Coffee is one of his love language dialects, and I haven’t heard it in days.
When he’s been on the road in the past, he’d wake up extra early to sip a cup with me while I got ready for work or was on my way in, so we still had that part of our routine together; however, lately, we haven’t.
He’s had extra goalie practice.
Or footage review seshes.
Or gone to breakfast with Wahl.
Coffee together has becomeat mostan afterthought he attaches to his good morning and have a good day text.
I hate it andthisand that I’m pretty sure it’s all my fault.
“Here.” Rhonnie unexpectedly places an LMC cup on the edge of my desk close to my Dalvegan Dragons charity calendar and nieces as well as nephew’s school photos. “You could probably use a shot of tequila, but this is the best a bitch can do for now.” She waits until my gaze lifts to hers to add. “You. Look. Rough.”
“Thanks,” sassily escapes alongside me reaching for the beverage. “For the coffee. Not the insult.”
“Mmmhm,” she brushes off without hesitation, “go on and call him.”
“Call who?”
“You know who.”
I do know who, but how does she know who?!
I haven’t mentioned we’re fighting or disagreeing or breaking up…Ohmygodare we breaking up?
Isthisshit like a spinoff of ghosting?!
Haunting?
Isthata thing?
Fuckme.
Why am I so bad at all of this?
Is this why I haven’t had a relationship last this long…practically…ever?
I used to wonder if it was because no one wanted me, yet now I’m thinking maybe I’m just awful at this coupling…relationshiping…partnering?
“Your twin,” Rhonnie huffs on an eye roll.
“We’re not twins.”
“You might as fucking well be,” she rebuts while watching me lean back in my chair. “Only my ovaries have a closer relationship than the two of.”
It’s impossible to sneer and snicker in tandem.
“Call. Him.” Her maroon scrub covered figure slowly begins to back out of the room. “He can help with whatever,” one manicured nail is rolled around in my direction, “this is.” When Rhonnie reaches my office door, she adds, “You’ve got an unexpected gap in your schedule for the next twenty minutes. Make good use of it.”
“Gap? How did that happen?”
“Not entirely sure how that 6’6, dark chocolate, Applecourt, Michigan native, dribbling delight’s new patient paperwork got deleted off the server…” The sight of her freshly painted lips pursing together receives more light chuckles. “But I need to get back out there in case he has any questions or fantasies featuring an older woman who can teach him a thing or two about a thing or two.”
Another louder set of laughs precedes my front desk lead shutting the door with her on the other side.
Maybe Ishouldcall M.
