22
WHEN WE GET BACK HOME, I dig out my phone. I’m not expecting any calls or messages. It’s just force of habit – I’m no different than anyone else. I read somewhere that the average person picks up their phone about eighty times a day. Sounds ridiculously crazy.
My stomach goes all topsy-turvy when I get a Facebook message from Peter.
There are quite a few messages on my Messenger app, but the only one I care about is Peter’s.
Hey, sweetheart. Miss you so much! Turns out I can’t do this life thing without you, babe… who knew? Please, please message me back. I promise I’ll make it up to you. Love always, Peter.
As much as I hate it, his message tugs at my heart. I so badly want to reply. My heart pounds as I tap away.
Hello Peter, I’m sorry I haven’t….
Suddenly, I’m brought back to my wedding day. I see myself, sprawled out on that fancy loveseat, drowning in my own tears. I throw the phone on the sofa and walk away. I go to the kitchen and make myself sleepy-time tea. It’s four in the afternoon, but I’m hoping it will calm me.
I hate this. I want my old life back. I was happy. I was so happy just a few weeks ago. I had my job, my friends, a kick-ass apartment, an exciting life, and Peter.
He ruined it all. And now, I don’t even know where I’m heading.
Could I head back to where I was? Could I take Peter back, and look for another job? Get my old life back? It would be so easy.
It was one day. One act of cowardice. He got spooked. Cold feet. That’s all it was. Should I break up a seven year relationship just because of one day?
Or should I just get over it?
I set down my cup of tea on the coffee table, and resume my message.
Hello Peter, I’m sorry I haven’t replied to your messages. I was just so hurt. Do you have any idea what it feels like to be abandoned at the altar like that? Do you realize what a fool you made of me? Do you know how much I loved you? I’ve been taking some time to think back home, and I’m enjoying my time here…
I think about Blake. Yes, one could say that I’mreallyenjoying my time here. So much so that I don’t want to leave.
I stare at my message and read the words I’ve written.Loved, I wrote. Past tense. Do I still love Peter? I don’t know anymore. And what about Blake? I still want to make it up to him. He deserves that.
I abandon my message and tap on the Google app. I officially have a new project, and I don’t have time to reply to Peter.
* * *
I twirlmy tongue slowly around the smooth cool frozen vanilla cream. “This is just like old times.”
He smiles and licks his chocolate cone. We’re sitting on the swing on his front porch, the same one we used to sit on for hours as kids.
“I can’t believe you still live in your childhood home,” I say between licks.
“It’s a gorgeous house,” Blake points out. “Why wouldn’t I?”
I stare ahead at the beautiful landscaped yard in front of us and the quiet street. “Do you ever work?” I ask. “It’s Thursday afternoon. Shouldn’t you be working?”
He laughs. “I’d rather spend time with you.”
“Aww, you’re sweet.”
“Shouldn’t you be working?” he teases, a low blow.
“You’re a jerk.”
“I know,” he says. “And you still love me.”
I smirk at him.
