Page 42 of Letting Go at 40

Me: What do you need to navigate?

Anna: Between the start and the finish.

Me: What start and finish?

Anna: Birth and death.

Oh boy. Me: That’s philosophical for a Friday after midnight.

Anna: I’ve been drinking.

The answer to every wayward thought. I chuckle to myself and respond.

Me: Maybe you should put down the glass and stop thinking.

Anna: Stop thinking. Good plan. I need to stop.

Funny how in my head, I can almost hear her voice slurring. She goes on weekly manicure and margarita outings with Autumn and River. After the first night, when Anna was drunk and had to be carried to her room by yours truly, I’ve learned through Zack that the evenings are typically tame.

Me: Are you thinking about more than just birth and death? I probably shouldn’t be encouraging an inebriated woman into a drunk conversation, but I’m curious what else is actually on Anna’s mind.

Anna: Yes. The in between.

Me: That’s a lot of space.

I sit on the edge of my bed. I’d fallen asleep on the couch before the first text came through. With my phone on my chest, a movie played on my television, but I’d lost interest and nodded off. We’ve been working hard at Four Points, prepping for spring when construction season will hit full tilt.

Anna: Only one thing fills that space.

For some reason, my heart skitters. My lungs work harder. I stare at the device, hesitant to even ask what that one thing occupying her headspace could be.

Me: What?

I watch the three dots dancing for a long heartbeat.

Anna: You.

My breath catches. I want to toss the phone across the room. Blasphemy. She’s drunk. This isn’t a conversation or a confession. It’s a stream of consciousness brought on by alcohol. And as much as I want more details as to what exactly she’s thinking about me, I don’t ask.

Me: Go to bed, Anna. Drink some water. Get some rest.

Anna: Still taking care of me.

The words stare back at me. I try. I try to take care of Anna as much as I devoted myself to Ben. However, my heart can only take so much.

Anna: You aren’t obligated.

And this is my out. Anna has it in her head that she’s an obligation instead of my friend. I want to be available to her because I care about her. Not just because Ben asked me to be there. Not just because he’s gone.

I’ve always cared about her. I fucking love her and my heart wants to punch me in the face for such a thought.

Me: Night, sweetheart. I don’t erase the endearment. I hit send and toss my phone to my nightstand then fall onto my back.

I should be too pissed off by her final comment to think deeper thoughts of her. I should ignore what happened one night as she’s asked me to forget it. Instead, I close my eyes, pulling up the memory, and popping the button on my jeans. Sliding my hand into my pants, I curl my fist over my semi-quickly-turning-full-hard-on and squeeze.

Anna frustrates the hell out of me and taking it out on myself is a good way to loosen the tension.

Also, the only way I get off lately is by thinking of her.