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She turns on her heel, smiling at me. “Thank you for giving a shit.”
I don’t know what to say to that, and she closes the door, leaving me with the memory of her smile, and the scent of her hair all over my apartment and in my bed.
I’m thinking things I shouldn’t, so I grab my still-packed gym bag and head out. Swimming will clear my head and bring me back down to reality.
It always does.
Two hours. That’s how long I was in the pool at the gym. And for two hours, I swam laps and tried desperately to stay under, to find that panic and darkness that usually has no trouble locating me.
But the entire time, all I wanted to do was keep swimming. My brain kept telling me to rise up and grab a breath, the exact opposite of all the other things it’d been telling me for years.
So after too many laps, my skin pruned and my feet sore from the rough bottom of the pool, I got out. I rinsed off in the gym shower, driving home in a daze.
I swam without wanting to drown.
I swam without punishing myself.
I swam, like a normal human being. And I have yet another hard-on, too.
fifteen
scarlett
Things are getting better. I’m fucking manifesting that.
“Really?” I ask Vienna, who is busy sliding pocket pussies into plastic bags, the cooler door held open by her hip. She says two more casts and she should have the official, final prototype. I’m actually looking forward to it, more than before.
She nods. “Yep. He wants to be a stay at home dad when the time comes. Can you believe it?”
I shake my head. “That’s awesome, Vienna.” I always imagined myself staying home with my children, the ones I’ve dreamed about in my future. That dream now seems further away than ever before. And I thought with Pete I was getting so close tohaving it all.
“How about you?” I ask, knowing that I’d be the one to stay home with the kids. I’d want that. I’ve craved that. “You think you’ll ever want to trade places and stay at home?”
She considers the question, and answers honestly. “No. I mean, I will love my children to bits and pieces, that much I’m positive of. But I also know myself. I’m better working in an adult atmosphere. I’d be way too on edge otherwise.” She lifts her pitcher of Earth colored mix, pouring it into the top of her molding cast. “What about you? Do you want to be a stay at home parent some day?”
“I want to be a mom,” I reply quickly, because those are words I haven’t been able to say aloud for some time. Those words were the rocky, unstable base of many terrible arguments between me and Pete. The wordmomstill feels like it’s bad and I don’t have the right to speak it. But Vienna nods, and I realize, Pete can’t soil this anymore. “I want to be a mom so bad,” I say again, feeling a surge of confidence as it occurs to me that I’m free to have, be and do whatever I want now. Vienna’s eyes come to mine in the mirror across from us, her mixture slowing down as she nears the end of the pour. “But I do think I’d like to work still.”
She smiles. “Same, I think I’d go stir crazy.”
“I’d want to stay home while they’re young, but then when they get older, go back to work.”
She grins, nudging her glasses up her nose as she wipes the spout of the pitcher, ending the now trickling stream. “Them, huh? How many kids do you want?”
I sigh, considering her words. Having one felt nearly insurmountable, nothing more than an impossible dream I was unwilling to let go of. But now I can honestly consider it. “At least two but maybe even three.”
Vienna nods as she rinses the pitcher. “Where’s the ceiling?”
“Four, because five gets to the point where you need a special vehicle and one’s left out,” I say easily, as if I’ve planned this out before. I haven’t, but it’s so exciting to even talk about it, I get a little giddy.
“I think Tuck is wired like you,” Vienna admits. “He wants like, endless children. I told him, my uterus isn’t a high-capacity hotel. A few guests, then we close it up.”
I laugh at Vienna. She always makes me laugh and honestly, I’m so glad Aug introduced me to her before a lot of the others. She’s sweet and quirky, and her off-beat personality brings my walls down. I know whatever I say or share, Vienna will never judge.
“So,” she starts, twisting the faucet, waiting for the water to turn warm. She wears gloves but her arms still manage to take a healthy dose of compounding material. “You asked about Cohen the other day,” Vienna starts, and immediately I tense.
Asking about him then felt silly and embarrassing, but talking about him now, with Vienna, doesn’t necessarily feel right. But I like Vienna, and cutting her off at the knees with a coldI don’t want to talk about thisdoesn’t feel right either.
“We’ve been…” I consider saying hanging out, but that sounds so immature and completely devaluing of the time we have been spending together. “Spending time together,” I say instead, watching her face closely for a reaction.
