I lock myself in my bedroom and suddenly I’m drowning in a bucket of messy human emotions that I brought on all by myself. Was Julia right the whole time? Was Dex screwing around on me? I thought I was finished wondering about any wanderings. There were no naked pictures sent to him. There were no messages saying I had a great time when you stuck your penis into my vagina. I have no proof he did anything wrong. Just my nagging insecurity.
If he is with someone else and we break up, work is going to be seven layers of Hell for me. There would be a frantic race between us to see who can move on with their life faster.Area Code 203might as well be a starter pistol for me. I’d steal all the best articles and pitches and I’d write a ton more one-night-stand pieces, with way too many details about how well-endowed everyone is. In reality I’d probably spend my nights trolling Facebook for what and who Dex was doing, while eating gallons of butter pecan ice cream.
I’m spiraling and not making any sense.
I hang my robe on the hook behind the door and dress quickly, trying to breathe through my freak-out. I can’t control it, though. Nope. Suddenly I’m floating above my body—about a foot or two—with this overwhelming gut-wrenching sensation that something really bad is happening. And as my feet are off the ground, anxiety is choking the life out of me. I rummage through my desk drawer for my brown paper bag. I slam it up against my mouth when I find it and breathe in and out of it deeply. I’ve done this little trick since the summer before middle school, when just the thought of going to a new unknown educational institution had me internally screaming it was going to kill me.
Outside my bedroom, Dex and Simon’s voices seem to multiply.
I peek my head out to see if they somehow duplicated. They didn’t. Unfortunately, they’ve been joined by Julia and Nate, and everyone is shoving meaty pizza in their mouths.
How long was I in here?
I tiptoe out, trying to listen in on their conversation. My head pounds with sharp throbs. I can’t hear anything. I end up standing in the entrance of the room staring at the carnivorous pizza-eating assholes.
Nate is the only one who notices me. His brows pull together as he chews, then wipes his greasy mouth with a napkin. “There she is,” he says mid-chomp, pointing in my direction. Everybody shoots their eyes to me and my anxiety catches fire.
Dex comes at me with a slice of regular pizza like he’s brandishing a legal dose of poison. “Here, Nash. I got you an entirePlain Janepie.”For the love of all that is holy, why would he say that to me? I hate being called Plain Jane and why does he think I’ll eat a whole entire pie?
Julia pulls me by the elbow and drags me to sit with her on the couch. She’s too close to me. I can smell her stupid shampoo. “Oh my God, Janie. How could you not tell me Damian Miles was staying here with you?” she whispers.
“S-Simon,” I correct, gripping my plate of pizza tightly with both hands.
“I want him, Jane.” She shifts her position to face me and all I smell is her pizza breath. She’s eating the meat-filled one. “I need that rock star in me.”
My anxiety has eaten my brain, and it’s too empty to care about whatever Julia is talking about. I’m staring at her. I see her mouth moving but the words are falling short of my ears. My life is falling to pieces, who cares who she wants to sleep with?
What if I get pregnant?
That’s ridiculous. I’m spiraling because of the texts and the texts say nothing. They just sayArea Code 203needs him.
Area Code 203.
Area Code 203.
“Excuse me,” I say, standing up. I slide my plate onto the table, and rub my clammy hands down my sides. “I have to use the bathroom.”
Julia takes a sip from her wine glass and murmurs an okay. “Hurry back, though, I need help planning this out.”
I rush into the bathroom and fumble my phone out of my back pocket. I put in the wrong code twice because my entire body is shaking. I slow down my movements and hit each number correctly until my phone opens.
I pull up Safari and Google area code 203 with trembling fingers.
Then I press send. I’m going to throw up. I had unprotected sex, I possibly have a new STD and a baby on the way. I know it all sounds crazy, but these are the thoughts that are blasting like bullets through my mind. All because of Area Code 203 who needs Dex desperately.
The results say 203 is the area code for New Haven, Stamford, Bridgeport, Waterbury, and Norwalk. I don’t know where those places are. Is one of them where Pippa is staying in California? My chest flutters uncontrollable. I flip the toilet seat down and crumple over it. This is possibly where they’ll find my body.
I inhale a deep breath and press on the next link. Area Code 203 is southwestern Connecticut. It’s not California. It’s not Pippa. Jesus, it’s probably one of his sisters. At least two of them live in Connecticut. This is good news. Thank God.
I vomit anyway.
As I’m wiping my mouth and gargling with mouthwash, there’s a soft knock at the door. I don’t really want to talk to anyone. I’m emotionally drained and I just want to crawl into a tight ball and cry. Alone. Being in a relationship should not be this dramatic, should it?
“I’ll be out in a minute,” I half sob.
“Nash? What’s wrong?” Dex sounds worried. He should be. I’ve never had a panic attack this size before.
I open the door a sliver and peep at him through the small crack. He’s really handsome. Dark hair, topaz eyes, sweet smile. I really like this relationship. I like spending time with him and laughing with him, watching movies, eating, sleeping. I need to tell him what I’m feeling. Calmly. Without accusing him of anything. I’m a thirty-two-year-old adult. I’ll be thirty-three in a handful of days. It’s time I started acting like a grown woman.
