“And what will you do with it?”
Her head snaps to my face. “I… I…”
“Haven’t thought past the freedom, huh?”
She narrows her eyes. “I’d get as far away as possible from you and men like you.”
“Seems like a waste.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’d be wasted on an ordinary life,” I explain solemnly. “You’re not ordinary, Renata.”
“Yeah, I’ve figured that part out over the last twenty-five years, thanks,” she retorts. “And I’ve paid for it. If ‘ordinary’ means I get to make my own decisions and take control of my own future, than ‘ordinary’ is what I want.”
“Sure. Tell me about that future, then,” I coax.
“Excuse me?”
“What will you do? Where will you go?”
“Yeah, like I’d tell you anything.”
I snort. “You don’t need to give me details. I’m not asking for coordinates. Just tell me a story. Your vision of the future, however you want it to go.”
It’s not a question. It’s a challenge. But I have a sneaking suspicion she prefers things that way.
Her eyes go dreamy. “Somewhere with an empty beach,” she whispers. “I’d find a nice little one-bedroom that overlooks the ocean. Then I could walk to work every day.”
“What kind of work would you want?”
“I don’t care,” she says with a shrug. “A waitress, a teacher… Anything that helps me pay the rent. And doesn’t hurt people along the way.”
“And that’s it, huh?” I prod. “That’s the big life? Minimum wage and a shitty apartment?”
“I’ve had enough of the big life,” she retorts. “I want a small life now. Something simple and easy.”
“But would you be happy?”
“Yes.”
I smile and shake my head. “You only think that because you don’t know any better.”
“Typical,” she snorts.
“Typical?”
“I mean it’s typical of you, as a man, assuming you know what’s better for me than I do.”
“I happen to know exactly what’s good for you,” I say. “The fact that I’m a man and you’re a woman is purely coincidental.”
She snorts aggressively. Her eyes flicker to my half-eaten plate and then back to her own untouched food. I know she’s desperate to eat, but she’s still dying to prove a point.
“But let’s not get distracted. We have the apartment, the job, the ocean—then what?” I press. “You’ll meet a nice boring guy named Bill or Harry? You’ll pop out a couple of kids and do the whole minivan-carpool, white-picket-fence thing?”
She raises her eyes to mine for a moment. “I don’t want kids,” she says decidedly. “I don’t want to bring another life into this fucked-up world. Not as long as men like you are in charge of it.”
I laugh. “Is that right?”