Fantasy
Although I am busily updating The Woman’s Club of Fayetteville’s web site, I am also fantasizing about Will.
In my fantasy, he asks his friends to watch the boys for a couple of hours. He drives over here to the house and knocks on the door.
I hesitantly open it, and say, “Hi. What is it?” to which he replies, “Can I come in? I want to talk.”
I let him in, turn on the kitchen light, and we sit at the table. From his jeans pocket, he pulls out a folded up piece of paper and I recognize it as the “What I Want” document I gave to him a couple of weeks ago. He unfolds the paper and lays it out in front of us. Placing his hand on the paper, he says, “Okay.”
“What?” I say.
“Okay, Kellie, I agree to what you want. I’ll do the counseling – we’ll do the counseling. I’ve been more than an asshole, but I don’t want to give in to my abusive tendencies anymore. I want to fix it. I am so sorry for hurting you, Kellie. I want my family back.”
Of course, I start to cry. “Okay,” I say. “I want to do the counseling and I want us both to stop hurting each other, too. I’ll do everything I can, everything I asked you to do I’ll do too. I want my family back.”
He stands up and I walk over to him awkwardly. I give him a hug, then we pull away from one another. “When will you be home?” I ask.
“Tomorrow’s Sunday…” he says, “that would be a good day.”
“Okay,” I say.
I walk him to the door and he drives away. No kisses yet. Mostly unsaid words.
My family will be back tomorrow.
And that’s the end of the fantasy. Maybe now that I’ve written it out, I can concentrate on the site.
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