CHAPTER 3 | Abby
The low rumble of my motorcycle signals the end of another workday. I pull my helmet over the loose braid down my back and situate my backpack around my shoulders. I still cannot fathom how I will spend my time without this job after only one more week. Free time has been a foreign concept to me since starting college. I’m sure Sam has ideas even though he hasn’t shared those with me. I bet it has something to do with being a stereotypical housewife. That’s not what I had in mind when I started college.
Literature and writing have consumed me since I was a kid. My parents used to joke about how many books I’d go through in a week. I started writing fanfiction when I was in middle school about characters in the books we had to read for school. It kept things interesting enough for me to care about my other classes.
This semester’s classes have been a little dull on the writing side of things. I’ve kept myself sane by starting my own short story. More for fun than anything, but it helps pass the time.
“How was work?” Sam asks before I fully step through the front door of our apartment. His shoulder-length blonde hair sits loose by his face instead of up in its usual bun.
“It was fine. I started saying goodbye to a few coworkers since I won’t work with them over the next week.” I set my backpack on the brown slatted bench lining the wall between the front door and the kitchen. Light casts shadows through it onto the cream tile at my feet.
“Fuck, Abby! It’s not like you’re never going to see them again,” he snaps.
Great. Not exactly how I wanted to start the evening.
“I know. I’m sorry. I can always hang out with them outside of work.” Except I won’t. I know I won’t.
“Yeah. Speaking of work. Two things. One, have you talked to your TA professor yet?”
I’ve been Dr. Kraus’s TA for a year and Sam still hasn’t taken the time to learn his name. “His name is Dr. Kraus, and no, I haven’t. I’m still not sure I want to quit that one.” I avert my eyes from his downturned brows, but he’s hard to ignore when his radiating anger floods the room. “I really like the job, and it looks really good on a resume.”
“Abby, I already told you. I make enough for both of us. You won’t need to work for the rest of your life, especially with my new position.”
“I don’t want to quit, Sam!” I yell, immediately regretting the words that spilled from my mouth. I can usually filter myself pretty well, but sometimes, the words come out like a raging bull. Heat floods my cheeks as the shame eats at me. I look away to hide my worry-stricken face.
He stands from his barstool, setting his glass of water on the counter. I shrink in place, the bench beneath me not offering an ounce of security.
“Don’t you dare raise your voice at me.” Those words are eerily calm. “I work hard to care and provide for you. What do you plan on doing with an English degree? Become the next Shakespeare? The next Stephen King? I don’t think so. I’m saving you from heartbreak. You should be grateful. We’re done having this conversation. Quit the job and move on.”
He stands in front of me, one hand on his hip, the other rubbing his clean-shaven jaw. I look up to meet the fury in his blue eyes. I used to love looking into those eyes. They used to calm my nerves. I used to see the ocean in them. Now, I see empty promises and white-hot rage. Now, they bring heartache. My hands grip the edge of the bench, knuckles white from the tension. I take a deep breath and drop my gaze to the floor, caving to his demand.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. I understand what you’re saying. I’ll talk to Dr. Kraus tomorrow and let him know that I’ll be done after this semester.”
Once Sam makes up his mind, there is no changing it. No reasoning with him. He won’t negotiate. The pounding of my heart slows as he moves back to his seat at the counter. I don’t dare move from the bench in case I disturb the calm that has somehow kept his fist from my flesh.
“Now, back to what else I wanted to talk to you about.” He pauses to take a long sip of his water as if our fight wore him out. “I leave for a business trip for some additional training in a few weeks. I’ll be gone for two weeks. You can’t come with me. I already asked. Besides, after that little performance,” he eyes me up and down, “I think a little time apart may be beneficial. I don’t want to be with someone who doesn’t trust my opinions. So, keep up the act if that’s the route you want to continue down.”
Ouch. But I can’t say I don’t agree with needing time apart. My heart flutters a little at the thought of having two weeks of almost freedom. That’s the key word, though, isn’t it? Almost. Aside from the location app, he’ll probably tell all his friends to keep an eye on me. They either don’t see the abuse, or they don’t care. Either way, I’ll still be trapped.
“I trust you’ll be able to take care of yourself while I’m gone?”
I nod, unsure of where to go from here. So, I risk it. “I’m going to take the bike out for a bit. I could use a little wind therapy.”
“Fine. Just keep your location on,” he says, not bothering to look up from his phone.
“Always do.” I grab my helmet from the hook and head back out the door.
“Oh, one more thing. There’s a bike meet next Saturday. We’re going. Since your last day of work is the day before, it’ll be a good way to celebrate. The usual group will be joining.”
Celebrate? I’m not sure I want to celebrate my last day of work. But one good thing about Sam? He rides, too. That’s one of the things we bonded over until it turned into me tagging along like a lost puppy whether I want to or not. Sam’s more of a “show off my bike to anyone willing” kind of rider than a casual “enjoy the miles” kind of rider. Still, it provides a little bit of peace even when I’m in his presence. But sometimes, that’s the only way I get any by myself.
“Okay.” When he doesn’t say anything further, I hurry out the door.
As soon as I hear the click of the latch, tears stream down my face. The lump in my throat grows as I walk, and I can’t hold back the shortened breaths that hitch with each inhale. I quickly make my way to the stairwell to hide, the fear of Sam finding me like this all too overwhelming. I don’t know how much longer I can survive in this relationship. It’s toxic. I know that. It’s abusive. I know that. But what I don’t know is how to get out of it.
It never used to be like this. We were happy once; at least I was. When we met during a shared class my freshman year of college, he made my heart leap every time I saw him enter the room. He was so sweet to me. He would write me notes during class and hand them to me before we parted ways. I’d read them on my way to my next class and wouldn’t be able to hold back a toothy grin. Butterflies would take flight from even the shortest of notes. He’d take me out to dinners and always color-coordinate outfits with me. He never made me pay for anything. Looking back on it now, it all seems like a ploy to gain control. And now, cutting off my access to a personal income solidifies the fact that I will never get out of this. It's like climbing a tree. Getting to the top is easy, but getting back down, that’s the hard part, the scary part. He’s working me toward complete solitude. And not the tranquil kind.
The familiar metallic taste of blood coats my tongue. The sore inside my mouth that I have chewed open stings and forces me back to the present. I look around and check my watch, realizing I’ve been sitting in this stairwell for far too long. I need to leave before Sam realizes I’m still here. I don’t want to have to explain why my eyes and cheeks are so puffy. I head down the stairs, out to my bike, and let it take me anywhere but here.
***
I knock on Dr. Kraus’s office door, and it instantly sends my pulse racing. Yesterday’s conversation with Sam has been playing on repeat in my head, and I’ve been working up the courage to talk to Dr. Kraus for hours. I’m sure my pacing has worn a path into the pavement outside the building. I still haven’t figured out how to tell him. When I got back last night, Sam had made dinner and put on one of my favorite movies to watch together. His form of an apology. He told me how much he loves me and that’s the reason he got so upset because he wants “the best for me.” The thought makes me roll my eyes. What’s best for me clearly doesn’t include what I actually want, like dedicating myself to my writing and working a regular job.
“Come in!” a low voice sounds from the other side of the heavy wooden door.
The salt and pepper hair of Dr. Kraus sits behind his desk, a perfect match to the short beard and mustache. “Good morning,” I say with a smile, trying my best to sound as chipper as possible.
He shuffles through a stack of papers on his desk. “Abigail, good morning. What brings you in today?” he asks, completely unaware of the bomb I’m about to drop in his lap.
Me showing up at random is a regular between him and me. When I started working for him, I had taken three of his Shakespeare classes before asking him for advice on my writing. He started out as a mentor for my poems and then I got up the courage to show him one of my short stories. He got hooked on that one. He even had me submit it to the literary magazine on campus, which I ended up getting a spot in. It was my first time being “published” if you can call it that. But it felt like such a huge accomplishment for a sophomore. Now, as a junior, being his TA, I’ve learned so much more from him than I ever thought possible. He never questions me when I bring in my personal work for his opinion.
“Just wanted to chat about a few things. Do you have a minute?” I wipe my clammy hands on my pants to rid them of the sweat.
“Of course. What can I do for you?” He leans back in his leather chair, resting his folded hands on his neatly ironed brown suit, the creases almost crisper than my morning toast. He offers a smile, his attention now fully devoted to me.
I take a deep breath, attempting to calm my nerves. I really don’t want to do this.
“Actually, before I forget, for the summer semester, I’m offering you a raise. Nothing crazy, but it is something. You won’t be required to do any more work than you do now. In fact, you’ll have only half as much work since I’m only teaching two classes. Just a little thank you for all the work you’ve done for me so far.”
Great. Now what am I supposed to say? I can’t quit now. He’s depending on me, and honestly, I don’t want to quit. I love this job. Dr. Kraus has been good to me this year, and I’ve learned a lot from him.
“That’s great news. I’ve loved working with you.” I plaster a smile on my face as if I’m not about to break my own heart, and his.
“Good to hear. So, what were you hoping to talk about?” He leans forward, resting his hands on his desk.
I look at my lap, fidgeting with my fingers, trying to figure out how to break the news to him when the single best idea I’ve had all year comes to me. “I was hoping to ask if working remotely for most of the summer would be an option. I can stop by once a week or so to pick up and drop off work as needed. I’m just hoping to be able to work a little more freely for the summer.”
Sam doesn’t have to know that I’m still working for Dr. Kraus. If I work remotely, he shouldn’t suspect a thing. I can figure out the fall semester later.
“Hmm, not a bad idea. I’ll support it. Why don’t we start by stopping in on Mondays and tentatively on Fridays if needed,” he offers, starting to shuffle through some papers.
“Awesome. Thank you so much. I can assure you my work ethic will not suffer.” I shake his hand before leaving his office.
As I close the door, the hallway is quiet. The fake wood linoleum peels up at the corners as I pass each doorway. Distant footsteps echo between the empty walls of the old building. The heavy wooden doors latch with a loud thud when students and teachers exit one of the classrooms, their voices carrying to the entrance as I leave. The cool spring air graces my face, and I tilt my head up to take in the smell of incoming rain. A warm happiness fills me with each breath.
And then I realize that I did not bring an umbrella, and I rode my motorcycle here. Leave it to me to not check the weather before I leave. I was so focused on how I was going to quit that I didn’t take a minute to think about anything first, like the fact that I now have to hide this secret from Sam, and I’ve never been good at hiding things from him. At this point, all he has to do is look at me in a particular way and I cave to his demands. As I make my way to my bike, an urgency in each step, the vibration of my phone makes me freeze in place.
No. Sam can’t know. He couldn’t have found out already. He wasn’t there, but his cognizance has surprised me before. I squeeze my eyes shut.
I brace for impact as I slowly pull out my phone, relief flooding through me when I see who’s calling.
“Mom?”
“What kind of a hello is that?” she snaps. “Can’t a mother call her daughter just because?”
“Sorry. Hi, how are you?” I ask, trying to recover.
“That’s more like it. I’m fine, thank you for asking. I was calling because I heard Sam was asked to attend an out-of-state financial conference for work. That’s amazing news!”
There is it. Calling to check in on her daughter? No. Lately, she’s cared more about what Sam is up to than her youngest daughter. “Oh, uh, yeah. He told me yesterday. I assume he texted you, too?”
“He did. He sounds excited. I invited you two over for dinner tonight. Sam already said you were available, so I’ll see you tonight!”
Great. Dinner with my mom and Sam. That duo thrives on the toxicity they emit. They are made for each other. “Are Cameron and Will going to be there?” Please say no. Just another person to make awkward small talk with. I haven’t seen my sister in months. I’d rather it just be me, Sam, and my mom and those two can talk all night while I nod along with their discussion, pretending like everything in life is going swimmingly.
“Yes. I invited them over as well.”
Wonderful. “It’ll be a full house then,” I say, with as much pep in my step as I can muster.
“Well, it would be if they’d give me a grandchild already.” I can practically hear her eyes roll through the phone.
“Mom, you know they’re trying.” Cameron and Will have been trying to have a kid for a few years now. It’s not been going well. I can’t exactly relate as I sure as hell am not ready to have kids yet. I would love to have kids someday, but not with Sam. I refuse to bring kids into this relationship. Lord only knows if he would continue the same behavior with them. I shake the thought from my head.
“I know. I’m just excited,” she squeaks through the phone.
“Mmhm. Well, I have to go. I guess we will see you tonight.”
“See you tonight.” Her voice trails off as she hangs up the phone almost before finishing her reply.
“Love you, too,” I mumble as I slip my phone back into my pocket.
Family dinners used to be so much fun when Dad was still around. But now, it’s hard to imagine a family dinner without any drama. I remember when Mom wasn’t so hard to be around. She’s not the mother she used to be. When Dad died, she turned into a completely different person. Losing a husband would change anyone at the core. I don’t necessarily blame her, but she and I rarely see eye-to-eye anymore.
***
A s Sam and I pull into the driveway of my childhood home, the once bright blue door looks dull and sad. The dead Christmas wreath still hangs on the hook, practically screaming for a reason to start a house fire. The welcome mat in front of the door is coated in mud from the rainy season. Rather than knocking or ringing the doorbell, Sam decides to walk in unannounced but gives me a stern look and mouths “be nice” before turning the doorknob. I follow him in holding the bouquet of lilies he insisted I get for her. He assured me they would help keep the mood uplifting.
“Sam! How are you?” My mom almost runs to him, engulfing him in a tight hug. She backs up, still holding his shoulders, and says, “Really, though. How are you?”
“Leslie, I couldn’t be better.” He smiles with his teeth, dimples and all.
“That’s amazing. You’ll have to tell me all about this conference over dinner. I can’t wait to hear about it.” She squeezes his shoulder before turning to me, her short graying brown hair swaying behind her. “Hi, honey.” No hug. Barely even a smile.
“These are for you,” Sam says, taking the flowers from me and handing them to her.
She smiles brightly. “Oh Sam, you didn’t have to do that but thank you so much!” She presses her nose to one of the white lilies, taking a long sniff. She turns toward the kitchen and clicks her chunky heels on the hardwood floor. “Come sit!” she calls over her shoulder. “Cameron and Will are already here. They’re in the dining room. I’m going to find a vase for these.”
Sam immediately moves toward the dining room but stops when he realizes I haven’t started following him. “Abby, come on.”
I roll my eyes but don’t move from the entryway, hoping my expression is conveying my immense desire to go home.
“Abby,” he says, cocking his head to the side. He gives me the look of “if you don’t do what I ask, you’ll regret it” that I’ve come to know so well. “Lets. Go.”
“Sam, you know I don’t like family dinners. It always turns into a ‘be more like your sister’ conversation and I get shit on the whole night.”
He sighs and comes back over to me, cupping my face in his hands. “I like you. Not your sister. That’s what matters. Besides, I’ll keep the conversation away from that. Come on.” He holds a hand out for me to take, wiggling his fingers.
With a little hesitation, I take a deep breath before taking hold of his open hand and letting him guide me to the kitchen table. He pulls out an empty chair for me, allowing me to sit down before helping me push it back in, a gesture to show how much of a “good” boyfriend he is to anyone watching. Will sits across the table from me and offers a small smile through a thick brown beard but quickly sips his beer to avoid further interaction. He tends to be a man of few words when not spoken to. It’s one of the reasons I like him. Sam takes the seat next to me across from Cameron, leaving the two head chairs open for Mom to choose from. Please sit on the opposite end of me.
“How are you two?” Cameron starts. She pushes her glasses up her nose with a knuckle.
“We’ve been good,” Sam answers for us. “We’ve been busy. Especially me with my new job. I don’t want to get into too many details before Leslie comes out. I’ll wait for her before I dive into the good stuff.” He winks at no one in particular. “How about you two?”
I glance at my sister, those same blue eyes secretly eyeing me as well. She quickly turns her head toward Will, acting like I didn’t just catch her staring. It’s been a while since Cameron and I have been in the same room together, let alone talked in general. We’ve never been close. There’s a decent age gap between us, eight years to be exact.
“Good to hear. We’ve been doing pretty good, too. Cameron just got a promotion at work,” Will gloats.
“It’s barely a promotion,” Cameron tries to play it off.
“Honey, a promotion is a promotion. You should be proud! I know I am.” He rubs her back, smiling delightfully at her.
Of course, she got a promotion. Not that I’m not proud of her, but Cameron was always the perfect child growing up, graduating both high school and college with a 4.0 GPA. As much as I have tried to be a perfect child as well, I have apparently fallen short according to my mother. And now, she’s basically the perfect adult daughter, too. I, on the other hand, am not.
“What’s this about a promotion?” Mom asks, walking out of the kitchen with a red casserole dish of lasagna. She sets it on the floral-patterned hot pad in the middle of the table before taking her seat in the chair right next to me. “Abby, dear, could you go grab the green beans from the stove for me?”
Great. Sit next to me. Just what I wanted. “Sure thing, Mom.” I get up from the table, thankful for a reason to leave all the career talk. I can’t exactly relate to that anymore. I hear the conversation from the kitchen as I take my time returning to the table.
“Cameron got a promotion at work. She’s now her department’s hiring manager,” Will says happily.
“That’s amazing!” Mom says. When I return with the bowl of steaming green beans, Mom is taking a square of lasagna. She offers the spatula to Sam before turning her attention back to Cameron. “So, what does this mean salary-wise?”
Cameron shoots me a glaring eye. The only thing Cameron and I seem to agree on is that Mom is greedy for family money. She seems to think that she has a right to whatever money we make, including Will since he’s married in. I swear, one of the big reasons she likes Sam is because he makes good money. She will blind herself to anything else the second she sees dollar signs.
I attribute this greed to Dad’s death. Mom and Dad were about to get a divorce before he died. I don’t blame my dad for Mom’s sudden attachment to money, but it definitely made her greedy. During all the legal paperwork, Dad changed his will so that Cameron and I were the beneficiaries of everything. I’m not allowed access to it until I turn twenty-five, so it’ll still be a few years. Mom wasn’t aware of this, so when she found out she wasn’t getting any of it, she was furious. A grieving and angry mother makes for a rough year. The emotions don’t mix well, and she took it out on us. She still does, it seems. Not to mention, we had to grieve the loss of our father on top of it. Our needs fell to the wayside trying to make Mom happy again, but I think it’s safe to say that she won’t ever be fully satisfied with life, that is unless she gets the money she feels entitled to.
“It’s a bit of a raise,” Cameron says, hoping to avoid the full question. She shoves a forkful into her mouth so that she doesn’t have to keep talking.
“But how much? Do I get to retire early?” Mom laughs as she asks the question, but I know she’s not joking.
“Funny,” Cameron says with a fake chuckle. I notice she shoots Will a sharp eye.
Without hesitating, he clears his throat and speaks up, changing the subject. Thank God. “So, any fun plans this summer, Abby?”
Not exactly the subject change I was hoping for. I plaster a smile on my face as I finish a bite of my food. I look to Sam as he is the one responsible for my recent job changes. “Just taking it slow. Hoping to enjoy the warm weather.” Honestly, I hadn’t thought about what else I would do this summer. Last summer I worked almost every day. I picked up shifts at the cafeteria as often as I could. Not because I wanted to help my mother, but because I wanted to set myself up for a better future. Someone’s got to pay for my schooling. Turns out that someone is Sam now.
Attending Oxly specifically has been my way of avoiding the need to live with my mother. It’s only about a forty-five-minute drive from home, but it’s just long enough that it would be too much to do every single day. It gave me an out, and I was not going to waste the opportunity.
Sam pipes in to give a more pleasing answer, knowing my mother won’t be satisfied with the one I provided. “She’s focusing on her writing this summer,” he starts. Excuse me? Writing? Says the one who just got done berating me for wanting a writing career. “I, on the other hand, will be able to provide for the both of us with this new job,” he says, taking over the conversation. I hide my disgust by stuffing my mouth with a large bite of green beans.
“Yes! Tell me about your new position. I’m excited to hear all the perks and big money you’re going to make.”
I roll my eyes before taking another bite. Sam tells my mother all about his new finance position. He explains what the out-of-state conference that he’s attending next month is and makes sure to flaunt just how much he is getting paid just for that trip, which, by the way, is an obnoxious amount.
I pace myself with my food, not wanting to finish my plate too soon out of fear of having to talk, but not wanting to eat too slowly for fear of someone noticing and asking me why. It’s things like this that I’ve gotten good at, things most people wouldn’t ever pay attention to.
As we put our shoes back on to leave, I hug my mom and wave a hand back at her from the front steps.
“Well, Sam, if I don’t see you before you leave for work, good luck!” she yells from her place at the front door.
“Thank you!” he replies before hopping in the driver’s seat of his car. The engine fires up with a low hum and we both click our seatbelts in place. The headlights illuminate the dense fog that has accumulated in the cool night air.
My mom’s figure disappears as the front door shuts. “One sec,” I say, getting out of the car again. I run up the sidewalk, grab the wreath off the door, and toss it into the black garbage bin by the garage. As much as I struggle to get along with my mom, I’m not quite ready for a call from the fire department, or a funeral home for that matter.
Sam watches me get back into the car with a sweet smile and waits for my seatbelt to click back into place. “That went well.”
I raise an eyebrow and turn to look at him. “Well? I think semi-okay is a better word for it. She’s obsessed with money, even when it isn’t hers to take.”
“I know, but I think it could have gone a lot worse. Plus, can you blame her? She was supposed to get your dad's life insurance and suddenly didn’t. I think that would make anyone mad.” He doesn’t take his eyes off the road as he speaks.
“Can you blame him? They were about to get a divorce. They didn’t love each other anymore. It’s not like he planned on dying so soon.” Tears start to well up in my eyes.
He sighs. “I know.” Is that a hint of defeat I hear in his voice?
The rest of the drive home is silent. Thankfully, I think Sam picked up on my mood and realized that talking would only make me feel worse. With the windows down, the cool air and wind fill the void. The sound of the tires on the pavement allows my brain to tune out as I watch the trees pass one by one. He holds my hand in his, a rare calming presence.
It’s the sweet moments like this and the conversations that don’t end in fighting that make me feel crazy. They make me feel like this is a normal relationship, like maybe I’m overreacting to everything. He's capable of being a loving boyfriend, but sometimes, I wonder if he’s forgotten how. Or maybe he doesn’t want this anymore but doesn’t have a way out either. And then I remind myself that it hasn’t always been like this and he’s capable of choosing, as am I, which is why I choose to be as compliant as possible. I chose the easier path. Maybe that makes me a coward, but I don’t know that I have the capacity to choose otherwise.
Sometimes, I try to imagine if my dad would have liked Sam. I don’t think he’d be as clueless as my mom is at this point. I haven’t really given her a chance to know the truth, though, either, but I wish I didn’t have to. I think he would have liked him in the beginning. Hell, everyone did, even Meredith. But it turns out, even she picked up on the truth. Because she hates him now.
When we get home, the soft bed calls my name as I slip under the covers and drift off to sleep.
***
I n the morning, I head off to work. I still can’t fathom not having a regular job to go to. Being a housewife is far from my idea of fun.
The empty chair behind the cafeteria computer calls my name.
Days always pass faster when you don’t want them to. As the last hour approaches, I feel Meredith’s eyes on me.
“What?” I ask without turning to look at her.
“I’m not ready for you to quit.”
“I’m not either,” I admit, taking a deep breath.
“So don’t quit.”
I finally turn and notice the sullen look on her face. “I have to.”
“No, you don’t, Abby. Sam doesn’t have to control you. You have a right to autonomy.” She’s practically begging at this point.
“Mer, he doesn’t control me. It’s my decision, too,” I lie.
She raises an eyebrow. “If it were your decision, you’d still have a job.”
“I do have a job. For one more week.” A lame attempt at a joke.
It doesn’t slip past Meredith one bit. “Not funny.” She quickly cashes in a meal before sending the student on their way. “Abby, listen to me.”
I sigh and cock my head, turning my chair to give her my full attention.
“Sam is not the one for you. The fact that he’s forcing you to quit your job is not how happy, healthy relationships work.” I open my mouth to defend him, but she cuts me off before I can start. “Stop. Listen to me. It’s not okay. It’s manipulation. I’ve seen the bruises. You think you hide them well, but your makeup doesn’t always work. Do you know how I can tell when Sam is calling or texting? You stiffen up, almost as if he’s right next to you. You have to stand up for yourself and be the woman I know you can be, the woman I know you are. And the next time I suspect something, I’m calling the cops.”
I straighten up at that last comment but force my face to remain still even though it's begging to contort to shock, frustration, and ultimately, sadness. “Mer, I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I am capable of making my own decisions. Sam and I are a package deal.” A line has built up at a different register. Students have clearly been avoiding our lines. I raise my hand and yell towards them, “I can help the next person in line.”
Meredith doesn’t turn her chair back until a few students have gathered in front of her. She glares at me until the student in front says, “Can I check out please?” Meredith sighs but gives in.
This conversation is over. I’m not going to argue with Meredith about this, too. My decision has been made and I won’t be changing my mind. I don’t know that I could even if I wanted to.