Stumbling Into Life
Summary: This is a companion piece to "Running Into The Past," which is also on this site. Read that first or this will confuse you several times along the way. It's 21 chapters, but don't let that fool you. It's still the companion piece.
She yawned and stretched before taking the clip out of her hair and putting it on the shelf in her locker. Next came her bowtie and then her vest. She put the bowtie next to the clip and tossed the vest towards her duffle bag so she could take it home and wash it for tomorrow's shift. The black high heels came off after that, for which her feet thanked her. She pulled her gym shoes out from the bottom of the locker, replacing them with the heels, then leaned over and pulled the socks from the gym shoes, putting them on over her hose and the shoes on over the socks. Last, she grabbed her neatly folded tips from the shelf in the locker and her purse and winter coat from the hook before shutting the metal door and clicking her combination padlock closed. She shoved the money into her purse, grabbed the duffle bag and pulled her coat on as she walked out of the locker room, through the kitchen into the bar, nodded a goodnight to a few co-workers drinking beer in the quiet, closed restaurant, and finally walked out the side door into the parking lot.
Snow was coming down in large slowly falling flakes and her 1984 Ford Fairmont sat under a light towards the back of the lot where all the employees parked. She dug for her keys as she approached it, fumbling with them due to stiff, cold hands. Ice thickly blanketed the ground and she could see her breath. She slipped a bit on the ice but caught herself, thankful she'd taken off the heels, and by the time she reached the car, her teeth were nearly chattering.
She unlocked the door and slipped inside, shutting it before putting the key in the ignition. The car started to turn over, coughing and choking before stalling, and she cursed under her breath. She tried it a second and third time before it finally started, and then gave it gas to keep it from dying. Once it was stable, she reached into the backseat for her ice scraper and got back out, scraping ice and snow from the windows while the car warmed up. When she got back inside, she turned on the heat and backed out, pumping her brakes and taking it slowly the entire way home.
By the time she parked in the apartment complex, it was after two. As she made her way up to the third story apartment, she mentally listed off the things she needed to do before going to bed. Taking out her contacts topped the list; between the eighteen hours she'd worn them, the smoke from the restaurant bar, and her overall exhaustion, her eyes were killing her.
She opened the door and kicked off her gym shoes before dropping the duffle bag on the floor in the foyer. Michael was sitting on the couch and looked up from a book before looking back down and highlighting something. "Hey babe," he said casually.
She sighed deeply and pulled her coat off, hanging it on the coat rack, before heading past the living room and towards the bathroom. "I hate contacts."
She heard him chuckle and say something, but she'd already turned on the shower, letting the water heat up while she pulled the contacts from her eyes. She unbuttoned her white button down shirt and pulled the short black skirt off before sitting on the toilet and taking off her gym socks and hose. "Ooh, sexy."
She shook her head and laughed faintly. "I might look sexy, but I smell like smoke and whisky."
She stood up and shrugged out of the shirt, then started to unhook her bra. He stepped up behind her and she felt his hands sliding from her shoulders down to the clasp. "But you're about to shower," he said quietly into her ear.
"So I can crawl into bed and pass out."
He groaned as she pulled out of his grasp and slipped out of her underwear before stepping into the shower, but she ignored him and let the hot water cascade over her face, chest and back. "I could join you in there; kill two birds with one stone," he said suggestively.
She shook her head and rolled her eyes, speaking to him over the sound of the water. "Michael, I worked fifteen hours today. It's not going to happen."
"It never happens anymore," he mumbled just loud enough for her to hear.
"Please don't start with me about this."
He sighed. "God forbid." The room went quiet and she concentrated on her shower, putting a glop of Suave shampoo into her palm and working through her smoke-filled hair, her eyes closed and feeling returning to her feet. "Are you hungry?"
Her eyes flew open, surprised he was still in the room. "What?"
"Are you hungry?"
She was quiet for a second, trying to decide if her exhaustion outweighed her empty stomach. "What'd you make?"
"I didn't feel like cooking. I ordered pizza."
She pulled the curtain back, glaring at him while his eyes followed soap bubbles sliding down her body. "Michael," she said curtly.
He rolled his eyes and looked back up at her. "It's pizza, Donna, not a new car."
"You ordered pizza twice last week and went out for wings last night."
"You're keeping track of my food intake?"
"I'm keeping track of the money."
"Your money, you mean."
She let the curtain close again and rinsed her hair. "Go to hell."
"Great," he said sarcastically. "The fight du jour. Yesterday's was because I forgot about dinner at your parents and had wings with the guys. The day before that was what… my dirty clothes on the floor, right? This weekend I didn't take you to the reception, so I'm obviously embarrassed by you, and tonight I'm spending too much money. The money you work for, right?"
She turned the water off, ripping back the curtain and grabbing a towel off the rack. Without speaking to him, she stepped out of the tub and went around him into the bedroom.
"Isn't that right, Donna?"
She continued to ignore him while she dried her body with her back to him. When she was dry, she walked to the dresser and pulled out a clean pair of underwear, pulling them on before rooting around for some pajamas.
"Go ahead, just say it," he said a bit louder.
"Fine," she screamed, turning around to face him as she pulled a tank top over her head. "I work two jobs, eighty-five hours a week and drive a fifteen year-old car that doesn't like to start in the winter. I eat Romin fucking Noodles for lunch everyday and use 98 cent shampoo. The last time I bought clothes was six months ago when they changed the dress code at the restaurant. Where in the hell do you get off spending our money like every single penny doesn't come at a cost?"
"That cost being your sex drive?" he yelled back at her.
"Yeah, Michael, that must be it," she said sarcastically. "There couldn't be any other reason, could there?" He stared at her and after a second she shook her head and pushed past him into the bathroom to pick up her dirty clothes. He followed her and watched as she emptied her duffle bag into the washing machine and started a load of laundry.
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" he finally spit out.
She took a deep breath. "It means that all the arguing doesn't do much for my… what'd you call it? Sex drive?"
"Well maybe if you'd have sex, you'd find a way to pull out the stick that somehow got wedged up your ass. Then there wouldn't be so much arguing," he said before turning away from her and walking back into the living room.
She waited several seconds before going into the living room. Staring at him, she watched as he picked up a book and started reading again. The conversation clearly over, she brushed her teeth and went to bed.
She tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep but too exhausted to do anything but lie there. They'd been at each other's throat for the last six weeks, arguing over the silliest stupidest things imaginable. Yawning again, she looked at the clock and groaned. She had to be up in four hours. Finally, she rolled to her side and closed her eyes.
About a half hour later she felt the bed move behind her. Fighting back the urge to tell him to sleep on the couch, she feigned being asleep herself. But when he put his arm around her, she pulled away and moved closer to the edge of the bed, giving up the pretense. "Why are we acting like this?" he whispered to her, his breath on her neck.
She considered ignoring him, tried to even, but heard the words spill from her mouth all the same. "Because we're unhappy," she said quietly.
She felt him roll and pictured him on his back, staring at the ceiling. "Donna…"
She shook her head. "I'm tired. I worked all day. Can we please talk about this in the morning?"
He rolled again, far enough away that she could no longer feel the heat from his body. "Yeah, alright."
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
A week later she followed the same routine, pulling into her parent's driveway at just before two o'clock. She quietly unlocked the door, trying not to wake anybody, and slipped inside, hanging her coat up in the closet by the door and kicking off her shoes. "Hungry?"
She looked up and saw her mom standing in the entryway between the front hall and the kitchen, wearing slippers and a flannel robe. "What are you doing up?" she whispered.
She shrugged and smiled and Donna couldn't help smiling back at the older version of her. "I thought you might be hungry when you got home. I made roast for dinner."
Her eyes widened. There was little in the world better than her mother's roast. "With potatoes and onions?"
Her mom chuckled at her. "Of course. Come on, I'll heat some up for you."
She dropped her duffle bag by the staircase and followed her mom obediently into the kitchen, sitting at the table and letting the older woman take care of her. It was nice, she thought, to be the kid again. She watched her padding her way around the kitchen, pulling a plate down from the cabinet and some Tupperware out of the refrigerator. "You could've just left me a note, you know."
Her mom shrugged, going about the task of warming up dinner. While it heated in the microwave, she poured two cups of coffee and set them down on the table next to a container of cream. "We haven't been able to spend much time together since you moved back in. You're never here."
The microwave dinged and she put the plate in front of Donna before sitting across from her. It smelled incredible and she took a few bites before looking up. "This might be your best roast ever."
Her mom smiled. "Michael called."
"I'm sure he did," she responded under her breath. "The rent's due tomorrow."
"Ahh…"
She didn't elaborate, didn't judge or start telling Donna what to do, and for the first time in a long time, Donna wished she would. She needed the advice. She sighed and asked quietly, "Why have I been so miserable lately?"
Her mom looked up from her coffee cup and paused a few seconds. "Because you're twenty-five and you've been living like a forty year old. Twenty-five year olds should be traveling, working that first great job after college, learning something new everyday, meeting good looking men in bars and giving out fake phone numbers. Life should be fun and exciting and full of unknowns. You aren't supposed to have a life plan yet and you aren't supposed to be working two dead-end jobs that you hate to support the man who claims to love you but lets you do that for him."
Donna's eyes opened in surprise. "Ok," she stammered, letting the room fall silent as she stared at her mother.
It was a full minute before her mom spoke again. "Well," she said quietly with the hint of a grin on her face. "You asked."
Donna couldn't help but smirk back. "You've been waiting for me to, haven't you?"
"You have no idea."
They both laughed then and Donna thought it'd been too long since she'd done that. Since she'd had fun doing anything; since she'd just hung out. And even though it was with her fifty-two year-old mother, it was nice.
She got up and refilled their coffee cups as her mom put the rest of the roast back in the fridge and wiped down the counter. "Might I make a suggestion?" her mom asked as she put cream in her coffee.
Donna leaned back in her chair and nodded.
"Get away."
"What?"
Her mom shrugged. "Get away. Go visit your Aunt Barbara and Uncle Ted for a few weeks. Or your grandparents. They never get to spoil you anymore. Go stay with them for a while."
"Mom," she scoffed.
"What?"
She looked at her. "I… can't."
"Why not?"
"I…"
"Yes, that sounds very important."
"I have to work."
"You've got your whole life to work."
She frowned. "I need to go back to school."
Her mom nodded. "Yes you do. But you can't start back until the summer session now anyway. You might as well get away for a while before then."
"I can't afford it."
"Who cares? Max out your credit cards, use up the little money you've saved. Borrow some from me."
"Mom!"
"Just don't tell your father I said that about the credit cards. You know how he is."
Donna laughed and shook her head. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"
"No. But I think it'd do you good to put some distance between yourself and Michael, to go figure out who you are and what you want in life, and if you have some credit card bills later on or if I have to give you a little money to help you do that, then it's money well spent, isn't it?"
She raised her eyebrows but didn't say anything.
Her mom stood up and put her coffee cup in the sink before kissing the top of Donna's head and walking back towards the stairs. "Think about it, Baby. You've got your whole life to be an adult. Go live first."
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
She was in the middle of her Saturday shift at the restaurant nine days after what her father had titled 'the break-up of the century,' pretending not to notice the pig checking out her legs while she listed off the evening's features to him and his wife. 'A petite filet with a white wine and clam sauce, served with fresh steamed asparagus and a salad,' and it was somewhere around the clam sauce that she realized she was only supporting herself now. She didn't need two jobs.
She was beaming and couldn't stop, and when her manager asked if she could stay late to cover for a sick waitress, she said no. He looked at her in shock and she assumed it was because she'd never turned down the extra money before, but she just smiled and pulled her bowtie and vest off, handing them to him and quitting on the spot.
She got home a few minutes before seven and walked inside, slamming the door and shouting, "I'm home!"
Her dad hurried down the stairs while pulling on his jacket and barely glanced at her before picking his car keys up off the small table by the door and yelling, "I'm gone. Don't wait up." Then he kissed her cheek and said, "Wish me luck Baby, your mother's going to kill me if I lose again tonight."
She gave him an amused look and wrapped his scarf around his neck. "I don't think poker's your game, Dad."
He seemed to ponder her words for a second before replying. "I can't golf Honey, I have to make business contacts somewhere," he said with a grin as he opened the door and walked outside, closing it behind him.
She laughed and shook her head before kicking off her shoes and walking into the kitchen looking for her mom. She wasn't there and she turned to head into the living room. Her mom was on the couch watching television, the remote next to her and note cards in her lap. "What's up?"
She looked up at her. "Hey, I thought you'd try to pick up the dinner shift tonight."
She smiled. "Me too. Instead, I quit."
Her mom stared at her a second before matching her smile. "Alright! Now we're talking. Sit down and watch the debate with me."
She glanced at the television. "The primary debate? Republicans or Democrats?"
"Democrats. I've got the note cards labeled and ready. Let's pick ourselves a president."
Donna unzipped her coat. "Let me… is there anything to eat?"
"There's chili on the stove and sour cream in the fridge."
"Perfect," she said, walking back towards the hall.
"Hurry!" her mom called out. "Starts in four minutes."
She ran up the steps to her bedroom to change into her pajamas, excited. Her mom was the only person in the family who shared her love for politics. She smiled as she pulled off her skirt and shirt, thinking of town hall meetings and congressional campaigns the two of them had followed throughout the years. She'd gotten out of it a little since being with Michael, and she regretted that, but between the two jobs, taking care of the apartment and helping him study, there hadn't been time. She pulled on her warmest flannel pajamas and grinned; leaving Michael had more perks than she thought.
She hurried downstairs and into the kitchen, pulling a deep bowl from a cabinet and filling it nearly to the top with chili before adding shredded cheese and sour cream to it. She took it back into the living room and put it on a table tray before going back for a glass of water. She heard the familiar music and heard her mother shouting for her, and ran back in just as the moderator came on. Sitting down next to her mom, she picked up the note cards as the moderator discussed the rules of the debate.
"Ok, what do we know?" she asked her mom.
"The yellow cards are for John Hoynes. He's the one to beat. He's a moderate senator from Texas, and I think we're about to see why. You can't be from Texas and not like guns and gasoline. It's some kind of rule there."
She nodded and picked up the hot pink cards. "What about… Wiley?"
"He's from Arkansas. His accent drives me crazy. He's a congressman, has been for about a hundred years, which is about how old he is."
She nodded again, putting those cards down and picking up the purple. "And Bartlet?"
"He's a governor from New Hampshire and was a congressman before that. He's a Nobel Prize winner and is very liberal and quite possibly a snob."
"Ok, let's pick ourselves a president."
An hour later her mom flipped off the television while Donna gathered the note cards they'd filled in with the candidates' answers. They took the cards and Donna's empty bowl into the kitchen and her mom started the coffee maker before sitting down and helping Donna separate the cards.
"So, you quit your job at the restaurant today," she said, separating the yellow cards into a good answer pile, a bad answer pile, and a stock answer pile.
"Mmm," Donna said absently, studying the purple cards carefully.
"Are you going to keep your job at McCalister and Combs?"
Donna flipped another card, nodding as she read Governor Bartlet's answer on farm subsidies. "Guess so," she mumbled.
Her mom watched her while putting almost every pink note card in the stock answer pile. "Have you thought anymore about getting away?"
That caught Donna's attention and she looked up. "I…" She trailed off and looked back down at the note cards in her hand.
"You know…" her mom said as she watched her. "You don't have to go to your grandparent's. You could go… someplace else."
"Mmm…"
She watched as Donna flipped another card and another. "Are you going to separate those cards?" Donna looked up at her and then down at the piles on the table. "Good, bad, stock," she said, pointing to the different piles on the table.
Donna paused for several seconds before carefully placing the entire stack of cards onto the 'good answer' pile.
They both sat quietly looking at the different colored note cards. "Guess we've picked a president," her mother said softly.
Donna continued staring at the cards for a minute before looking up at her mom again. "You know, if I'm going back into political science when I start school back up, it wouldn't kill me to spend the next few months getting some hands on experience."
Her mom nodded and smirked. "I was just thinking the same thing."
