2. abbi #2
I’ll say one thing about Oliver Stone. He appreciates his staff.
It shows in the way he personally thanks us and in the generosity of our paychecks.
This is one of the highest-paying secretarial positions in the city, and the extra perks of the onsite gym, allocated parking, and regularly supplied lunches and treats are always appreciated.
“You’re welcome, Mr. Stone. I hope they’re up to Pam’s usual standard.”
He frowns at me. “How many times do I need to tell you to call me Oliver? And I’m sure your minutes are perfect.
Jase has them, and once he’s looked them over, he’ll give them to me.
I’ll have them back on your desk tomorrow morning with any changes if needed, and then I’d appreciate it if you could email them out to the shareholders.
Even the members who couldn’t attend today. ”
“No problem.” I smile up at him.
“Enjoy your evening. See you tomorrow,” he says as he turns on his heel.
My stomach falls and rolls as I think about what tonight will bring. “You too,” I call to his retreating form, which he acknowledges with a wave over his shoulder.
He’s changed since he met and married his wife, Kate, a kindergarten teacher.
He’s softer and more approachable than he was two and a half years ago.
I’m certain he demanded we call him Mr. Stone before he met her.
He’s always been a fair and generous boss, but there’s a friendliness to him that was missing before.
Working here feels more like being part of a family than working in an office.
I can guarantee he checked in with Pam at some point today; probably even sent her flowers from his sister-in-law’s florist shop.
That reminds me, Blooms and Balloons will probably be the best choice for flowers for Prue’s wedding. I drag out my phone and make a note to mention the shop to her when we start to make the arrangements.
I sigh as my computer screen goes black.
I really lucked out when I got this job five years ago.
Prudence was in her senior year and didn’t need me around before and after school, and Murphy was already serving in the army, so I figured it was time to find full-time work after working part-time in a real estate office.
My boss, Simon, knew I wanted more hours but couldn’t offer them to me at the time.
He also knew his college friend, Jase, was looking for someone to fill a secretarial position here, so I applied for the job.
It was hard to leave Simon because he was fantastic to work for and very flexible when it came to the kids and the responsibilities that come with being a mother who was the primary carer more often than not.
But it was time to move on, and I haven’t looked back.
My mind wanders as I drive home through peak-hour traffic.
Now that I don’t have work as a distraction, my thoughts turn to this morning and Nix’s expression when I asked for a divorce.
He seemed shell-shocked, but he did a good job of pretending everything was okay for Prue.
God, I can’t believe our baby is getting married.
It seems like yesterday we brought her home from the hospital.
Life is passing by so fast, which is why I need to live mine instead of fading into the shadows and going through the motions.
I pull into the garage, unsurprised to find it empty, and climb out of my car.
Nix insisted on buying this property on the edge of the city because of the extra land.
He didn’t want to have neighbors on our doorstep, but it takes over an hour to drive home on a good traffic day.
Today was not a good traffic day. Glancing at the time, I wince. I’d better start dinner.
Without changing out of my work clothes, I wash my hands and gather the ingredients I need.
I dice and roast the yams and cook the chicken, onions, and mushrooms. I’ve barely eaten today, and the cooking smells set off my stomach, so I press my hand against it.
Once the chicken mixture is cooked, I prepare the pearl couscous, then mix everything together.
Nix and the kids love this dish, and it’s pretty quick and easy to make, as well as making great leftovers.
I set the table for two and dish up two plates, then place them in the warmer until Nix arrives.
I check the time, and my stomach tightens.
He should be home any minute. I’m not looking forward to the discussion he wants to have—the one we desperately need to have.
The timing couldn’t be worse with Prue’s upcoming wedding.
How could I have known she’d announce her engagement this morning?
The people-pleaser in me wants to revoke my words to keep the peace until after the wedding.
But if I’m being honest, there will never be a good time for something as huge as separating lives that have been intertwined for decades.
Dread curls in my stomach when I think about my future without Nix by my side.
Not that he’s been by my side for most of our marriage.
I let things slide and learned how to cope when he was serving in the army.
How could I expect more from him when he was away most of the time?
He doted on us and gave us every minute of his time whenever he was home.
He gave us everything he could whenever he was with us, and it was enough to fill the gaping holes he left each time he was deployed.
The problem lies with me; I expected more from him once he retired from the army and was with us full-time. And, well, things didn’t happen the way I’d imagined. I tried to drop hints, but they always fell on deaf ears.
I watch the sky as dusk paints it with slashes of peach and fuchsia.
Dropping my gaze lower, I try to envision what we can do to make our stark backyard beautiful for Prue’s wedding.
We had so many plans, but Nix got busy with his business, and it’s still as bare as it was when we moved in.
Sitting at the table, listening to the seconds and minutes tick by on my grandmother’s old-fashioned wall clock, my blood heats and temper boils.
He wanted to talk this morning. Now, when we have the time, he’s nowhere to be found.
Typical.
Minutes march on, and the sky changes to deep blue and purple.
Sitting in the now-dark kitchen, my anger turns to disappointment, and disappointment finally turns to acceptance.
This is how it is now. This is why I asked for a divorce.
And why I have to build a life without him.
I can’t let guilt get in the way and steal away more of my life.
It’s clear I don’t matter to Nix. Not anymore.
Everything else is always more important than me and our marriage.
Sighing, I push away from the table and head to our bedroom to change out of my work clothes.
Dejection is my companion as I make my way down the hallway, change, and choose my outfit for work tomorrow.
I wash my makeup off, lather on moisturizer to combat the dryness of my skin since I started perimenopause, and tie my hair up.