Cathy slid down the wall and plopped onto the floor. She shivered and pulled her coat tightly around her shoulders. It was freezing. She touched her cheek. Warm… and wet. When had she started crying? Pulling herself up off the ground, she hustled over to the apartment's shoddy heat and cooling system that was who knows how old. The heat was not on, of course. She had turned it off when she left the house – no need waste money – and now it would take at least an hour for the place to warm up entirely.
She nibbled on her slightly chapped bottom lip and hurried into the bedroom, quickly shedding her pretty outfit and replacing it with flannel pajama pants and a fleece pullover. Cathy grabbed the oversized down comforter off the bed and dragged it to the couch.
Mmm, comfy.
Remote. Where's the remote…damn…
Throwing the covers off, Cathy jumped off the couch and ran frantically around the room searching for the coveted item.
The search finally concluded on the kitchen counter underneath 5 back issues of the Times. The tile was cold and her feet were bare – so she quickly grabbed a diet coke and threw a bag of popcorn into the microwave. 3 minutes later, buttery goodness filled the air, and soon, her aching stomach. She didn't turn the TV on. The relentless remote search was forgotten as she, trying to prevent said buttery goodness from tarnishing her lovely comforter, fell into deep thought, followed by an equally powerful sleep.
She awoke suddenly the following day with an unpleasant knock on the door. Glancing at the microwave, she realized that not only was it no longer morning, it was afternoon. She had planned lunch with her cousin, who was most definitely banging down the door at that precise moment. She scurried over to the door, attempting to unstick random locks of hair from her face. After managing the locks, she opened the door.
"Hey."
Her dear cousin did not look amused. Sharon was not only Cathy's cousin, she was her best friend and frequent mode of transportation.
"I thought we were going out. You look like shit."
"Yeah, about that… I, um, well… lets stay in. It's cold. I'll heat up some soup or something."
"Mmm, appetizing." Sharon muttered, pushing her way into the apartment, "So, long night?"
You don't know the half of it.
"I guess. I went out with Jamie."
"You're kidding me. Why?"
"Well… we were married."
"Yeah, then he was a complete prick, you got divorced, end of story."
"Not quite. We just needed to talk about his book and stuff, that's all."
"What, he needed to brag and make you feel bad?"
"No. Look, Sharon, I'm fine. It was… fine. I mean, it caught me off guard is all."
Sharon looked up at her from underneath the kitchen counter, where she was searching for anything along the lines of soup.
"I just worry about you, is all."
"I know," Cathy replied, grabbing a can of Clam Chowder and plopping it into a large bowl, "and thanks, but I can handle myself around Jamie. I don't need you to protect me."
I think… I mean, so what if he left and I was all with the crying and butter and sleeping and all… doesn't mean a thing.
Cathy grabbed a can of Chunky-potato-and-some-odd-other-stuff soup and scooped it into the bowl with the clam mess.
Eh, it'll taste ok.
She held the pot under the faucet and turned on the water. How much, she didn't know, but if it tasted weird she would add pepper or ham or something. She mentally went over her tasks for the next few days. Today, Tuesday – Dinner shift at 5:00. Tomorrow – Callback, thank God. Thursday – off day - thanking whatever holy powers might exist for that one as well. The curious mixture inside the pot began to simmer, so Cathy grabbed two bowls from an overhead cabinet and poured an equal amount into both.
"Bon Appétit," she said breathily, setting the bowls onto the kitchen table, "If it's weird… don't tell me."
"Right."
Sharon spooned a large dose of clam-potato choup (that's chowder and soup) into her exceedingly wide mouth.
"You know," she slurped, "kinda sucks, you know, the timing of all this"
"And by that you mean…"
"Well you know, the book, the money – I mean – God, the man must be rolling in money now but of course when you did him a favor and married him he barely had enough for the apartment."
"So what?" Cathy pushed a chunk of potato in circles in her bowl, "That's how things work out. It's just my luck. Speaking of which, I have work later and a callback tomorrow so-"
"Don't change the subject! Cathy, he used your personal story for his own profit."
"That's what he does – he's a writer!"
"Stop defending him."
"I'm not defending him, Sharon, I'm just saying that Jamie doesn't owe me anything."
"Are you sure?"
For a moment, the bickering ceased. Cathy pushed the full bowl away from her and stood up.
"I don't know. I really just don't know."
Sharon sighed briefly before clearing the table. Cathy returned to her comfy chair and waited for Sharon to join her in the small living area.
"I'm sorry," Sharon mumbled, sitting on the ground at Cathy's feet, "I just feel like he's still walking all over you. That's your story – he wouldn't have had that story if you hadn't been around, so I mean, maybe you're entitled to something."
"What, like – like money?"
"Maybe"
"Sharon, I don't want Jamie's money. I don't need anymore than he has to give me. It's humiliating enough waiting for a check from him every month anyways."
"But maybe some of it is rightfully yours! Come on, Cathy, you know you're struggling here. You could afford to pay off your rent for awhile. Maybe take some time off from work, take some classes, go to more auditions…"
"You think I should sue Jamie?"
"Sort of. Maybe. Yeah."
Cathy pulled her blanket up over her head.
"Hey, I'm going to go. Call me. Really."
Sharon quickly grabbed her coat, letting the door slam behind her.
Author's Note: Hey friends, it's been awhile. I am truly sorry for the delay, but see, there's this thing called college… yeah. Anyways, I'm settled down now so another chapter will be forthcoming. Also, I am thinking to employ some different techniques, so as usual, be open-minded, but let me know what you think. Much love.
