The Twenty Year Triangle

Chapter Five

Waking up to the smell of bacon and pancakes reminds me of where I am as I sit in my old room, now lit with the bright morning sun. The Johnathan Taylor Thomas poster is as long gone as that weird dream.

 Why do we grow out of that anyway? It was nice as a teenager to wake up with hot guys winking at me. What if instead of buying silly little wall hangings to accent the space, we kept up with posters? I'd much rather look at McDreamy and McSteamy, or better yet, Jason Momoa with their bare chests and sexy smirks, over some ridiculous, live, laugh, love decal.

A chirping noise pulls me from my thoughts about half-naked men or men I'd like to see half-naked, I guess. I reach over for my phone, sitting on the nightstand to see the man I no longer desire to see at all, naked or otherwise, texting me.

There goes my mood straight down the gutter. I sigh as I pick up the phone to read the text from Julian. 

The furniture didn't even sell for a grand. The appliances are outdated. No one is biting. I told you we needed to upgrade. 

No greeting, no politeness, nothing, just business with us these days and only through text. We can't manage a civil conversation.

If they're so outdated, why'd we pay so damn much for them?

He ignores my snippy response and continues. We need to take my dad's advice. You know what we need to do.

We pay back what we took, I type angrily as irritation clouds my face.

Kinsey, we're never getting out of this hole...

And whose fault is that?

Does that matter? Stop being so stubborn about this, he sends back and then quickly follows it up; you're hurting yourself too.

I ignore that reply as I roll my neck, stretching out the stiffness of my sleep.

Kinsey, please. The sooner we do this, the sooner we can finally move on.

Kinsey...

Come on!

Have a nice day, Julian, I reply and then shut my phone off.

I'm sure he just let out a frustrated scream, which somewhat improves my mood. God, I wish I could go back five years, change things, tear up the credit cards, hide 'em, or something...

But I didn't, and he kept spending and spending, and now... he's right, we're never getting out of this hole. I just... I'm not ready to accept it yet. We let our marriage die; we racked up enough debt to where the bank I worked for had to let me go, conflict of interest, they said. My car was repossessed, and then we lost our house. Filing bankruptcy feels like the final nail in the coffin of how bad I failed at life.

I can't do it yet. I need more time.

**

I take my time in the shower, trying to wash off my bad mood from that text exchange. Mama made sure my bathroom was stocked with all the essentials. I am so grateful that I have her and my dad. Julian's parents were very harsh, to put it mildly, his mother especially. Mine never once showed an iota of judgment. When I broke the news to them, they asked if I was okay, then they told me to come home.

I step across my soft carpeted floor to my closet and find an old white linen dress that I used to love. I slip it on, and not only does it still fit, but it's actually a little loose. The fabric feels amazing against my freshly scrubbed skin. It's a spaghetti strap top with a few decorative buttons; it shows off a little of my modest cleavage. The dress falls to my ankle but has a slit up the side to my thigh. It has a flowy and casual look to it.