It hurts something deep in my soul that six months ago, that’s exactly what I would have done. For thirteen years I was bored, and I volunteered for anything and everything just to give myself an identity and a purpose. For thirteen years, I made sure there was a home-cooked meal on the table every night, a freshly baked dessert waiting, and a martini with extra olives in my hand when he walked through the door, no matter how busy I might have been at the time. I dropped everything to cater to his every whim, went to his work functions when I wanted nothing more than to soak in a bubble bath or curl up with a book. I put my life on hold for someone else, and I became something I never thought I’d be: a bored housewife.
I did all of this and lost myself in the process because I was scared to death of the alternative. I was afraid the clock would strike midnight and everything I had would disappear. I was scared to death I’d wake up one day and find myself back inside that two-bedroom trailer with the mold on the ceiling, and the stained shag carpet full of cigarette holes, and the fridge with nothing in it but an expired jar of pickles. I was afraid if everything wasn’t perfect and just the way Brian liked it, he’d send me back.
But I’m not that person anymore, and PJ had no right to say those things to me when he knows nothing about me. And now I know how Ariel felt all these months living on our street.
“I’m sorry I judged you,” I tell her softly as the song playing over the sound system ends and the room goes silent.
“Um, okay,” Ariel replies uncomfortably, giving me a funny look at my sudden apology.
“I’m sorry I thought you were the street harlot, and I’m sorry I talked about you behind your back with all of those shallow women and never made you feel welcome,” I continue, realizing I never felt one minute of jealousy or hatred toward her when I found out she’d slept with Brian.
Realizing I never felt those things because I stopped caring about him a long time ago, and saying these things out loud, and admitting this to myself, makes me feel more free than I have in a long time.
“Are you going to hug me now?” Ariel asks with a small look of horror on her face.
“Um, no. I mean, unless you want a hug?”
As Ariel starts to shake her head and take a step back, Isabelle comes up between us, wraps her arms around both of us and pulls us to her until we’re all squished together in a tight huddle.
“A recent study found that women learn they’re not supposed to be competitive and win at others’ expense, and their natural competitive spirit can’t be shared openly, happily, or even jokingly with other women. What could have been healthy competition becomes a secret feeling of envy and desire for the other to fail—laced with guilt and shame,” Isabelle speaks in a rapid voice. “And this is why women find it hard to be friends with other women, but we aren’t going to have that problem because we want each other to succeed and we’re going to be the best friends ever!”
She squeezes us more tightly to her, and I can’t help but laugh while Ariel lets out a small groan.
“We really need to get you out of your dad’s basement.”
Ducking out from under Isabelle’s arm, Ariel crosses her arms in front of her and looks at me.
“So, what’s it gonna be? Are you gonna go home and bake something, or are you gonna shake your ass and give PJ the middle finger while doing it?”
With a deep breath, I walk back to my pole and wrap my hand around it, giving Tiffany a nod.
“Let’s do this. Play something good. Maybe some Nickelback or Hanson,” I tell her with a confident smile.
Ariel marches over to me and smacks me in the arm. I let out a yelp and glare at her.
“What was that for?! I didn’t say anything snobby!” I complain as I rub the sore spot on my arm that is probably going to bruise by the time Ariel is done with me.
“New rule. Every time you say something stupid as fuck, I’m punching you. Tiffany, put on some Kid Rock. Cindy clearly has shitty taste in music.”
Chapter 9: Hanson Sucks!
With my eyes closed, I shut out everything but the music playing from the speaker of my phone on my nightstand. I forget about my problems, I forget about my fears, and I forget about how silly this is. I let go and just feel the music.
And I smile to myself knowing Ariel was wrong. There’s nothing bad about Hanson, and their music has the perfect beat to dance to.