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“I just don’t know the right way forward.” I pause, thinking about how much to divulge to my friend. A shaky breath escapes me. “Took me about six months to stop wearing my wedding ring. At the same time, I had the girls help me clear out Janessa’s possessions because I couldn’t stand to look at them any longer. Some days, my life with her feels like a distant dream.”
A heavy hand lands on my shoulder. “It’s perfectly okay to move on.”
I shrug him off, not wanting to be comforted with these malignant thoughts. I don’t deserve it. “Is it perfectly okay to forget, though? Because I feel like that’s what’s happening. I’m moving on and having a child, for god’s sake. The feelings developing for another woman grow stronger. I never thought I’d be this… this person. I never thought I’d replace her.” The crack in my voice is like a shameless fissure, exposing me and all that I’ve kept hidden. My head falls heavily into my hands, propped up by my elbows on the bar.
The hand returns to my shoulder and jerks me heavily left and right. “For god’s sake, man, listen to yourself. Nobody is forgetting anybody, you hear me? You’re allowed to feel things for another woman. It doesn’t mean you loved Janessa any less while she was here, but you also don’t need to build a shrine to her memory.”
“Feels like it. Like maybe I didn’t love her enough if I can feel how I do right now about Kiersten.”
Rhett releases a heavy sigh. “Two years is a long time.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, choking back the self-hatred for admitting these things to my friend.
The leg of his stool drags loudly across the floor as he adjusts himself to give us a little more room. “Can I ask you something?”
I tip back the remnants in my glass and lower it heavily to the counter. “Shoot.”
“If you feel so much for Kiersten, shouldn’t you be with her instead of hiding out in a bar?”
I run my fingertips across my mouth. “Sure should be, huh.”
“And that means…?” He waves his hand in a gesture for me to continue.
“I kissed her again. She has this thing about us just being friends, but I’m so damn conflicted about how to do that when all I want to do is make out with her like I’m a teenager. It’s easier to stay away.”
Rhett finishes his drink in one final swallow and drops his glass to the counter with a loud clank. “Makes sense. Just makes sure you don’t avoid her to the point of pushing her away, hey? Otherwise, all this stress about your feelings will be for nothing if she doesn’t want anything to do with you. Then you’ll find yourself in a shitty situation like mine.”
He has a point I didn’t fully consider. “I didn’t realize you were such a fountain of wisdom.”
With a cocky smirk affixed to his face, he catches the eye of the bartender and winks. “Hey, thanks, sweetheart.” Looking back at me, he drops the arrogant act. “Call her or something. Just stop feeling sorry for yourself in a fucking bar.”
Rhett tosses down a few more bills. “Only time I’ll buy you a drink.”
“Asshole,” I mutter beneath my breath, but our little chat brought a small smile to my face. Hastily, I push the bills across the bar and exit my stool, exchanging the noisy bar for the quiet, cool outside.
Call her or something.
And say what? I should have asked the self-proclaimed ladies’ man what it is exactly I should say. With nothing better to do, I tuck my hands into my pockets and make the short trek back home, all the while contemplating a good excuse to pick up the phone.
11
Kiersten
The hot water bubbling around my feet is heavenly, and I wiggle my toes and swing my legs as I relax in the leather recliner. I make a mental note to thank Cami for giving me the gift certificate to Escape Spa for my birthday last year. Not only will it cover this pedicure, but at least two more, and I will absolutely be using them.
I’m not the type of girl to pamper myself. Margaritas and happy hour are my brand of relaxation. Pedicures happen in my bathroom, and my hair is naturally blond. I guess this is another one of those pregnancy changes. The more my belly shows, the frequency of random women stopping me at the department store increases. Their suggestions to enjoy the peace and quiet now before I’m immersed in shi
tty diapers, spit up, and no sleep don’t mollify me.
Okay, so they didn’t state it as insensitively as that, but the implication is definitely there beneath their words. Once you pop out a kid, you can’t go back.
Which is a load of bullshit advice. The changes start almost as soon as the two lines appear on a urine-soaked stick.
I crack open an eyelid when the young woman begins scrubbing my foot. Tranquility has me close it again.
“Ugh, right there feels sooo good.” I wonder how many times a week a pregnant woman sits in this chair groaning like the lead porn star in an amateur film. The unbridled sounds burst from me. This woman has friggen magic hands.
My phone rings, interrupting the intensely deep feelings I’m developing for Sharon, my pedicurist.
