Loneliness hadn’t killed me, but seeing Sal tomorrow might. He knew I liked him. He also knew I wasn’t right for him. He’d probably pity me, be gentle.
Ugh.
I brushed my teeth, clenching at the memory of scrubbing the scratches off the True Tech window. What was the point of putting myself outthere? Had I even gotten better? Made friends? No. I got a fuck-buddy and a manager who was too cool for any of us. Now, even my fuck-buddy couldn’t be bothered to send a text.
“Fuck.” I went to bed. No point stewing about what might have been.
Still, my mind churned with different choice branches: what if I hadn’t confronted him about the turkey plush? What if I’d been more affectionate? What if we waited to kiss until he’d gotten this breakup out of his system? What if I’d made it clear I didn’twantwomen, I just trusted them more than men?
Part of me wished I didn’t want anything to do with dick: silicone or human. Stupid programming. Stupid needs.
After a fitful night of sleep, I woke up to an email from my parents.
'Good morning. Please RSVP to our colleagues’ dinner party ASAP. We know you’re still sensitive about being in town, and though we doubt you’d run into anybody unsavory, we wouldn’t want to derail your progress, assuming you’re making any. We just need to prepare for proper seating. Happy Thanksgiving.'
How nice. They also sent recommended reading: self-help books and psychology articles. They also shared a video lecture from some social media guru whose brand banner was 'Heal Yourself.'
I declined the invite. Now, they could talk about their avoidant, traumatized daughter with their friends. Write a fucking paper about it. After all, according to them, maybe this was ‘meant’ to happen. Maybe winning all that money in the lawsuit was worth losing my faith in everyone outside my brother. Now, I had financial freedom. And no passion.
I scowled and stomped my way into work.
Ash didn’t say anything beyond a generic hello, so presumably, Sal hadn’t talked to her about me. Although, if he had, it would’ve been about his shitty friend-with-benefits. I sighed.
This was sostupid.
The rattle of gates in the mall shook up my stomach.
Was that Sal opening his store? I gripped the edge of my keyboard.
Don’t look at him.
We could be friends. Friendly. From a distance. Right across the way.
The whir of a motor buzzed nearby, a reminder of the first time we met. Was he using a drone again?
I peeked out the window and caught a flash of a heavy security guard on a scooter.
Sal, in a low-key blue shirt with white wiggly lines on it, waved to him. “Hey, Hoynes. My turn next?” He smiled wide, then his gaze slid to True Tech.
I froze. His smile faded.
Shit.
We weren’t friends. I tugged my cap down and opened a million tabs on my computer.
My first appointment of the day was late, and I needed a distraction, so I read up on last-minute Thanksgiving recipes and traditions. Maybe I could find something to do solo, or just me and Victor.
Apparently, some places held turkey races. Would they eat the winner or was it more a celebratory thing? My mind wandered to the semantics of modding Craft Cove go-karts into turkeys. It’d be popular. Fun. But not real, like so much of my life lately.
An older woman jogged into the store, her coffee sloshing in-hand. “Ooh, excuse me. I’m here for the ten-thirty.”
I checked my schedule. “Cassandra?”
She set her bag on the counter with a thud. “Yes, honey. Now, I need help with my photos. Let me just get this thing.” All her maneuvering jostled her coffee-cup.
“You can’t have liquids back here.”
“Oh, I’ll be careful.” She winked, then flopped into the seat beside me, accidentally rolling it two feet away. “Whoops. Okay, now, I wanted to figure out those filter things like my stepdaughter uses. We’ve got a lot of family memories to make, and I don’t want to be all wrinkly.”
