Page 10 of Wild Mistake
Moving out of the way, I spare them one last wave before trudging back toward the house. Bowing my head, tears cloud my vision. I should go inside and help my parents clean up from breakfast, but I turn toward the trailer instead.
This is the moment I’ve been dreading all day.
I’ve been agonizing over it since I made the decision to leave.
For the first time in seventeen years, I’m totally and completely alone.
With my pain.
With my thoughts.
With my failures.
I don’t get to spend Christmas with the humans I love most in this world.
The hurt is unbearable.
Shutting out the world, I curl up on my bed and hug the pile of borrowed blankets to my chest and let the weight of my new reality hit me. I bury my face into the fabric and sob, grieving the loss. Not only of my marriage, but of the life I had. The one I always wanted. The one I thought I found with a partner who loved and respected me the way I did him.
I grieve the woman I was before his betrayal. In this moment I can’t imagine I’ll ever be able to open myself up to love again. Who would even want me? I’m such a fucking mess.
This is only the first of many holidays I’ll spend alone, and that might be the saddest thing of all.
* * *
The next day,my eyes are puffy and rimmed with red when I head into work. The amount of makeup I apply to cover signs of my sadness is probably in vain. At least my muscles and joints don’t hurt as much today. Taking a day off did some good.
Today should be slow. Most of the town will be home with their families and eating leftovers. Tips won’t be as much but I’m okay with that. I’m not in the mood to deal with a rush, and making conversation with customers is the last thing I want to do, but I feel guilty calling out when the boys are with their dad. I work too much when they’re around. I know I do.
Maybe I’ll ask Marnie for an extra day off next week before they’re back in school. I think back to days when I called them out of school and we played hooky, going to museums downtown and having lunch at a new restaurant, even though Parker would undoubtedly just order chicken tenders. I smile at the memory, but it’s quickly erased. Unease fills my gut as I realize they might not even care to spend a day with me. They aren’t little anymore and right now I’m not their favorite person.
I resist the urge to call them. They won’t be awake for hours so I settle on sending them each a good morning text.
Though I know the boys are safe with their dad, I don’t like having them so far, or going a day without seeing their faces. I constantly wonder if they’re having fun. Are they safe? Do they miss me? Do they know how much I love them? Or how empty I feel with them not here?
Yeah, working today will do me good. At least I’ll have a distraction and something to focus on besides all the ways I’m failing as a mother.
“Morning!” I call out to Benny as I pass through the kitchen.
“Hiya, Sarah!” he calls from behind the countertop where he’s chopping a variety of vegetables.
I place my bag inside Marnie’s office, then slip my apron over my head before heading back to the kitchen. “What’s the special today?”
“Beef stew. But it won’t be ready till this afternoon.” He pauses his chopping to meet my gaze and lets out a long whistle. “Don’t you look nice this morning!”
“Thanks.” I’m sure he’s just being polite, but it’s still nice to receive the compliment when I put so much effort into my makeup. “Marnie in yet?”
“She came. She baked. She left.” He nods to the row of pastries and pies cooling on the counter. “Won’t be back ’til after lunch. I told her we’d be fine.”
“Sounds good.” I check my watch. “I better get out there.”
“Holler if you need anything.” He turns back to the task at hand.
“Thanks!” I call over my shoulder. Pushing past the swinging door, I flip the lights on in the dining room and get to my opening duties. The minutes fly and just as I finish up, there’s a small crowd gathered outside the door waiting for me to open.
There’s a steady flow of patrons for the next few hours. One of the things I love most about this town is the kindness everyone shows each other. Sure, my tips might not be astronomical, but no one is rude or belittles me as I serve up their meals or refill their beverages. We have our regulars, and they smile when I remember their orders before they’ve had the chance to tell me. Conversation fills the space along with the smell of home-cooked meals, and for a few hours the heaviness on my heart lightens.
Until the bell on the door jingles.
