Chapter 4
Bea
Saturday was one of my favorite days, the one day a week that I made sure I had no writing quotas to meet or projects to turn in. I usually spent the day reading or catching up on house work that I had neglected. I was a ghostwriter, which meant that I had to write stories for a publishing company that I would never see my name on. I was okay with that, though. I never did like the limelight too much anyway. Today, I was reading a romance novel, preparing for a book I was starting on Monday in the same series. Romance was never my favorite genre of books. I was more the fantasy or science fiction kind of girl when it came to reading, but research was research, and at least I got to do it in my fleece pajamas by the light bouncing off the glistening snow out the window.
I knew in some ways, freelancing held me back, keeping me from really moving forward in life when it came to relationships and friends, but I was happy being on my own. I was never the girl that liked to be in front of everyone, and I got terribly nervous talking to my bosses. Now, when I had to speak to a client, it was through email or chat, which was much less intimidating. All in all, I loved my career, and I loved that I could spend my afternoons reading other people’s work and get paid for it. It was something that kept me on this crazy six day a week, fifteen hour a day job schedule.
As far as the love story was concerned, it was dreamy and sweet, with a hint of sarcasm, which was my specialty in these types of stories. I had to get down the writing style of the last author so it seemed like the books fit together well. The main character of the story, the strong male lead, was handsome, rugged, sweet, and a little bit wild. He treated women like gold, especially his sudden love interest. The way I imagined him handling her fragile sensibilities and typical, female-character emotional issues, made me slightly jealous of the type of man that existed in the confines of those pages. I knew it was just a book, but thinking about my love status and the fictitious hunk of man-love in the book, I wished that Grant was a little bit more like him.
Grant was hard-skinned. He rarely ever showed affection and wasn’t comfortable with hugging and holding hands, those things that make a girl feel special. I tried to be understanding. He came from a very businesslike family, wrought in handshakes and head nods. He had a mother who was more worried about the club members than putting him to bed on time. His nanny was very professional, that typical award winning English nanny, so hugs weren’t her forte, either. I just wished that he would loosen up a bit, even maybe want to hug me or show me affection. To be honest, sometimes it worried me since I was planning on one day having a family with this man. We had talked about children a couple of times, and he discussed it like buying a horse, making sure that they were born and bred for success. I had told him I didn’t want a nanny, but he brushed me off, calling me absurd and telling me that we would talk more about it when the time came. I just let it go, though, knowing he would probably not even be around enough to pay attention to me raising the child over a nanny’s care.
I shoved the thoughts to the side when I heard a key in the front door. Grant was coming over to hang out for a while, like he had promised. When he walked through the door, though, dressed to the nines, I could tell he had a different definition of hanging out. I put my bookmark in the book and walked across the room, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek. He looked at me, confused for a moment, staring at my sweatpants and warm socks.
“Darling, why aren’t you dressed?” he asked. “I told you I would be here to spend time with you this weekend. Are you sick?”
“I thought by spending time with me, you meant curling up and watching a movie, not going out on the town,” I said. “Besides, the weather is supposed to be terrible.”
“Oh, come now,” he said. “Go get dressed. Don’t be absurd. You know what I think about sitting around wasting my time watching pointless movies.”
“It’s not about the movies,” I said softly. “It’s about the time we spend together.”
“Which can be done at the Divinci Club where I booked us a table for the night,” he said, starting to get irritated and looking down at the book. “So, this is what you do when I’m not here, sit around reading smut all day.”
“You know that’s not what I do,” I snapped back. “That book is for the project I start on Monday.”
“Oh, yes, your little writing career,” he said, shaking his head. “I guess you might as well get it out of your system while you are still able to.”
“What?” I asked. “My career is actually a career. Last time I checked, I make very close to what you make a month, from my little writing career.”
“Yes, Bea, you make good money now, but we both know it’s not sustainable.” He sighed. “Anyway, get your things. We should be going.”
“No,” I said, taking a deep breath and deciding to stand up for myself. “I want to spend time with you alone, not with some rich, snooty people.”
“Those rich, snooty people pay my bills,” he said. “And award me the luxury of taking my girlfriend, who doesn’t appreciate anything, out to a nice restaurant.”
“I appreciate everything you do,” I said, pausing as his phone began to ring. He looked down and hit the ignore button. “No, please. By all means, answer your phone. I’ve never stopped you before.”
“Is this what happens when you read romance? You become indignant and disrespectful?”
“I am neither of those things,” I replied. “I just want you to bend to what I want for once.”
“Oh, you mean all those nights I come here to eat your mediocre meals, listen to you talk about your meaningless ‘career,’ and just smile along with it?”
“You asshole,” I muttered. “I work hard to make sure you have a nice dinner, even after I, too, have worked all day.”
“Yes, it must be so difficult to work in the next room over from your bedroom,” he scoffed. “Listen, are you coming or not?”
“No,” I replied, folding my arms in front of me.
“Fine, but it is the last time you will ever be offered,” he replied.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I don’t want to be with you anymore,” he replied, walking toward the door. “We are through. The fun has worn off, and I’m tired of your games.”
“You don’t mean that,” I gasped. “After all these years? We were planning a family.”
“Yes, well, I don’t think you are quite up to standards to be the mother of my children, or my wife, for that matter,” he replied, opening the door. “Have fun with you romance novels.”
With that, he walked out, slamming the door behind his arrogant ass. I stood there with my mouth hanging open, shocked at what just happened. I sat down on the couch and looked around, waiting for the rush of emotions to take over, but they never did. I should have been bawling my eyes out, completely heartbroken, but the tears never came. In fact, beyond just the lack of sad feelings, I felt almost a sense of freedom.
I felt a break in the chains that were binding me, like I could now take a deep breath. I thought for so long, that if the time ever came where Grant and I didn’t make it, I would be completely inconsolable, dreaming of a life that I would never have. Instead, I was almost relieved that it wasn’t going to be the life that I would have. I didn’t want to be stuck in my home, wondering where my husband was, trying to console a child that missed its father. I didn’t want to be a lonely housewife, doing laundry, cooking dinners, and dreaming of a life I once had.
I got up and walked into the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of wine and uncorking it. At first, I took a swig straight from the bottle, staring off in disbelief of how the events of the evening had just transpired. I did not see that coming at all. I grabbed a clean glass and poured myself a large helping of wine and then turned and walked over to the patio doors. I stood there for a moment and then opened them, stepping out into the snow in my socked feet, making sure that I was not dreaming. I felt the snowflakes falling on my face, and I closed my eyes, smiling for just a second before the chill of the wind pushed me back inside. I pulled off my socks and ran over to the fireplace, pulling them up to warm them.
As I sat there smiling, I soon felt the weight of the last three years hit me right in the face. I had been so intent on having that picture-perfect family, I had left the “perfect” part in the background. I had ignored every snide comment, every grab at my arm a little too tight, and had justified Grant’s constant downgrading of me as a person. I had let him control my emotions, my heart, and my mind for so long that I didn’t realize that what he was doing was wrong. Grant was just like his father, arrogant, rich, and thought there was a specific place for a woman. No wonder Grant’s mother drowned herself in the banter of the women at the country club where they lived. She was trying to make herself feel better. I had always thought his father was a pompous man who abused his wife, but I had completely blinded myself to the realization that Grant was the same exact way.
I shook my head and turned around, catching the reflection of something glimmering in the glass front of the fireplace. I stared over at the lights I had carefully strung across the deck, providing a beautiful backdrop to the enormous tree I had sitting in the living room. God, it was almost Christmas, and now, I was going to have to spend it alone. It was the worst feeling I had felt in a very long time. Christmas had always been special to me, a time with family and friends, but just a few weeks out, everyone else had already made their plans. My parents even had decided to go away for the holiday since I was being forced to spend it with Grant’s boss and his wife.
I stood up and walked over to the couch, throwing myself down and staring at the lights on the tree. I picked up my phone and scrolled to Hailey’s number, but I tossed my phone next to me on the couch. I wanted to tell her everything that had happened, but I knew that she would just give me something along the lines of, “I told you so,” and then try to get me out to the bar. I was not at all feeling like forcing myself to socialize. I let out a deep breath and pulled the blanket over me, reaching for the romance novel. Tonight, I would focus on me and get lost in a romance that I knew was just fiction, but made me feel a hell of a lot better about being alone.