She didn’t even know him. And maybe Jackie was right to be wary because of what she did know, but didn’t she trust me?
“Nicole! Nicole, wait!” A hand grabbed my elbow, and I whipped around to shove my knuckles into Jackie’s eye socket. She cried out shrilly, her body crumpling over a table that was still covered in dirty dishes and half-empty glasses. The entire restaurant froze, all eyes on me, and Jackie clutched her face as shock replaced her misguided righteousness.
“You bitch!” Seething furiously, I shook as Jackie stared, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, with water and soda sticking her hair to her shoulders and back. Bits of food clung to her shirt, and my lip curled in disgust. “We’re done, you understand? Done! How fucking dare you! After I told you . . . I’m done trying to placate you and ignore that you really are a pushy, nosy, controlling bitch that bullies me into doing things your way. Don’t fucking talk to me anymore. If I decide to contact you, I will, but don’t you fucking call me. Don’t text me. Don’t email me. Nothing! We’re over!”
I threw out my arms to show how serious I was as panic flooded Jackie’s face. Turning on my heel, I stomped out of the restaurant and left her there as apoplexy tinged my vision red. The beautiful evening was wasted on me, and I bristled from the intense emotions rampaging through me.
Opening my purse, I sniffled harshly as tears dripped to splash off my throbbing knuckles. I couldn’t walk and find my phone at the same time, and my knees wobbled dangerously. Clenching my jaw hard, my teeth ached in their sockets as I struggled to pick up my phone. My fingers refused to bend, and I shudder violently while trying to tap my pin code into the screen.
“C’mon . . . d-don’t be like this . . .” Sputtering harshly, I blinked back my tears to see clearer, and color flashed at the corner of my vision. My head whipped up, and relief slumped my shoulders when I saw it wasn’t Jackie coming to try to talk to me. The hostess that’d led us in scanned me with concerned, brown eyes, and I pointed awkwardly at my purse. “C-can you get my phone and . . . and put in my pin? I have to call my boyfriend, but I can’t . . . my hand . . .”
“Sure.” She didn’t offer me to talk or anything, and I sniffed hard and wiped my face with my abused hand. My knuckles were already swelling like balloons, and I winced when she bumped my stiff fingers. “Who’s he in your contacts?”
“Bruiser.” She taps around to his name, and I tense when I realize Bruiser has no way of getting to me. His bike was still in Margot, and his truck was somewhere repurposed as a toilet for birds. But he’ll come. I know it. Conviction eased the fiery pain in my hand, and I managed a few calming, deep breaths as the line rang on speaker.
“Hey, baby. I guess we’re not gonna have the fajitas, huh? You okay?” I almost choked on my sobs, but Bruiser continued before I could squeak out a word past the dense lump in my throat. “I’m almost there. Your sister’s husband blabbed on what she was gonna do. He showed up a couple of minutes after you left.”
I saw stars leaning against the brick support structure between giant bay windows to sink to my butt. The hostess crouched next to me, holding my phone out to her, and I gasped for air.
“Hi, um, I work at the Portsmouth. I think she might’ve broken her hand when she punched her sister. You’re gonna probably have to take her to the hospital.” Her voice sounded far away, and I set my head back against the wall as I slowly gathered myself. “If you want, I can put your order in to go?”
“I appreciate it, yeah. I’ll be there in ten-ish.” At least Sam has my back. Jackie was doing this for herself, to be right, or just to not admit she’s wrong. To bully me into doing what she wants like she always did.
And now, I saw it for what it was. Jackie wasn’t just abrasive and demanding, and I couldn’t just indulge her and go about my own thing anymore. A wop-wop of the folder in my purse caught my attention as it resisted the breeze, and I pulled it out with my good hand.
Popping the folder open, I wiped my face with my uninjured hand to focus with all my might. The top record was Bruiser’s accepted dual citizenship fifteen years ago, and everything below was older. There were arrest records, jail time, and dates when he was taken to the hospital after his mother tried to kill him . . . the several times she tried to kill him.
I couldn’t tear my eyes off the pages if I tried as I flipped them one by one. My eyes ached fiercely, but I couldn’t make my lids close. The breeze stung my face, and my trembling, abused hand stung with pins needles as my fingertips brushed the page.
On the third paper was his picture, but it was from years ago. Obviously, it was a mug shot when he didn’t have a beard and was slimmer, at least in his face. Bruiser’s eyes were lackluster and glazed as if he was super high on something, but I could see that he was empty even in the photo. Something had happened, and it sucked his soul out.
At least, temporarily. She was my mother, and I killed her for all the times she tried to kill me. Bruiser never said when it happened,
