Page 3 of Ruining Hattie

HATTIE

“ B ye, Hattie. Have a good night.” My coworker Marwa passes my desk.

I smile and wave, watching her meet our other coworker, Tiffany, at the door. Disappointment mixed with envy invades my chest.

Given that it’s Friday night, they’re probably going for dinner and drinks. I’ve been invited many times and turned them down each time, so I have no one but myself to blame for the fact that they no longer ask me to join them.

A few years ago, I moved to this medium-sized town in Wisconsin with my parents after I finished college because my dad got a new job here.

I’ve found it hard to make friends. As a kid, it was so much easier than as an adult.

Probably because I don’t do what most other twenty-four-year-olds do.

I don’t dress in tight outfits and go carousing at the bar.

I don’t drink except for maybe a glass of wine at Christmas and Easter, and I spend most of my evenings at church or volunteering somewhere with people from church.

Sure, I was raised by strict parents under the influence of religion, but that’s not why I do it.

It’s mostly because I’m afraid. Afraid of what will happen if I let go and experience some of the things I’m curious about.

Would one risky decision lead to another and then another until I no longer recognized myself?

It doesn’t matter. I’m never going to be a crazy risk-taker who drinks and parties and sleeps around. Just imagining it, I can see the look of disappointment on my dad’s face, and it feels as if someone dug a knife into my chest, twisting it around.

Ever since my mom passed away when I was six years old, I’ve done everything I can not to cause him any trouble.

I’m still haunted by the memory of how distraught he was right after it happened.

Even the smallest thing—like burning dinner or me messing up tying my shoes—would put him over the edge.

He never ranted or raved. That wasn’t my dad’s style.

But I could see the profound frustration and weariness in his eyes, as though this small thing might be what sent him spiraling into the abyss of his grief.

I promised myself I would never be the cause of stress in his life. I would only better the situations. It’s a habit and a mantra I still live by today.

When he married Carla a year after my mom’s death, I was unsure how I felt about the quick relationship, but when I saw the light back in his eyes and how she made him happy, I decided to give her a chance.

She’s been a wonderful parent to me, and I think of her as my mother, not my stepmother.

Unfortunately, the memories of my mom are blurry at best and seem to fade more with each passing year.

After I shut down my computer, I pack up my things and walk to my car to head over to my parents’ house.

I always have dinner with them on Friday nights before I go to the church for a women’s ministry meeting.

It’s not exactly how I want to spend my Friday night, but it’s better than sitting in my apartment alone, which is what I’ll be doing by default tomorrow night.

Once I’m on the road, I call my friend, Taylor, from back home.

She picks up on the first ring. “Your ears must be burning. I was just thinking about you.”

“All good things, I hope.” I smile and stop at a red light.

“I was wondering if you’d worked up the nerve to talk to that hottie in your office yet.”

Even though I’m by myself, I feel my cheeks heat. “I should have never told you about him.”

She laughs. “Oh yes, you should’ve. Because I’m going to harass you about it until you do something and your life turns infinitely more interesting.”

She means well, I know she does, but her words are like an arrow hitting a bull’s-eye because she’s not wrong—my life is boring.

“We can’t all go off to college, denounce religion, and sow our wild oats like you did.” The light turns green, and I ease on the gas.

“I know better than to try to get you to give up on church, Hattie, but just because you believe in a higher power doesn’t mean you have to live like a nun. Newsflash, you are not in a convent.”

A laugh escapes me as I pull into the left-hand turn lane. “I’m fully aware of that. And it has nothing to do with my religion anyway, I’m just shy.”

“God, I wish you hadn’t moved so far away. If we were still in the same town, I’d make it happen for you one way or the other.”

“I appreciate that, and I miss you too. Now fill me in on the hot dates you have planned for the weekend.”

Sadly, I live vicariously through Taylor’s stories.

She always has something new and exciting going on.

When we were growing up, she was just like me.

But while I chose to go to a Christian college, she attended a state school, which is where she tells me she got a real education.

Since then, we’re practically polar opposites.

But just because our beliefs are different doesn’t change the fact that I love her and the kind of person she is to her core.

By the time she’s done telling me about the date she went on earlier this week and the “total fucking hottie” she’s going out with tomorrow night, I’m pulling onto my parents’ street.

“Well, good luck, and let me know how it goes,” I say as I park in their driveway.

“I don’t need luck. I just got a new pair of four-inch heels, and they make my legs look a mile long.”

We both laugh and, for not the first time, I wonder if I had opted to go to the state school, would my life be different? Would I even want it to be like Taylor’s?

“Give me a call Sunday afternoon and tell me all about it.” I don’t have to bother telling her I’ll be busy at church on Sunday morning—she knows.

“Will do. Try to have some fun this weekend, okay?”

I blow out a breath. “Goodbye, Taylor.”

Her laughter rings until she ends the call. Shaking my head, I turn the car off and pull the key from the ignition, tossing it into my purse that sits on the passenger seat.

As I exit the car, my mom pops out onto the porch with a wide smile and a wave. I return both, and when I reach the porch, she pulls me into a tight hug. When I inhale the scent of the perfume she’s worn since she came into my life, a feeling of safety and security wraps around me.

For all my secret ambitions of being a more adventurous person, the truth is I love this feeling right here.

“How was your day?” she asks as she pulls away and runs her palm down my cheek as always.

“It was good. Same old.” Since we moved here, I’ve worked as a bookkeeper and administrator for a manufacturing company in town.

“That’s great, honey.”

She looks more tired and worn down than usual, and I hope she isn’t working too hard. Lately, her hours have increased from building up a large client list over the years. I guess that’s what happens when you’re a talented hair stylist.

“How are you? You look tired. Spending too much time at the salon?” I arch an eyebrow in question. She’s been known to overdo it sometimes when she’s booked up and someone wants her to squeeze them in. She’s never been able to say no.

She gives my shoulder a squeeze and opens the door to the house, motioning for me to go first. “No.”

I give her a look.

She giggles. “I promise. I just don’t have the same kind of stamina I used to. Guess that’s getting old.”

“Fifty-seven is not old.” I shake my head and go inside, setting my purse on the wooden table inside the door.

“Thought I heard your voice. Hey, sweet pea, how are ya?” My dad walks up from the back of the house.

My chest warms at the moniker my dad has called me since I was little.

He uses his cane for extra support, one arm out and ready to pull me in for a hug as soon as he reaches me.

My dad was in a car accident a few years back, and since then, he’s had to walk with a cane.

He went through a couple of surgeries and physical therapy but never fully recovered—physically or financially.

Which is why I use a chunk of my salary to help pay down the medical debt.

They both hate accepting my help, but the truth is, it’s necessary if they want to be able to retire any time in the next decade.

I don’t mind. They spent so much time and effort raising me, and my religion has always taught me to help others. Who better to help than the two people I love most in this world?

“I’m good, Dad, how are you feeling?”

He envelops me in a one-armed hug, and I wrap my arms around him and squeeze. “Feeling good. Don’t worry about me.”

I roll my eyes as I pull away. He knows I’m going to worry about him no matter what he says. Some days he’s in quite a bit of pain. Depending on the weather, his joints may bother him, but today is a sunny June day with no clouds in the sky, so as expected, it seems like a good day for him.

“I’m just about to take the steak off the grill. Why don’t you go help your mom get everything else on the table outside?”

“Will do.” I kiss his cheek and head to the kitchen to bring out the side dishes.

Once we have the garden salad, corn on the cob, asparagus, and scalloped potatoes (my dad’s favorite) on the table, we all sit and join hands.

“You want to do the honors, sweet pea?” my dad asks.

I nod. “Heavenly Father, please bless this food and our bodies. Thank you for these gifts we are about to receive from your bounty. In Jesus’s name we pray. Amen.”

“Amen,” my parents say in unison.

We all smile around the table, and I settle in for my usual Friday night—predictable, unexciting, and a little boring. But I chose this life. This is what I want, so I can’t complain.