37. Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Seven
Kyla
“Okay, so I can offer month-to-month for now, with the possibility of a six-month lease to a year, depending . . .” Helga, the complex manager of Spokane Sea Apartments, spoke really fast as I looked around the small apartment.
It was a basement unit, and the only thing I could find in my price range. Staying at the hotel wasn’t going to cut it any longer. It was dark and dreary, but it had a room, a kitchen, and a bathroom. A larger wall spanned from the kitchen to the sliding door to the porch. I didn’t even have a TV to mount there.
I wonder if Abi would send me a photo of Josie I could blow up and mount . . .
I exhaled a shaky breath.
I really didn’t need to think about the ranch .
“Depending on what, exactly?” I asked, bringing myself back to reality.
“Credit check and if you pay the rent on time for the first few months. We start out all residents on month-to-month, and then we graduate to leases,” she explained.
“Month-to-month works great, for now. My job is just down the road so the commute will be great. It’s the perfect location. And it’s . . . cute.”
I looked up at the ceiling, noticing a wet stain in the corner. It most definitely wasn’t cute.
“Well, it’s available, if you’re interested. We can get paperwork drawn up and get you moved in. There’s no credit check until you move to a lease.” Helga smiled.
I took a deep breath in. “Yeah, yeah . . . I’m excited.” I choked on the word.
“Perfect, well, Miss Richards—”
I stiffened and lost a breath. Miss Richards. My thumb went to my finger . . . my bare finger.
“—follow me and we’ll get everything started. All I need is the prorated month’s rent and then it will be due on the first of every month.” She waved her arm for me to follow. “Sound like a plan?”
“It does,” I forced out.
It didn’t. But I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.
I was right about one thing, it was close to my tutoring job and the nearby markets. I could walk places and then come home and relax until I did it all over again. Plus, the rent was cheap. I would be able to save until I could find something better.
This is what starting over looked like .
Days later I sat in my new, empty apartment, on the new Ikea sofa I purchased just hours before. I had a twin-sized bed in the bedroom and a night stand next to it as well as a coffee table and my sofa . . . and a single pot of water that was boiling for my mac and cheese.
I longed for bookshelves to line the walls, and a leather couch with blankets hanging over the sides to curl up on with a warm cup of coffee. I didn’t even have a coffee mug yet. Or a coffee maker. I closed my eyes and imagined a woodsy feel to the kitchen, making meals that filled the apartment with the best smells. I wanted the king-sized bed with the fluffy comforter and pillows galore. I craved that homey feeling. One that made me relax the second I walked in the door.
Basically, I wanted Rhett’s house back.
I groaned and my head fell back on the sofa. It wasn’t the first time Rhett had crossed my mind since I left. The entire drive to Spokane I had to convince myself not to cry. I told myself over and over again it was for the best.
Just keep telling yourself that, Kyla.
Grabbing my phone from the couch I turned it over and unlocked it, pulling up Grace’s text feed, desperately needing the distraction.
Me
I need more blankets in my apartment.
The dots began to dance.
Grace
Your apartment needs more than just blankets.
Me
Maybe . . .
Grace
A photo of a certain cow. A certain horse. A certain cowboy . . .
I locked my phone, not even bothering to finish reading the text message. It was silent for a few seconds before another text appeared.
Grace
Sorry, that was inappropriate. You ok?
Me
I’m doing fine.
I lied.
Grace
FaceTime tonight?
Me
Yup. Same time.
Thumbing through my other texts before swiping the messages away, I tossed my phone on the couch beside me.
I was moving backwards. There was an unease settling in my chest and whatever this emotion was. It felt like fear, but I didn’t want to call it that. It was almost as if the confidence I had grown over the last months had disappeared. I was back to being a ball of emotions, waiting for something to happen to unravel me. I was supposed to feel better once I got here. I was supposed to feel free. I was supposed to figure out who I was and what I was doing with my life. Instead, I just felt completely stuck.
I wasn’t supposed to be stuck.
I emptied the box of noodles in the water and leaned against my counter, folding my arms and glaring at my phone.
Maybe you should just . . . text him? He’ll help clear your mind . . . he always did . . .
“Nope,” I said to no one. “Maybe I just need to get a dog.”
But then I remembered my month-to-month lease said no animals.
What I needed was to find a way out of whatever this was and start to push myself forward. I hadn’t made a single plan all summer, which was not who I was. I made plans. I made lists and all that time without them—as amazing as it felt—messed up any “future” I had here.
A list.
A plan.
That’s what I needed to do.
I needed to figure it all out on paper and then things would start to go up .
Placing the wooden spoon over the water I ran to my purse to grab the only sheet of paper I could find and a pen. Flattening the receipt out on the counter I leaned over and wrote:
Get apartment.
Crossed that off instantly.
“Check,” I said.
Find new therapist—transfer records.
Restraining order—research how.
Register car in Washington.
Get new phone number.
Get a divorce.
I stopped and looked at the three words on the crumbled receipt. Get a divorce. Moving my fingers to feel for a ring that wasn’t there anymore, that pit in my stomach grew as the words seemed to get larger on the page.
Dropping the pen, I ran my fingers through my hair, holding the back of my neck.
“Oh hell,” I grumbled, feeling the pit rise into my chest, the tears forming in my eyes.
I missed him.
I missed the way he felt against me. I missed the way his hand would find my hips. I missed the way his eyes would peer into mine, seeming to read my emotions. I missed the way his lips felt against mine, I just missed . . .
I missed all of him.
“This was such a terrible idea.” I pushed myself off the counter and turned back to my mac ‘n’ cheese. I swirled the noodles, drained the water, and went for the milk and butter. Tossing them on the counter, I could feel the pit rise higher than my chest, to my throat, to my vocal cords, and I wanted to scream.
Biting my lip to force the scream down, I spun, dashing for my phone. I needed to hear his voice. I needed to apologize. Tell him I wanted him. Why did I even think leaving was a good idea? Here I was forcing myself to believe that I was doing the right thing, and I was completely wrong.
I grabbed my phone right as it began to vibrate.
Rhett . . .
My heart thumped. It would be just like him to call me right when I decided to reach out to him again. Almost as if he knew I needed to hear his voice. But when I turned my phone . . .
I swallowed.
It’s for the best. Snap back to reality, Kyla. No more daydreams . . .
“Mom,” I answered, sitting down, trying to catch my breath.
I had never texted her back after we had gotten home—I mean, back to Rhett’s place. We had agreed we would once we handled David. I didn’t know if David had been “handled,” or where he was at this particular moment, but it occurred to me that I never called her back. And apparently, she had run out of patience waiting. I braced myself for the worst.
“Kyla, I . . .” she stammered. “Hi.”
“Hi, Mom. I’m sorry I didn’t call you, or text you. It’s been busy here and well . . .” I looked around my apartment. If only she could see me now. I rolled my eyes. “Things just—”
“Kyla, dear, I’m calling to say . . . well . . .” She paused, and I heard her take a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking. ”
I furrowed my brow. “About?”
“About what you said.”
I tightened my lips, not exactly knowing what to say.
“You said a lot of things that stuck with me while you were here with . . .” Pause. deep breath. “Rhett, but it’s just opened my eyes. Honey, we need to talk.”
“Mom I”—I fell on the couch—“don’t really want to talk about Rhett—”
“David called me.”
“Of course he did.”
“He told me you weren’t really married to him.”
“I was—am. I am married to Rhett.”
“I know, that’s why I told him to go fuck off.”
My jaw dropped. I don’t think, in my twenty-eight years, I had ever heard my mother swear. Ever. Not once. Not even shit or damn, and now I was getting fuck.
“I’m sorry . . . what did you tell him to do?”
“Kyla, you were right, and I was wrong. Your father was a terrible man. I was only there to help his image and to create a certain status. I grew to need this life. The status, the money, the lifestyle . . . everything—it was what I needed to survive. And that required me to put up with your father’s bullshit and just take it. I put on that happy face, I pretended to love and care for him in public when I was screaming on the inside. I wasn’t a good mother—grooming you to be basically the same thing as me, not knowing any better, but wanting you to have the same security I had my entire life.”
“It wasn’t security, Mom— ”
“I know that now, but back when you were growing up it was so easy to overlook. David had that status, he had the means to give you the life I had. But that’s not the life you need or deserve. It’s not the life you wanted. As much as I don’t want to admit this, I saw the way Rhett was looking at you. I saw the way he created a fire in you, helped you be able to stand up for yourself and do things that I never could.
“I’m . . .” She faltered, if only for a second. “I’m proud of you, Kyla, for taking over your life. Taking it back and becoming who you are meant to become. You’re finding happiness that I could never find, and I . . . am so proud.”
“Mom . . .” I began to cry. She was saying all the things I wanted her to say for such a long time. She was accepting who I was—who I wanted to be—but it was the wrong time. It was all the wrong time. I shut my eyes tight and willed the tears to stay inside.
“I was hoping I could try to fix things with Rhett. He’s in your life now—he’s your husband, and I would like to get to know him, and you. I want to know who you are now. I was hoping we could plan a trip. Maybe Thanksgiving or Christmas.”
“Mom. I left him,” I blurted out, opening my eyes and allowing the tears to rain down my cheeks.
There was only silence. I could hear muffled noises in the background and then finally a quick breath. “What?”
“It wasn’t real, Mom. I left David and met Rhett on my way to Washington. He offered me his home while he was away and then when David showed up, I freaked. I asked him to pretend to be my husband, but then he proposed. We are legally married, but once we got back from the rodeos and David showed up, I thought it would be better for him if I left—better for me. So, I need to file for divorce.”
“So, he’s not your husband? David was—”
“Wrong. David was wrong, Mother. Rhett was—technically still is—my husband, and god, Mom, I love him. Everything I said to you that night was true. Every. Single. Word,” I emphasized, pointing at the air in front of me as if she could see me. “David was—is—wrong. In every way. He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t care about me. Not the way Rhett does . . . did.” I stammered.
“Did?” she said the word louder, almost as if it shocked her. “He doesn’t care about you anymore?”
“No, I’m sure he still does, but I’m the one who left him.”
She was quiet again and my mind started spinning a million miles an hour. What was she going to say now?
I told you so. You should have known better. This is your mess to try to clean up . . .
“You love him?”
Her question made me blink.
“Yes.”
“Then why the hell did you leave him?”
“Because it was for the best.”
“I don’t care if you thought it was for the best. If you truly love the man—if you have the kind of love that’s in those books and movies—then why make the idiotic decision to leave him?”
“Mom!” I shouted. “I don’t really—”
“I called you because you were right, about everything. I was a terrible mother, but I want to try to make it right, and if I have to start it with some tough love then . . . so be it.” I could almost picture her, standing up from whatever cushy chair she was sitting on to point at me, her eyes glaring into mine as she lectured. “You’re a smart woman, Kyla. You were determined to teach even though we begged you not to, and you were smart enough to figure out that you were in a toxic relationship. You got yourself out of it and you found something that made you smile. Made you—how did you say it?—alive. I saw a change in you while you were here and as much as I didn’t want to see it, it was clear as day. You were confident. You were brave. Kyla, you were alive.”
Alive.
“That’s how he made me feel,” I whispered.
“Well then there’s one answer to this, and I think you are avoiding it—just like you’re used to doing. Just like I did. Don’t ignore it Kyla. If you love him—”
“I do.” I choked.
“Then don’t avoid it.”