“So, how are things with Brian? I’m assuming he’s at work since I haven’t seen him.” She holds her phone in one hand, lifting a glass of red wine in the other.
“What do you mean you haven’t seen him?”
“He’s usually here by now. Or sends me a text to let me know he’s going to be working late, so I know when to order takeout.” She takes another sip of her wine, holding the remote to flip TV channels.
“Wait…what? He’s staying at the condo?” My forehead scrunches as I bite my lower lip. Didn’t expect Brian to stay atmy place when I’m not there. He didn’t even bother mentioning it.
“He didn’t tell you. That’s odd,” Chelsi replies, adjusting herself on the couch and leaning back into the cream-colored oversized cushion. “He’s been staying here pretty much every night since you left. We order takeout and watch TV. Unless he goes out with the guys. Then he usually heads back to his place since it’s closer to the bar they frequent.”
He’s there every night.
Finding time to go out with the guys.
A pain shoots through my chest as the previous dull gnawing sensation roars to life. I barely talk to Brian, and he’s hanging out with other people. A million thoughts race through my head about what’s going on, and none of them are good.
“You’re awfully quiet. What’s going on?” Chelsi sits up, bringing the phone closer to her face. “Are you upset about Brian staying here? Because I’ll kick his ass out in a heartbeat if you don’t feel comfortable with him being here without you.” A wicked smile grows across her face. “Actually, can I do that? It would be so much fun.”
“I’m not upset he’s staying there. I love that our condo feels like home to him. It’s just…” I’m not sure how to phrase the next words without sounding like I’m overreacting or jealous about something small and inconsequential. “I haven’t been able to talk to him much. I’m surprised he has time for everyone else but not me.”
“Excuse me. What. The. Actual. Fuck? He’s not talking to you?”
I shake my head. “It’s been almost impossible to get him on the phone. I had to send him a calendar invite to talk to him tonight, and he spent most of the conversation staring at his computer, responding to emails rather than focusing on me.”
“I’m going to kill him. No one treats my best friend like that. Especially not after everything you’ve been through,” Chelsi says angrily, taking a large sip of her wine. “What the fuck is wrong with him?”
“I’m probably overreacting. Work is busy. He’s?—”
“Don’t you dare defend him. You arenotoveracting. That man needs to start treating you better, or he’s going to answer to me. And you know how I can get.” Chelsi stares at me, refusing to blink until I do to show me how serious she is. “Promise me you’ll talk to him about this. Make him prioritize your needs. If you don’t, I will. I’m not going to let him walk all over you.”
I gulp, close my eyes, and nod. “I’ll talk to him. I promise.”
“Good. Now, let me tell you about my latest first date from hell. How can I put this? He spent twenty minutes showing me pictures of his cats.Cats. Plural, Kate. A dozen of them. What kind of man has a dozen cats? A single one who’s never getting laid. At least not by me.”
I chuckle as Chelsi goes on to tell me about her most recent dating woes. For some reason, she’s a magnet for all the men in Chicago who should come with a warning label. And this one is tame in comparison to what she’s experienced in the past. While she claims not to be interested in settling down, I know she craves the type of relationship her parents have. She just needs to find the right man. One who doesn’t see her feisty personality as too much. He’s out there somewhere. I just don’t think she’s met him yet.
Makes me wonder ifI’vemet the right man for myself.
fourteen
“Canyou grab my black bag from the backseat? It should be the last thing that needs to go inside,” I say, attempting to close the trunk of my car while my almost-numb arms are weighed down by the bags I’m carrying. I want to avoid another trip out to the car at all costs. “I don’t understand why my mom needs all of this at rehab.”
“You know how your mom is. She wants all her things just in case she might need them.” Jake chuckles, grabbing my bag off the backseat and swinging it over his arm. “Don’t you pack the same way? Wasn’t there a so-called magic bag in high school that had everything anyone could ever need in it? It was like a Mary Poppins bag.”
I gasp and attempt to appear offended, refusing to acknowledge he’s carrying the adult version of my magic bag.
“What’s wrong with wanting to be prepared?” I ask, leading the way toward my mom’s room.
It’s been almost two weeks since the accident, and she was finally discharged this morning to an inpatient facility where she’ll spend the next four-to-six weeks. She’s hoping it’s less than four weeks, but I’m praying it’s closer to six. She mighthave been an excellent nurse back in the day, but she’s the world’s worst patient, refusing to follow the doctor’s orders if they don’t suit her. Or my favorite, ifshedoesn’t agree with them because she’s found another course of treatment in some random Facebook group. At least Jake’s work is fairly fluid and flexible right now, allowing him to visit my mom with me every day. He’s been a godsend, with a natural gift for making her more pleasant and tolerable.
By the time we get to her room, I’m winded from carrying too many bags. I gently knock on the slightly open door and push it with my foot. “Hey, Mom. We’re here.”
“It’s about time. What took you so long?” my mom says from her spot in a navy recliner near the hospital-style bed in her private room. “My case manager is meeting with us in a few minutes. I was worried you were going to be late.”
“Sorry about that. It’s my fault. Had to finish up a call before we could leave.” Jake smiles, putting the bags he’s carrying on the floor. He walks over to me and starts lightening my load.
I raise my eyebrows and smirk at Jake because he’s not the reason we’re late. It was one hundred percentmyfault. I was in the midst of putting out fires at work and completely ignored my alarm telling me it was time to leave. If Jake hadn’t reminded me, I’d still be sitting on the couch in a never-ending video meeting, while Jeremy had a mini meltdown about one of our clients hating the creative concept for their summer campaign.
“Don’t worry about it, Jake. You have a lot going on. Take all of the time you need,” Mom says with a genuine smile.
