Chapter 2
"What's the matter? Are you upset?" Michael's hand hung in the air for a moment before he let it drop, completely unbothered.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Rachel, you've got to learn to be a little more mature about these things.
"Marriage isn't some fairy tale. It's real life, day after day. I'm only showing you what it takes to be the right kind of wife you need to be."
"The right kind of wife?" I met his eyes.
"Exactly." He nodded, as if this were the most obvious truth in the world. "You should know how to handle yourself in social situations and keep a clean house.
"You should manage your own finances, and never treat your husband like an ATM.
"That's how my mother handled things back in the day. Take a look at her now. She's thoughtful, she's capable, and she makes life easy for my father."
I nodded. "Okay. I understand."
I picked up my phone from the nightstand, opened the file Michael had sent, and saved it. "I'll transfer the money tomorrow," I told him.
Michael's face softened. He reached over and tousled my hair. "There you go. That's the attitude I'm talking about. Now go tidy up the bathroom. You left water all over the floor.
"Oh, and one more thing. My mom and my sister are stopping by tomorrow. Get up early, do a proper grocery run, and make lunch.
"My mom loves pan-seared salmon with dill, and Tina's been asking for honey garlic wings. Don't forget."
"All right," I said, and I walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind me.
I leaned my back against the cool wood, staring at my own reflection in the mirror. I was still wearing my wedding lingerie. My eyes burned hot, but I refused to let a single tear fall.
What was I going to cry over, exactly? That I'd been blind enough to marry a man who called manipulation "being smart" and stinginess "being reasonable"?
That I'd been naive enough to believe three years of loving him would somehow outweigh the calculation and contempt woven into his character?
No. I wasn't going to cry. I was going to face it. This was only the first day.
*****
The next morning, I woke up early. I went to the farmer's market and picked out fresh salmon fillets and a package of plump chicken wings.
There was also a cut of pork shoulder for braising, which was his mother's favorite, and a bag of dark, sweet cherries Tina had specifically requested.
On the walk back, I pulled out my phone and texted my closest friend, Olivia Quinn. [Liv, can you do something for me?]
[Sure.] She wrote back within seconds.
[Can you help me find a good divorce lawyer? And check if Michael's company has posted any job openings lately. Specifically in the CEO's office or anything in senior leadership.]
Olivia's reply was a wall of question marks. [Rachel. You got married only yesterday.]
I wrote: [I'll explain later. Help me with this first.]
[I've got your back, always. Didn't I tell you that family was trouble from the start?] she wrote.
I slipped my phone into my pocket and carried the groceries up the stairs. Michael was still fast asleep. He never rolled out of bed before noon on weekends.
I tied on my apron and started organizing the kitchen, rinsing vegetables, seasoning the pork shoulder, and lining up my ingredients in the order I'd need them.
At ten thirty, the doorbell rang. I wiped my hands on a dish towel and opened the door. Barbara Grant and Tina Grant stood on the front step.
Barbara was in her early fifties, her hair set in stiff curls, dressed in a loud floral blouse. She carried a small shopping bag looped over her wrist.
Tina, barely twenty, stood beside her in a cropped top and high-waisted jeans, already chewing a piece of gum. Her eyes swept the entryway the moment the door opened.
"Hi, Barbara. Tina. Come on in." I stepped aside to let them through.
Barbara gave a short hum of acknowledgment and walked straight into the living room without pausing to remove her shoes. Wet clumps of grass and dirt trailed across the floor I had mopped that morning.
She scanned the room, her gaze landing on the vase of fresh flowers I'd arranged on the coffee table the day before.
"How wasteful," she muttered, pressing her lips together. "They'll be dead in three days." She settled herself heavily onto the sofa, grabbed the remote from the cushion, and switched on the television.
Tina made a direct line for the refrigerator. She pulled open the door, rummaged through the shelves, and fished out the yogurt I'd bought that morning. "Rachel, why did you get this brand?
"I don't like this one. Next time, get the imported kind with the fruit chunks."
"Sure," I said.
"So what's for lunch?" Barbara called from the couch, her eyes fixed on the screen as she flipped through channels.
"I'm making pan-seared salmon, honey garlic wings, and a few sides," I answered.
"Salmon has to be fresh. You didn't buy some farmed fillet that's been sitting around for a week, did you?" Barbara shot me a sidelong glance.
"I went to the market this morning and picked it out myself."
She gave a short nod. "All right, that's better. Don't be stingy with the lemon and herbs. Tina likes her wings spicy, so add some chili flakes to the glaze. And where's Michael? Still in bed?"
"He's still asleep."
"Men work hard. He needs his rest. Keep your voice down and don't wake him." She said it like she was explaining something obvious to a slow student.
Then she waved a hand in my direction. "Bring me a cup of warm water. Tina, honey, tell Rachel what you want to drink. Don't be shy. We're all family here."
Tina had already sprawled across the armchair, her eyes glued to her phone. She didn't look up. "Fresh-squeezed orange juice. With ice."
Silently, I headed to the kitchen, poured Barbara a glass of warm water, and then started making fresh orange juice with ice for Tina.