Selfish Love

"It's fine," I said.

"You're just usually so unflappable," she said. "So to know you were that upset, I just... I felt bad that I hadn't come over myself. I'm sorry."

Oh, God. And now she was apologizing to me.

"It's okay, Em," I repeated. "Really."

She took another deep breath. "Okay. Here's the thing, though, because it's not okay."

I felt frozen in place. "Why?"

She looked at me, her eyes a strange mix between hard and sympathetic. "Things have been so weird lately and I couldn't figure out why. You've been working like crazy and when Jimmy told me Daniel asked for two weeks I had to wonder why, you know? And then Alex said that you and Mike had an argument last weekend about the Taylor Swift tickets, and I realized that Daniel asked for the extra time around when Mike got the tickets for the girls and--"

"Em, stop," I said, my voice shaking.

"Please don't tell me you've been working yourself sick over this."

I tried to answer. I tried to say I wouldn't tell her that. But my mouth went dry and there was a thick lump blocking the base of my throat. Fortunately or not, that seemed to be answer enough.

"You're joking," she said. "Seriously, Kelsie? All of this has been about the--I mean, you went to Daniel--you went to your fucking abuser--and asked for more money just for some stupid concert tickets?!"

Shame burned through me, flashing as bright and hot as the anger that followed it. Because on one hand, she was right: I'd put myself in this position for fucking Taylor Swift tickets. I didn't even like Taylor Swift.

But my daughter did. And she wanted to see that concert more than anything. And I wanted to be able to give her those things, to be part of those memories, to have those moments she would look back on for the rest of her life.

And that meant it wasn't stupid.

"Jesus, I can't believe this. I can't believe you," she said, her voice full of anger and hurt.

"Do you want to stop yelling at me for being in a shitty situation?" I asked coldly.

"I'm not yelling at you," she shot back. "But no, I'm not going to stop being pissed. We're supposed to be friends, Kelsie. You're supposed to tell me when you're going through shit. Instead, now I get to feel like a total jackass for making you miss work and not knowing you were struggling."

"Right, because this whole thing is about you."

"You know damn well that's not what I meant." She sat back in her chair, glaring at me with a look that was far too reminiscent of Jimmy's scowl for my comfort. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You had your own shit going on," I muttered.

"What?!"

"You did," I said. "With Alex and moving and planning the friggin' concert and--"

"That's bullshit and you know it. You know I would have made time for you."

I made a scoffing noise, glancing to the side as I tried to collect my thoughts. "I didn't... I had it figured out."

"Did you? Did you really?"

"You can stop being a bitch about it any time."

"I'm not--"

"No, you are," I said, glaring at her as my face burned. "You're sitting here judging me just like you would've if I'd told you I couldn't..."

I trailed off as Em gaped at me.

"Do you seriously think that little of me? Do you seriously think I'd judge you for not being able to afford something?"

I didn't respond.

"Seriously?!" Her voice went high pitched and patches of pick appeared on her cheeks. "After all we've... I thought we were closer than that. I thought I was the kind of person you could trust to lean on."

I didn't know if she was trying to manipulate me into feeling guilty, but that's what was happening. There was a familiar instinct, a deep-seated response made of fear and self-preservation that was trying to surface telling me to apologize, to tense my shoulders and tuck my chin so that when someone struck out at me, I'd be able to curl up in a ball and protect myself.

I don't think she intended it, but I wasn't in a place where I could control it. Rational thought didn't seem to exist in that place either, just shame and anger and the concept of fight or flight, of either bowing down and letting someone else win or of standing up and facing them.

And I'd let Daniel win far too many times.

"You're not," I said bluntly, and Em recoiled. I straightened up in my chair. "You're not the same person anymore. I don't feel like I even know you."

Her face crumpled. "This is exactly what I said I didn't want to happen when I moved. I fucking said--"

"Your move had nothing to do with it." My intent wasn't to be cruel, but my words didn't seem to understand that. "You started becoming someone else the moment you and Alex decided to get together."

"I did not!" she protested.

"You did!" It was a struggle not to shout at her. "You let him change you and you didn't even realize it."

"Oh, and you're just bringing this up now because...?"

I laughed. "Because what was I supposed to say? 'Em, you're not the kind of person who volunteers to put on a big charity concert'? Like I was supposed to question you doing good things?"

She stared at me, bewildered. "I... what?"

"And what about Leia? What was I supposed to say there? That you were so against her performing for so long, that you were so concerned about her being involved in the music industry because you knew what it could do to people, and then you fuck Alex once and suddenly she's a YouTube star performing with huge names in the music industry?"

"That's not--"

"It is. Don't you fucking deny that's what happened." I shook my head. "You would've never agreed to that before you met him. And now you're sitting here acting all self-righteous because you could afford the tickets and I couldn't."

The pink on her cheeks burst into red. "I am not acting self-righteous!"

"You've changed, Em."

"Well, so have you," she snapped back.

"No, I have--"

"Yes, you have. You can't just claim I've changed when you started acting differently around me. You apparently noticed all this happening for however long and didn't say anything? You went from the kind of person who could tell me anything to someone putting herself through hell to avoid, what, admitting she needed help? The Kelsie I know wouldn't change who she is because of her fucking pride, like that means more to her than her friendships or her daughter."

Deep in my chest, I felt those words. I felt them hit me, strike me, gouge their fingernails through my skin. Some sane part of me knew that Em hadn't meant to hurt me like that. It was the same part of me that knew she had a point and that her anger wasn't entirely unjustified, that she was right and I had acted differently and that the whole thing was indeed my fault, just like everything was.

But the rest of me, the little monsters that made up every inch of my horrible self, were screaming, wounded and rabid and angry. It didn't even matter that Em's face changed, that she realized what she'd said and was opening her mouth as though she could shove the words back in where they'd come from.

It didn't matter.

"Kelsie, I didn't mean--"

"I don't need this," I said, grabbing my purse and digging in it for my wallet.

"Wait, let me--"

"You know what, Em? I saved up the money. I put the work in. And yeah, maybe I originally hoped that Daniel would step up and be a reasonable person for once and just fucking help me, but he didn't and that's fine. I did it by myself. I didn't need him and I didn't need you. I can say I bought my little girl's Christmas present on my own and you don't get to take that away from me or make me feel shitty about it. I fucking did it." I found a few dollar bills and threw them on the table as I stood up. "Here. For the coffee."

She said my name again, and again, but I was already striding past the secretly enthralled customers and uncomfortable-looking coffee shop employees who had clearly overheard us. A lady looked at me sympathetically and I realized they'd heard Em say who I'd asked for the money from. I exited the shop with my eyes on the ground and my face beet-red, the chilled outside air almost painful against my overheated skin.

I couldn't pinpoint a time I'd been so angry, so riled up, so right and so wrong and so lost. All I knew is that I had to get out of there, that I had to get away from the eyes and from Em and from the horrible words I'd said and heard. Shaking, I got into my car, turned the radio on as loud as I could stand it, and started driving.

I was driving in the complete opposite direction of where I needed to go when I remembered I'd have to pick up Baylee, and more specifically, that I'd have to see Em when I picked her up. Because of course I would. Because of course I had to fight with my best friend and then see her while I was still angry, not even at the point where I was ready to grieve the loss of her, while I was still battling the contradiction of her blaming me for the situation I'd put myself in. Of course I'd have to see her while my heart was still raw, while I felt like my soul was crumpled and crushed and torn, while I was embarrassed and upset, whether it was justifiable or not.

I wasn't sure when I started crying, but I do know that it was sometime between flicking my signal light on so I could pull a U-turn at the next intersection and approximately thirty seconds later, when I noticed the brake lights flash red in front me just in time for me to wreck my car like I'd wrecked my friendship with Em.

My body jolted forward as I hit the back of the pickup truck in front of me, my seatbelt catching and throwing me back against the seat hard enough to make me gasp for breath. It happened so fast that the tear blocking my vision before I hit him was only just finishing its trail down my cheek, dripping onto my collarbone as I stared straight ahead until the hazard lights on the pickup started flashing.

"Fuck," I said to no one, and then I started sobbing.

That was how the driver of the pickup found me: arms folded on the steering wheel as I cried inconsolably. It wasn't until much, much later that I realized how alarming the sight must have been; all he would have seen was a shocking mop of pink hair and shaking shoulders, which is probably why he pounded frantically on the window before nearly ripping my door off the hinges.

I, of course, took that to mean he was angry.

"N-no, no, no," I squealed, jolting backwards and jerking away from the open door.

"Miss, are you--"

"Don't hurt me," I begged.

"Shit, do I gotta call an ambulance?"

I looked at him with wild eyes, fear and adrenaline coursing through every vein and artery until I managed to take a breath so oxygen could take its place and I could truly see who was standing outside my vehicle.

He was older than me, maybe Alex's age; mid-fifties, maybe sixty at a stretch. A black beanie sat on his head and a bushy mustache barely concealed the look of concern on his face. Wearing the kind of ski jacket that everybody's dad seems to wear, he couldn't have looked less threatening if he tried.

"Wh-what?" I asked.

"You said something about being hurt," he said. "Do you need an ambulance? Can you move?"

The adrenaline began to give way to yet another round of humiliation. "Oh, no, I'm not hurt, I said--" I stopped and shook my head. "I'm not hurt. J-Just shaken up. I... I'm s-sorry, it's been a hell of a day and I have to go get my daughter and--Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?"

A smile that almost looked condescending but was probably intended to be soothing filled the space beneath his mustache and he extended his hand to help me out of my car. "Ma'am, if it weren't for the noise, I probably wouldn't've even noticed. Didn't feel a thing."

When I saw where I'd hit him, I understood what he meant. There wasn't even a single scratch on his vehicle. Mine, on the other hand, had a great big hole that was perfectly in line with the trailer hitch on his pickup.

"Shit," I said.

"Yeah, no repairing that," he said. "Gonna need a new bumper. But go ahead and pop your hood, lemme take a look and make sure you didn't put a hole through the radiator, too."

By some miracle, I hadn't--"Missed it by a quarter-inch at most, you lucky lady," he said--and by the time he closed the hood of my car, I'd gained enough sense to dig out my license and insurance info.

He took it from me, glancing down at the horrendous photo I had on my driver's license before glancing at the car.

"You got comprehensive?" he asked.

"What?"

"Insurance. Does it cover you if you're at fault?"

I shook my head. He took another long look at the front of my car and the back of his truck, then handed my license and insurance back to me.

"Don't need it."

"What?" I asked. "But I--"

"There's half a scratch on my trailer hitch and I didn't feel a thing," he said. "A new bumper's gonna cost you probably fifteen hundred, maybe two grand. All a claim's gonna do is raise your premium. You don't need that."

I stared at him in disbelief. "Are you sure?"

The man smiled and patted my shoulder. "Pay it forward one day, ma'am. Merry Christmas."

Before I could even think to ask for his name, he got back into his truck, turned his hazards off, and pulled away.

That was how I ended up in that CVS parking lot nine days before Christmas with a hole in my bumper and my phone clutched in my hands, wondering if anyone would buy my used panties.

I wish I could say contemplating selling my panties was what made me realize I'd gone too far. I mean, I wish I could say my fight with Em was what made me realize it, but that clearly hadn't happened, either. But seriously considering selling used panties online should have been more than enough to be a red flag.

Like yes, money had been tight, and yes, I'd been stressed and working my ass off to save up for Baylee's present. But I hadn't had to forgo any necessities or give up anything of significance. The electricity was still running. The bills were paid. Baylee hadn't had to miss a field trip at school or a Girl Scouts activity. There was still food on the table. Hell, there was still beer in the fridge, not that it was a necessity, but I'd still managed to treat myself a little.

No, the red flag wasn't considering selling my panties.

It was trying to decide whether skipping a few lunches was worth it if it meant I could start my half-baked used-panty-selling business because I'd need the money to buy spare panties to hopefully sell.

That's when I knew it was too far.

That I wasn't going to be able to buy the tickets.

That I couldn't do it on my own.

I'd managed to stop the tears when I'd been looking at the front end of my car, but I couldn't stop them from pooling in the corners of my eyes as I unlocked my phone and tapped the screen. Shivering, I took a steadying breath as the phone rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

And then he answered.

"I was wondering when you'd call," Daniel said pleasantly. "How much do you need, my dear?"

Twelve

I managed to talk him down to a week.

"She's never been away from home that long," I said. "Two weeks is too much."

"This is her home, too," Daniel replied. "Or it would be, if she was allowed to spend any length of time here."

I bit back my instinctual response, which was to tell him to talk to the courts, since that probably wouldn't work in my favour anymore. "Let her ease into it. I'm not asking for me."

"Two weeks, but we can split it into one week blocks."

I took a steadying breath and let it out. "One week and we'll see."

His tone grew colder. "I don't think you have quite the bargaining power you seem to think you do."

Another breath, this time through clenched teeth. "I'm not bargaining, Daniel. I'm trying to do what's best for our daughter."

"In exchange for money."

Breathe in. Breathe out. "One week."

"Hmm."

"It's the best I can do. One week. If it goes well and she wants to, another one a few months later."

"If she wants to?" he repeated.

"I'm not going to force her to do something she doesn't want to do," I replied.

"Right, my dear, but I just want to confirm that if Baylee wants something, you'll consider it?"

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

"I will consider it," I said. "But you'll need to consider upping your child support permanently."

"When?"

"When will I consider it?"

I could almost hear him roll his eyes. "When is my week with her?"

My stomach curled in disgust as I realized he was agreeing to it. "Send me the money first and then we'll pick a week."

"Absolutely not."

"Daniel, I can't pick a week right this second. I need to check her Scouts schedule and her school stuff and--"

"I don't think you understand, Kelsie. I'm not sending the money until I have my week with her."

"Then I guess you're not getting a week with her."

"Let me remind you which one of us called to ask for money, my dear."

There was no breathing in and out that time.

"Yeah, and I need it before Christmas, so either way, you're leaving me screwed," I snapped. "So I guess you don't get a week with her after all."

"Or you could just--"

But I didn't hear what I could "just" do, since I hung up on him.

I'd never hung up on Daniel before. I don't think either of us quite knew what to do; I half-expected him to call back right away, raging mad, screaming and berating me for doing something so boldly disrespectful.

But he didn't call back and he didn't show up, which didn't matter since I figured either way, I was back to the used panties idea.

I was so certain that was the only option that I'd started checking the Victoria's Secret website and pricing out the cheapest panties I could find in my size while I was waiting for Baylee to come out after the Girl Scouts Christmas party. It was while I was in the process of adding a bunch of clearance panties to my cart that my phone buzzed.

I will transfer the money at the end of the week.

Holy shit.

I stared at the message, eyes wide.

I'd won.

Daniel had backed down on something and I'd won.

I mean, I had to give him a week with Baylee. So I hadn't completely won. But still, something on this God-forsaken day had gone right. I might've lost my best friend and fucked up my car's bumper and gone crawling to my ex-husband for money and promised him way more time with my daughter than he would ever deserve, but damn it, at least I had... that.

It was small, but I had it.

And that was what got me through most of the week. That was what got me through seeing Em's car pull up behind mine while we each waited alone for the girls.

It was what got me through Baylee flinging the door open and asking if she could pretty-please go over to Leia's so they could play music together.

It was what got me through the crushed look on her face when I said no, not today, but maybe next weekend.

It got me through Monday, when I tried not to cry as I handed over all the money I'd managed to save to the body shop repair guy.

And Tuesday, when I got a text message from Em that I wasn't ready to read yet.

Wednesday, when she texted me again asking me to call, and then again telling me Leia wanted Baylee to come over and could we at least let the girls hang out.

Wednesday, when I texted her back a short message saying I agreed that the girls should hang out but that I honestly could not make it work that day.

Wednesday, when she texted me back a short Okay. Sure. that I knew meant she didn't believe me, even though I was telling the truth.

Wednesday, when I cried myself to sleep for the fourth time that week, miserable and lonely and so ashamed of myself that I could barely close my eyes.