Just My Type(4)

Stalking across the kitchen, I stop right in front of him, pointing my finger at his face.

“You titless whore. Fuck fitted sheets!”





CHAPTER 1





I’d Rather Stick My Hand in a Cow’s Ass


Fifteen months later

“You look like horse shit.”

I glare at Brooklyn as I hold my cellphone out in front of me, seriously regretting that I answered her FaceTime call.

“Weren’t those the first words my brother said to you when you guys saw each other again after twelve years?”

“Only after I told him he smelled like horse shit. And look how happy we are now. Tough love. It works wonders,” she informs me, brushing her long, shiny, dark brown hair off one shoulder.

Grabbing a lock of my ratty, blonde hair that has fallen out of my messy bun between two fingers, I bring it up to my nose and give it a whiff. When the smell doesn’t make me wince, I nod to myself and let the long strand fall back down against the side of my face. It only slightly smells like the load of laundry you forgot to put in the dryer after two days of rotting in the washing machine. The coconut-scented dry shampoo I sprayed on this morning before taking Lincoln to school is currently edging out the decaying body smell, and really, that’s all I could ask for.

“Ember. What the fuck is that on the front of your sweatshirt?” Brooklyn’s right eye takes up the entire screen on my phone as she leans forward to try to get a better look at what she’s seeing.

Glancing down at my chest, I notice the spot she’s looking at. Grabbing the front of my hoodie, I bring the dark brown stain up to my mouth and lick it.

“Chocolate. Most likely from the Reese’s Cup family. You know how I like to eat all the chocolate from the top and around the edges first,” I explain with a shrug, trying to remember when I had a Reese’s Cup last.

I think it was Monday. Possibly Tuesday.

“I can’t believe you just licked the front of your shirt.” Brooklyn sighs as her full face comes back into view on my screen. “For all you knew, that could have been shit.”

“Why in the hell would I have actual shit on my sweatshirt? Now you’re just being dramatic.”

I’m mid-eye roll when I suddenly remember when I had chocolate last.

“Monday!” I shout excitedly. “The chocolate was definitely from Monday. Brandon sent me a text saying he had to cancel his night with Lincoln, because he had to go out of town for work at the last minute. Lincoln got upset. I smoothed everything over with a trip to the dollar store and all the candy I could afford. The Dollar Tree, where everything is actually a dollar, and not Dollar General, where things generally never fucking cost just a dollar. Anyway, we pigged out on chocolate, Airheads, and Fun Dip, and played a hundred rounds of Uno until he forgot about being sad.”

“You know it’s Friday now, right?” Brooklyn asks softly.

Whatever. Who cares if I’m still wearing the same grungy hoodie and leggings I had on four days ago? It’s not like it’s a crime or anything that I haven’t exactly learned how to forget about my sadness in the last year and a half. Lincoln’s happiness comes first. That’s my job as a mother. Something my ex-husband still hasn’t quite mastered, unless he’s throwing money at our son.

When I glance back down at my chocolate-stained sweatshirt—and seriously consider bringing it back up to my mouth for another lick—I realize this is probably what rock-bottom looks like. And tastes like. And smells like.

True to his word, Brandon moved out the night he told me things weren’t working. While I’d been cleaning up after dinner, he’d been packing a few suitcases instead of making our fucking bed. I was so numb and completely blindsided that I just agreed to whatever he wanted after that. “It would make the process faster,” he said. “It would be easier on everyone if we file everything as uncontested,” he said.

If he mentioned the word “easier” one more time, I was seriously considering stabbing him in the throat with a dull butter knife. Since I didn’t think I would survive in prison, being that I’m barely five-foot-tall and weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet, I stayed away from sharp objects and just went along with everything. One thing I refused to budge on though, was taking any kind of money from him. Somewhere under all of the confusion and hurt, there was still a strong, independent woman who could take care of herself. I got a job working from home doing transcription. It didn’t pay pharmaceutical sales rep money, but with the money I’d been saving for years working for my family’s pumpkin farm, and the money my brother still pays me from time to time when he calls me in a panic because he can’t figure out something I used to take care of, I was just barely able to afford to rent a really small bungalow a few blocks from Lincoln’s school.

My savings account dwindled quickly after that. I had to take on a lot more transcription jobs than normal, and I lived paycheck to paycheck, but I did what I had to do. Any child support money Brandon gave me went right into a savings account for Lincoln’s future. I would never, in a million years, touch that money. Maybe it was stubborn. Maybe it was stupid.

Listening to Lincoln tell me all about how much money his father spends on him whenever he stays with him sometimes makes me feel stubborn and stupid, but I force myself to push those feelings aside, for my son. I don’t let him know how much it kills me that I can’t buy him everything his heart desired, like his father does. I didn’t cry in front of him when Brandon bought him a brand new fucking iPad and a PlayStation for his birthday a few months ago. I didn’t curl up in the fetal position on the living room floor when Lincoln came home from his place last week, with three pairs of the newest Nike basketball shoes on the market, and told me every single detail of how his dad got them courtside seats to the Chicago Bulls game, and he got to meet a few of the players afterward. I didn’t let it get to me that splurging on my son usually consisted of a trip to the dollar store, trying to make it sound like I was the best mom in the world when I exclaimed, “You can pick out anything you want in this entire store!”