Page 10 of Love in Pieces

In the morning, I headoff to work. I still can’t fathom not having a regular job to go to. Being a housewife is far from my idea of fun.

The empty chair behind the cafeteria computer calls my name.

Days always pass faster when you don’t want them to. As the last hour approaches, I feel Meredith’s eyes on me.

“What?” I ask without turning to look at her.

“I’m not ready for you to quit.”

“I’m not either,” I admit, taking a deep breath.

“So don’t quit.”

I finally turn and notice the sullen look on her face. “I have to.”

“No, you don’t, Abby. Sam doesn’t have to control you. You have a right to autonomy.” She’s practically begging at this point.

“Mer, he doesn’t control me. It’s my decision, too,” I lie.

She raises an eyebrow. “If it were your decision, you’d still have a job.”

“I do have a job. For one more week.” A lame attempt at a joke.

It doesn’t slip past Meredith one bit. “Not funny.” She quickly cashes in a meal before sending the student on their way. “Abby, listen to me.”

I sigh and cock my head, turning my chair to give her my full attention.

“Sam is not the one for you. The fact that he’s forcing you to quit your job is not how happy, healthy relationships work.” I open my mouth to defend him, but she cuts me off before I can start. “Stop. Listen to me. It’s not okay. It’s manipulation. I’ve seen the bruises. You think you hide them well, but your makeup doesn’t always work. Do you know how I can tell when Sam is calling or texting? You stiffen up, almost as if he’s right next to you. You have to stand up for yourself and be the woman I know you can be, the woman I know you are. And the next time I suspect something, I’m calling the cops.”

I straighten up at that last comment but force my face to remain still even though it's begging to contort to shock, frustration, and ultimately, sadness. “Mer, I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I am capable of making my own decisions. Sam and I are a package deal.” A line has built up at a different register. Students have clearly been avoiding our lines. I raise my hand and yell towards them, “I can help the next person in line.”

Meredith doesn’t turn her chair back until a few students have gathered in front of her. She glares at me until the student in front says, “Can I check out please?” Meredith sighs but gives in.

This conversation is over. I’m not going to argue with Meredith about this, too. My decision has been made and I won’t be changing my mind. I don’t know that I could even if I wanted to.

?CHAPTER 4

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