“That works.” He hops off the stool and leads the way out of the bar, but when he reaches the lobby, he hesitates. “Oh, my jacket is still in your room.”
“Come on up,” I reply.
In the elevator, he’s fidgety. Shifting from foot to foot. Glancing at me before quickly looking away. “So, what are you doing for the rest of the day?” he asks with studied casualness. “Anything fun planned?”
“Not really.” Sunday was always supposed to be a rest day, one where Nick and I could get to know each other in the quiet of his home.
Alex nods continuously for a long moment. He’s still nodding when we step out of the elevator.
I unlock the hotel room door and gesture for him to precede me. He grabs his suit jacket and places it over onearm, then stands there, looking shy and uncertain. Finally, he asks, “Do you want to hang out a little longer? I’m afraid that as soon as I go home, Theresa will have this sixth-sense premonition that I’m alone and vulnerable and she’ll swoop in with whatever attack she’s planning.”
I arch an eyebrow at the description. “Is she a bird of prey?”
Alex snorts. “She’s been called an eagle before.”
I wish he wanted to stay to spend time with me rather than avoid his ex, but I won’t reject him when I don’t want to be alone either. “Sure, we can hook my laptop up and watch a movie.”
He smiles, and there’s a hint of the man from our wedding photos, so vibrant and full of joy. “Sounds like the perfect Sunday afternoon to me.”
It doesn’t take long to set up the movie. We both settle on the bed with a few feet between us, nowhere near as close as we were earlier. A little disappointment snakes through me, but I ignore it and focus on the positives instead. Alex’s rich laughter. The way his shoulders relax with every new scene.
He’s right, it’s the perfect Sunday afternoon. I can easily picture us having a thousand more like it.
Chapter Nine: Alex
I’ve barely stepped through my apartment door when the call comes in. I curse under my breath as I check the name. Sure enough, it’s Theresa. I was only half-serious when I used her as an excuse to spend more time with Euan. Really, I just … wasn’t ready to leave yet. Despite all the frustration this maybe-scam-maybe-real marriage has caused, I enjoyed working through the problem with him.
“Hello?”
“Alex,” she says with clear relief that surprises me. “You haven’t replied to my messages. It’s not like you.”
Because I always reply as soon as I see them. Today is probably the first time I’ve ever ignored her. “Sorry, I was busy.”
I wait for her to ask what I was busy doing on a Sunday, though I’m not sure how I’ll answer. Do I tell her about meeting someone at a bar last night? Jokingly proposing to him and accidentally going through with it? Spending the whole day with him?
But I don’t need to say anything because she doesn’t ask. “Can we talk?”
“We’re talking now.”
“You know what I mean, Alex.” Her tone is gentle but still a rebuke. “I’d like to talk in person.”
I’m too tired for this conversation, but I’m also too tired to argue with her. Still, I give it one last try, hoping she’ll back off without a fight for once. “Can we do this later? I’ve had a long day.”
“I’d rather do this now. Do you really want to go to work tomorrow with things still unresolved between us?”
I thought the breakup pretty much resolved everything.But underneath Theresa’s usual stubbornness is genuine distress. Maybe she’s the one who can’t get through the workday while the breakup is still on her mind. At my job, if I’m distracted, the worst that can happen is approving an invoice or purchase request that doesn’t meet the qualifications. Even then, there are support staff below me and upper management above me to double check my work. If Theresa has an off day, her clients are the ones who suffer.
“Alright, come on over.” Before she can misinterpret the invitation, I add, “You can pick up your things while you’re here.” I don’t ask her to return any of my things. When I think of anything that might be at her place, all I can picture is a pair of lounge pants and a spare toothbrush. I rarely spent the night at her apartment, while she spent any weekends she wasn’t working over at mine. There are some of her clothes in my closet, skin care products spread out over my bathroom counter, shampoo and body wash on the shelf in my shower. Half of them are things I’ve bought her to make her more comfortable here, and so she wouldn’t have to bring an overnight bag for every visit, but I don’t see any reason to keep them.
Theresa only acknowledges the first part. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” She hangs up without waiting for me to reply.
I sigh and rub my hand down my face. Maybe it would be a good idea to call someone to act as a mediator. Theresa’snot the violent type—she spends all day arguing without once losing her composure—so I’m not afraid for my safety but more for my own backbone.
Yesterday, I was ready to marry her. Today, I’m dreading a single conversation with her. Though I guess that means Iwasn’tready to marry her. It’s not like my feelings changed overnight, just my own expectations. I expected to marry her, so I proposed. Now the only thing I expect is an argument I probably can’t win.
I scroll through my phone, trying to think of who to call.Mike? No, he’s got two kids, he can’t drop everything on Sunday to come play referee. Jamie is an hour away, so that’s not helpful.Every name I find has some sort of excuse. It’d be inappropriate to call any of my subordinates and awkward to call my boss. Some of my friends I’ve barely talked to all year, our lives too busy for more than a quick catch up and a ‘we should hang out soon’ that never happens.
God, I hadn’t realized how much I relied on Theresa for companionship. Every night out, every event, every lazy weekend, who did I spend them with? Theresa. Who did I text when I wanted to talk about work? Theresa. Though I’d done that less and less as time went on. I could only listen to the same advice about taking initiative and applying myself for so long. My job isn’tbad; it just isn’tgood enough.
