Page 94 of Fight
“We talked for a long while. About our relationship. About what we need from each other.”
“And what did you need?”
She focuses on the rolled silverware in front of her, straightening it so it’s perpendicular to the table, then folds her hands in her lap.
“I asked for a divorce.”
I exhale. My head bows briefly before I slump back against the vinyl upholstered booth.Thank Christ.She shudders a breath, and I reach for her. Her palm nestles in my open one, andI squeeze.
“How did he react?” It’s taking everything in me not to pepper her with all the questions flooding my thoughts since I left her in that parking lot this morning.
She shrugs. “About as expected, but how do you tell the person you care about that you want a divorce without hurting them? It’s not that he couldn't see it coming. I made it pretty clear by leaving. However, I think it hit him today that we’re really done and we have to part ways in order to live our own lives.” Her sad smile makes me want to wrap her up in my arms.
The server interrupts and takes our orders, jotting down the burgers, salads, and shakes. “Coffee?”
“Please,” Scottie says.
I hold up two fingers, adding “Thank you.”
The server tucks her notepad into her apron pocket and shuffles to the kitchen.
On our table, two upside-down ceramic mugs rest on saucers, so we each turn them upright. She selects a couple creamers and a sugar from the dish, and I make a mental note of how she takes her coffee. She pries the sealed foil tops from the creamers and pours them into the empty cup, then rips the sugar packet and does the same.
We wait for the server to reappear with coffee before we continue the conversation. Thankfully, she returns quickly, but it feels like an eternity passes while we watch her fill our mugs with coffee. Scottie’s swirls into a light creamy tan color. Mine remains black enough to see my reflection.
Nodding our appreciation, the server departs, and I wait for Scottie to speak. She sighs, centering her mug in front of her and using it to warm her hands.
“I have to go back,” she says.
I furrow my brow. “To your apartment?”
“To The Fold.”
What?I shake my head. Absolutely not happening. “I don’t understand.”
“The church found out about him. He needs me to go back so we can get his life sorted, and then we can leave at the same time.”
“What do you mean ‘found out’? Weren’t they the ones to facilitate your whole relationship?”
“They assumed he was straight after me, but they discovered nothing has changed, they’re going to submit him to more conversion therapy. He could lose his job, his family, everything. He’s not ready to leave.”
Ready or not, he’s gonna have to figure that out without her. Scottie may not be ready to admit it, but I’ve heard enough about that place to not trust it. The leaders control the congregation with fear and intimidation. It’s a cult.
My jaw tics. “And when does he think he’ll be ready?”
Despite the itching need to fidget, I remain calm on the outside and muster all the patience I possess. It took over a month of her being gone before he even came after her. If that were me, I’d have been out of my goddamned mind.
He had time to leave and didn’t.
“I told him a year, but I’m going to get us out before then.”
A fucking year?I meant what I said about waiting. She’s worth it, butthisisn’t that.
I trust Scottie that her soon-to-be ex-husband isn’t a bad guy, it’s obvious she cares for him deeply, but at the end of the day, I don’t know this guy. I don’t want her to suffer through a long, drawn-out divorce, especially if that fucked-up church she came from tries to get involved.
She recounts the conversation between them this afternoon, shedding a few tears. I hate hearing about the pain she went through. That said, she’s not going anywhere.
“I promise I’m coming back,” she says.