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“Bumble Dean, what’s next?” Nanette throws her hands up. I am WAY too far down this rabbit hole to get myself out clean. I’m an asshole. He’s a bigger asshole. I’m the opposite of myself right now. Fairly sure he’ll pull that out when we fight about this later. Shit. I hope we fight. I hope he talks to me.

“Send them a round of shots,” Bumble Dean says proudly.

“That’s your plan?” Nanette throws her purse on the table. “No! I’ll shield you, put my coat on, and we walk away. If he sees you, so be it, but don’t do that.”

“I’m going with Bumble Dean’s plan.” I’m insane right now.

Dean high fives me. “Damn straight.”

Nanette leers at him. “You know we’re only having sex tonight and never talking again. It’s an idiotic plan. But you’re stupid hot.”

Bumble Dean high fives me again. “Getting laid! I’ll order the shots.” I pull out a purple Flair and write on a cocktail napkin.

From the Distraction.

Thx

I give it to Dean along with my credit card. “What am I ordering?” I somehow can’t stop myself from being more of an asshole. If I were writing this character, I’d scream at her to stop, turn back. This is a terrible idea. It’s like an out of body experience. I have to see this play out. I twist this more with the tequila he loved from Punta Mita.

“Herradura Reposado, tequila.”

I used to feel honored distracting him from work, but now it seems I’m keeping him from his life—a life I’m incredulously not a part of.

If I were a different girl, I might be able to live with the lie, but I can’t live past this moment without him being accountable. Our trust has a crack, and I’m about to blow it wide the fuck open, so he’s aware of it too. I can’t stop tapping my fingers on the table. Oh God, here we go.

The bartender presents the drinks with a flourish. I can’t breathe. Alex passes them around. One of the bimbos kisses him on the cheek and leaves her hand on his bicep. I’m destroyed. That’s my fucking bicep, bitch. Oh, dear God. I bought shots for the bimbos. I say a silent prayer this will pass with a laugh. That we’ll joke about it and it will become nothing. Then the bartender hands him my napkin.

I see his face go pale and know the die is cast. No one’s laughing tonight. Wherever we go from here will be vastly different than where we were this morning or even a couple of hours ago. Now I’ll question every late night or trip he has to take. I remember the fake trips he took to avoid other girlfriends. He steps away from the bar, frantically scanning the room. His gaze stops on mine. I hold my hand up like I’m volunteering to be hurt. He stands there. He doesn’t rush to me to make the joke I’d hoped for, but I don’t move either. Our eyes are locked. Bumble Dean remarks, “Oh shit. My bad.”

I collect my stuff and make my way to the door. He’s ten feet from me. Like an undiscovered sinkhole, the space between us keeps getting wider by the second, and neither of us knows how to get across it. He’s frozen, shell shocked as his friends encourage him to rejoin the party. The bimbo touches his face. I didn’t know I could hurt this much. I turn from his gaze and leave. Maybe they’re not bimbos. Perhaps they’re highly intelligent, accomplished women who are changing the world. But they’re touching Alex, and I’m buzzed, so I say they’re skanks. I should be angrier at Alex, but I’m directing my rage at the insanely attractive woman standing at his elbow.

I wonder if he’ll come home. Things are different now. He’s different now, and so am I. The more steps I take, the harder I cry because even though I didn’t go to him, he didn’t even come outside to explain. He let me go. He won’t cheat. He’s not that guy. But there are parts of his life he hides from me. Like tonight. Or maybe I’m just a bitch who sent shots to knock him down a peg.

I can’t talk this out with him right now, and that’s the shittiest part. He promised he’d talk to me about everything. We agreed to be totally honest. And he fucking lied. He lied about where and what he was doing tonight.

I have another week here, but my knee’s healed enough. I speak aloud to no one as I try to stop crying. The longer my phone is silent, the lower I sink.

I want to be home, but that’s such a fucked-up concept. Philly’s barely home, and LA certainly isn’t. I thought Alex was my home, but we’re strangers tonight.

I don’t feel a connection with anything right now. I don’t know whether to leave a note or text. I can’t wait for him to come home or, worse, find out he doesn’t. I’m not sitting here to find out how my life unfolds. I can’t sit still. I have to be active or hidden. I’m either going back to the bar or finding somewhere safe. He’s not safe anymore.

I’m gutted thinking about all the horrible possibilities. I look at my phone again, and it’s filled with texts from Nanny asking if I’m ok. I’m not remotely close to ok. Why didn’t I just go over to him and say hi? And ‘Isn’t this hysterical?’ Kiss him on the cheek, and the two of us continue our separate evenings.

Was the crack there long before, or is it just tonight? I’ve got to sort through stuff and figure out why this hurts so much. This should be a conversation, and it would be solved. But I can’t help but rip this open and let everything spill out. Anything and everything is wrong. Forward. I’m not sure how important I am to him. I write a note.

Alex,

Sorry, I sent the shots and the lame texts. That was stupid on my part.

I can’t speak for the stupidity on your part.

Take care of yourself.

Tess

I get in my $150 Uber to my brother’s couch ninety minutes after the bar. I text Mikey to cancel our breakfast.

TESS: Raincheck breakfast. Had to leave unexpectedly. Love to Ari.