You should go."
"Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure." I try to sound convincing even though a sour lump forms in my throat.
I've been wanting to go out with Pete for months now, and he's shot me down every single time.
Yeah, I know, Mom. But we could ask Maggie, his sister, to babysit her.
This is more about Pete not wanting to go.
He laughs quietly. "If you want me to come home and help with your mom?—"
"No, no," I cut in quickly. Feeling a bit of guilt because he's been working so hard.
He deserves a night out. I just wish it were with me, not the guys from the office.
Totally selfish. So I add, "It's all good.
We're good. You go celebrate. You deserve it.
" I mean that. I do. He needs a good time, too.
He's been carrying so much. And maybe now that he has the promotion, he'll make more time for me again?
I'm not sure quite when it started, but we hardly ever spend any time together anymore.
Just him and me. When I suggest something—even something small, like a walk around the neighborhood—he's busy.
Tired. Already thinking about the next thing that needs fixing, planning, and handling.
And I feel like I've become part of a routine.
His routine. A warm body standing in the corner, ready when he needs it.
Every once in a while, he remembers that I'm there, that I have feelings—go to the party, have fun—but those moments are becoming less frequent.
In my worst moments, I feel like I'm just a necessary ornament to him.
One that fixes his food and warms his bed.
The kind of presence you don't have to think about… because it's always there.
And I hate that I think that. It's not fair. My eyes land on the ball invitation, and a funny feeling spreads through my stomach. There is no way he's going to blow off a ball. It's not something we've ever been invited to. Maybe we can rekindle some sparks then.
I push down the desire to go with him tonight, too, to sit next to him while his coworkers clap him on the back and toast him. Celebrate him.
Behind me, Mom drops another dish into the sink.
"Are you sure?" Pete checks again.
"Yes," I put as much enthusiasm in my voice as I can. "Absolutely. We'll celebrate when you get home. I promise. You go have some fun. I love you."
There's a smile in his voice now. Relief. "I love you so much. More than you'll ever know."
I close my eyes for a second. I do know. That's the thing. I know he loves me more. He's always loved me more. It makes my chest feel warm, safe, and chosen... Pete is real. Solid. Steady. Good. And I am lucky. So lucky.
Even if, lately, it feels like something else is circling just outside the edges of my life.
Which might just be my imagination, because if I'm really honest with myself, I'm…
dissatisfied. Yes, I'm safe. But I need…
more. Not much. Not the danger of a biker gang.
Just something that gives me a tiny thrill.
Something that doesn't revolve around the five o'clock news and dinner.
I feel like I've been in limbo for the last six years of my life. Waiting for it to… evolve?