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After ditching my shoes, I went straight to the kitchen and put the kettle on – this was my everyday habit and routine. Then I went to the sofa and picked up my tablet. The document with my bucket list was open when the screen lit up. Finally, my list wasn’t non-existant anymore. I had even ticked some off already.
Number one: New and improved Lucy. Check. Number two: Get a tattoo. Appointment booked. Number three: Make new friends. Got to put a big question mark on that. Number four: get a vacation. By myself? And when I’m still settling in my new job? Goal on hold. Number five: Learn German. When the hell did I have time for that?
Scrolling down to the end of the document, I added a new section, titling it as ‘Maybe’. I added number one: have a baby. Despite all my doubts about being capable of raising a family, I guess I still wanted one. Someday.
Creating a life plan was much harder than any marketing plan I had ever created. I never planned any goals for myself because I’d always thought life didn’t follow a plan. I mean, when I sprained my hand falling off a slide at six years old, I was fascinated by my hospital experience and spent years telling everyone I wanted to be a doctor too. Then when I was a teen, I got interested in anything artistic. At first I wanted to be a painter, then an interior designer. Blame that on growing up with a house flipper. Until dad got sick and consequentially the passion for art was gone. Anything close to a plan was derailed. The only plan for me back then was to survive on my own. My life was full-time working every shift I had the stamina for while studying part-time. Then I got that internship, fell in love with the job and having a brilliant career became the one single goal for me.
When the kettle whistled, I left the comfort of my sofa to go pour a black coffee. Then I stored the groceries I bought in the cupboards and fridge, leaving the cranberry cheese out on the table. Cheese was my favourite snack and alternative to dinner when I didn’t feel like cooking for one.
I even decided to skip yoga tonight. Since I moved to the city, I self-diagnosed myself with mild anxiety. At first, I dismissed the symptoms – the heart fluttering, the shivering even in warm temperatures, the insomnia. I blamed it on my high intake of caffeine. Till I realized it had all begun since I left town, since I’ve been living exiled on my own with not too many prospects ahead. Yoga was a helpful remedy.
Instead of yoga, I sat in front of the TV with my coffee mug and replayed the last half hour of the comedy movie I slept through last night. I was supposed to watch this one with Sam. Maybe that’s why I didn’t find it that funny despite being rated as one of the most comedic movies of all time. Sam had already seen it yet he had still agreed to add it to our watchlist.Whatever makes you happy, sunshine, Sam had told me. Always hated nicknames but this one, I missed so bad. And just like that, I hit the switch-off button on the remote at once.
I shouldn’t be missing Sam. I moved on.
Sam had called my number unceasingly since I left his office that day. I had only dared listen to his first voicemail. He had gone to my former apartment and realized I was gone. His voice was angry, filled with hurt. He had also texted me. Again, I only read his first.
You left me without goodbye.
The following days were filled with more calls and texts begging me to answer, call or text him back. I did just the opposite. I blocked his number and marked his email address as spam so that his emails would go straight to junk instead of having to delete each one. The only issue with that was now I’d have to check the spam folder at least once a day to retrieve any emails related to the Zimmerman project I’m collaborating with him and Joe on.
Deciding to have a bath, I went to my bedroom to collect my PJs. Like every time I went into my room without switching on the lights, I stubbed my toe on a box. The same unopened box I’ve been moving around with me from one place to another since the day I sold my dad’s house. Once again today, I ignored it.
In the bathroom, I opened the bath tap while I undressed and tossed the clothes in the brimming laundry bag. Brimming enough that the clothing rolled off to the ground. That’s okay. I could afford an extra day before doing laundry. Been a while since I washed just my clothes. First there was Joe’s, then there was always some type of Sam’s clothing. Now it was all mine. What was one more day of delaying laundry? I got more than enough clean outfits to choose from.
The water was just the right temperature of warm. Perfect. I could relax through the evening. Or maybe not. The raindrops outside began to hit hard on my bathroom window. Just perfect. Add ‘rain’ to the list of why I hated to live alone. I didn’t have anyone to cuddle with me on rainy days. I know, I should grow out of the little girl’s scary stuff. After my father died, I had Joe to crawl in bed with. Then after Joe, Sam would always invite himself over to be my spoon and let me sleep like a baby in his arms through the night. I’ve always had my own kind of dreamcatcher. Until now.
I poured a few more dollops of vanilla soap to relax. If only it didn’t transport me to memories of Sam. Everything reminded me of Sam. Even the feel of my own palm rubbing the soap over my skin. It was like I could never touch my naked self and not imagine Sam. Specifically when touching that specific spot between my legs.
I missed sex. Sex with Sam. Any sex, for that matter. Too bad I swore off men. I even barred myself from having a casual fling with a new acquaintance or something. Too complicated. I don’t need a man. For anything. I don’t need a man to cook for me or find me a job. I don’t need a man to paint my wall or fix my faucet. I can do everything on my own. If I cannot, I’ll hire someone who can. I don’t even need a man to get off because I bought a sex toy – a vibrator. A Christmas present from me to me. I can give myself better orgasms now. Maybe I should have invested in one of those much, much earlier. I might have sated my libido enough not to sleep with my best friend or my boss. My toy and my ex-boss were definitely not the same. No six-speed vibrator could top off the best orgasm Sam gave me.
Fuck. Thoughts of Sam again. What the hell was it going to be to get him off my mind?
The ringing of my phone was my salvation. Gosh, I haven’t heard that sound go off after my working hours for so long.
Like an ecstatic little girl waking up on Christmas morning, I stepped out of the bath and tiptoed hurriedly from the ensuite to my bedroom, without caring for the water and foam dripping from my body.
The caller was Joe. Thanks to my lack of social life, I longed to hear a voice so I answered without hesitation.
“Hello.” My voice was raspy from lack of talking for hours.
“Hi.” Joe sounded hesitant of what to say next. “How are you?”
Better not tell him where my train of thought was just while he was dialling my number. “Good. And you?”
“Same.”
Awkward conversation. Even more awkward than knowing I was standing at this end of the line naked with soap bubbles all over me.
“Thought you’d hang up on me. Was half expecting that honestly.”
“Yea, I expected that too.”
“Been meaning to call you much earlier but I, uh, I was handling some stuff.”
“Mhm.” Same old, same old. Always busy.
“So… I will be in the city tomorrow for a quick meeting with a client. Do you think we… Would you like to meet up? For lunch or a quick coffee. Just for a little chat. I’ll tell you all my latest news and you tell me about yours? It would be nice to see you, Luc. I’d really like to see you.”
