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Each night when I went home was worse than the one before, leaving me feeling frustrated—in all the ways one can be frustrated—, then annoyed with myself, then lonely, and finally... sad.
It was ridiculous, but true.
I was sad because I couldn't call Rush anymore and listen to him tell me about his day, about what show he was watching and enjoying lately, about some new song he loved that I immediately ran to add to my playlist.
Maybe it was worse, too, because we'd spent so much time together in the woods. It took the fantasy into more of a reality, blurring the lines that had always made the situation just shy of toxic for me.
Because, now, I not only missed the calls, but I missed the chance to play board games with him, to talk about books, to help clean up after a storm with him, to cook for him then watch him clear his plate.
It should have been better that he was nowhere around, that I didn't have to see him, hear his voice.
It wasn't, though.
And I felt like each day was getting worse and worse.
My therapist was on the case, trying to help me work through it, move on from it.
It should have been helping.
But I didn't want to move on from it.
That was the kicker, I guess.
I wanted him in my life.
Even though I knew I couldn't have him.
My heart swelled in my chest as my phone rang on the coffee table while I tried to read the same page for the fourth time. It wasn't my mom. I'd already talked to her. She was going out with one of her work friends. She wouldn't be calling again.
I'd blocked my ex.
My bills were paid.
So, of course, my mind went to ridiculous places.
Like maybe Rush was calling.
Like he'd shown up to check on me when I hadn't been to work.
But, I reminded myself, that was before The Incident.
It wasn't him calling.
Of course, it wasn't.
But the person it was seemed almost as unlikely.
"Fee, is everything alright at work?" I asked, my mind already racing over everything I'd done for the day, week, month, trying to figure out what could have possibly gone wrong, what I could have messed up.
"What? Oh, yeah. Work is fine. I think. I mean, you're not using the stock room to, like, cook meth or something are you? 'Cause then we might have a problem. Especially because you wouldn't think of including ya girl in on those shared profits."
"I think you need more space than the stock room has to cook meth," I told her, getting a laugh out of her.
"Yeah, no, I was just calling to chat."
"To chat? With me?"
"I'm bored. My man is helping one of his many brothers build something or another or grunt over a car engine. Who the hell knows. They're doing manly things. And my kids all have lives. Like, who do they think they are, right? So I am sitting here all alone and bored. So I wanted someone to talk to."
"But, don't you have, like, a huge family?"
"They all have like a bajillion kids. And businesses. And I already know all their stories."
"I, uhm, I don't really have any stories," I insisted.
"Oh, you have stories. Everyone has stories."
"I kind of, you know, don't. I live a really quiet life."
"Well, what about that asshole ex of yours?"
"How do you know he's an asshole? Fee?" I asked when her silence stretched long enough to be suspicious.
"Alright. Look. It isn't a big deal."
"The fact that you have to preface it like that says it probably is a big deal. What did he do?"
"He came in once looking for you. You had run to grab more milk. And he was a little inappropriate."
"A little inappropriate how?" I asked, stomach rolling, realizing there was another embarrassment in my life that I had been blithely unaware of, hadn't gotten a chance to stress over for weeks or months.
"He just has a big mouth, Kate. He said some things. And then I said some things back because, well, you know me, I don't play that shit. And then he left."
"He said some things like...about me?" I asked, feeling nauseated that maybe he'd told them what he had thrown in my face about being cold in bed, maybe he'd quipped about how it was ironic that I worked in a sex business when I sucked at sex or something like that.
"He said some things about me," she corrected.
"He hit on you?"
"It's not a big deal."
"It is a big deal. I'm so sorry."
"Ah, yeah, you're not the one who did it, so you don't need to apologize. But, yeah, that was how I knew he was an asshole. I did a little jig inside when you divorced him. You can do better."
"I don't know about that," I admitted. I wasn't someone who talked about personal things easily with others, but something about Fiona's Kool-Aid-Man approach of bursting into my life was making me feel like she genuinely wanted to be there, that she did want to have a chat with me. "I, ah, I have never been good with the whole dating thing."
