Page 80 of Mine

The Memphis couple had been married for ten years when they decided to open up their marriage. The husband was all for Ellen and his wife being together, until he realized that it meant they’d also have a relationship outside ofhisparticipation. It had gotten so stupidly messy that eventually Ellen cut them both off last summer. As a result, we’d spent many evenings drinking way too much wine, eating too much ice cream, and watching way too many true crime shows.

“She’s tried.” Ellen shook her head. “Not interested in being a third like that.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” I said. “Being polyamorous.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “It works for me. I like being solo polyamorous, because it meets all my needs. I like having partners while still being independent. Certainly beats being married to the same dipshit for fifteen years.”

“Okay,harsh.”

“Sorry,” she chuckled and then glanced at me. “Are we not at the joking stage yet?”

I linked my arm in hers as we crossed the street. “I guess I should be by now, right? I mean, the whole thing is a fucking joke at this point. And I’m the punchline.”

“Wrong,” she quipped. “You’re not the punchline, honey, Jeff is. He’s a fucking idiot. If he worked for any other company, he would have been out on his ass years ago. What does he even do? You and Tommy take care of all the high-level shit while Jeff sits on his ass and rakes in money. He’s a straight white man who has all the privilege in the world, and everyone bends over fucking backwards to keep it that way.”

“God damn,” I whispered, my eyes widening. “You’re right, but what brought that on?”

She sighed. “I just hear things. Around the office. And I’ve heard the way he speaks about you when you’re not in the room, Pepper, and the only reason I haven’t blown up on him is because I want to stay working for you. The most stress I have is making sure that you eat, and keeping Jeff off his high horse.”

“I need to give you a raise,” I muttered.

She smirked. “It can go toward our wine collection.”

I laughed as we rounded the block. “What kind of wine are we having tonight?”

Ellen hummed. “If I pull out the 1990 red, you either have to Uber home or crash on the couch.”

I shoved Salt to the furthest corner of my mind and smiled. “Deal.”

TWENTY-ONE

SALT

I spentmy last day being twenty-five in bed, in the dark, doomscrolling social media. Eventually, I put on a movie and drifted in and out of sleep, trying to avoid thinking about my birthday. And my father. And the fact that I was living in the house that had trapped me for most of my life.

Messages piled up.What are you doing for your birthday? Want to go out? Want to go to a club? Want to?—

I ignored all of them. Nancy and Beth were the only two people I’d maybe respond to, but they knew I always struggled this time of the year, so they’d bake a cake and force me to blow out candles some time next weekend.

My stomach grumbled again and I sighed, rolling over and draping my arm and leg over the side of the bed. Shadows grew darker in my bedroom as the sun set, my muscles begging me to move.

I didn’t want food, though. What I actually wanted, I couldn’t have, and that was Pepper.

A hoarse groan left me and I slowly let my body melt off the bed, my limbs colliding with the cool hardwood floor. I took the blanket with me and rolled onto my back, sprawling out to stare at the ceiling.

Every fucking year.

Maybe it would get easier one day, I wasn’t sure. But every fucking year, my birthday felt like this monumental hurdle that left me feeling isolated. I could be in a room full of people who loved me, but I wouldn’t feel it. All I would feel was the weight of my father’s hatred. The weight of my mother’s death. And I knew it wasn’t my fault, but I still carried that guilt.

I had a therapy appointment next week, at least. That was one of the things Nancy had encouraged me to do when I first came into her life, and I was still grateful for it. I’d been seeing the same therapist for years now, and while I wasn’t perfect and still struggled, I was a better person for it.

The meeting went well last week. Or, that’s how I’d perceived it. Tommy walked me through the contract process and what his vision was for me. Mostly, we talked about what I wanted.

What kind of music did I want to make? What song would I choose for a single?

The one that made me think about Pepper the most was my first choice. I’d written that song during a low point, while holding onto the idea that there was someone out there who could love me. Someone who I could love back.

It’d been a week though, and I hadn’t heard shit from Rosethorn. So maybe that opportunity really was dead.

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