Page 1 of His Good Girl

1

ALEXIS

“Go to fucking hell, Finn!”

“I’m already there, Vi!”

The scream is punctuated with the sound of shattering glass as Marcee's mom continues to rant. We’re huddled in her room, sitting on the floor by the side of her bed with our shoulders pressed together and our backs toward the door, hiding from the fight going on in the kitchen. Each of us wears one of my AirPods with the Goo Goo Dolls blasting in an attempt to drown out the noise.

I met Marcee while we were both struggling to open the cheap-ass lockers assigned to us during the freshman open house at our high school and instantly became best friends. I had attended the event alone, my parents were too busy to show up, per usual.

Having learned long ago not to be shy, I introduced myself, and within minutes, we realized that we had all but two classes together. Marcee introduced me to her parents, who were brightly smiling at the fact that we each had someone to enter freshman year with, but their smiles quickly faltered when they asked where my parents were. Their looks of pity at hearing I was alone made me laugh dryly. I joked that if they ever spotted my folks at a school event, hell had certainly frozen over. Neither had laughed at my attempt to lighten the mood and not so subtly averted their eyes. Her parents walked us to our classes, and when it came time for us to split ways for our different periods, Marcee’s dad offered to walk me to my classes.

It was odd having someone with me, but deep down, it was nice to pretend I had a dad that cared about my life instead of one that just threw money at the problem. The problem being that he had a daughter and no time for her. Although he was better than my mom, who hated me for, and I quote, “Ruining my body and stealing my youth!” Yeah, she’s a real treat, such a lovely role model. She spends most of her time oscillating between the spa and the plastic surgeon, fixing what I apparently destroyed.

It’s a little surreal to hear Marcee’s parents fighting like this. Up until recently, they’ve always been the epitome of the perfect couple. My parents usually ignore one another and have their side pieces for warmth as my mom says—gag me! They know it’s better financially for them to stay married, so legally they are, otherwise, they live their own lives. But Marcee’s parents always seemed like Uncle Jesse and Aunt Becky from Full House—meant to be. They had family dinners, and at least one parent was at every school function or sports event. Marcee’s always so embarrassed about how they hold hands everywhere they go. I thought it was nice the way they were, an unrealistic and a once-in-a-lifetime thing, but a nice thought that there are people who love like that.

As we listen to the fight rage on and more glass being shattered, the first tear runs down Marcee's cheek. I wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her into my side.

“I want a divorce! I can’t be married to you for another minute!”

Damn, her mom has to be close to losing her voice by now. Most of the screaming during their argument had come from her. Her dad, for the most part, stayed calm, only lobbing a few well-placed digs here and there.

“Finally, something we can agree on,” Mr. Walker grits out, his voice gravely and strained like it’s taking a monumental effort to push the words out somewhat calmly.

Marcee’s body shakes as the sobs break loose and the house finally goes quiet. Only the sound of the front door slamming and a car engine revving breaks the deafening silence in the wake of their battle.

I guess I was wrong—love doesn’t exist, and there are no perfect couples.

2

FINN

Things have been getting worse and worse in my marriage for a few years now. Vivian had gone away for a girls’ trip with her friends to Napa and came back as a different woman. She told me that she and her friends, ones she had known since college, had fought the whole time. When she finally had enough and went shopping alone, she met Sheila. Sheila is a fashion designer, and Vi was instantly enamored with her fast-paced lifestyle. They spent the last two days of her trip shopping during the day and hitting the bars at night. Apparently, Sheila is single and always ready to mingle.

Suddenly, nothing in our life was good enough for her. Vi quit her job, saying she needed to focus on herself. Given my senior position at a large tech firm, we weren’t financially dependent on her income, so I went along with it. She joined a country club, started spending more time at the salon, obsessing over her clothes and what she called her “image”—whatever that means. Sheila quickly became her best friend, and they went on girls’ weekends at least once a month. The more she gravitated toward Sheila, the more space grew between us. I threw all my time into work and spending time with Marcee. I quit trying to make things work with Vi when she made it clear my efforts were wasted.

We were able to live separate lives for a while, both content to do our own thing, but then she started trying to change me, mold me into what she believed better aligned with the image of her ideal partner. I wasn’t having it, which pissed her off to no end. Her spending habits escalated, spiraling out of control after I rejected her attempts to tailor me. Going so far as buying matching BMWs with Sheila on a whim just a few months ago. Seeing red, I yelled at Vi and told Sheila to go fuck herself. That was the first big fight we ever had.

Vivian ranted and raved, saying I embarrassed her and had no right to speak to her friend like that. Then she marched into my office, cleared my desk, and took a letter opener to my leather Herman Miller chair. Later that day as I cleaned up my office, I cried, knowing then that our marriage was over. Marcee had come home that evening so excited because she and Lexie had been asked to their junior prom, and she was over the moon excited. Her smile lit up the room and her green eyes sparkled with joy. The thought of putting her through a divorce broke my heart, so I made a choice right then to grit my teeth and make it work until after she graduated.

The plan worked for almost a year, then over spring break, Vi went on a trip with, you guessed it, Sheila. I checked our accounts and saw the insane amount she was putting on the credit cards and nearly threw up. In just two days, she spent more than I made in a month. Knowing we couldn’t afford this to continue, I called the credit card company and cancelled all her cards. Next, I moved all the funds from our checking and savings accounts into new accounts solely in my name, then sat down and made a budget, giving Vi an ample allowance. When she called me screaming about her card not working, I told her what I had done and she hung up without a word. After that phone call, I was in a constant state of anxiety, knowing the fallout would be bad. She was supposed to come home on Wednesday, so I encouraged Marcee to stay at Lexie’s house since they were on spring break, and her folks had a pool, wanting to shield her from the inevitable fight.

Vi hadn’t come home until Friday, and unfortunately, Lexie and Marcee were in her room when she skidded into the driveway, tires screeching to a halt. I hate that Marcee was in the house and heard the fight, and I feel like a piece of shit for leaving without talking to her. Needing a minute to process the end of my marriage, I came to my safe place, the beach. While driving here, I called my lawyer and asked him to get the divorce papers started. I wanted to expedite the process, done with all of it.

Now I’m sitting here on the cool damp sand, staring at the surf, still reeling over the fact that it really is over. My phone rings and Marcee’s face flashes on the screen. I answer instantly. “Marcee, honey. I'm so, so sorry. I’m coming home right now. Please forgive me for leaving without talking to you.” My anxiety and guilt have me tripping over my words.

“Dad…” Her voice cracks.

My head drops and a tear courses down my cheek…I hurt my little girl. The one person I never wanted to hurt. “I’m so freaking sorry, honey.”

“No, no. It’s okay, Dad. I was just wondering if you wanted some company? Or at least a towel. You look miserable on the sand in slacks.”

Whipping around, I drop my phone when I spot my daughter at the edge of the sand. I run to her and pull her into a hug. As I hold her against my chest, everything seems to settle within me. We will be okay. I'll make things right for her. She is crying so hard she’s hiccupping, and as I realize she drove in this emotional state, a wave of panic crashes through me. “Marcee, I'm so glad you’re here, but it wasn’t safe driving all this way when you’re this upset. Promise me you will never do that again. Call and I'll come anywhere that you are, okay?”

Pulling back, she gives me a watery smile before looking over her shoulder and pointing to a familiar red Lexus in the lot, with Lexie seated in the driver's seat.

“Lexie wasn’t hearing it when I said I was driving out here myself and insisted that she would give me a lift.”