“What?” I bark out a laugh. “Why was he a fucknugget?”
“He just was. He hadfucknuggetwritten all over him. Why? Don’t tell me you’re going out with him.”
Great. So much for this segue. “No,” I insist, but it sounds guilty. “He gave me his number, though, and said he’d call the next time he was in town. He asked to go out for drinks.”
“Ew. Total fucknugget behavior. Throw it away.”
Laughing, I pick up the top box, setting the phone on top of it, and haul it to the living room. “This isn’t 1997. No one writes their number on a matchbook anymore. It’s in my phone.”
“Then delete it. Enjoy your freedom or at least get some good sex and then never answer his calls again, but don’t date him.”
Rolling my eyes, I round the couch. “Maybe I will. He’s good-looking and funny.”
“I don’t remember much about him, which tells me he’s not that funnyorgood-looking.”
“You think that, and yet you told me to have sex with him. Wow. That’s…amazing advice. How do you keep your job?”
“Atlas! What isthat?” he shrieks, yelling his youngest nephew’s name. “I canseethat it’s a cat. The problem is thatIdon’t have a cat, and neither do you, so why is there one in the house?”
Oh, boy. Maybe that breaking point I wondered about might happen sooner than I thought.
He’s still traumatized over his grandma’s cat he inherited along with her house when she passed away years ago. He was grateful she’d left her house to him. The cat? Not so much, and Iwas the one who had to hear about it. I do not miss those phone calls. He’d rant. I’d tell him to put it up for adoption, and then I’d get a lecture about how you can’t abandon a deceased relative’s pet. I never thought I’d be relieved when an animal passed away. I didn’t think that thing would ever reach its ninth life.
I set the box down on my new coffee table. Well, new-to-me. The big oak-framed piece with its glass top will be a convenient footrest when winter comes, and I want to stare at the fireplace in my fuzzy socks. Winston preferred modern furnishings. I never complained, but thought they made our townhouse feel like a showroom. It wasn’t warm and inviting. Perhaps I was just projecting the lack of warmth from our relationship into the space.
“O-kay,” Jamie cautions on the other end of the line. “Is that my oat milk? Youcannotgive a cat oat milk.”
“But you said it’s healthy,” a small voice replies, and I have to bite my cheek to keep from laughing.
“He’s right, Jay,” I chime in, cutting the tape off the box. “Youdidsay that.” I’ve lost track of the number of health kicks he’s taken up over the years.
“Shut up,” he mutters, which I assume is directed at me. His voice goes muffled again, though. “It is, but we should take it outside in case he has any friends that might want to come by if they’re hungry.”
Oh, Jamie, I want to warn. You’re opening yourself up to more trouble.
“Hey, man. I’m going to have to let you go,” he returns, but then switches to a stage-voice tone, “because Uncle Jamie needs to go impart somelife adviceto the little people who arepillaging his house.”
“Blah. Blah. Blah,” I mock in retaliation for earlier. “Have fun with that, but just remember—you were young once, too.”
“I’mstillyoung. My ‘sweetness’ has just robbed me of my independence.”
“Good luck, cat daddy.” I hang up before he can hear me snickering.
Pulling some crinkled old newspaper out of the box, I think his misfortune did me some good. With any luck, I’ll be like him in a few weeks or months—so comfortable living independently that I become annoyed with the slightest deviation from my routines.
What am I saying? I don’t plan on being a confirmed bachelor like Jamie. Thirty-seven, never been tied down, and I wouldn’t doubt he still goes to go-go clubs.
My hands still in the box, wondering what that makes me. Am I just holding out for another elusive fairy tale that’s never going to happen? Does Miles only seem appealing because I’m that desperate to have a happily ever after?
No. Absolutely not. I’m just…easing into accepting that it’s okay not to hang on to relationships that aren’t working like a felled rider who refuses to let go of the reins. Having a drink with a guy doesn’t mean I’ll dive into another doomed relationship.
Setting the packing materials aside, I find something lumpy and solid wrapped in more paper. I have no idea what’s in this box. Mom must have been serious about turning my old room into a crafting room if she shipped me my childhood memorabilia. It makes sense. I do have a maybe-forever place now. Why shouldn’t I house all my worldly possessions here?
I know Jamie insists that we’re still young, but I can’t say I’ve ever felt more like an adult than these past few months. I literally have no one to rely on but myself now. Winston and I may have lost our spark, but there was a comfort in being able to split day-to-day tasks with another person. I took care of the laundry. He took care of the meals. I paid the utility bills. He did the groceryshopping. Holding a piece of my past in my hands and knowing there’s no one to share it with hits differently suddenly.
I’m not lonely, so why am I even thinking about things like that? Shaking my head, I peel the paper off, knowing I did the right thing where Winston and I were concerned. Maybe it’s just all the changes I’ve made this year that have a twinge of regret creeping in.
I ended a stable relationship with a decent man, left my job of ten years at Brook Army Medical Center, and then bought a freaking house. That’s…a lot. For me, anyway. Being in relationships for the past decade was a good cover up for my indecisiveness.
