The Fortunate Ones

“Right, okay, he’s older. I’ll give you that, but that’s not why you’re doing this. Mom really did a number on you, didn’t she?”

I purposely delay answering. Instead, I yank a shirt out of my drawer and start to fold it into a tiny square so it can fit snugly in my suitcase—a suitcase I’m packing for a position I have yet to officially accept.

“It’s not your fault she left Dad,” she affirms, her voice clear and gentle.

I pick at a nonexistent piece of lint on my shirt. “I know that.”

“So then talk to me. What’s the real problem?”

She’s relentless. I could kick her out of my room, but being Ellie, she’d probably just slither right back in. So, I give her honesty in the hopes that this conversation will end soon.

“James made his intentions perfectly clear from the beginning: he wants a wife and kids. After I pressured him to just go with the flow, he claimed to have cast those goals to the wind.”

“And you don’t believe him?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe he’s trying, I just…” I struggle to find the words. “I just don’t think it’s that easy to change. I couldn’t help but see a deeper motive in all the sweet, innocuous things he did. I felt like Hansel and Gretel—on the surface, I was just eating cake, but really I was being fattened up.”

“But you love cake!” she teases, trying to lighten my mood.

I smile and shrug. “Exactly. I had to get away before I lost my ability to resist and ended up as someone’s wife and someone’s mother.”

“Why is that a bad thing? Don’t you want kids?”

“Eventually, but not like tomorrow!”

My shouting stuns her for a few minutes, and I relish the silence. My suitcase is half packed for Spain, and my Goodwill pile is growing taller by the minute.

“You know Mom had me when she was only 21?” Ellie offers thoughtfully. “She had one year left at St. Edward’s, but she couldn’t finish her degree, and I think she always resented Dad a little bit for that. He was able to finish college and find a solid career. I think Mom wanted to do the same.”

I didn’t know that.

“She could have gone back when we were older,” I point out.

She shrugs. “She probably would have if she hadn’t found Jorge. He fulfilled something in her that Dad never could.”

I know what she means. With my dad, she was only ever a stay-at-home mom and a doting wife. He thought her time was best spent rearing children and cleaning house. Jorge tore her from that world and flipped her entire script. Together, they travel the world, working as partners in the Peace Corps. I don’t have to like the fact that she left to understand why she did, which is the exact reason I decide I don’t have to like that I’m going to Spain. I just have to do it.

…

The shitty thing about putting in my two weeks notice is that I don’t get to go out in a blaze of glory. I have eight more shifts to get through in the next two weeks, and as much as I’d like to blow them off, I could actually use the money. There are a few last-minute things I need to buy before I head to Spain, not to mention, I have to pay off the rest of my lease agreement at the co-op. For free-loving hippie types, they sure made a show of squeezing every last dime out of me.

The country club is quiet during my shift on Monday. Summer is winding down and school is starting soon. Now, midday, there are only a few families at the pool, and they’ve been here all morning. I’ve offered them enough beverages and food to hold them over for the next hour, which means I have nothing to do but stand in the shade near the bar and focus on the rippling water of the pool. I wonder if Spain will be this hot when I arrive, if the cicadas will chirp as loud there as they do here.

One of the mothers near the kiddie pool waves me over and asks for a few extra napkins. I take my time with the task, trying to ignore the fact that I still have another few hours of this. By the time I hand her a half-dozen, I’m hopeful they’ll need something else, but she dismisses me and I’m back to moseying around the pool. I’ve already swept out the bathroom and restocked the toilet paper. The cooking staff takes care of everything inside the cabana kitchen, but I ask them if they need any help restocking. Unfortunately, they have everything covered. I frown and head back out to stand by the pool, wondering if I actually see a black Porsche driving down the tree-lined drive or if it’s a figment of my imagination.