Take It - Part Two Read Online Free Page B

and I slam the phone down onto the receiver. There was no point to that call. I didn’t get to scream at him for what he’d done. I didn’t get to find out why. All I did was look like a feeble-minded idiot. If he’s trying to destroy me, I just showed him he had.
    But if the phone rings right now . . . I’ll pick it up.

Chapter Five
     
    My mother places the same tray she used when I had the flu as a child across my lap. It’s a dingy brown metallic tray with legs that fold out on either side to keep it steady. On it wobbles a bowl of kids cereal and a plastic cup of orange juice, more pieces of childhood nostalgia. My mother’s sentimental streak is worrisome. When she tells a story, you would think she was recounting something she did last week when in fact it happened twenty years ago. Her brain is fixated on the best years of her life, back when her kids were small and before her husband revealed himself as a philandering cheater. As my eyes trace the angles of her tired face, I pray I don’t ever fall into the same trap. My time with Harrison was a powerful magic, and I hope my mind doesn’t continue to wander there dreamily for the rest of my life.
    One of my biggest realizations is that everything I thought I was never really existed. I tried to project myself as a powerful, well put together, and accomplished woman. But I was weak. Not just with Harrison, but with every aspect of my life. I allowed myself to be sexually harassed by my boss and convinced myself it was my fault for being a woman in a man’s world. Harrison didn’t leave me with just a broken heart—he left me with a devastating reality check. A power business suit and long-term employment don’t mean shit if, at the end of the day, you don’t value yourself. How could I think I was a strong independent woman when I let myself get steamrolled every day at work?
    My mother smooths my wild bed head down with her fragile hand, and I cringe inwardly. This time warp is making me feel smothered, and I’m wondering if I’ve made a grave mistake by agreeing to move in here.
    “I’m sorry the television in your old room doesn’t have many channels. I’ve rigged up the rabbit ears so you can get the classic movie channel you loved to watch. That’s about the only option.” My mother clicks the remote and the old boxy television hums to life. After it works out its static and kinks, the screen pops up with an old movie I haven’t seen in over a decade. I used to be glued to my mother’s side watching every glamorous movie from the thirties and forties. I can’t remember why or when I stopped watching them, but the large fluttering eyes of the actress makes long for the comfort they used to bring.
    With a spoon in my hand, the television tuned to an old movie, and my pillow thoroughly fluffed, my mother sneaks out of the room to head to work. “I’ll be back to check on you at lunchtime. I’ll make your favorite, that soup with the letters in it.”
    With a quick wave she’s gone, and I take a heaping spoonful of the sugary cereal loaded with marshmallows. Looking around my old room I see everything is just how I left it, in all its heartthrob-poster glory. Sadly, my mother left our rooms like little shrines to the lives we lead as children.
    As I finish my breakfast and awkwardly move the tray to the bedside table, I can still feel the ache in my hand and foot. I’ve never been without a plan. But what can I do? I’m too injured to job hunt. My mangled phone can be replaced easily, but I’m not sending my mom on that errand for me. Who knows what she’d come home with? If they made rotary cell phones in basic black, she’d pick it.
    Everything has been moved out of my apartment. Half's here, half's in storage. Not surprisingly, my mother did a horrendous job of deciding which clothes to bring here. Anything that looked like I might have worn it in high school made the cut. She’d even dug a jumper out of her attic that she