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Uncertainty about whether going out with him in the first place was a monumental mistake.
January 22nd
Lauren
“I wouldn’t be specific, exactly. I could just check in. A tiny little text from a concerned daughter, making sure all is well in the land of fighting fires, you know?”
Frank blinks and swims to the back of the tank, shaking his tail at me.
I roll my eyes.
“No. I mean, sure, maybe it’s a little obvious, but I’d be sly about it. I don’t think my dad would think anything. He’s not really the type to notice.”
Frank spins to look at me, and his wide eyes say it all.
“Ugh. Fine. You’re right. It’s not a good idea. I should just wait. More. Again. I’m sure I’ll hear something before I die of anxiety, right?”
My phone rings beside me, and I shriek.
It might be an overreaction to a simple phone call, but I scoop it up into my hands and bobble it back and forth like a hot potato, trying to get a good enough grasp on it to read the screen.
Spam Risk
Instantly, I deflate. As if telemarketers weren’t torture enough, now I have to live the first five seconds of their calls wondering if they might be the actual call I’m waiting on. Seriously, though, for the love of everything, I don’t want an extended warranty on my freaking car.
Gah. It’s safe to say I’m doing as well as a woman who has only been on one date with a man should be doing. Another two days have passed without a word from Garrett, and it’s really starting to do a number on my nerves.
This isn’t like getting ghosted by some random stranger.
I almost feel like that would be easier than this.
I’m just…worried about him. And I haven’t had to acutely worry about anyone for a really long time. Sure, I worry about my dad, but I think that’s a worry I’ve learned to cope with over the past thirty years.
Worrying about Garrett is brand-spanking-new.
On the positive side, I’ve sought counseling.
Realistically, though, it’s with a fish, so I probably shouldn’t spread that around too much.
In fact, I should probably just keep it to myself.
Dismayed, I blow Frank a few kisses goodnight, shut out the light to his tank, and head for my bedroom.
Tomorrow’s another day. I’ll either improve or decline, but in order to find out, I have to go to sleep first.
I tuck my phone underneath my pillow—just to make sure I’ll hear and feel it if it goes off—and close my eyes. As I fall asleep, I have only one question on my mind.
How in the hell did you get this emotionally involved so quickly, Lauren?
Another two days pass by at the speed of molasses.
Still no word from Garrett.
And Fat Frank has truly become my emotional support goldfish.
My mouth feels like the desert. Dry, lonely, sandy as all fuck. I’m miles from civilization and even further from the Lauren Carroll I used to know.
Internally, I’m kind of a mess, and I think it might be starting to show on the outside because when Rebecca glances down the hall at me from the back door on her way out for the night, she does a visible double take.
It’s Friday. The weekend has arrived, and I have a strong feeling I don’t look like someone who is excited for the weekend. I probably look like I’ll be spending said weekend planning my own freaking funeral.
“Holy hell, Lauren,” she says simply, and I nod. I know. God, do I know.
“I’m fine,” I contend, even though we both know damn well I’m about a hop, skip, and a jump from being institutionalized.
Obviously trying to be supportive, she nods as I approach. “Of course. You just look tired.”
“I haven’t slept all that much this week,” I admit.
She winces. “Still no word?”
I shrug. “The news says the fire’s still not fully contained, but I don’t know. It just felt like I would have heard something by now.”
“The timing is tough, too,” Rebecca attempts to console. “Right after your first date, you usually hope for more contact.”
I swallow against the truth as it hits me like a truck. “That’s the thing, though, Rebecca. With firefighters like Garrett, it’s like this all the time.” I shrug.
I saw it firsthand with my mom and dad, and it’s no different now. A woman, in this wildland-urban-interface-firefighter life, never gets to be a man’s first priority. If I’m having a hard time with it now, I can’t imagine it gets easier as the years tick by and the commitment and kids come along.
Rebecca is pretty clearly at a loss for what to say. I can’t blame her. Encouragement isn’t exactly easy to find in the middle of a pity party. Plus, her husband Darryl is an accountant. His work schedule is routine, and the only blips of long hours occur during tax season.
