The air flew from my lungs before I gasped for fresh air. I pulled up the sleeve of my pajamas, wincing at how my arm was already bruising. It needed ice, but I heard Priscilla padding down the hall.
“Hi, Mom.”
She walked into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. When she finally looked at me, I was so grateful her eyes were bright blue like mine. Her hair wasn’t quite as blond as mine, but her headful of curls came from my side.
Priscilla was all mine, and I was trying to do what I had to in order to protect her. If I broke up our home, Tommy would have money and power on his side. A ruthless combination, as my mother said.
“Hey, baby girl,” I said, and got a major side-eye.
“Mom, I’m in seventh grade. Please, I’m twelve.”
“You’ll always be my baby.” I stood and pulled her skinny frame in for a hug.
“Okay, okay,” she said, slipping from my hold before heading to the cabinet.
Opening the fridge, I asked, “Turkey sandwich?”
She nodded, and I gathered the ingredients to make her lunch. Priscilla was perfectly capable of doing it herself at her age, but it was something I enjoyed doing for her.
“Mustard instead of mayo,” she said, pouring granola in a bowl before opening a yogurt to add to it.
As I refreshed my coffee using my nondominant wrist, the one Tommy didn’t hurt, I noticed her watching. She frowned at me, with her phone in one hand and shoveling her breakfast into her mouth with the other.
“For an assignment,” I said lightly. “Using my opposite hand for daily tasks.”
Priscilla shrugged, not interested in reading my work. If it wasn’t on TikTok, it meant nothing to her, so I was safe.
Scrolling through her messages, she said, “Mom!”
I shouldn’t be surprised. Her phone was practically attached to her hand these days.
“Penny asked me to sleep over tomorrow night after soccer practice. Please? We’ll do our homework and go to bed. I promise.”
“Tomorrow is a school night,” I said out of habit, knowing I’d allow it anyway. My baby deserved as much happiness as she could get, and Lord only knew, I tried at home but failed often.
“You wouldn’t even have to pick me up after practice,” she said excitedly. “I’ll pack my stuff in the morning and go home with Penny.”
Faced with her huge smile, I gave in. “Of course you can go. But remember to call me when you get there.”
“I always do,” she said, already responding to the text, her thumbs flying over her phone. “But you’ll tell me again tomorrow.”
I finished making her lunch, trying to figure out how I could have some fun too.
Later, as I walked out of the coffee shop on Newbury where I met with my editor, Jane, my phone dinged.
Did you get the half-and-half?
Sighing, I didn’t have a chance to reply before Tommy rapid-fired another text.
Working late. Remember, I’m going to Vermont tomorrow for a deposition . . . after I drink my coffee with half-and-half. I’ll be home the following day.
After moving my wrist back and forth, trying to shake out the soreness, I texted back, keeping my response short.
I got the half-and-half.
I’d stopped earlier at the store and ran the container home before traveling downtown, rushing so I wasn’t late to my meeting. But there was no reason to explain that or say anything more to Tommy. It would only come back to bite me later.
Stopping on the sidewalk, I let out a deep sigh of relief over Tommy’s upcoming absence, and then remembered Priscilla would be out tomorrow night too.
Wow, I’d have a night to myself . . . a rare opportunity to either sulk in my predicament or truly be happy for a few hours. I could watch a movie with a big glass of wine and forget my woes for a few minutes.
A deep breath filled my lungs, and I smiled. The sun was shining, and I was going to cover the fashion preview for Adweek. As a freelancer, that was a big deal, but Jane knew I stood behind my work. She didn’t know I’d remained stagnant all these years because Tommy demanded it. “My hobby,” as he referred to my career, was always on the back burner behind his.
My phone dinged again, this time with a text from Priscilla, pulling me out of my self-pity.
Soccer pickup is at 5:30. We have to watch a safety video after practice.
Checking the time, I realized I had ninety minutes until I had to pick her up, rather than thirty.
That’s when I noticed I was standing outside an old favorite of mine, Stephanie’s on Newbury. Was there any harm in grabbing a quick adult beverage before I picked up my daughter? Some might say yes, but they hadn’t walked a minute in my shoes, so I went ahead and pushed through the door.
“Welcome to Stephanie’s. Can I help you?” The hostess greeted me with a smile, and my shoulders relaxed for the first time all day.
“I’ll just have a seat at the bar,” I said quickly, my nerves kicking up a notch. This was the most scandalous thing I’d done in years, having a day drink by myself.
“Of course.” The hostess waved in the direction of the lacquered wood bar, lined with high-back wicker stools.
Noticing a few others partaking in a day drink, I felt a little better as I made my way over. See? I can do this.
Finding a seat toward the end, I slid in, almost tugging up my sleeves before I remembered my new bruises.
“Hi.” A cheerful redhead with pigtails, a permanent smile, and a nametag marked Bella, popped up in front of me. “Can I get you a menu?”
“Sure. Drink menu?” My words came out like a question, and Bella picked up on it.
“No judgment here. You can drink any time of day that we’re open, and I’m happy to serve you.”
“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” I said lamely. Embarrassed, I snapped my mouth shut and scanned the menu. I chose a glass of wine, thinking that was the most appropriate day drink. “I’ll have a glass of cabernet.”
“Right on it,” Bella said, and she was back in a hot minute with a healthy pour of my favorite wine.
My eyes fluttered closed as I took my first sip, reveling in the exact moment my body felt truly relaxed in days. This was bliss, sitting by myself, enjoying a glass of wine in a restaurant. All by myself. Did I mention that already?
I was busy cataloguing all my feelings when someone said, “Is this seat taken?”
Granted, the line was about as cliché as anyone could use, but hadn’t I used one only moments before? I almost didn’t look up, but the raspy voice behind the trite words forced me to turn my head slightly.
Leaving my phone on the bar right side up, I met a pair of dark brown, almost onyx eyes, framed by a head of tousled coal-black hair. Just my luck, masculinity radiated off the verbal offender, catching me in a weak moment, forcing me to pardon his bad taste in pickup lines and offer the seat to him.
I tried to think of a reason to say no. I was married and a mother, and the chair wasn’t mine to offer. But he asked me, and so I obliged.
“It’s all yours—free of charge,” I said with a touch of humor. I was already nervous enough with this unfamiliar midday tension, and now sex and lust radiated from this guy, drawing all the oxygen from the air around me.