Chapter 12

I was never sure about changing my last name after I was married. Isn’t that funny? In those days especially, it was unheard of for a woman to think of such things.

But I was a Shuffle, had been all my life. My daddy was a Shuffle and his daddy and so on, and I guess, in some strange way, it felt like giving up the last piece of myself I had, if I chose to do it.

Harold would’ve allowed me to keep the name, if I wanted. That was the kind of man he was, you know? Kind and thoughtful. He really listened to me, and I know from talking to other women around town just how rare that is.

So, in the end, I took his name. I told him it was because I wanted my children to have the same last name as both their parents, but in reality, I think I did it because I loved him and wanted to make him happy.

And, if I’m being honest, I loved the weight the last name carried. Being a Bitter in this town, I might as well be a Rockefeller or a Kennedy. Say the name, and suddenly tables open up, discounts are given, and people pop up to meet my every demand.

Harold was never the type of man to take advantage of that. He grew up with it, of course, so it was normal for him, but he tried not to let it get in his head. Me, on the other hand? I grew up with a mother who sliced already-sliced pieces of bread until they were thinner to make the loaves go further, who taught us broth could be a whole meal, and who split two cans of soup for dinner between the six of us. For me, power meant everything. It was a new concept, and frankly, I had a blast with it. Maybe too much, as Harold would sometimes point out once we were home, but he always said it with a hint of pride and that smile I’d grown to love so much.

I can still picture it now if I try. The way that smile made me feel could be studied. Entire books could be written about it. But…like all the best stories, it had to end.

And when it did, I was grateful I had the Bitter name. Because that’s exactly what I was: bitter.