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I stare at my phone, willing it to show me a text from Nina, but nothing happens—except for a text from Rosa popping up. I don’t have time to even read it.
I type another message.
Nina, there’s nothing between Rosa and me, I swear. It’s not what you think. Please let me explain.
Even as I fire off the text, I realize how clichéd it sounds. I’ve heard cheaters in the movies say the exact same words before, and I’m sure Nina has, too.
I dial her number again and hear the automated message. I wait for the beep.
“Nina, it’s me. I know it looked bad, but it wasn’t what it seemed. Please, Nina, let me explain. Rosa, she forced herself on me. She planned this whole thing. She wants to destroy us. This is exactly the kind of thing she does.” I realize, even as I speak, how lame I sound, how crazy my explanation seems. “Please call me back, or text me. We need to talk, face to face. Let me know where you are and I’ll come straight to you. Nina, I’d never hurt you. You know that, right? I love you. I really need to talk to you. So please . . . call me back.”
Not knowing what else to say, I hang up.
Fuck.
That was the lamest voicemail ever.
If I were her, I wouldn’t call me back.
Nina
The taxi driver drops me at the airport. As I’m paying him, he looks up at me with concern in his eyes. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you seem like a nice lady—don’t let assholes screw you around. Okay?”
I smile and thank him before he drives away.
Funny that a random taxi driver is the only guy I’ve interacted with in person today who actually seems to have my best interests at heart.
I manage to make it through the check-in process without bursting into tears. But once I’m through security, I duck into a bathroom stall and let the tears flow. I sit there, my body wracked with sobs, and wonder who I pissed off in a previous life.
What the hell did I do to deserve every man I take an interest in turning out to be a huge asshole? I think I’m a good person—at least, I try to be. Why does the universe seem to delight in taking a huge shit on me at every opportunity?
I thought everything was going well. A new job, good salary, a gorgeous-as-hell guy who seemed to like me just as much as I liked him.
But now that’s all ashes. No way am I going back to work there, ever again. Every day would be like daggers in my heart. I can’t look at Brock, let alone work for him.
I sit up straight and pull myself together. Exiting the stall, I stare at my mottled face in the mirror. My makeup is smeared everywhere and I look like hell.
I smile a wobbly smile at myself, take a deep breath, and clean myself up.
I can get back up on my feet again. Nobody else gets to control my happiness—that’s for me, and me alone.
The flight is short and uneventful. I try my best not to replay events over and over in my mind. I even manage to get an hour or so of fitful sleep.
I get a cab from the airport. By the time the sun is just setting, I’m standing outside Dean’s house. The windows are dark—Dean’s not home from work yet.
I suddenly realize that I don’t have a key. I haven’t been here for a long time. Out of long-ingrained habit, I check under the one place I know it should be.
A smile spreads across my lips as I lift the potted cactus and spot the key, glinting in the last rays of the day’s sun.
Our parents used to hide their spare key under one of the many pots containing flowering plants on their porch, back in our family home in Denver.
After they died, the plants soon followed them until only the cacti were left. Then we had to sell the house because Dean needed to find some way to support the two of us while putting himself through college.
Dean was never much good at keeping plants alive, but this one solitary cactus seems to have survived against the odds. I guess old habits die hard.
I pick it up, reminiscing about better days, and let myself into inside. It’s been a few months since I last came for a visit, but as soon as I enter, it’s like being home.
It smells like Dean in here. It feels warm, comforting, safe. It feels like I’m with family even though he’s not here right now.
I wander through the silent, empty house, just soaking it all in.
Dean and I lived together in Denver until he got the job offer of a lifetime. He didn’t want to move to Seattle at first, but I was starting college at the time, and I insisted I was old enough to take care of myself. He finally relented.
