I’ll get another old fashioned, please.

The bartender gave me a small smile and started making my drink.

I could feel my words begin to slur. I briefly remembered that I had a presentation the next day. I rubbed my forehead aggressively, closed my eyes, and plopped down on the leather stool. What a mess.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a man staring intently at me. He sat three seats away from mine. I wasn’t in the mood for conversation but sure enough, a few seconds later, the man cleared his throat and attempted to dazzle me. He’d probably tried that last night too with any woman that would tolerate it.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hey.”

“What are you drinking?”

“Does it matter?” I responded.

He looked at me pensively for a moment while chewing on his inner cheek like he was trying to decide on his next move. I had to admit that his eyes were absolutely breathtaking.

“I just thought you might like some company. I’ll go back to my side of the bar if that’s what you’d prefer,” he said in a light tone.

If it was anyone else, I’d gladly send him on his way. This was different, though. He wasn’t forceful or vile. He wasn’t rude. His manner was actually rather polite. This man seemed harmless.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t being the nicest person. My name’s Madison,” I said.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Madison. I’m Elijah,” he smiled and shook my hand.

My stomach started feeling uneasy. I couldn’t tell if it was due to intoxication or mere attraction. Possibly both.

“Are you alright? You seem a little pale.”

I got up slowly and pointed to the bathroom. I was about to ask if he’d excuse me for a minute, but it was too late. Two seconds later, I was looking at my vomit all over his shoes. They looked like nice shoes, too. I cupped my hand around my mouth in disbelief. Then, I looked up and made eye contact with Elijah. I was so embarrassed. If my mother knew about this, she’d give me an entire speech about composure and what it means to be a proper woman.

“I am so sorry. I’ll fix it.”

I immediately started grabbing napkins out of the dispenser. Elijah crouched down so he’d be at eye level with me. Another feeling in my stomach. More throw up? No. This time it was butterflies.

“It’s okay, Madison. They’re just shoes,” he laughed.

I sighed in relief. I still felt awful but knowing that he wasn’t upset put me at ease.

He took the napkins out of my hand and dabbed at his shoes a bit. Then, he helped me up and put my arm around his shoulder. He put some cash on the table to pay for my drink. I made a mental note to pay him back.

“Let me get you home,” he said.

I didn’t argue. He offered and it would probably take me twice as long to get back to my apartment with the way I was stumbling around.

“Thank you.”

I probably should have declined. Elijah could have been a murderer for all I knew. There was just something so endearing about him.

The next morning, I woke up with a massive headache. My reflection in the mirror was accompanied by my mom just like always. Today, her voice just seemed stronger.

Look at you, Madison. You’re in your last year of college. You’re not in a relationship. Your mascara is smeared. Your hair is in tangles. You don’t resemble anything close to wife material.

Of course, her daily dialogue with me was a figment of my imagination. However, I was almost certain that she would have a heart attack if she had the slightest clue about reality. Drinking every night. Barely passing my classes. One-night stands. I pushed the feelings of complete shame and disappointment to the back of my mind.

After I showered and regained some composure, I walked to the kitchen and immediately caught a glimpse of a folded note on the countertop.

I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings last night when I said I couldn’t spend the night. Your persistence was adorable, but I figured it would be better if I left. It seemed like you needed some rest. It was wonderful to meet you, Madison. I do hope you’ll give me a call if you’re feeling up to it.

-Elijah

A smile spread across my entire face as I added the phone number he left at the bottom of the note to my contacts list. Soon after, I pressed the call button.

“Hi, it’s Madison.”

_________________________________________________________________

I scanned the grocery aisle signs for the milk section. Whole milk. Almond milk. Soy milk. Oat milk. Cashew milk. Skimmed milk. How many different kinds of milks were there?

I stood in front of the refrigerators for at least five minutes before I could recall which milk Elijah wanted me to buy for him. I didn’t want to text him and ask. That would only infuriate him more because he would simply conclude that I wasn’t listening. I hoped I picked the right kind.

The drive home reflected my mood. A constant drizzle pattered onto the hood of the car. It was accompanied by dark gray clouds. The sun was nowhere to be found. People were blaring their horns impatiently, wanting to get home to their families, while I remained grateful for one more moment to myself.

When I accepted Elijah’s proposal after eight months of knowing each other, I was filled with so much joy and anticipation. He bought me flowers, kissed me before work, listened to stories about all of my heartache. He was my way out. He was the one. I was done with my “messy phase,” as mom called it. It’s funny. The first time she ever told me she was proud of me was when I announced the engagement.

“You’re finally going to settle down and you’ve got a man who can support you. You’re going to have the most beautiful babies. Oh, honey, I’m so happy. So proud of you. Wait until Jennifer hears about this!”

She proceeded to call every single person she’d ever met so she could ramble about the fine, young man her daughter had just secured. I didn’t mind one bit because she was finally proud.

Now, tears trickled down my cheeks as I neared the house that contained Elijah and my little girl.

Amelia was only seven years old. She kept me grounded and she filled me with so much wonder every day. I loved her with every ounce of my being. It was Elijah that caused the pit in my stomach. The place that was once filled with floating butterflies was now a dark hole of despair. I wished I had an explanation for why he changed.

“I’m home.”

“Mommy!” Amelia shouted.

I pulled her into a warm embrace and rested my chin on top of her head.

“Madison, what took you so long?” Elijah hissed.

Elijah was seated on the black couch in the living room. He was mindlessly scrolling through all of the channels on the television with a drink in his hand. Whiskey — my former favorite.

“I stopped at the store. I got the milk you asked for.”

Elijah glanced toward the counter where I’d set the milk down among the other groceries.

“You bought skim milk? Are you serious? You can’t even get that right. I provide for this family and all you do is sit around,” he said.

His words cut through me like sharp glass. I recognized that I would never obtain my mother’s acceptance, but I didn’t know that Elijah would make me feel even worse. For months, I’d been coming home to hatred and empty apologies.

“I’m sorry. I’ll go to the store again tomorrow.”

“Whatever, Madison. Just get out of my sight.”

I retreated to the kitchen to make dinner. As I seared the chicken on the pan, my thoughts drifted to a world where I had some worth.

Later that night after I put Amelia to bed, Elijah tried to kiss me. His breath wreaked of alcohol. His touch felt revolting and foreign. This was where the “I love you” and “I’m sorry for earlier” came in. It was always the same.

“I don’t want to, Elijah. I just want to go to sleep,” I said.

He kept trying to get closer to me until I gently pushed him off.

“Fine. Just remember that if you try to leave, I’ll tell your mom all about your college days. Remember when you used to get drunk until you couldn’t see? Remember all those pregnancy scares you had? How would she feel about that?” He scoffed.

Elijah was well aware that her opinion meant everything to me.

When he was done looking at me like I was a wounded animal, he turned away from me. Minutes later, he was quietly snoring.

I finally fell asleep after two hours of staring at the ceiling.

I was 32 years old when I decisively left Elijah.

The fears I had about my mom and how I would raise Amelia on my own were overpowered. The day that happened is ingrained in my mind.

Elijah and I got into an argument about me pouring all of his alcohol down the drain. It escalated to the point where he slapped me across the face. It was the first time his abuse turned physical. Amelia witnessed it.

With my cheek still stinging, I grabbed her by the hand, picked up the suitcase I filled with clothes and essential items weeks before, and walked out.