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I stood up quickly. “Excuse me, I need to… pee.”
Without waiting for their response, I picked up my bag and walked out of the office. The second the door shut behind me, my walk switched into a jog. Then full-on running, heel to my ass, like I was being chased by a pack of wolves.
I dashed into the ladies’ room, straight into the first empty cubicle, just in time as my stomach regurgitated that morning’s breakfast. The acid reflux had taken over my body. And the more I stared at the toilet bowl, the more I couldn’t stop the retching or the tears that began to fall.
It must have been minutes later that my body decided to settle down. I went to clean my mouth in the sink and as I caught my own reflection in the mirror, shaking to the constant shivers, drool hanging off my lips and the mascara smeared with the running teardrops, I wept harder. For fuck’s sake, look at me. Look at what I’ve become. I was the utter definition of a complete mess.
That was when I lost the last fragment of self-control. My knees buckled beneath me and I surrendered to my wrenching misery. At this point, sitting on the cold floor, I didn’t even attempt to stop my cries. I needed to mourn. Mourn my old life and grieve the prospect of my current sad, lonely life.
As if it wasn’t enough to quit another job and ruin the new life I was supposed to build in the city, I now realize I might have lost Joe to Sam too. I thought I had got him back.
And Sam. I already knew that I had lost him weeks ago. But seeing him and ignoring me, not even acknowledging my presence, not even looking at me, it fucking hurt. And I deserved all of it. I really did break the man’s heart, didn’t I?
Maybe I should have said one word – at least one. I could have run to him and begged him to forgive me. Who was I kidding? Forgiving me that easily? That wasn’t even probable to happen in the best dream, much less in real life.
But what if he could forgive me? What would happen then? What would I be? I’d be his third girl and a step-mom to his first two girls. Me, a step-mom? Did I want that? And what if he decided to tick a few off his checklist? Would I fly around the world with him?For him?I have never done international travel and I’m scared of planes. Would I do that with him still? Did I want to share anything he wanted?
Shit, my head was all fucked up with these neverending questions. An infinite flow chart of what-if’s.
My eyes fell on the sun tattoo. New beginnings? Well, Sam got his new beginning with the girls. And Joe got his fresh start too. They also got their childhood friend back. Everything was working out so well for the boys. Their lives were on the right track.
And mine? Hah. Here I was. In a toilet cubicle, all miserable and alone, facing the ultimate truth that I was a thirty-year-old woman and this was my midlife crisis.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Three
Days passed. Lonely days. Wasted days.
Nine days was how long I’d been holed up in my apartment after escaping from that toilet stall. Nine days since I had texted Joe that I was okay and then switched off my phone. Nine days since I’ve shed the first tear of my neverending crying marathon. Nine days of me spending hours in bed staring into thin air with a mug of coffee in hand. An Irish coffee, actually. Or rather, an espresso laced with a very generous pour of Irish whiskey. Too bad that no amount of alcohol could tame my cries. I had been crying at everything and for no reason at all. Like yesterday when I had no cream biscuits left to snack on. Or when I saw that advert on TV with those cute Golden Retriever puppies sniffing each other’s butts. Or like five minutes ago when I stubbed my toe for the hundredth time onthatunopened box – the one I had packed when I sold my dad’s house and never had the guts to open again.
Today, something urged me it was time to open that box. So I did.
The cries were quickly transformed into full-on weeping as soon as my eyes settled on the very first item lying on top. It was the wooden crescent moon that my dad had crafted for me. He had dangled it on the wall across my bed for me to see every day. It was his best proof and promise to always hang the moon for me. Oh, how I miss his silly puns.
Then I found my old drawing books. Half a dozen of them, all from my teenage years. Gosh, how much I used to draw back then. It was my escape. One drawing pad was filled with landscapes. Another was filled with sketches of random still objects. Then there was this one drawing, possibly my most spontaneous and candid drawing ever, that the more I looked at it, the more I couldn’t tear my eyes away. It was a sketch of my dad napping on the wicker chair out on the porch. I remember I had used all my creativity to capture that peaceful moment as best as I could. The final result came out so good that now years later, just looking at it, I could see that memory right in front of my eyes like reliving it. Except instead of the peace I felt back then, my heart tugged with the deepest sorrow, and I shut that drawing pad closed.
In the box, there were photo albums too. I daren’t peak inside those. Nothing would stop my tears if I did. I put them aside and then saw my old apron and shirts from my waitressing stint. The shirt’s print was faded with age and the thousand washes it took. Its neckline and sleeves had a DIY jagged cut purposely crafted to expose my ample assets. The hefty tips I got back then were all thanks to this very revealing shirt.
Geez. Who knew how life would be if my father hadn’t died so young? Or if I didn’t pursue my career after? What if I hadn’t met Joe? Or if I hadn’t met Sam? Would my heart feel this… empty? Lonely? Would I feel so unfulfilled?
Despite the hard times I grew up in, even at its worse when my father’s health was ailing, those years were still the happiest I’d been. Life was tough but much, much simpler. How I wished I could go back.
And on impulse, I decided to do just that.
I called a taxi, and within the next ten minutes, I had the quickest shower and donned the first sweater dress I found. Still, the outfit change from my PJs did not hide what a mess I looked like. My hair was a bird’s nest and there was no time to wash and style, so the only tolerable option was a very messy bun in its utter definition. There wasn’t any time for make-up, nor did I feel up to the task. Instead, I opted for wearing the brightest red lipstick I owned as my feeble attempt to pick up my mood. Pairing it all with high heels, I was now the true image of a hot mess.
Half an hour later, as soon as the taxi dropped me off outside the shabby building, it felt like I was transported back in time. Nothing had changed. Ben’s bar was just the same from the outside. And when I stepped inside, I realized that neither had the interior. Same décor, same thick smell and clouds of smoke, same boisterous patrons.
“Lucy? Is this really you, kid?” A grey-haired man approached me with a heavy gait and the same glint of joy in his eyes that I remember from every time he saw me.
“Oh, Ben.” I met him halfway and engulfed him in my arms. The man may be past seventy but he certainly had more strength in his biceps to squeeze me tighter than I did.
“What the heck have you been waiting for to come see me?” Ben pinched my cheek with his fingers, same as he did to me when I was a little girl.
“I know and I’m so sorry I never came.” No amount of apology would ever be enough.
“You look wonderful. So grown up and so beautiful. Look at you. And look at everyone else in here. They’re all staring at you.”
