The Alternatives by Marti York
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction, which means you can’t sue me if it hits too close to home for you. I know you believe you are the center of the universe, but not everything is about you. Settle down.
Acknowledgements: I would like to thank my husband for allowing me to waste my time, which is how he phrases it, for thirty minutes each day on my fiction-writing hobby. This story would not have been possible without his support.
Amy liked to think of herself as a mother to three daughters and a wife to Mark, who provided well enough for her and the girls even if he was angry most of the time. That’s how she would present herself at Julie’s party today – as a mother and a wife. She wouldn’t mention her part-time job cleaning houses because she didn’t like to admit that Mark didn’t provide quite as well as the family needed him to. He tended to spend too much money on video games, sporting events, and beer.
Mark worked, came home, ate the dinner Amy made him, played video games, went to bed, and did it all again the next day. His weekends were usually spent with the guys at some game or another, which was why he never had time to cut the grass or fix things around the house. Amy had taken the part-time job to pay for the lawn care and handyman services Mark refused to take care of himself. Three days a week, while the girls were in school, she cleaned houses. The other four days, she took care of her own home. Of course, she didn’t get paid for the latter. Nor did she get paid for the time and effort she put into taking care of the girls.
Amy was surprised to get the invitation from Julie, who was the mother of a friend of Amy’s oldest daughter. She was even more surprised when Mark agreed to babysit the girls so she could go. She was sure Mark would have future demands since he had to cancel plans with the guys, but she’d worry about that later. He’d even offered to drive her and pick her up, which was fine. Maybe she’s let loose and have a few drinks.
“This is Julie’s house on the right,” Amy told Mark.
When he pulled to the curb and idled, Amy turned to the girls in the back seat. “I love you. Be good for daddy.”
“We will,” they said in unison.
“I got this, Amy,” Mark said. “Have a good time.”
She smiled and leaned closer. He offered his cheek, and she kissed it swiftly. Mark didn’t like public displays of affection. The chaste kiss was their only contact before Amy grabbed her purse and got out.
She’d only managed to shut the door and turn to face Julie’s house before Mark drove off. He always did that. Never in their entire relationship had he waited for her to get inside before driving off. Not even when they were dating. It always bothered Amy, but she told herself she was being too sensitive. She’d mentioned it to him once, how much it hurt her feelings. Only once, though, because he’d raged at her. “I’m not your damn bodyguard.” “You can take care of your damn self.” “Stop acting like a damn baby.” “Grow the fuck up.”
“It doesn’t hurt my feelings,” Amy told herself as she walked to Julie’s door. “He’s a good man, and I’m lucky to have him.” She pasted a smile on her lips, hoping it reached her eyes, and knocked on Julie’s door.
When Julie opened the door, her laughing gaze expressed first surprise and then delight. “Amy, I’m so glad you came.” She tugged Amy into a tight hug. “I was worried you wouldn’t.”
Amy hugged Julie back. “Mark agreed to babysit the girls.”
Julie swayed back and forth with Amy in her arms. “Oh, bless your heart.”
Amy clenched her jaw. She hated that saying and the condescension that came with it. But she didn’t want to seem overly sensitive by reacting.
Julie let her go and ushered her inside. “Do you want a drink? Wine? Beer? Prosecco?”
Amy shook her head. “I better not. I don’t want to be tipsy when I see the girls later.”
“How about a ginger ale?”
“That would be great.”
“Great.” Julie turned to the living room full of women. “Ladies, this is Amy. Our daughters play on the same soccer team. Amy, this is…”
Julie rattled off the names of the other women, but Amy didn’t hear them. She was too focused on the woman sitting on the ottoman at the edge of the sofa. “Mrs. Lesley?”
“Hello, Amy.”
“You two already know each other?” Julie asked.
“Yes, um…” Mrs. Lesley trailed off.
Amy held her head up high. “Yes. I clean Mrs. Lesley’s house. How’s your family, Mrs. Lesley?”
Amy saw the looks the other women exchanged, as if Amy were beneath them because of the type of work she did. She doubted any of these ladies were CEOs or doctors. Mrs. Lesley was a hairdresser, for goodness’ sake. Even if she owned the salon, she was still a hairdresser.
“The family is fine. And yours?”
“Great. My husband is having some alone time with our daughters today. He works so much he barely has any time with them without me.”
“Why don’t you have a seat, Amy. I’ll get you that drink,” Julie said and headed into the kitchen.
Mrs. Lesley patted the spot next to her on the ottoman. “Sit here. There’s plenty of room.”
Amy made her way to the ottoman and sat. “Thanks, Mrs. –”
“You can call me Brooke. You don’t work for me here,” Mrs. Lesley said with a wink and a smile.
Amy couldn’t help smiling back. “Brooke it is.”
“I love your shoes,” Brooke said.
“Thanks. I love your shirt.” It was a simple t-shirt but splashed across the front was “Women are Badasses.”
“It seemed to fit the day.”
“I agree.”
Julie came back into the room and handed Amy a glass full of ice and fizzy liquid.
“Thank you.” Amy took a long gulp and then set the glass on a coaster on the coffee table.
Julie took a seat in one of the two recliners. “We had just started talking about alternative names for International Women’s Day when you got here.”
“Sounds fun,” Amy said. “What have you come up with so far?”
One of the women on the love seat piped up with, “Men Suck at Yoga Day and Video Games are Not Real Life Day.”
Amy laughed along with the others. She especially liked the second one. “My husband easily wastes a quarter of his life playing video games. If he’s not working or watching sports, then he’s usually playing video games.”
“Ugh, watching sports is so stupid,” someone else said. “Hey, that’s a good one. Today is Watching Sports is Stupid Day.”
Everyone clapped, and Amy joined in.
Another woman raised her hand. “I have one. Get Your Own Beer Day. To go along with Watching Sports is Stupid Day.”
Amy nodded along and added, “Make Your Own Sandwich Day.”
They all cheered, and Amy’s heart sang.
Julie said, “This is all in good fun, so please no one get offended. But how about Suck Your Own Dick Day.”
Oohs undulated through the air. Then Brooke raised her fist high and said, “Yeah. Suck Your Own Dick Day.”
Amy blushed, embarrassed to admit that she’d wanted to tell Mark to suck his own dick more than a few times. He wanted fellatio more than he wanted intercourse, and Amy was getting sick and tired of it.
“Women are More Than Holes Day,” someone else said.
And on it went.
“Pretend Life is Prison and Rape Each Other Instead Day.”
“Women Aren’t the Ones Starting Wars Day.”
“Men May be Physically Stronger, But They Can’t Handle Pain Day.”
“Your Wife is Not Your Mother Day,” Amy announced and was so proud when the others whooped in response.
“Women Wouldn’t Need a Day if We were Equal Day.”
“Marriage is a Raw Deal for Women Day.”
“Marriage is Legalized Prostitution and Slavery Day.”
“Real Men Don’t Bully and Abuse Day.”
Amy loved them all and was having so much fun.
Then Julie said, “Amy, honey. This one is especially for you. It’s Not Babysitting if They’re Your Own Kids Day.”
It was like a slap in the face, and Amy couldn’t stop the tears from falling.
“Oh, honey.” Brooke placed an arm around Amy’s shoulder.
Julie moved to crouch in front of her. “I’m so sorry, Amy. I was just kidding. This is all in good fun.”
Amy shook her head and swiped at the tears. “No, it’s not you. Babysitting is Mark’s word. I actually told him once that he shouldn’t call it babysitting when they’re his kids. And he yelled at me and the girls for what seemed like hours. Childcare is the woman’s job. He said that in front of our daughters. And I was too scared to argue with him.”
“It’s okay, Amy,” someone said (Amy really wished she had paid enough attention to remember everyone’s name). “We’ve all got kids, and their fathers have essentially said the same thing at one point or another.”
Amy sobbed. “Taking care of my kids is a 24/7 job. My husband works 8 hours a day, 5 days a week and gets paid to do it. He gets evenings and weekends off to do whatever he wants while I never get any time off. I hate being married.”
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room.
“Are you sure you don’t want a real drink?” Julie asked her.
“Oh, screw it,” Amy said. “I’ll take some wine. Mark will just have to handle his kids for the rest of the night.”
Julie patted her hand. “That’s the spirit.”
Amy was so drunk when she got into the car a couple of hours later that she reached over, hugged Mark, and gave him a sloppy kiss right on the lips. He immediately shoved her away.
“You’re mean,” Amy whined. “Why are you always so mean?”
“Why are you such an idiot?”
“I’m not an idiot.” Amy turned toward the back seat. “Dad is mean. Right, girls?”
To Amy’s surprise, all three of them cheered. “Dad is mean, Dad is mean, Dad is mean.” They kept chanting until Mark yelled at them to shut up.
“You’re drunk, Amy. In front of the kids.”
“Kind of like you are every weekend,” Amy countered. “Plus, you’re bad at yoga. So there.”
“What does that even mean?” He shook his head as he pulled away from the curb.
“Girls,” Amy said. “Today is International Women’s Day. Also known as…” she looked directly at Mark. “Get Your Own Beer Day, Make Your Own Sandwich Day, and Suck Your Own Dick Day.”
“Watch it, Amy,” Mark told her through clenched teeth.
Amy didn’t watch it, though. She kept going. “And most important of all, today is It’s Not Babysitting if They’re Your Own Kids Day.”
She was still laughing when Mark pulled into the driveway. She left him to help the girls out of the car, and as soon as she stepped into the house, she started up the stairs.
Behind her, Mark said, “You need to make dinner.”
Without stopping, Amy flipped him the bird. “It’s Your Wife is Not Your Mother Day, which means It’s also Make Your Own Dinner Day.”
When Amy finally made it to the bedroom, she fell face first onto the bed. Then Mark’s angry voice was in her ear. “If you want to drink, I’ll give you a drink.” And he poured something that smelled like liquor, the hard stuff, over her head. “You’ll never laugh at me again, you worthless cunt.”
Amy was too stunned to move. Not even the sound of the match flaring roused her. Then her alcohol-soaked head ignited in an explosion of flames. All she could do was scream as the pain consumed her.
Copyright 2025
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