The Girl I Used to Be, Heidi Hostetter [free e books to read .txt] 📗

they’d hosted quite a few, but Jill had never enjoyed them. Invited guests were invariably Marc’s friends, not hers. Worse, most of the women had been Dianne’s friends first, and Jill could feel the weight of their judgment from across the room. Once, she’d overheard a coven of them blaming her for ruining Marc’s “perfect marriage” and “traumatizing the girls,” but that wasn’t true. He and Dianne had been legally separated when they began dating, and Jill knew their marriage had been difficult from the start.

But if Marc’s friends didn’t like her, it wouldn’t be for her lack of trying. Jill had worked to soften the edges of her personality—the swearing, the loud laughter, facets that Marc had called “unrefined.” She restricted her beloved Spice Girls and Wham! songs to earbuds only and even pretended to appreciate jazz when Marc was home. She’d slipped once in three years, a story Ellie still teased her about.

One night, early in their marriage, Jill and Marc had met another couple for dinner and a show on Broadway. When the show let out, Marc and his friend had trouble hailing a cab because the sidewalk was crowded and the rain made taxis scarce. Jill thought she’d help them out. Pressing the tip of her index finger and thumb together, she’d hailed a taxi the only way she knew how—with a whistle. The sound was so piercing that two cabs had screeched to a halt and Jill turned to Marc, triumphant. She’d never forgotten the look of horror on the other couple’s faces or the twist of distaste on her new husband’s.

Still, Jill was determined that her marriage to Marc would be a happy one, and everyone knew that good marriages required compromise. In the end, what did it matter if the parties they hosted were for Marc’s circle instead of hers? Or that she never seemed to be quite good enough for his friends? Or that she felt a little bit of herself falling away with every “improvement” Marc suggested? The point was that she’d married the man of her dreams. She’d get through tonight with a benign smile and small talk, just like she got through everything else.

She checked her reflection one last time in the mirror. Satisfied that Marc would be pleased, she added a spritz of the French perfume she knew he liked.

Then she went downstairs to find her husband.

As Jill descended the front staircase to the marble foyer, she heard a soft clatter of dishes as caterers worked in the kitchen and a murmur of voices as they coordinated dinner service. The new flower arrangement on the foyer table suggested guests might be invited into the house after the party, which made Jill uneasy. Because the house had been used as a model, it was available for showings. It wasn’t unusual for minivans filled with property agents to arrive unannounced or for potential buyers to knock on the door and request a tour. The unexpectedness of it was unnerving, and Jill had never got used to the intrusion. Now the development was finished, Jill had looked forward to their space becoming a bit more private.

She heard Marc’s voice coming from his office. She crossed the short hallway, pausing outside his door to wait for him because Marc preferred they greet his guests together. They’d be arriving soon, and it wasn’t like him to keep them waiting, so she wondered what was keeping him. The door was ajar, and she peeked inside. Marc was seated at his desk, hands clenched, and his expression twisted into a sneer, as if he were arguing with someone he loathed.

Dianne. It had to be Dianne. No one got under Marc’s skin faster than his ex-wife.

Jill remained where she was, shamelessly eavesdropping on his conversation. She knew very little about their relationship and she was curious about what Dianne wanted.

“It doesn’t matter what she wants or what your overpriced divorce attorney says,” Marc hissed into the telephone. “All I’m required to pay is tuition and I have—four years of Ivy League college for all three girls. Now Rebecca wants me to pay for grad school? Not happening.” He paused to listen, then his words sliced the air. “Don’t you threaten me, Dianne. Put her on, I don’t care. I’ll tell her myself.”

This was a side of Marc she’d rather not see. Despite what Dianne had done, it was unsettling to witness how vindictive her husband could be. Jill was about to retreat into the kitchen when she heard the change in his voice, the tone he reserved for his girls.

“Rebecca, honey, I don’t think—” Marc shifted uneasily in his chair. “Yes, that’s true. I did say that.” He listened and after a moment, his shoulders sagged as he closed his eyes. “Of course I meant it, but I’m not sure you appreciate the cost of three tuition payments at once. What if you took a gap year until Sinclair graduates? You can come work for me, and we’ll talk about grad school a year or so from now.”

Jill knew how the rest of the conversation would go without even hearing it. Whatever the issue, if Rebecca didn’t get her way, she’d pout until Marc gave in. He might argue the cost, but he’d eventually give her whatever she wanted. Despite his feelings toward Dianne, he could be a very generous and loving father, which made his decision not to have children with her all the more disappointing. Jill had always wanted a large family, a house filled with loud chaos—matching flannel PJs at Christmas and family summer vacations at the beach. Intellectually Marc’s decision made sense, especially considering that he would be more than seventy when their first child graduated high school, but Jill’s heart didn’t care. Sometimes, she would come across the social media post of a friend starting a family, or adding to it, and the pain of what she was missing almost felt physical.

But to be with Marc meant no children. He’d made