Hot Girls Hit Curbs

Amelia Graham

“I mean, you can stay, Mills…”

I tucked the phone into my shoulder and tried to Tetris the box I was holding into the back of my ancient Honda Civic. Blowing my hair out of my face, I sighed, “But…?”

“No but.” Cora paused, “It’s just winter’s coming, you know? That cabin isn’t really a winter activity.”

I shuffled aside a box of dishes, which made an alarming crashing sound, and winced. “I know. But I’m kind of out of options here.”

“Brian still being an ass?”

I grumbled as I shifted the box to the other hip, moving to the other side of my dilapidated car. Maybe if I took all my clothes out of the duffel and stuffed them into the gaps? “I caught him in bed with Cameron.”

She made a sympathetic noise.

“And I can deal with the bad attitude and the put-downs and the constant fighting, but I draw the line at cheating.” I continued absently stuffing clothes anywhere I could find.

“Wait, Cameron? The guy Cameron or the girl one?”

“The guy one,” I say bitterly as I continue my futile effort to fit all my possessions in the world’s smallest car.

“That’s –”

“Yep.”

“He’s gay?”

“I have no idea, and honestly, I’m done with it being my problem, so…”

“Well, I mean, considering you are now homeless, I would say it’s very much your problem.” she sighed “Well, you can stay there as long as you need, just make sure you order firewood - a lot of it - if you are going to stay up there for long… and get used to being snowed in.”

“The idea of being snowed in sounds amazing,” I said honestly. “And it will give me time to finish my novel.”

“Right, the novel. How is that going by the way?”

“Good!” I lied. A bell tolled in the background - oof, saved by the bell, literally.

“Ooo gotta go, kids are getting out of school. Call me later? The key is still under the beaver on the porch.”

“Thanks, give Piper a squeeze and Jonas a big wet smackeroo for me.”

She laughed, “I will, love you, Mills.”

“Love you too, sis.” I hung up the phone and tossed it on the front seat. All my crap was never going to fit. I contemplated the roof, envisioning a giant bag or three tied on top… maybe I should have left my duffle stuffed after all. Maybe I should go to U-Haul, get them to add a trailer hitch to the rust bucket, and tow all my crap to Maine –

As usual, my squirrel brain kept me stagnant for too long, and Brian’s big, stupid truck with his big idiot face and his stupid, useless body pulled up. He was pissed. All red-faced, fists clenched, huffing and puffing like I was the one who’d slept with their ‘best friend’. Like I was the one stupid enough to get caught. Like I was the one to blame for all of this mess.

“What the fuck are you doing, Amelia?!”

Right. Well, seems as if the dickhead has chosen violence.

“Ooo,” I said, turning back to my car-shaped Tetris puzzle, and wondering if I really needed Aunty Myrtle’s collection of fine china. No, I don’t think I do. I heaved the box out and dropped it in front of Brian’s big, stupid feet.

He jumped back a little to avoid it, pity.

“The full name, huh? Bringing out the big guns, are we?” I sneered. Yes, I was bitter. Yes, I deserved to indulge in it. Stew awhile. Just long enough to stick it to this douchebag who had the audacity to marry me while he was screwing his ‘best friend’ for the entirety of our so-called marriage.

He opened his mouth, no doubt to shout some stupid, idiotic nonsense that wasn’t going to do anything but piss me off further and make a scene for our poor neighbors - what did they ever do to deserve this?

“Oh, wait.” I said, leaning against the death trap that was my car, “I forgot, you already did that with Cameron today.” I waved an arm, “Too bad I was late for the party.”

Oh, the sweet, sweet taste of shock, horror, and guilt flitting across a dickhead’s face.

Too bad it was at my expense.

I stared at him. He stared at me. I saw the moment he knew I knew. It was delicious, it was horrific, it was…

“Mills, it’s not what you think –”

Right. Well, idiots gonna idiot.

Also liar. It was exactly what I thought. He knew it. I knew it. Cameron knew it. I was just late to the party.

“Oh, so it’s Mills now, is it? Well, you can fuck off and go right back to your BFF because I’m done.” I turned around and grabbed another box of china, dumping it on the sidewalk. It made a very pleasing crash noise that made me immediately go in search of the final one. I need much more smashing of fine china and far, far less Brian in my life immediately.

Right fucking now.

Because I was not going to let this asshole see me cry. No fucking way. Not in this lifetime. He did not deserve my tears - just rage. Safe, warm, comfortable justified rage. And nothing else.

He ran a hand through his hair and surveyed the wreckage that was my life. Because, let’s be real here, it was wreckage. The smashed china on the sidewalk. The haphazard packing job. The rusted-out Honda Civic. I never belonged here. Not in this perfect suburban neighborhood with my perfect suburban husband. It was all fake and it wasn’t me. It had never been me.

I was messy and chaotic and always doing approximately 18 thousand things at once, and Brian was - gay. He was gay and I –

I swallowed. All the reasons that he gave me for not wanting to start a family, not wanting to share a bed, not wanting to kiss or hug or snuggle unless we were in public - on paper, the whole stupid thing looked perfect, it looked like the ideal marriage. The cute couple, so tragic that they can’t have a family.

Because one of them was lying.

But I would not let him see me mourn all that. No fucking way.

“Look we can work this out –”

“No.” I said, happy my voice sounded firm and not strangled “No. We’re done. I’m done. I’ll mail you the divorce paperwork.”

“Where will you go?”

I gave up trying to stuff my broken life into my rusty shit-mobile and closed the trunk, moving to the driver’s seat. “Maine.”

I slammed the door. I turned the key. I didn’t look back.