“And you wonder why I notice other women?” The man shakes his head, looking disgusted. “What do you expect, when your ass keeps getting fatter? No man wants his wife to have short hair, how many times have I told you that? You just don’t listen, and I’m—”
“That’s it,” Rey says, no longer whispering.
She jumps up and turns to the couple. The woman looks up at her, revealing tear-stained cheeks.
“Your hair looks beautiful,” Rey says fiercely. “You are beautiful in every way, and this asshole doesn’t deserve you.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” the man demands.
I move to stand beside Rey, and I give him my most intimidating scowl. “You come within two feet of her and I’ll beat your ass into next week,” I tell him. “Try me, asshole.”
Rey points at me and says to the woman, “That’s how a real man’s supposed to be. You’re married to a whiny bitch little boy. You don’t have to put up with it. I’ll take you out of here right now, and I’ll go with you to pack some things and help you get away from him.”
The woman sniffles and says, “But he’s my husband.”
“We all make mistakes,” Rey says. “You don’t have to suffer for it forever.”
“Bitch, you better sit back down before I call the cops,” the man threatens.
“Go ahead,” she challenges, folding her arms in front of her.
“Please just go,” the woman begs, her brown eyes anxious and full of tears.
A well-built Black man, at least six and a half feet tall, approaches the table and says, “You guys okay here?”
“Yeah, we’re cool,” I tell him.
“This guy was verbally abusing his wife,” Rey says, fire in her tone.
The stranger gives the guy in the booth a look and asks the woman, “You need some help?”
“It’s just the way he is,” the woman says dismissively. “I’m used to it.”
“Bro, you got anything to say to her while I’m standing here?” the stranger asks while staring down the man in the booth.
He shakes his head decisively and raises his hands in the air. “We’re fine, okay? My wife and I were having a private conversation. You guys better leave or I’ll call the police.” He takes out his cell phone and waves it in front of us.
“Do you want help?” Rey asks the woman again. “I can help you, I promise I can.”
The woman shakes her head. “No, we’re fine.”
The stranger meets my gaze before shrugging and walking away. I put my arm around Rey’s shoulders and say, “C’mon, let’s go.”
Rey shoots one last glare at the man in the booth and says, “You’re disgusting.”
“Hey, grab your bag,” I say softly. “We’ll go somewhere else.”
She gets her purse and as she puts the strap over her shoulder, I see that she’s shaking with anger. I rest my palm on her back as we leave the deli, unsure what to say to make her feel better.
“What the hell is wrong with people?” she laments as we step onto the sidewalk. “I just don’t get it.”
“Let’s walk a little while and cool down,” I say, taking her hand and leading her away from the deli.
I expect to hear her continued rage over the situation in the deli. Rey’s not one for dropping stuff. But when all I hear is silence, I look over at her and am shocked by what I see.
Tears are welled in her eyes, threatening to spill over, and her expression isn’t angry, but anguished. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look so broken.
“Hey,” I say, stopping and instinctively pulling her into my arms. “It’s okay.”
A sob bursts out of her, and once she starts crying, she can’t stop. She’s breathing hard and black streaks of eye makeup run down her cheeks.
I need a fucking handkerchief. I always made fun of my dad for carrying them, and now I feel like I should apologize because this is the perfect situation for one.
“I have…tissues,” Rey says, still crying as she fishes through her bag.
“Here, I’ll get them.” I reach in and find the plastic package, pulling one out and wiping her cheeks with it.
“I’m sorry,” she says, clearly embarrassed.
“Don’t be.” I put my arm around her and keep her close. “My car’s one block over.”
She lets me hold her as we walk, and once we’re both inside the car, she sighs heavily and laughs as she examines her makeup in the passenger side mirror.
“This is why I don’t wear makeup,” she says as she pulls strips of fake lashes from her eyelids.
In the short amount of time I’ve known her, I’ve never seen Rey so vulnerable. I wait for her to get cleaned up before I say, “That wasn’t about the couple at the diner, was it?”
Rey looks down at her lap. “I didn’t mean to get so upset. I just…I guess I wasn’t expecting that, you know? I thought we were going to have lunch and then I ended up next to that massive prick.”
“Yeah. And you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but what I saw on your face back there wasn’t about that couple.” I pause, gauging her reaction to my words before continuing. “I feel like maybe you’ve been there yourself.”
It shocks me to think of Rey putting up with any man’s shit. She’s an absolute firebrand. But maybe an abusive situation made her into who she is today.
She looks over at me, her expression sad. “I’ve been there, yeah. But not in the way you might think.” Her exhale is deep. “I watched my father abuse my mother for years.”
My heart sinks. From her strained voice and the tears welling once again, I can tell how deeply painful this is for Rey. I reach over and take her hand.
“I always wondered why she wouldn’t stand up to him,” Rey says softly. “I’d ask her when we were alone why he was so mean to her. She said it wasn’t really him, but alcohol.”
“So seeing that woman back there justifying her husband’s behavior brought that all back,” I say, rubbing my thumb across the back of her hand.
She nods. “It brought everything back. And I wasn’t expecting it so it hit really hard.” She looks out the passenger side window. “My dad broke my mom’s arms and ribs. He pushed her down the stairs one time too. God, it hurt me, because I loved her more than anything in the world. And I hated him so much. I fantasized about killing him.”
I can feel the pain in her voice, hitting me square in the chest. “Jesus, Rey. I’m so sorry.”
“When I was six, she packed our things one day and told him we were leaving,” she says flatly. “I’d never been so happy. He went into a complete rage over it. He started beating her, and it was different than any other time. She yelled for me to run, and…I did. I went to our neighbor’s house; he was a former Marine in his 80s. When I told him what was happening, he called the police and barricaded us inside his house with a shotgun pointed at the front door.”
I’m horrified by Rey’s words. Devastated. The thought of a six-year-old girl experiencing what she did makes me feel physically ill.