Chapter 5

Bridgett

Mommy Dearest

Looking through the possible answers on the online practice realtor exam, anxiousness begins filling the pit of my stomach. I’ve been studying every night after work for the last two weeks, and I still feel like I know little to nothing at all. After clicking on one of the multiple-choice answers, I let out a sigh of relief when a plethora of fireworks fill the screen, signaling that the test is over, and I passed.

“When is your test?” I spin in my chair at the question and find Edgar, one of the older gentlemen who has worked for my dad forever, standing behind me with a sour expression on his weathered face. Like most people who work in the office, he’s made it very clear that my presence is unwanted and unneeded and that the only reason they tolerate me is because my dad owns the company.

“In two weeks.” I rub my palms down the front of my slacks before standing and pushing in my chair.

“Do you think you should be practicing while you’re here at work?” he asks, and even though his tone is even and nonconfrontational, I can tell by his expression it’s anything but.

“I’m actually on lunch right now.” I grab my purse from the small cabinet behind my desk. “I was just taking a few minutes to practice the test before I went out to find something to eat.” I give him my sweetest smile. “Do you want anything from the coffee shop?”

“Not right now.” He tucks his hands into the front pockets of his slacks and, without another word, walks away, heading toward the offices that line the hall. I’m sure he’ll complain about me to anyone who will listen. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve overheard him and everyone else who works here talking about me behind my back. It sucks and makes it difficult to show up every day. But I need this job, at least until I get my license and can start working somewhere else.

As I’m heading toward the front door to leave, I spot my mom through the glass as she walks toward the building. My first instinct is to turn around and run in the opposite direction to find somewhere to hide until she passes, but as her gaze locks on mine, I know it’s too late.

Great, just what I need today.

“Mom,” I greet as I shove the metal-framed door open, not even a little shocked that she doesn’t smile or even attempt to give me a hug when she’s standing before me. My mother has never been the kind of mom to show physical affection, unless it’s a kiss on the cheek at a public event, but that’s just for show.

“I was coming to see you. Are you leaving for the day?”

“No, I was heading out to get something to eat from the coffee shop down the street.” I motion to Steam, which is just a couple of doors down from my dad’s office.

“I’ll join you.”

Great . I inwardly groan. This just keeps getting better.

“Is everything okay?” I ask as she falls into step with me.

“Your dad asked me for a divorce,” she says, like she’s letting me know what color the sky is. I stop in my tracks.

“What?” I turn to face her, sure I misunderstood.

My parents have been together since my mom was twenty-three and my dad was twenty-six. I wouldn’t say it was an arranged marriage, but it still kind of was. My mom’s mother searched until she found someone suitable for her daughter to marry, and that someone happened to be my dad. And Dad’s parents both insisted that my mom would be a good pick for him and pushed him to propose. It wasn’t a love match, nor was it a situation where they learned to love each other over time.

They both resented each other, which led to each of them being vindictive. They should never have wed and really shouldn’t have stayed married. Still, I assumed they would live out the rest of their days together, even if they were miserable doing so.

“It seems your father has decided he no longer wishes to be married to me.” She lifts a delicate hand between us. “As you know, he’s been different since his stroke. So he may change his mind and not go through with this ridiculousness.”

“I… Wow, okay.” I shake my head, trying to get my thoughts in order because this is a lot to take in. I mean, my dad has seemed different since his stroke a few months ago. But if I almost died, then became paralyzed on one side of my body and had to go through intensive therapy, I would probably start looking at life a little differently as well. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to talk to a lawyer and find out what I’m entitled to.” Her eyes wander over my face. “As you should be doing for yourself.”

My stomach twists. “I don’t want anything from Conner.”

“You really must stop being so immature, Bridgett. You were married without a prenup and deserve at least half of what he has.”

“I didn’t go to work with Conner every day, so I don’t deserve anything from him except his signature on our divorce papers. And that is honestly all I want.”

I look into eyes the same color and shape as mine. I let her manipulate me for years and went along with whatever she said out of some stupid need to earn her love and gain her approval—which was a waste of effort on my part. I don’t think she knows what love is, and I doubt she is capable of loving anyone but herself.

“You’re making a mistake. You should at least talk to Conner and try to work things out with him.”

“He cheated on me and treated me like garbage. I know I’ve said it before, but hopefully you’ll hear me this time.” I grit my teeth as I try to get control of the temper I feel slipping. “I’m never getting back with him. I have no desire to live my life never feeling real happiness. Never finding someone who loves me just for me. Having money might be nice, but being able to look at myself in the mirror every day without hating the person looking back at me feels really flipping good. And I would rather be alone than lonely, which is what I was when I was married.”

I take a step away from her. “I’m going to get a coffee before I have to go back to work. I’ll talk to you later.” I walk away without looking back and head down the block to the coffee shop. I’m thankful she doesn’t follow.

After placing an order for a large coffee and a turkey sandwich on rye, I sit at one of the tables and grab my cell phone out of my purse. Staring at the dark screen, I try to think of someone I can call or message just to get the confrontation out of my head, but there’s no one. I don’t have any friends anymore, and I can’t even message my brother to tell him that our parents are getting divorced or to bitch about our mom.

It wasn’t a lie when I said I would rather be alone than lonely. But maybe it’s because I have always been lonely and am used to it now.