“Yeah,” he sneered. “You just keep telling yourself that. And I’ll just keep writing you checks every single month for your ridiculous reasons.” He paused. “I hope you like next month’s check.”
I frowned, unsure what to say to that.
“You want to know why?” Marjorie practically cackled.
No, I didn’t.
I had a feeling that they were going to share the information with me, whether I agreed or not.
So, I continued to sit there, waiting patiently for them to ruin my day even more.
“Oh, she doesn’t look happy, Mal.” Marjorie giggled.
I wanted to punch her in the throat—with the hand that still bore the tan from my wedding ring. Too bad I still didn’t have said wedding ring, otherwise I would’ve made sure to rub it in her face.
At this point, I was well and truly over Mal.
The only problem was that Mal thought I was still hung up over him.
Honestly, I wasn’t.
I was pissed.
Pissed that I’d wasted a year of my life dating him, and two years of my life married to him.
Even more, I wished that I hadn’t thought he’d make a good father when I’d first seen him with his nephew.
If I were being honest, it was Mal’s nephew who had first caught my eye.
He’d been two and wearing boots, a cowboy hat, and spurs. He’d been riding a horse and he’d fallen. Me, being a nurturing person by nature, had gone to help the little cowboy up.
And that little cowboy had stolen my heart, right along with his uncle about ten seconds later.
Unfortunately for me, I hadn’t realized that his uncle was the player that he was.
I also hadn’t realized what kind of spoiled little brat he was, either.
I baked cakes.
I was sheltered.
And even more, was socially awkward and shy.
When I was growing up, I’d always been overweight. All through my childhood and teenage years, I’d looked like a fat blob. However, when I’d turned eighteen, I’d tried hard to get the body that I’d always wanted. And in doing so, I’d created an unfair image of myself.
I’d starved myself, worked out hard, and been an utterly unhappy person.
Then I’d met Mal, and I’d had to continue to force myself to eat well, or not eat at all, to please my husband.
Then I’d gotten an injury, and I’d been forced to take it easy, and I’d gained weight.
Not able to work out, I’d ballooned, and my husband had lost interest in me since I was no longer his perfect little wife anymore.
It’d taken me six weeks to get healthy enough to work out again, and two weeks after that to realize that my husband was cheating on me.
Within a week, I’d filed for divorce, and if it wasn’t for Mal’s father, Malloy, I would’ve drowned.
Sadly, for Mal, when the divorce happened, Malloy took my side. Meaning I’d taken Mal’s entire family away from him in one fell swoop.
Not that I’d been trying to do that or anything.
I would’ve gladly given that to Mal if he would’ve just worked with me on the house payment, but he’d turned into a raving lunatic, and a man I no longer recognized.
“You look like you’re enjoying yourself,” Mal sneered. “I can’t wait for you to see the checks. Oh, and before I forget. My dad said something funny today.” He continued as if he couldn’t tell he was making me uncomfortable. “He said that you were running that Spartan Texas Race. What is this fool plan you have?”
He was right.
But what he didn’t know was that I’d made a vow last night.
Today would be my last day of eating like crap. It would be the last day that I put anything in my body that wasn’t healthy for me for at least the next few months while I trained my ass off for the Spartan Texas Race that I’d signed up for as a spur of the moment decision last night.
I’d been lying in my bed, feeling sorry for myself, and had seen the ad for it on my timeline on my social media page as I’d been scrolling through all of my friends’ happy lives.
Since I baked cakes for a living and made my living practically by word of mouth through social media, I spent a lot of time on there looking for ideas as well as promoting the hell out of myself.
And when I’d seen that in my timeline, I’d remembered when I’d gone to the race with Mal last year.
We’d already been having troubles by that point, so when I’d expressed interest in wanting to go to that, he’d practically laughed in my face and told me that I couldn’t do it.
Therefore, when I saw it again last night, I’d made a rash decision and signed up even though I knew that it would likely take everything I had to give to even finish the race, let alone rock at it.
Which was also why, when I saw the boot camp right underneath it, which happened to have a couple of ex-military guys helping run it that would ‘get me ready for the race,’ I’d signed both me and my best friend up for it.
Though, she didn’t know that fun fact just yet.
I had a plan to meet her after lunch to discuss it with her.
However, she’d been applying for a job and was running late.
“Yeah.” I nodded. “I did mention it to him.”
I knew what his next words would be without even having to think outside the box. He was so predictable.
Which he told me and confirmed my guess of what would come out of his mouth moments later.
“You do know, right, that you won’t do well at it?” he asked bluntly.
I wanted to punch him in the dick.
“I know that I signed up for a boot camp that would help me accomplish my goal of finishing,” I said patiently, not wanting to create a scene.
This was my favorite restaurant, and I wanted to be able to come back to this place after everything was all said and done with the man and the bitch standing in front of me.
“Well, good luck with that,” Marjorie sneered. “Me and Mal are running it together this year. I can’t wait.”
Wonderful.
On one of the biggest days of my life, I’d have to see them.
Yay.
“That’s cool.” I picked up my chip and shoved it into my mouth.
“You’re not going to get anywhere eating like that, though.” He shook his head. “I thought you told Dad that you didn’t have any money? If you don’t have any money, how exactly are you able to come out to eat and buy shit like that?”
I sighed. “I was given a gift card.”
By his father, sure, but it was a gift card nonetheless.
He’d been given it by one of his clients and had then given it to me because a little hole in the wall wasn’t Malloy’s cup of tea. Malloy’s tastes were more refined… and they leaned toward two-hundred-dollar steaks and not ten-dollar hamburgers.
“Show her the checks,” Marjorie whispered.
I gritted my teeth at her obnoxious voice.
“Yeah.” He grinned. “She’ll really like them.”