Until now.
I was an idiot. I wasn’t old enough or mature enough, and he wasn’t a good man, nor did he ever love me. No matter what I tried to convince myself of back then, the reality of it now hits me, and it hits me hard. I was nineteen and stupid as hell. He came on to me but did it so subtly that I thought I was imagining things. I wasn’t. When he finally took me to bed, I wasn’t a virgin, but I hadn’t the years of life experiences to measure up to his. I was a stupid kid who took to heart the words he threw at me so casually.
With every passing moment, I find myself hating him more and more.
My mom and I order Cliff Burgers and Coastal Fries. Tyler brings me a peppermint milkshake without me asking and doesn’t even charge me for it. I’m shit company, and I don’t even try to apologize for it. I just poke at my food, barely eating anything, and I answer as few questions as I can get away with. When the check comes, Mom insists on paying, and I let her. Before she lets me leave, she unloads on me and does it heavy.
“Don’t let him steal your peace, baby. He’s taken enough of you that he didn’t take care of, so don’t you let him have your peace, too.”
“Love you, old lady,” I say and give her a hug. She hugs me tight, so tight, like she’s trying to squish the sad right out of me. She can’t—it goes too deep—but she tries, and I love her for it.
“Love you, Little Bird.” She cups my cheek with one of her hands as she looks up at me with teary eyes. My mood is fucking with hers now and that sucks, but I’m selfish enough to find a sliver of joy in her wounded eyes. My dad loved me. I know he did, but it was different with him. He loved my mom, and Barbara, and maybe he even loved Chel. Charles Phillips loved women, and he didn’t discriminate much. But my mom—she loves me in a way I don’t really understand and never want to. Kids are okay, but they’re just not my thing, so I’m never going to understand the way she looks at me. I just know that the only thing that makes my current job, my current mood, and the current state of my life any better is knowing that I have a mom who loves me. It means things I can’t let myself feel—to know that at least one person on the planet truly loves me.
August 2015
8 months to Mancuso’s downfall
Chapter 1
The most ridiculous things run through my head when I’m actively working on avoiding thinking about unpleasant things. Like how there’s something particularly pathetic about pint-sized tubs of ice cream. Especially the low-fat ones. It’s like Ben & Jerry are mocking single women everywhere. A pint of ice cream would never be enough for a man. No, men don’t have any shame in buying the large tubs of ice cream, and they certainly don’t ever consider buying low-fat ice cream. I don’t think I’ve ever even met a man who’s willingly purchased low-fat anything before. They just don’t think the way women do, so I have to think that pint-sized tubs of low-fat ice cream are made especially for women. Single women at that. A pint-sized tub just screams “I’m alone and pathetic and have nobody to share this with.” It’s embarrassing to purchase one. I always feel like the cashier knows, and I swear to Christ that they give me this sympathetic look while ringing me up.
That’s why I go for the full-sized tub. I’m also environmentally conscious, which is why I don’t bother with a bowl. As for the rest, I don’t have much of an explanation except to say that I haven’t felt like showering in the last two days, and since I just finished a job and I’m waiting on intel from my current job, there’s really no reason for me to get out of my pajamas.