9. Angie
ANGIE
Ifeel like I got dragged behind a car for ten miles by the time I get back home.
I skipped the Uber. I partly walked, partly took the bus. Now I’m sweaty, exhausted, and emotionally drained. I texted Nadia because she was waiting to hear from me, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her how awful it was.
Nadia: I’m so, so proud of you, Angie. I know that was hard, but you did the right thing.
God, she’s got no idea.
I keep thinking about Connor’s face on the way back to the apartment. The way it darkened, turned black, like he was filled with so much loathing and hate for me that he couldn’t contain it.
And that ring. Where the hell did he get that ring?
Like he knew I was coming and was ready for it.
I’m shaken when I step into the apartment. The place reeks like weed yet again. I open a couple windows and set up a fan to circulate clean air while my mother lounges in her bedroom, one leg hanging off the mattress, a lump of hair under her blankets.
She probably woke up, got stoned, and passed out again.
It wasn’t always like this. When I was little, Mom kept it together.
The apartment was never neat, but it worked.
I got fed, I made it to school, I had friends.
Mom wasn’t coming to birthday parties and taking me to soccer practice, but she helped with homework sometimes and talked me through my first period.
She wasn’t the best, but she wasn’t the worst.
That changed in high school. She’d always been a flighty hippie, but she got worse and worse as I was able to take on more responsibility.
It was like she knew I could bring in money, take care of the house, essentially do everything she hated doing, and she crawled into herself.
Or maybe she reverted back to what she’d always been, I don’t know.
Now she’s a spineless echo of the woman I knew when I was small.
Nadia texts a few more times but I ignore them.
I start cooking lunch, making sandwiches for me and Mom, since she’ll be hungry soon.
I hear her drag herself from bed not long later, using the bathroom, puttering around before stepping into the hall, her eyes bloodshot and sleepy, her hair messy.
She smiles at me, another joint dangling from the corner of her lips.
“Morning, darling. Where’ve you been?”
“Had a meeting.”
“On a Saturday?”
“Someone’s got to work.”
She snorts and waves a hand. “The fucking man’s got enough little biddies to do his dirty work.”
“I do data entry for a salvage company, Mom.”
“Damn right you do.” She jabs a finger at me, eyes smiling. “You think they don’t know it? You got no other options.”
Unlike you, I don’t have a daughter to mooch off. “Do you mind not smoking in the house?”
She considers the joint quizzically. “This stuff? It’s all natural, you know that.”
“I know, but, Mom—“ I stop myself from saying, it’s bad for the baby, because she doesn’t know yet. “We’re going to get evicted if you keep it up.”
“Nah, it’s legal now. That fucking landlord scumbag has no legal standing. You hear me?! No legal fucking standing!” She waves a fist at the wall.
Someone pounds on the door.
I yelp in surprise. Mom’s face pales, her hand lowering. She gives me a sheepish grin.
“Guess he was listening,” she says, marching to answer the knock.
“Wait a second. At least put out the?—“
I hear the chain pull back and the bolt snap. “Well, hello there, and who would you be?” Mom sounds delighted, which means that’s not Dennis here to answer her challenge.
“Hello, you must be Dawn, Angelina’s mother. My name is Connor Maguire?—“
Holy shit.
I drop the knife I was using to cut a sandwich in half. It clatters to the floor. How long has it been since I left the coffee place? An hour? Maybe two? I took my time getting home, but he’s already here. What the hell is happening right now?
“—if you’re her boss, she’s got a better job than I realized,” Mom purrs as I wheel around the corner, wiping my hands on a towel.
I stop short. Connor’s in the hallway looking as incredible as he did when I left him.
Mom’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest, doing her pouty/flirty thing, which is gross and I’m not thinking about that.
Connor’s eyes latch onto mine, and I feel like a fox in a trap as I try to think of some way out of this.
But there’s no escape.
Connor’s going to kill me.
“Do you mind if we come in? I have something very important to do with your daughter.”
“Not at all. Does he work with you as well?” Mom squints past Connor. “I didn’t know Catholic priests needed day jobs, but it’s no shock in this economy.”
Mom saunters past me, winking, mischief all over her face. She slumps onto the couch and relights her joint.
Connor follows her in, looking like sin, sex, and hell. Behind him is an older man, heavier, wrinkled, gray hair parted to the left. He’s wearing a gray jacket, black slacks, and a typical white priest collar. He peers at me nervously from behind his glasses. A Bible’s clutched against his chest.
“What’s going on right now?” I back away into my living room.
Connor takes in the space with distaste. His eyes drift to my mother and his expression hardens. “Put that out, please.”
“Put out what?” Mom exhales a plume of smoke. It hits the fan and drifts away.
“You can’t smoke around your daughter. You can’t smoke around my?—“
“Okay! That’s enough! Mr. Maguire, I appreciate you making an unexpected house call, but maybe we can go talk in private?”
Connor ignores me. “Put it out, Dawn.”
“Okay, now you’re starting to annoy me. This is my house. This here is legal.” She waves the joint in the air. “Didn’t we just go over this, Angie? What’s with this guy?”
Connor stalks over to my mother, ignoring my protests, stoops down, and rips the joint from her hand. He jabs it out in an ashtray. Mom cringes back in terror and shock, her hands held up like claws in a defensive posture.
“You don’t smoke around your daughter anymore. Do you understand me?”
“I don’t… what the fuck…” She starts to stand. “You mother?—“
“Mom, I’m pregnant.”
I have to shout it so everyone hears. Mom’s anger fades as surprise takes over. Her face pales.
“You’re… what? Are you being serious?”
“She’s pregnant with my child,” Connor clarifies menacingly. “And you will no longer smoke around her. Do you understand?”
“God damn it, Mom, I’m sorry. This isn’t how I wanted to tell you.” I scrub my hands through my hair. “Connor, can we please talk in private?”
“Angie, is this real? You’re pregnant?”
“It’s okay, Mom, we’ll talk later. Connor?”
He turns back to me. “Two minutes. We’re in a hurry. Father Charles, would you mind?”
“Not at all. Take your time.”
I grimace as the priest stands quietly in the corner. I’d forgotten all about him.
“Please, Father, help yourself to the sandwiches in the kitchen. There’s soda… water… Mom can make you tea… we’ll be right back.”
I grab Connor’s hand and pull him down the narrow hall. I’m extremely aware of how small and dumpy our apartment is. The place is cramped and old, and about the only good thing it’s got going is the rent control. Without it, even this much space would be unaffordable for us.
I slam my bedroom door closed. Connor looks around curiously. He lifts a photograph on my desk of me and some friends from the high school soccer team. I snatch it from his hand and toss it on my pillow.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I told you earlier. We’re getting married.”
I throw a hand at the door. “Is that why you brought a freaking priest?!”
“Father Charles is a good friend of my family. He agreed to take care of the ceremony and all the paperwork.”
“Connor. Please listen to me.” I rub the tension spot on the bridge of my nose, gritting my teeth. “We. Are. Not. Getting. Married.”
“Yes, we are.”
“I know you’re doing the whole knight-in-shining-armor thing, but please, I’m begging you, stop. I don’t want to marry you. I don’t want that sort of relationship. We can co-parent, we can be friends and partners, but we are not getting married, okay?!”
“You don’t understand.”
“No, you clearly don’t. I told you today because it was the right thing to do, not because I wanted to force you into making some grand gesture.
And honestly—“ I bite my lower lip, looking him up and down. “You look amazing. It means a lot that you’re doing this and taking it seriously and it’s sweet in a freaky sort of way.
But we are not getting married. We just can’t.
It’s bad enough you told my mom. That’s enough damage for one day. ”
He stands silently listening. When I finish, he moves forward, stalking toward me. I back up until I hit the edge of my bed and end up sitting on my ass, eyes fixed on the massive beast as he looms over me, all his amusement gone.
Replaced by pure menace.
“If you’re done, now it’s time for you to listen.”
“You ass?—“
He drops to a knee. One hand snakes out and grips my hair. I gasp in shock, it happens so fast. Pain flares in my scalp, but he doesn’t pull too hard. I try to push away, hands into his chest, against his warm muscles, but that only makes the pain worse.
“Time to listen. I don’t want to force you like this, but there’s no other option.
I’m supposed to walk down the aisle with another woman in about two hours, and unless I have a very good excuse for not being there, all hell is going to break loose.
As it stands, marrying you is going to cause a lot of trouble, but it’s the only way I can think to protect you through everything. ”
I gape at him, stunned. His fist in my hair is forgotten. Mom and Father Charles and everything disappear. There’s only Connor down on his knees, looking me in the eye, and I realize something.
His anger isn’t rage—it’s desperation.
The suit he’s wearing is his wedding suit.
“The ring,” I whisper, hoarse and confused.
“Meant for another woman. I’ll get you something better, something special for you, but it’ll have to do for now.”
Fuck. Another woman.
What the fuck is going on?
“How… I mean… were you…”