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Another thought fills my stomach with an uneasy sensation. What if I fall in love? It can happen at first sight. Right? What if some guy steals my heart, and I wake up alone the next morning to find it shattered on the floor?
I stare at the scared girl in the mirror, look deep into her eyes, and urge her to stand taller. “Nobody can break your heart if you keep it away from them. This isn’t love. It’s sex. You’re a strong, independent woman, andyouget to decide how you want to do it.”
I nod at my reflection. “I get everything I want, and thenIwalk away. No strings attached.”
2
GUNNAR
There are times when going straight home from the grocery store isn’t the best course of action, even if melting ice cream is involved. Such circumstances may include something unexpected and terrible, waiting for you in your house. A serial killer. Bad news. Radiation. A bear.
There is nothing waiting for me at my place.
Nothing.
Which is literally the most terrible thing I can think of, after seeing Kirsty strolling down the supermarket aisles, hand in hand with some other guy, and a whopping, great baby belly filling out her sundress.
Before she floated through the frozen foods section, all fruitful and glowing, I would have said I’d moved on long ago. My hounding of the checkout staff to hurry up while I did my best to hide, so I wouldn’t have to face her, proves I may have some fucking feelings about the opportunities I’ve missed, though.
Her round belly and pregnancy curves were sexy as fuck, and the sight of her made me wish that baby was mine, which was even more of a shock to my system.
We never had a strong enough connection to warrant this kind of yearning when we were together, but if I knew I’d feel this way about seeing her knocked up, I might not have run screaming when she mentioned settling down and having a family together.
Is seeing actually believing?
When I imagine myself holding a baby…?
My guts twist with an ache I’ve been ignoring since I was left to be the man of the house at the ripe old age of eight. I rose to the challenge and provided for my mom and little sister as best I could, and while it gave me bucket-loads of satisfaction to see them thrive under my care, they didn’t need me so much after a while, and I reveled in the freedom I gained.
A little too much, perhaps.
I was in no rush to have that kind of responsibility again.
I definitely didn’t want to make babies with Kirsty when we were together, and I don’t regret breaking up — I don’t even miss her company. That’s not what’s affecting me right now. It’s more that her starting a family is making me wishIhad something to care about. Someone to depend on me and make me feel needed and essential, instead of… pointless.
Oh God. I can feel an existential crisis coming on. I thought I had nothing waiting for me at home, but it’s me.I’mnothing.
I groan internally, as the consequences of decades of casual flings and shallow relationships catch up with me.
The bartender asks me what I need, and I can’t find my voice. I point at the beer tap in front of me, let my hands show him the approximate size of the glass I want him to fill, and then slap cash on the bar, before I stagger to the darkest corner table like I’m already drunk. Off balance from the blindsiding realization that I’ve been actively avoiding the life I actually want.
Have I been kidding myself all these years? Fooling myself into believing I was happy, because it felt good to get my dickwet while I remained emotionally unattached, when really I’m an asshole with one foot out the door before I even enter a relationship?
OhGod. I’m my father.
I’m going to die alone, and I’ll deserve it.
At forty-two, I’m about halfway to dead, and with each passing moment, every wasted year of my life becomes a crushing weight.
My beer is delivered, and I nod athank youand sip, as I stare at the floor on the far side of the room. I need a drink, but I don’t want to get drunk. I have to drive home later.
Soon. I’ll head home soon. I promised my sister I’d help get her kids to sport and dance in the morning, so I can’t drown my troubles in alcohol.
Butoh my fucking stars,do I want to lose myself in something right now.
Movement catches my attention, and I bring the swinging set of Chuck Taylor sneakers into focus. Red-and-black checker-patterned, they’re hi-tops, but the laces carry a lot of slack, they aren’t threaded all the way to the upper eyelets, and they’re double-knotted in the loose position, like whoever’s wearing them appreciates shoes with an easy-on-easy-off action, without the need to waste time on untying and retying. Smart kid.
I frown. In a bar?
