Magical Midlife Madness (Leveling Up, #1)

by K.F. Breene

Our life goals had only diverged because I’d gotten tired of supporting him through all of his endeavors without being allowed to achieve anything for myself.

She jumped, screamed, and let go of the pan. It clanged into the sink, throwing up a sploosh of water that covered her front. She rounded on me with wide eyes. Not turned to me. Not flinched from me. Rounded on me, as though this seventy-year-old woman was about to beat the ever-lovin’ crap out of me!

On first inspection, this place, so different than everything else on this street, was anything but welcoming. It exuded an undeniable get lost vibe, from its positioning at the dead end, pushed well back from the road, to its dark and foreboding colors. It crouched like some gigantic beast, a warning written into its wood frame.

What was it about middle age and muttering to oneself? Was that a mom thing, or an age thing? I didn’t know, but it had become a me thing,

Money might not buy happiness, but it sure helps with an escape route.”

This felt right in a way nothing had in a long, long time. Like it was meant to be. Like my strife had not been in vain, at any point, and the next chapter of my life was, indeed, about to start. I couldn’t wait.

Most of the time, humans were shockingly good at convincing themselves the world around them was as mundane as they were, and that was that. Nothing to see here, folks.

That lady was done with letting other people tell her what to do, Niamh had seen it in her eyes. Seen it in the way she’d ended their conversation abruptly and shown herself out. Seen it in her bearing. Jessie Evans had been through the grinder, and she’d made it out the other side tougher. Stronger. Less likely to deal with anyone’s crap. She might need a little convincing of that, but it was there.

Although I’d never excelled at small talk, I hated awkward silences even more.

“While you were paralyzed with fear, your happiness suffered. That’s a call to courage if I ever heard one.”

My instinct was to keep quiet. Like every woman I knew, I’d been taught to go with the flow. To suffer in silence.

When Jessie’s life had fallen apart, she hadn’t crawled under a rock in a puddle of tears. She’d risen up, grabbed life by the balls, and said, “Screw this. I’ll find something better.”

“I’m crazy?” I asked. “You started it! You started it, and I plan on finishing it. That’s just responsible fighting. That’s what a mother does, finishes things. Then tidies up. Trash can, unmarked grave, whatever. Garbage goes where I put it, and that’s that.”

He wasn’t acting like any of the men I knew. Certainly not like my ex or his friends. I’d attempted to talk to Matt about the dangers women faced, and he’d blown me off. That wasn’t his reality, and therefore my fear wasn’t justified. The minute, day-to-day suffering women faced for being women wasn’t real.

Teenagers were the absolute worst. It was like an alien had come to earth one day, picked up my loving boy, and replaced him with a stinky, hairy mutant. Someone should’ve warned me.

“That’s the style of the doll. She has those lovely red-haired pigtails and quite the mean temper. She’s a tough one. The gingers always are.”

I smiled and bumped his shoulder with mine. “Just don’t be so focused on the bad that you miss the good. You made this town a haven where people who don’t belong anywhere else can feel safe.

Because the truth was, I didn’t want the solution to midlife to be young again. I wanted to be accepted for being my age. I wanted it to be okay for a woman to have wrinkles. Graying hair. A few sagging areas due to child birth and the passing of years.

We as a couple were financially doing great. Emotionally, though, we were bankrupt at the end. I don’t want someone else’s money. I want their time. Their good moods. Their jokes. Their companionship.

Thanks to my marriage, I know the signs, and this time, whether I’m aligning myself to a man or bitter woman posing as a house, I will make sure to lose none of myself.

I might not be fast or be able to run for a long time just yet, but I was damned good at falling, bruising, and then getting back up.

The first floor was clear, so I powered up the stairs without even breaking a sweat. Young me would’ve been grinning like a lunatic. Midlife me was wondering about the butcher’s bill. What had I just traded for the ability to take stairs in a single bound?