Page 42 of Brash for It
The word future is a blade he thinks he can cut with.My fingers twitch.The spatula’s still in my hand from when I stepped down.Grease pops behind me like it wants to join in.The smoke sneaks around, turns his pretty shirt into something that’s going to need airing out.
“Speak to me,” Kristen spouts off, quiet and flat.
Brian’s head snaps past me.He smiles the smile that used to work on her.“There she is.”
“Keep your eyes here,” I say, soft but firm.He does, because something in my tone reaches a place he can still understand—danger written in a language he knows but doesn’t want to shy away from.
The scent of her shampoo floats up—apples and something I can’t name that’s just her.
“Brian,” she says.“Go home.”
He laughs.“We both know you’re coming with me.”
“You towed my car while I was mid-manicure,” she reminds, still quiet.“You disconnected my phone.You changed the gate code.”
His chin jerks; he wasn’t ready to have his own tricks recited back to him like a grocery list.“You were supposed to get the message.All you had to do was apologize for the accusation so I could explain about Quinn and we could all move forward.”
“I did.Oh, I got your message, sweetheart.”She moves to my side, not behind me.Shoulder to shoulder.Fire under breath.“The message was loud and clear.”She tilts her head a bit.“In fact, I should probably send you a thank you card or maybe some flowers to what did you say her name was, Quinn.You did me a favor.You did what I wasn’t strong enough to do.You set me free.”
He scoffs.“Free to be poor?Free to answer phones?Free to live in a shoebox and pretend it’s charming?You’re better than this.”
“Depends on how you define better,” she states, and the line hits so clean I almost smile.“See I’ve learned money doesn’t mean happy.I’ve learned money doesn’t make orgasms men who pay attention do.I’ve learned luxury doesn’t make laughter.And now I’m better than the version of myself than I had to be to survive you.”
He steps up like he wants a better angle on her face.I mirror him without thinking; the air between us tightens.Brian’s pupils shrink in the light; his jaw flexes.He’s not used to being kept on a leash this short.
“My door is open,” he states stepping back, getting to his planned script, pretending he didn’t hear a word.“Walk away from this experiment.Consider it a little vacation.I’ll forgive all of it.”
Kristen laughs.It’s a clean, sharp sound that doesn’t belong to the woman who cried herself asleep on my chest far too many nights because of this fucker.“You’ll forgive me?You did me a favor, Brian.You made it very clear where I stood—on the outside.Now you don’t get to be shocked that I don’t want to come inside.”
“It was a misunderstanding,” he lies.
“You’re a walking misunderstanding,” she states, sharper now, the edge showing.“Of what love looks like.Of what partnership is.Of what I’m worth.”
He flares.“You’re worth what I decide?—”
“No,” I say before I can stop myself, not loud, final.“She’s worth what she decides.”
Kristen’s hand finds my arm and squeezes once.Warning?Thanks?Both.I shut up.She tips her chin toward Brian, eyes bright, steady.
“You know what I did today?”she challenges.“I answered phones.I scheduled people.I made coffee.I made silly conversation about cuticles and kids’ soccer.I made the day smoother for a room full of strangers.And then I came home.Home to a porch where someone grilled me dinner and didn’t require me to pay for it with my silence.Home where a man served me wine and asked about my day.I came home waiting for tonight when he’s gonna work my body until I scream his name and never once ask me to get on my knees and serve him.”
“You think you’ll be happy with that?”His voice sneers on happy like it’s a slur.“Living paycheck to paycheck.”
She laughs in his face.“Brian, I am happy.Happier than I’ve ever been.”she says, and I feel it to the core of the man I am.
He tries another angle, the pity knife.“You’re slumming because you’re mad, baby.I know the stuff with Quinn hurt your feelings.She’s been taught her place, baby.She won’t text when I’m with you now.I’ll only see her on work trips.We can have boundaries.”
Kristen shakes her head.“I’m living free,” she states.“You should try it sometime.I am proud of the woman who stares back at me in the mirror.I can’t say that when I’m with you.”
He blinks.The porch light makes his face heavy, mean.The car behind him ticks as metal cools.His shoes are too clean to be trusted.He looks at me because the line between us is the only thing he recognizes as a boundary.
“You really think you can give her what she had with me?”he asks, needle under velvet.“You can’t buy what I buy.You can’t open doors where I open them.You can’t even take her to a restaurant that gets written about.”
“She doesn’t want to be in places that get written about,” I tell him frankly.“She wants to be fed life.”
Kristen’s laugh spills out as she mutters.“He makes a great grilled cheese.”
Brian ignores it.“You think the patch on your back and that growl in your voice make you a man?You’re a boy with toys.Clubs and noise.She will get tired of it.And when she does?—”
