Page 90 of Fundamentals of Chemistry

My head ached, and my skin felt too tight. I had taken for granted how fucking good it had been to be with Jack for the last few weeks. The contrast between then and now was all the more infuriating for being so damn confusing.

“Babes, the only way to find out is to talk to him.”

I groaned and dropped my head back. “Easier said than done when he’s fucking ghosting all of my texts.”

“Have you called him?”

I barked a humorless laugh. “Call? No. What would I even say? I can’t just be like ‘why are you mad at me?’ That’s insane.”

“Why not?” Silvia and Tim were staring at me with matching expressions. I suddenly felt like a student caught texting in class.

“Well, I—”

Silvia’s mug clacked as she set it on the table. She gave me a pointed look. “Mel, you’re both adults. You’ve been in a relationship for weeks.”

“It’s not a relationship—”

She held a finger up. “Shush. I’m speaking. It’s regular, monogamous sex, and you literally will not stop talking about him. That’s a relationship. You need to call him—not text—and ask him what’s going on.”

I crossed my arms and sank back into the cushions.

“Don’t sulk, you know I’m right.”

“I’m not sulking.”

“You’re not not sulking.”

I huffed an exasperated breath. Silvia was right about one thing—I had to do something, anything. I couldn’t keep going like this.

My stomach had been in tight knots for days, and I was jumping out of my skin every time my phone buzzed with a new notification. I nearly threw it across the apartment after the third message from Lyft one afternoon. If this kept up, by the end of the week I was going to dissolve into a puddle of anxious goo.

“I’ll call him tomorrow,” I said. “I can wish him a happy Thanksgiving.”

Silvia placed a hand on my knee and squeezed gently. “Call him now. You don’t need an excuse to call your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I said, too exhausted to care how petulant I sounded. Silvia was right, and it rankled me.

But it was easier to be mad than to risk further rejection and embarrassment. This was like the week after our first kiss all over again, but ten times—one hundred times—worse. At least then I had sort of understood what had happened. Now, we had spent so much time together—had slept together—and he was rejecting me all over again.

“Whatever he is, if you care about him at all, you should call him. Now.”

Tim was nodding in agreement.

The words felt like an ice pick to the chest. I did care about Jack. It wasn’t just that I had grown used to the daily (and spectacular) orgasms. I adored his companionship—running with him, lesson planning, watching him cook. Spending time with him was so easy and comfortable, almost the same way it had been living with Silvia, but somehow more so.

I tossed back the dregs of my cocoa and got to my feet.

“Where are you going?” asked Silvia with a mixture of concern and hope.

“I’m pulling on my big-girl panties,” I said as I pulled on my coat and slipped my feet into Tim’s big shoes since they were there next to the pink doormat.

“Attagirl,” Silvia called as the door closed behind me.

I could have made the call from inside, but I needed privacy. Fewer witnesses to my humiliation.

Unfortunately, I still had no idea what I was going to say when I stepped onto the sidewalk. The wind whipped around the corner of the building, and I pulled my hood up against the biting cold. I felt slightly sobered, but couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

His number was at the top of my contacts, second only to Silvia. My thumb hovered over the dial button. I wasn’t afraid to make phone calls. But I could feel the sting of imminent rejection cutting into me more fiercely than the wind.