Page 25 of A Taste of Vanilla
Marley inhales. “Oh, honey.”
“My car ran out of gas.”
There’s a pause, and I know it holds no judgment. It’s worse. Effort.
Marley is trying not to react.
“Marley.”
“I’m here.”
“You’re doing your quiet voice.”
“I’m processing multiple pieces of information.”
“Don’t laugh.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“You sound like you’re laughing spiritually.”
“I am spiritually committing homicide, actually.”
A wet, awful laugh rips through me.
“Are you safe?” she asks.
“Yeah. I’m on the shoulder I think. People are honking like I personally designed traffic.”
“Stay in the car. Lock the doors. Send me your location.”
“Okay,” I say softly.
“I’m calling Oliver.”
“No,” I say quickly.
“Yes.”
“I don’t want him to know.”
“Babe, he owns a truck and a gas can,” she argues.
“I have dignity.”
“You are crying near a Wawa with no gas after finding your fiancé inside his secretary.”
I close my eyes, no effort to correct her. He wasn’t inside heryet.“When you say it all together, it sounds bad.”
“It is bad. That’s why I’m calling Oliver.”
“Marley.”
“Halston.”
Her voice softens. “You don’t have to be less humiliated before you let us help you.”
My face crumples, tears running down my cheeks.
