Ben gets Julia’s episode up bright and early Monday morning. I listen to it while I run on the treadmill, and apparently, I’m not the only one tuning in first thing, because I have a bunch of missed calls and several texts on my phone when I’m done. I read them as I walk across the parking lot to my car, sweat trickling down my back.
Grandma: Hon, can you call me? Or come by. Any time.
Dad: Did you leave already? Your mom and I want to talk to you.
Nathan: Hey, is everything okay down there? Just because we broke up doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends. If you want to talk about anything.
Emmett: Do you want to get lunch soon?
Christ, I’m so popular suddenly. People find out that your first husband has been slapping around his second wife and everyone makes assumptions. I sit in my car for several minutes with the AC blasting in my face,
thinking about what to do about those assumptions.
On the one hand, they’re right.
On the other hand, they can all go fuck themselves.
I don’t appreciate them turning me into the victim of this story. Savvy’s the victim. She was buffed and polished after her death and turned into the perfect victim I could never be. Let’s leave it that way.
Another text pops up on my phone.
Hey, it’s Julia. Ben gave me your number.
I told him he could do that. Now I wish I hadn’t.
I hope you’re okay. I’m happy to talk, whenever you’re ready.
I wonder whether she really never fought back. Did Matt just confuse us, or did she snap like me, and decide to get out ahead of the story?
God, I hope it’s the latter. She’s so tiny and cute, no one would ever believe that she hit him. I hope she beat his ass.
I stare at her texts. I’m never going to give her what she needs. I’m not a supportive shoulder.
I quickly type out a reply.
Thanks. Good luck with everything.
“If you stab him in the neck, it’ll be quick,” Savvy whispers in my ear. “Do you want it to be quick?”
Julia is definitely better off without me.
My phone rings—Grandma—but I ignore it. I have to make a choice. If I tell the truth, and admit that Matt hit me, he will definitely tell everyone that I fought back. It won’t matter that it was months before I snapped. It won’t matter that I suffered through countless nights of screaming insults and stinging slaps and being thrown against walls so hard it’s a miracle my head isn’t dented.
I did, eventually, snap, and it’ll just be further proof of my evil, violent heart.
Of course she killed Savvy! Instead of leaving her abusive husband she hit him right back! Who does that?
If I lie, I leave Julia out to dry. I should care about that. Woman solidarity and all that.
But there’s no reason people won’t believe her. Julia is not me. She’s still likable. Still a good victim.
My options are shitty, but I know what I’m going to do. No one expects the truth from me anyway.
 |
“He did have a temper when he drank, but my experience with Matt was not exactly the same as Julia’s.” I say the words like I practiced them. I already
said them to Ben, in a long interview this afternoon. Both he and Paige looked at me like they thought I was full of shit.
My mom, however, looks relieved. She’s standing in the kitchen, leaning on one crutch. Dad is behind her, a spatula in his hand like he’s going to threaten someone with it. Grandma sits at the table. They’ve all been waiting for me to get home. I spent the entire day avoiding them.
“What does that mean, not exactly the same?” Grandma squints.
“Like I said. He had a temper. He threw some glasses at the wall, stomped around a lot.”
“But he didn’t hit you?” Dad asks nervously.
“Of course he didn’t hit her!” Mom exclaims. “She lived five miles down the road then. We would have known.”
I lift an eyebrow. I’d planned to be a little more straightforward in my denial, but Mom is making this difficult. My sense of self-preservation is really battling it out with my desire to prove my mother wrong.
“I don’t think that anyone knows what’s going on inside someone else’s marriage,” I say. “No matter how close they live.”
Everyone freezes.
Dad still has the spatula poised in front of him like a weapon. He has a familiar look in his eyes, one I used to see often as a kid. Like he’s afraid I’m about to say something that he’ll have to deal with, and it’s the absolutely last thing in the world that he wants to do right now.
“But I will not be making any tearful podcast confessions, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I quickly add.
Mom lets out a breath, like that was exactly what she was worried about. Dad sets the spatula on the counter, blessedly free from having to do battle for me today.
“We’re worried about you!” Grandma says.
“Well, I’m happily single now, so it doesn’t really matter anyway.” I smile. “What’s for dinner?”
“Gnocchi!” Mom says, overly chipper, and points to Dad, who is now struggling to open the package.
Grandma throws her hands up in the air. “What the fuck? Are we going to talk about the fact that it was probably Matt who killed Savvy?”
Dad spills the gnocchi all over the floor.
