Lela

Lela sat at her porcelain clad vanity, studying the woman in front of her. Silent tears escaped her eyes and she hastily wiped them away. Almost angry they had appeared at all. Not today, she thought. Glancing at the looming clock above her, she sighed and acknowledged he would be home soon. There was only one hour remaining to prepare for his arrival. She needed to check on the pot pie in the oven. Her mind drifted back to simpler times. The first time she made her Grandmother’s chicken pot pie for him. They had just moved in together, and she was excited to treat her man to the delicious meal. She beamed across the table as he ooo’d and ahh’d, praising her talent, thanking her for spoiling him as she did. Back then, it was a pleasure to take care of her man. Now, it was a chore. A demand. And she hated having to make the dish when he requested it. It was a slap in the face to her precious memory of them. Before things changed. Before he changed.

She dismissed the memory and focused on her routine: laundry, dishes, setting the table. And the wine. She couldn’t forget the wine again. She traced the fading bruise displayed on her cheek. Who knew that he would become so angry over the lack of wine at the dinner table? She knew. At least she did now, anyway. Her mind drifted to that night, when he opened the bedroom door and walked over to her tense body lying on the bed. He thought her to be asleep. Facing away from him, she held her breath, praying that it wouldn’t be one of those nights. It wasn’t. He touched her hair and brushed it away from her swollen face. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I’m sorry. Why did you make me?”. And just as quickly as he entered, he was gone. Leaving behind the stench of alcohol and a sickness in her belly.

Placing each dish carefully on the table, Lela brushed aside her long brown hair. It was perfectly straight, and she hadn’t used a straight iron in her life. As a child, her mother always talked about her luxurious locks, saying the fates had shined on her. She used to love her hair. Used to. Now, it was just a tool for him to intertwine in his fingers and use against her.

After dinner was complete and cooling on the stove, she stood in the middle of the kitchen feeling accomplished. Wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, she made her way to the bathroom. It would be wise of her to shower before he got home. He hated when she did not smell fresh. She had thirty minutes left. If she was quick, she could take a ten-minute shower. That would leave twenty for drying her hair and slipping on the dress he wanted to see. He had messaged her at lunch to say so.

Dried and dressed, she looked in the mirror and thought of her Nana. Oh, how she missed her. After the accident, Nana had practically raised Lela. She hadn’t seen her since Wayne moved them over three years prior. She had grown up in Springfield, Missouri. When tensions were at their highest, she missed Springfield. Her life was simple there. Predictable. Safe. Ironically, that’s where they met. It was the summer of ‘94 and Lela was a vibrant twenty. She was working at a local diner while taking courses at the local community college. Journalism was the dream, and she couldn’t wait for graduation. She yearned for city life. Well, back then she did.

It was her first day at the diner, and as fate would have it, he was her first customer. “Hi, can I take your order?”, she asked awkwardly. He looked up from the menu and took her breath away when he asked for the garlic potato soup. For Lela, it was love at first sight. His deep brown eyes and way brown hair did her in. And when he flashed those pearly whites, her knees grew weak. For Wayne, she was the most beautiful creature on Earth. That moment marked their destiny, or so she thought. They spent every day together and every night making love. He was five years her elder and she kept him feeling young. Things didn’t start to change until the engagement. It started out as an idea, but looking back, she realized that he had begun to force the matter. He felt they should move for work related reasons. His firm would be expanding, and it was the perfect time for branching out. Georgia. That was their future. He painted a beautiful picture of what life would be like for them there. Everything sounded lovely, but her Nana was not included in that picture. At seventy-two, her health was declining. She had congestive heart failure and struggled with it daily. Her Nana had always been there for her and Lela simply couldn’t imagine ever leaving her alone. She pleaded with her fiancé to change his mind, but his foot was down. Georgia would be home upon returning from their Honeymoon. When reminiscing, she would become angry with herself. She never understood why she simply didn’t tell him “no”. The trouble she could have saved herself….god. Blind love is a bitch. The date was selected, and it was all set in stone. They would marry on November third, her parent’s anniversary. Neither of them had many friends, so there was no need for a best man or maid of honor. All they needed was each other.

They honeymooned for a week and a half in Maui. He spoiled her and she beamed with joy at the thought of their future. How blessed she was to have Wayne. Some days, they wouldn’t even leave the suite, filling themselves with each other and decadent room service. When the time arrived for them to make their way home, she was eager to start their married life together, but it was bittersweet. She did not want to leave her Nana.

Two days before they were to move, Lela designated a day solely to spending time with her Nana. She made sure everything was in place with the home health service. She cleaned Nana’s home, and they laughed and reminisced at their past together. The rest of the afternoon, she cried alone in her newlywed apartment. When Wayne returned, he found her packing their closet and wiping her eyes. “What’s wrong, Love?”, he asked tenderly. She explained her struggle about leaving and admitted her persistent doubt and worry for her Nana. His anger came as swiftly as his sweet words of concern had. In an instant, he had backhanded her so fiercely that she was sent flying over the bed. She landed on the floor and her head stopped the momentum as it smashed into the wall. “How can you be so selfish? After everything I have given you! After everything I have done for you! I don’t want to hear another word about this damn state, your damn grandmother, or your damn hurt feelings!”. He stormed from the room and left her crumpled on the floor. She couldn’t comprehend what had taken place. Possibly from the concussion she had endured, pr possibly from the fact that he hadn’t so much as raised his voice towards her in the past. She crawled to the door and locked it. Somehow, she managed to raise herself up to climb on the bed. She faded as blood dripped down her temple and tears fell to the pillow. The next thing she knew, he had woken her with sobs, flowers, multiple apologies, and a broken door handle.

Her thoughts were disturbed by the sound of the front door opening. She took one last glance into the mirror, hoping she hadn’t left anything out of place. “Hi Honey, how was work?”. He grumbled something his case load and made his way to the kitchen table. She followed closely behind him and rubbed his back as he sat down. Wrapping his arm tightly around her waist, he asked her if the pot pie was ready. “It is, Babe. I’ve got it cooling off for you.”. She cringed inwardly as his hand began to explore her backside. “Perfect. And dessert?”, he asked, giving her a firm squeeze. She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. Dessert. The one thing she had forgotten. “Wayne…I—I’m sorry. I forgot about dessert.”. He grimaced and stood up slowly as she backed away, preparing herself for a stinging blow.