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“You can’t leave me on that,” I said. “Finish the thought.”
“What thought?” he said, with a hint of pride. “I didn’t say anything back there. Your rules.”
Fricking jerk! Where was a high heel shoe for his butthole? But I was around colleagues now. And, most frustratingly, he was right. He was doing exactly what I told him to do. But that was no excuse!
And I was mad as hell about it.
“I’m going to go file the papers for the house,” he said, “but you can head home. It’s late.”
“Have a good night, Mr. Hartford,” I said, with bile on my breath, enunciating each word.
“Good night, Ms. Saunders.” His voice was cotton on feathers. As if cooing a baby to sleep. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he was even amused by it.
I grabbed my work bag and left the office in a huff, speed walking like a middle-aged woman towards a Starbucks when pumpkin spiced latte season starts.
As I stepped into my car, I thought back to what he was saying back at the house. About love and hate not being opposites. And, in my anger, I saw what he meant.
I couldn’t be that upset if I didn’t like him at least a little bit. And that only made me angrier.
CHAPTER6
***WESLEY***
Ilooked out the window at her as she left the office and watched her walking out like a bat out of hell. Perhaps I went too far. It wasn’t a game — she was actually angry.
At this point in my life, I didn’t have the energy to give two shits about what most people thought about me. I was 47 years old — past an optimistic halfway point in my life — and there were too many people to worry about any of their feelings.
But my heart sank a little as Sloane drove away. I didn’t want to upset her, and I feared that was exactly what I’d done.
When I was young, a pretty face could win me over all by itself. I would have gone gaga for Sloane immediately upon seeing her. Now, in my later years, I was supposed to be too smart for that. And, in a way, I was. She didn’t win me over with her pretty face with its warm and comforting smile. Or even her perfect legs and unbelievable ass.
Instead, she won me over by being so distinctlyher. By being cheerful and bright, yet funny and profane. Most people wander around this earth so indistinctly. Like Sloane said in the car, they put a wall between themselves and everyone else. Sloane, even when holding back, was an individual unlike any I’d met. And I just wanted to be close to her as much as possible, which was confusing because I’d rather eat a bucket of nails than spend time with people like her. While the rest of us were doing our best to get by in the real world, fighting the uphill battle to find any little amount of joy in the world, she was thrilled by every little thing, walking around like she shits rainbows or something.
My mind was struggling to keep up with the dissonance. I should have hated her and wished that she’d go as far away as she could, but that wasn’t how I felt. Not at all.
The feelings she evoked in me were feelings I thought I’d lost long ago, as if the heart, like the eyes, became weaker and harder to focus with age. Or perhaps it was just a muscle like any other, which wore out over time, growing tired and needing a rest.
Below those feelings of elation, however, was a sense of apprehension to bring me back to reality. She was half my age and beautiful. Breathtakingly beautiful. And she had her whole life ahead of her. Sloane was a bright summer day whereas I was basically a human Eeyore. What could she ever want to do with me when there was the rest of the male world out there ready to break down doors begging for a chance to be with her.
A part of me believed there might have been a bit of flirtation in the car with her, on the way back to the office. It was what I wanted to believe, and I’d learned to always be careful in believing things just because you wanted to. Thinking over the conversation we’d had, it felt more like she was just frustrated and angry with me. I likely owed her an apology. But would doing so violate the rules of the phantom zone?
Man wasn’t meant to know the inner thoughts of women. They would forever remain a mystery to me. And, as such, I wouldn’t even allow myself the fantasy of Sloane letting me into her life. My heart, weakened with age, couldn’t handle the disappointment that hope was setting me up for.
Sure, she seemed youthful and bright and exciting now, but given more time, I’d just end up frustrated and annoyed by her.
As I grabbed my jacket and briefcase, I remembered that it was Tuesday night and I’d made a habit of visiting my mother at her retirement home on Tuesdays. Whenever I did, I made sure to stop at the drugstore ahead of time to pick up some of the gossip magazines that she enjoyed so much. She always acted happy to see me, but she seemed genuinely excited when I came bearing gifts.
“What have you got, Wesley?” she asked, rolling her wheelchair towards me in the lobby when I arrived.
“Good to see you, too, Mom.”
I kissed her hello and gave her a hug, but I could feel her looking behind my back during the hug at the magazines she’d grabbed out of my hands.
“I like this boy,” she said, pointing to the cover of one of them. He really was a boy. Probably early 20s, but he could pass for much younger because of his boyish face.
“Good jawline,” she said. “I liked him in the movie where he had the rocket pack.”
I had no idea who the boy was or what the movie was she was talking about, but it sounded like she was happy.
