I swear, though, Patrick is doing everything in his power to hinder my plans. The crap he pulled this weekend? He knows I need these hours, but that didn’t stop him yesterday from feigning illness and dropping the kids at my door an hour before I had to leave the house. I know he doesn’t want this for me. He doesn’t want me to have any independence from him. He thinks that with the increased pay, I’ll be able to rely on him less.
He’s right.
It’s one of the reasons I gave in and let Jesse watch the kids, despite my anxiety over leaving them. Finishing this bridge program is the next necessary step toward freedom from Patrick.
I tried to get my Bachelor of Science in Nursing a few years ago but got pregnant with Jude and ended up dropping out. I don’t regret Jude. I love him. But I wasn’t trying to get pregnant. I was taking precautions to avoid it, and I’ve always had the sneaking suspicion that Patrick did something...
I don’t know what. I don’t know how.
All I know is, he was real quick to use guilt trips and gaslighting to push for me dropping out of school as soon as we saw two pink lines on the pee stick. The sweet words that dripped from his tongue, honeyed up to sound like concern and love, hadn’t fooled me for a long time, but they still affected me. It’s like he knew I was trying to find a way out for June and me, and he needed to find a way to tighten the leash. Fortify the lock.
I love Jude, and I will never, ever, tell anyone this.
But I cried for days afterward.
I resented the pregnancy. Resented Patrick. Resented my foster parents and the naïve girl I was back then. Resented how it was always one step forward, five steps back.
When I met Patrick, he was eighteen and charming and beautiful. I was sixteen and awkward, and lonely, and I just felt lucky to be seen.
To be wanted.
Bouncing around from foster home to foster home my whole childhood, by the time I transferred to Patrick’s high school, I’d gotten used to being alone. The feeling of being unwanted was a familiar one. But when Patrick set his sights on me the third day of school, it all changed. It was a heady experience, feeling like the center of someone’s world, and I was too young to recognize the red flags.
This gorgeous, popular, adored senior wanted me. The girl whom no one wanted. Not even her parents. I couldn’t believe my luck.
Patrick quickly became my everything.
My only thing.
He made sure of it.
It took me years to realize that he wasn’t my savior, but my captor.
“Ooof, this day,” Demi says, pulling me from my thoughts. She’s in my program, so we’ve done a few clinicals together.
“Yeah, it was rough.” I sigh. “I’ll be glad to get home. My feet are killing me.”
“I can’t believe that one guy. Hitting on us while we were putting in his catheter?” She widens her eyes and shakes her head. “Some of the shit we’ve seen makes me wonder if we’ll ever be prepared.”
I huff out a laugh. That whole experience was definitely awkward. Thank god, it’s over.
“I also think our preceptor might hate me a little.”
“Girl, same,” Demi says. “We’re almost done, though. Eye on the prize. Won’t be long now.”
“I know. I’m so ready.” I’m so close to the finish line that I’m constantly on the lookout for someone trying to trip me up. Someone with buzzed blond hair and a police officer’s badge.
Demi and I walk to our cars in the parking lot, the night air is crisp and sets a chill through my bones. I climb in my car and wave goodbye, then hook up my music streaming app.
I’ve been compiling a playlist from the random songs the app has played me. The more songs I “like,” the more curated the music selection becomes. I’ve found some songs and artists that I really like, and I’m thrilled that basically none of them are country.
It’s a strange thing to be excited about, developing a music taste independent from Patrick’s influence, but it fills me with pride, nonetheless. For years, I was so wrapped up in him that I didn’t know where I ended and he began.
At first it was comforting. It made me feel safe and loved. Like I had something to depend on. But at some point, it changed; I felt stifled. Isolated. Erased.
I still don’t know if it happened gradually or all at once, but either way, I didn’t recognize it until it was too late.
Be a full person.
I turn up the radio and head home.
The house is dark when I pull up, quiet when I unlock the door and step inside. I prepare myself for another disaster like the one from last night—toys and crayons and snacks littering every surface—but I find a tidy, empty living room instead. I turn toward the kitchen and find Jesse knitting at the table. He looks up when he sees me, and the smile that stretches across his face makes my knees wobble. It’s painfully unfair how beautiful he is.
“Hey,” I half-whisper, setting my bag on the counter. “How were they?”
“Great,” he says, and leans back in his chair. “We had a good time. Read about fifty books. Played pirates—I hid the sword under the couch—and we drew some pictures.” He nods in the direction of the refrigerator, and I turn to find that it’s covered in construction paper art. “All in all, it was a great Sunday.”
I scan the pictures, and one jumps out so suddenly that my eyes flash and my breath hitches. To someone unfamiliar with Jude’s drawings, it would just look like a bunch of circles and lines with scribbled faces. But I’ve spent hours upon hours admiring Jude’s work, so I know exactly what this picture displays.
In purple crayon on yellow construction paper, Jude has drawn a picture of himself and June smiling happily next to a tall figure with curly hair. Jesse. But what really gets me is that I’m there too, standing next to Jesse, and we’re holding hands. I squint at the small brown blob drawn on Jesse’s shoulder.
“That’s a squirrel,” Jesse says, following my gaze to the picture. “Her name is Frank.”
“Frank the Squirrel?” I ask, and Jesse just grins.
“Dinner went well,” he says. “Thanks for the tips. Can’t wait to use my new skills for my roommate.”
I smile. “Your roommate likes dino nuggies and mac and cheese?”
“New favorite meal for sure.”
When he stands, I avert my eyes back to the kitchen. “Thank you. For cleaning up and everything. I really appreciate it.” The sink is empty, the counters are wiped down. It’s cleaner than it usually is.
“No problem.” I feel him move toward me, stopping just a few feet away. “Just remember to talk me up when you get called as a reference.”
I laugh lightly. “Of course.”
I hear the sound of paper sliding on the counter, and when I look toward the sound, my face heats and my eyes jump to Jesse’s. “Where’d you get that?”
My words bite, but Jesse’s smile is smooth, not an ounce of contrition. “Found it in a stack of construction paper yesterday. Today, I saved it from being turned into a portrait of Frank the Squirrel and her little squirrel posse.”
I snatch it from him and pull it to my chest. I shouldn’t be embarrassed that he’s seen my list. There’s nothing wrong with it. But it’s personal, and maybe I still feel a little guilty about it, about wanting to find some sort of identity outside of my kids. Does that make me a terrible mom? To wish for more than just motherhood?
And the last thing on the list...
My cheeks grow hotter. This man is beautiful, and young, and judging from his confident swagger, has probably no shortage of opportunities to explore sexual urges. To have my inexperience and desire so boldly identified in all caps fills me with a shame I don’t quite understand.
“Thanks,” I force out, then turn to shove it in my purse.