Pause by Kylie Scott
CHAPTER THREE
“Imiss having a person who’s all mine.”
Leif frowns in thought. “I miss holding hands.”
I offer my hand and he takes it in his freakishly large one. His grip is warm and comforting. This is nice. Maybe I’m more of a touchy-feely person than I suspected.
“Thanks,” he says.
“You’re welcome.”
We’re sitting on his brand-new sofa. It’s black linen and fits four people in an upright fashion, or two drunk people lounging and staring at nothing in general. The streetlights are on outside, night having long since fallen. Our late lunch turned into a day drinking session which morphed into evening cocktails at another local bar, followed by a visit to his condo to see his new, and only, piece of furniture.
We left the bar because I got a headache and a bit dizzy. It seems a lot of light and noise sort of does my head in after a while. Though maybe the cocktails played a role too. But sitting in his cool and quiet condo with some candles burning is just my thing.
“I miss the little everyday I love yous,” I say.
He nods. “I miss having someone to trash-talk with. Someone safe that you can just say anything to. Really let loose and get stuff off your chest, you know?”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “I keep forgetting everything that went down and for half a second I’ll think, I should text Ryan. Or I should call Celine. Then I remember and it sucks.”
His fingers tighten around mine and he makes a sympathetic noise in his throat. “Your turn.”
“That wasn’t a turn?”
“No. That was prolonged introspection on a point I’d already raised.”
“Right.” I try to think deep thoughts. It doesn’t really work. “I miss having someone who can pick things up for me on their way home from work.”
Leif rolls his head my way to give me a look of disbelief. For a big, brawny guy, he has the longest, darkest eyelashes. They almost put him on the edge of being pretty. Looking at him close up like this is distracting as all hell. No wonder my brain is having issues. If it wasn’t pickled care of the blood alcohol percentage, his presence would be enough to distract me. The sheer thrill of having his attention, of being the sole subject of his focus. And now I was gushing like a schoolgirl.
“That’s awful, Anna. Go again.”
I groan. “God. No. I just mean . . . having someone to pick up the slack and help out, you know? Someone who’s got your back. Like you’re in a team. I miss having someone I can spoil and do things for too.”
“Oh. Okay. Fair enough.”
“It’s your turn,” I say. Lord knows how we even got onto this topic. What started this relationship grumble festival.
“I miss having someone I can trust.”
“Agreed. I miss having someone to wake up to.”
“I’m not a morning person so I’ll pass on that one,” he says. “No one should have to put up with me before that second cup of coffee. But I miss having someone to share meals with.”
I nod. “And to have showers with. There’s something so nice and intimate about that.”
“I like baths.”
“Baths are good.”
“With like a nice-smelling oil or bubbles.”
“Oh yeah.” In fact, it sounds amazing. I’d invite him to have one with me, but that would probably be weird. “Definitely,” I add.
He sighs. “I miss having someone to talk to last thing at night, in bed. Just to unpack the day, and life in general.”
“You’re not even sleeping with anyone?” I ask, beyond curious. Alcohol is so great at ridding you of pesky inhibitions. Just ask the half-empty bottle of scotch sitting on the floor, or the tabs from the bars we visited. Speaking of which, men and women were most definitely giving Leif come-hither glances, despite him being there with me. Can’t really blame them, the man is so pretty. He’s definitely not single from lack of options.
I may or may not have enjoyed some of the jealous glances thrown my way. My ego is running on empty these days. I’ll take my wins where I can get them.
“Define ‘sleeping with,’” he says.
“Sex.”
“Ah.” His spare hand taps out a beat against his flat stomach. “I had a fuck buddy, but she moved away for work just before the accident.”
“That’s a long time to go without.”
“For both of us.”
“Hmm,” I say. “I miss having someone who already knows what I like in bed. No need for weird or embarrassing conversations.”
“Though the exploration process has its positives.”
“I guess so. But in that case, why haven’t you found someone new?”
“My fuck buddy was great. A good friend. I never met anyone who had an unkind word to say about her,” he says. “But anytime she stayed the night, I wouldn’t sleep. Couldn’t.”
“You didn’t trust her enough to be asleep beside her?”
“I’d chosen wrong once. What if I choose wrong again?”
“No. Leif. You’re not going to choose wrong.” I sit up, clasping his hand in both of mine. My head might be spinning, but I am feeling all the things. My sincerity levels have got to be amped to eleven. “You need to stop being so hard on yourself. You’re a really great guy and you deserve to have someone special in your life if that’s what you want.”
He smiles. “Thanks.”
“Or a new sex friend if that’s your choice.”
“Thank you again. Your belief in me is appreciated and I’ll give it some thought.”
“You’re welcome.” Which gives me an idea. A really amazingly great one, actually. Quite possibly the best idea I’ve had in forever. Or at least today. Why it’ll fix both of our problems. Neither of us needs to be lonely or be feeling generally shitty. And the whole thing about us meeting due to the accident is important. Even Leif with his fears and neurosis about choosing wrong again has to know that I’m not out to infiltrate his life for whatever dastardly reason. As far as he’s concerned, I must be safe.
This will totally work.
And I can’t help but stare. His bottom lip is slightly larger than his top one, making for an intriguing and potentially delicious dichotomy. A pillow-like mystery I am determined to resolve. And I bet he tastes amazing. He looks like he’d taste divine. Honest to God, I’m like a child with her nose pressed against the window of a candy store, salivating over the man.
“What are you thinking?” he asks with a quizzical amused smile. It’s straight up bordering on flirty. I just know it.
Premarital eye contact. How outrageous.
The time has come to show don’t tell. Besides, how would I find the words to express this genius idea? Without another thought, I lean into him and press my lips to his, hard and insistent. Adoration and horniness are the names of the game.
“Anna,” he mumbles, mouth moving against mine in totally the wrong way. His breath is warm on my face and scotch scented. “What are you doing?”
“Kissing you,” I mumble too. “We could both use a special sexual someone, right? Doesn’t this solve both of our problems?”
Ever so gently, he pushes me back. “Not a good idea.”
“No?”
“I think we’re better as friends.”
Oh, my God. Humiliation is mine, total and complete. “Okay.”
“It’s just that . . . you’re going through a lot right now and I think adding me to the mix would be a mistake.”
“Sure. That makes sense.”
His eyes are wide with panic. “Please don’t cry.”
“I’m not going to cry.” I sniff. “I’m just a bit embarrassed and quite possibly drunk.”
He pats me awkwardly on the shoulder. “You’re a very attractive woman, really.”
“Great. Thanks. Let’s just . . . I . . .” I trail off, because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing or saying. That’s the truth. What a disaster.
“Shit,” he says. “This isn’t working. Time to hug it out.”
And before I know what’s happening, I’m dragged onto his lap and caught up in a tight hold. Arms around me, Leif’s face pressing into my neck, the whole thing. I’m not sure who’s comforting whom here. He’s arranged me to his liking and the feeling of intimacy is nice. Confusing, but nice. I haven’t had anything like it in so long. The feeling of being safe and wanted and accepted. Even if he neither wants nor accepts me. Like I said, this is confusing.
“It’s fine.” A complete lie according to the tears flooding my face. The urge to run from this once more foreign and somewhat wild situation hits me in the gut. “Just a bit embarrassing. But yeah . . . I’m fine. I should probably go.”
His hold tightens. “No.”
“But—”
“You need to stop running away every time something weird happens,” he says, voice muffled, but stern. “It’s interfering with our friendship.”
A hand rubs circles on my back as if I were a child. It’s quite soothing. This man might just make a cuddler out of me because this is good. Damn good.
“My mouth made bad choices,” I sob.
“Shit happens, Anna. You just gotta let it go.”
I hiccup. “O-okay.”
“Deep even breaths, that’s it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about,” he says. “You’ve been through a lot lately. Get it out. All of the tears and stress and everything.”
I sniffle. “Can I have some Kleenex, please?”
“Um. I only have toilet paper. Sorry.”
“There’s some in my purse.”
“Got it,” he says, depositing me back on the sofa. Then my purse is lifted off the floor and placed in my lap. Apparently Leif is a full-service-meltdown type of friend. Which is nice. I need all of the support I can get. It’s nice not to cry on my own for once.
The blowing of my nose sounds like the brass section of an orchestra. But there’s nothing I can do about that. I’m a soggy mess of a woman sitting on his new couch.
“It’s a really nice couch,” I say.
His smile is small but sweet. “You know, I bought it for you. On the off chance you ever came around again.”
“Thank you. I’m so sorry I kissed you. That was a horrible, terrible mistake.”
He laughs. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“I didn’t mean to . . . it was just, you were there and . . .”
“No problem,” he says with a trademark careless grin. “I like to think we’re getting all of our formative moments out of the way early. The accident, nearly getting into a fistfight with the soon-to-be ex-husband on the front lawn, you macking on me . . .”
The shame of it all. “Oh, God.”
He continues to rub my back. So comforting. Right up until he opens his mouth and says, “If you want to proposition me again in a couple of months then we can revisit the topic if you’re still interested.”
And now he’s definitely just being kind and trying to salve my pride. Thank goodness I stopped crying, at least. “It never happened and we are never discussing it again.”
“Well, that’s sad.”
I snort. This is the most embarrassing situation. And forgetting all of my lines in the grade-four play in front of the whole damn school wasn’t great. But this foolhardy performance in front of just one person is somehow far and away worse.
“Do you need more hugging?” he offers.
“No, thank you. I’m think I’m okay now.
“You know, you have an impressive amount of shit in that purse,” he says, peeking into the bag on my lap.
“It’s just my everyday stuff.”
“Huh.” He sticks his nose in a little further. “You won’t believe this, but I’ve actually been known to leave the house without a single tube of lip balm.”
“Shocking.”
“It’s real living-on-the-edge-type stuff, isn’t it?” he asks with that amused twinkle in his eye. “Sometimes I don’t even have a USB flash drive on me either.”
“I used to use it for work.”
“And the little notepad?”
“It’s not a notepad, its blotting paper for when your face gets shiny.”
“Right. That makes sense. What about the . . . is that a stain eraser pen? Holy shit, it is.” His hand rifles through the contents, making itself at home. “What kind of careless bastard am I to attempt life without one of those babies on my person at all times?”
“A stained one.”
He snorts. “Feel better?”
“I don’t know.” Only I must. Because when he smiles at me, I can’t help but smile back. The man is magic.
“There we go,” he says softly. Once again, Leif has made everything better. He is a great friend, loyal, kind, and true. I can only aspire to be as sweet as he is.
That my lips are still tingling doesn’t matter at all. “Let’s give being friends another go. I’ll try not to mess it up by running away, starting a fight, or throwing myself at you this time.”
He grins. “Promises, promises.”
“You kissed your new male friend?”
“Yes. But it was an accident,” I explain into my cell. “I was drunk and stupid.”
“You were drunk?” Briar’s voice rises about an octave. “You.”
“I can let my hair down occasionally and enjoy myself.”
“No you can’t. That stick up your ass won’t permit it. Or it hasn’t up until now. Maybe the accident dislodged it.”
“That’s harsh,” I grumble.
“It’s the truth.”
“Be nice to me, my life is spiraling.”
She just laughs. I love the sound of her laughter. It’s so joyous and never fails to make me smile.
“At any rate,” I say. “I didn’t mean to be attracted to him, so sublimating these unwanted feelings with friendship should be easy.”
“Sure. Okay.”
“It’s not like I don’t have enough other issues to deal with.”
“Yep. Best of luck with that,” she says. “You need to come to New York so we can visit some jazz clubs and I can experience Anna 2.0 in action.”
“In case you missed it, Anna 2.0’s maiden voyage didn’t go so well and she’s been shelved indefinitely, put in cold storage, and hidden away in a corner of the attic.” I wrinkle my nose. “Also, I don’t understand jazz.”
“You don’t need to understand it. You just need to be open to it speaking to you.”
“That makes sense, I guess.”
“You made out with someone who doesn’t wear a suit to work. Amazing.”
“Is it really, though?”
“Yes,” she says, tone adamant. “This is quite the kick against your programming.”
Ryan hasn’t come near me since the flowers incident. No texts or calls since the divorce papers were served. I almost miss his visits, having someone different to talk to, hearing about their everyday ordinary life. Almost, but not quite. Which just goes to show how sad my life can be. Though I definitely don’t miss being reminded of his betrayal. I haven’t lost my mind entirely.
I sigh. “Thank you for the divorce attorney reference. Margarita has been amazing. With no children and us both agreeing to a fifty/fifty split it should be relatively straightforward. Fingers crossed and knock on wood.”
“He’s accepted the inevitable, then?”
“So it would seem.”
“Good.”
“He’s wants to keep the house.”
“It’s in a good school district. That might suddenly be important due to Celine expecting.”
“Yeah.”
“But he’s made peace with the inevitable. That’s a good thing.”
“Pretty sure after the scene at my birthday party I’ve been relegated in his mind to being that crazy bitch who he’s better off without,” I say, doing my best not to grit my teeth. “I can’t help but wonder if that was in his head all along. To drive me so fucking insane that I look like the one in the wrong. He can pat himself on the back and walk away, thinking he’s rid of me.”
A grunt from her. “Men. Who the hell knows?”
“Whatever works, honestly,” I say. “I just want out.”
She makes a humming noise.
“Bizarre to think I was going to spend my life with him and now I’ll probably never speak to him again.”
“Bizarre or for the best?”
“A bit of both. So how are things with you?”
“The job is fine. My apartment is terrific. And Tony wants to get back together.”
“The new job is working out?”
“Yes. I like the people. And I’m on track for that corner office and partnership by forty, so yes, work is fine.”
“Go, you good thing. Yay or nay on Tony?” I lie on my childhood bed, relaxing after an intense occupational therapy session this morning. Four months since waking up and there’s no end to the work in sight. But I’m getting there.
“Undecided,” says Briar. “He fucks like a beast, but is emotionally wanting.”
“Hmm. Hard call.”
“And he gave me a gift certificate for Christmas.”
“That’s bad?” I ask. Certificates were Ryan’s gifting present of choice on account of me being impossible to shop for. I can be a fussy thing.
“It hints at a lack of careful thought and consideration when it comes to making me happy,” she says.
“Okay. I can see that. Though he might just have no shopping skills.”
“No.” Briar sighs. “The lack of care shows up in other areas of our attempted life together as well.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too. We’re compatible in some ways. Just not enough of the ones that matter.” She makes a humming noise. “So I guess that answers that.”
“That’s sad.”
“Yeah,” she says. “Well, no. I’m happy to keep dating. We’re not even thirty yet, for goodness sake. Who says we have to have it all together and be settled down by a certain age? That’s nonsense. We’re probably not even a third of the way through our lives. There’s a ton more for us to explore and experience.”
“That’s a very valid point.” I stare at the shadows on the wall made by the tree outside my childhood bedroom window. Even after months of being back it still feels strange. It feels like a failure. Like a setback. That’s the truth. “Though I thought I had it all together.”
“Life threw you a curve ball.”
“It sure did. In the shape of a car. It knocked me on my ass.” I open my eyes painfully wide. “If I haven’t said it before, thank you for sticking with me through all of this and listening to my moaning.”
“You’re very welcome.”
I don’t know what else to say. My brain is both a blank and a rush of blah. Perhaps it’s a mood swing kicking in, which is normal and to be expected. Another side effect to be managed.
“How did it feel kissing someone who wasn’t Ryan?” she asks.
“Exciting. Weird. And then wrong. Very, very wrong. Mostly because he rejected me, which is bound to be a downer.”
“Eh. It happens. Better luck next time.”
“I’ve learned my lesson. Don’t think I’ll be rushing back for more anytime soon.”
“Take your time. You’ll be ready when it’s right,” she says. “And then you too can once more confront the eternal dating questions of what the fuck are they even thinking, what does it all mean, and what the hell do I do now?”
I laugh.
“Celine reached out to me again,” she adds.
“Huh.”
“Wanted to tell me all about the baby and so on.”
I both do and do not want to know. “Okay.”
Briar clears her throat. “She’s had real bad morning sickness. It’s been a pretty rough pregnancy, apparently. Tired and nauseous all the time.”
“Oh.”
“I told her I was sorry to hear that, but that unless you magically decided to forgive her I didn’t have anything much to say to her.”
“I appreciate the solidarity,” I say. “But you don’t have to pick sides. We’ve all been friends a long time. I understand if you want to talk to her.”
“And if that had been me in that bed and my husband with Celine?”
I swallow hard. “Then I’d be done with her.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m sorry to hear she’s having a tough time, but . . .”
“But . . .” repeats Briar.
“Exactly,” I say as I nestle deeper into my old bed. The only real sign of my personality in this room is the old My Chemical Romance poster on the back of the door. I’m kind of surprised it’s still there. Because otherwise, this house has always been very much my mother’s domain. A pale pink feature wall and a white bedspread with small embroidered pink roses. It’s a room fit for a princess. I hate pink. Mom let me redecorate when I was ten or eleven or so. Right before I hit the tween years and got myself a personality that wasn’t I Love Ponies. Any attempt to update the color scheme in the past almost twenty years has been stonewalled. And as accommodating and above-and-beyond-the-call-of-duty helpful my mom has been, I need to get out of here. I need to figure out who I am now. Away from Ryan and away from the color pink. Away from the baggage of my childhood or people who think they know who I am and how I should be.
Which is what I tell Briar. “As much as I’d love to come visit you, I can’t move far away yet because of all the medical appointments. But I do need my own space.”
“So get your ass into gear and start looking.”
“Yes.” I smile. “I believe I will.”
“You’re really not going to let me take you, are you?” asks Mom, sitting on the edge of the sofa with her legs neatly crossed at the ankles. It’s her queen pose. Very regal and self-assured. I wish I had her poise. I think I used to. But now, most of the time I feel like I’m stumbling from one disaster to the next. Leif would probably tell me to embrace the journey, or something like that. And today I am taking a step in the forward direction, which is great. Two weeks’ worth of legal appointments and apartment hunting have led to this moment. To a chance of some independence from both Ryan and my parents. I am an adult, dammit. I can do this.
“I feel like I need to do this by myself,” I answer.
“I still think it’s too soon.”
“I disagree. It’ll be fine.”
“If you say so.”
And I mean it. It’ll be fine because I have a plan. Everything I do takes a bit more effort and organization these days. A bit more time to get ready and get sorted. However, I’m up to the challenge. Hell yes I am.
My cell chimes with a text.
Leif:Talk to me.
Me:Greetings. How are you?
Leif:Talk to me as if I’m someone you actually know and like.
Me:That was me being nice. This is a trap. Whatever I say you’re going to give me trouble.
Leif:Of course I am. You went silent on me again for two damn weeks.
“Is everything alright?” asks Mom.
“Ah, yes. Just a friend.” I frown even harder, because what the hell do I say to him? He kind of has a point. I have a bad habit of going into hiding when things go wrong. And because I’m me and this is my life, things tend to go wrong often.
Leif:Open the door.
Me:What?
Which is when someone knocks at the door and huh. How about that? Mom smothers a brief smile, and what is going on here? The woman is neither surprised that we have a guest nor making a move to answer said door. I sense a setup. A bizarre one.
When I open it, Leif is standing there all ridiculously hot and happy with himself. Is it any wonder I did the wrong thing and kissed him? I’m not used to being around beautiful sunshine-y people. Wild men with long hair and ink who keep smiling at me and giving me chances when I mess up. They’re an adventure all their own. I don’t know how to act. I don’t know how to be just his friend. Invasive naked thoughts keep taking over. I feel like a complete asshole for objectifying him all of the time, when I know good and well that there’s so much more to him than how he looks. But here we are. Shame on me.
He waltzes right past me and says, “Hey, Denise. Nice to see you again.”
“Leif.” Mom gives him a polite nod and smile. “Welcome to our home.”
He nods and looks around. The beige color scheme does not impress, according to his expression. Same goes for the collection of golfing trophies on the mantel. Which is where Dad is, at golf. I don’t know why he doesn’t just move to the course.
Leif is the last person who should be judging Mom’s suburban castle. Any bet his condo is still rocking the blank-white-wall look.
Mom fetches her purse from the side table. “I have a thing at the church.”
“So you didn’t want to take me after all,” I say.
Her smile is brief. “I knew you wouldn’t let me. That’s why I asked Leif.”
“You and Leif talk?” I ask, tone somewhat incredulous.
“Sure,” he says, leaning against the living room doorway. “Denise and I are old pals.”
“Less use of the word old, thank you,” reprimands my mother.
“Sorry.” He crosses his arms. “We’re house shopping, huh?”
“Looking at apartments to rent.”
A nod. “Don’t worry, I borrowed Clem’s SUV. You won’t have to try to hop on the back of my bike in your pretty dress.”
It’s a simple green maxi dress with a cream cardigan and matching sandals. I’d like to think it says responsible adult who pays her own bills and won’t trash your property, but it probably just says I couldn’t be bothered with pants. Such is life. He’s wearing an old The Clash tee, black jeans, and sneakers. His hair is tied back into a man bun that my fingers itch to tousle. There it is again. The bad and wrong thoughts. All of this makes me wonder when I started feeling so distinctly unattached. So single. It’s weird.
When I woke up from the coma, Ryan’s was the first face I wanted to see. I know that much. But when the truth of what he’d been up to came out, followed by all of his excuses, which were then superseded by his attempts to gaslight me, things changed. Dramatically. Guess my love for him was conditional after all. Conditional upon him not treating me like shit. Though inconvenient thoughts of my new male friend does not mean that I’m ready to start dating or actually attempt a relationship with someone. The whole idea just freaks me out. I need time to grieve the end of the relationship. A chance to pull myself together and figure out where all of this leaves me.
So first up, I shall go seeking domestic independence in the form of an apartment.
“Best of luck, sweetheart,” says Mom, waiting to lock the front door. She sure is in a rush. Also, she’s wearing a rather dapper black pantsuit with a fancy lace camisole underneath. Curiouser and curiouser.
“You’re going to a church thing?” I ask.
She nods.
“I’ll see you later then.”
“Yes.” And she’s gone. Huh.
Leif and I head toward a black Jeep waiting in the driveway. Like a gentleman, he opens the passenger-side door for me. Someone raised him right.
“How about that gleam in Denise’s eye,” he whispers as I climb into the vehicle. “Your mom is totally going for a hookup with your dad at some fancy hotel in town.”
“What?” I do not screech. It just kind of sounds that way. Unfortunately.
“I’m just guessing. I could be wrong.” He closes the door and jogs around to the other side of the vehicle. “Were you unaware that your parents still have sex?”
“No, but—”
“They’re not that old, Anna. And with you in the house, I can understand why they might want to get away for a little privacy now and then.”
“I know that, but—”
“Gotta admire them for it, really.”
“Would you stop interrupting me and let me finish?” I ask, aggrieved.
“Sorry.” He starts the engine and backs us out of the driveway. “You were saying?”
“I don’t know,” I say, clutching my purse and my list of addresses. I’d probably be clutching my pearls if I actually owned any. “You’ve got me all flustered. Give me a minute to get my brain back on track. And stop talking about my parents having sex. It’s weirding me out.”
He laughs all low and dirty like. “You sweet, innocent naïve creature.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I am. And I texted you the other day to ask how you were and to talk smack about pickles,” I remember out of nowhere. “So there. I did not completely go into hiding.”
“But when I answered, did you text me back?”
“Maybe not. I wasn’t sure what to say. Then I overthought it and it all sort of went to hell so I gave up. I mean, what if I said the wrong thing. Or if whatever I said was taken the wrong way due to lack of context? Communicating with people is hard sometimes.”
“Wasn’t communicating with people part of your job?”
“Actually, Celine handled most of the front desk management. I was more out back concocting schemes and handling paperwork.”
“Huh.”
“The truth is, I’m still mildly horrified about the kiss,” I admit. “And then I overthink everything and get worried that you are kind of different from the people I’m used to dealing with. Not in a bad way. To the contrary, in a very good way. But still different. I’m not always sure how you’re going to react.” I pause to take a breath, not blathering at all. “Not that I believe you’re going to be harsh or anything. I just worry sometimes, and then I feel awkward, and then I kind of spiral.”
He just blinks.
“What? My neurosis makes sense on a certain level when you think about it.”
He raises a brow. “You sure about that?”
“Shut up.”
“Sorry, sorry.” His smile is brief. A bare hint of the usual happy. “I don’t like that you worry or feel uncomfortable with me sometimes.”
“It’s not your fault and there isn’t anything you can do about it. It’s me. I just need a bit of time to adjust. Really.”
“In that case, C-minus for effort,” he announces. “Must try harder with the texting. I look forward to practicing with you. And I’ll always give you the benefit of the doubt, I promise. I’m not going to jump to the worst conclusion over something you say, Anna.”
“No. That’s more my kind of thing.”
He takes a deep breath. “Now that was a very beige house you grew up in. Though I found the occasional tan accent to be quite out there and daring, really.”
“And you call me judgy. Hey, it was raining this week,” I remember all of a sudden. “Was your arm okay?”
“Eh. Some aches and pains. Nothing out of the ordinary,” he says. “Where are we going?”
“There’s one in Oakdale that looked okay.”
“Wrong side of the highway.”
“I know, and transportation is kind of an issue for me these days,” I say. “The less I need to drive, the better. There was a more promising one in the West End.”
“Okay,” he says, heading in that direction. “So are we going to talk about that kiss?”
I wrinkle my nose. “No.”
Another laugh.
“There’s nothing to say. I made that clear at the time. It never happened and we’re moving on.” I raise my chin in defiance. The truth is, I need to be single for a while. Sex friends are all nice and well and useful, but the focus here is on me getting my life together. Not on finding a transitional person to help me get over Ryan. Acclimatizing to being single is what’s best for me right now. I don’t need sex (involving other people) and I don’t need my hand held. I am a grown-ass woman. “I thought about a small house, but the fact of the matter is, I have enough going on looking after myself. Taking on a yard as well seemed foolishly optimistic, even if having a little garden would be lovely.”
“Not to be an asshole and suggest you’re unable to cope on your own or anything, but you’re okay with living on your own?”
I grip the seat as we turn around a corner. “Please slow down a little.”
He darts a look at me.
“Sorry. I get panicky in cars sometimes.”
“Of course,” he says, easing his foot off the accelerator. “I’m sorry. Should have thought of that.”
I swallow hard, doing my best to relax. Shoulders down, breathing even and all that. “Anyway . . . what are my options? Sharing a house isn’t appealing and I’m fortunate that I can afford my own small space. For now, at least. My friend Briar would love me to move to New York, but I’m not so sure about that.”
“New York?” he asks, brows raised and eyes surprised.
“Yeah. A clean slate might be nice, but I don’t know.”
“Big cities are fun to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there,” he says. “Portland’s great. A bit slower and smaller. Plenty of cool bars and nightlife if that’s your thing. Not so small that everyone’s in your business.”
“Speak for yourself. Me and my drama is the talk of the ’hood.”
“Yeah, well . . . you’ve been a bit too exciting lately.” He winces. “I know what that feels like. After the truth came out about my crazy ex trying to kill Clem, it felt like everyone in the world knew. There were pictures in the papers and a police investigation and you name it. But, Anna, these things do calm down sooner or later. How’s the divorce going? Is the douchebag fighting you?”
“No. I think he’s given up on messing with me and is focusing on his new and improved family with Celine.” Ugh. Whatever. I do not care. I refuse to care. “We’re dividing up the things from our house.”
“What’d you make a grab for?”
“First up was the chunky mahogany dining table and chairs with the matching sideboard.”
He grins. “I knew you owned a sideboard. Bet there’s even linen napkins in there.”
“Shut up.” I smile too. “Then I got petty and went for the big-screen TV and sound bar that he loves more than life, but is too cheap to go for straight up because he knows it’s not the thing worth the most money in the house.”
“Atta girl. Get him where it hurts.”
“Apparently I still have some aggression issues to work through, but such is life. He went first for the Sub-Zero fridge with the glass doors that his parents got us as a wedding present,” I say. “But it’s too big for most apartments and houses and its resale value is not that amazing. Nor do I want anything that came from his parents, who have supported their darling boy through his screw-up one hundred percent. Not that I really expected any different.”
“You’re so cunning. I love it.”
“Thank you. Know your enemy, right?”
“Remind me never to divorce you.” He gives me a wink. Him and those damn winks. They turn my stomach upside down each and every time, dammit. “And you’ve obviously given this a lot of thought.”
“Half of that life and its contents are mine. Because of his bad choices we have to go through all of this.” I sigh. “It’s hard to think about anything else right now, honestly. I may or may not have a couple of revenge fantasies running through my head. Nothing that would physically harm either one of them. Just really inconvenience the shit out of them and teach ’em a lesson, you know?”
He just nods.
“It’s funny. Well, it’s not funny. It’s strange, maybe.” I shift in the seat, all the better to see him.
“Go on.”
“I could almost understand him needing physical affection or relief involving someone other than himself after so long,” I say. “If he’d gone to a sex worker to get it, I think I could have accepted that better given the circumstances. I would have been hurt initially, sure. But then I would have understood, I think.”
“Okay.”
“Is it weird to talk about this?” I ask, feeling distinctly weird about it. “Maybe it’s weird to feel this way at all.”
“No. You’re safe with me.”
“Right. Okay.” I take a deep breath. “Thank you.”
“That’s all?”
I shrug. “What more is there to say? He didn’t go to a sex worker. He went to my best friend. And she obviously reciprocated, and that relationship continued well beyond the point he promised me. Obviously. Because if it had only happened once at her apartment with a condom, there likely wouldn’t be a baby on the way.”
“You asked for details?”
“I wanted to know if they’d done it in our house,” I explain. “In our bed. I wanted to know if he’d protected himself and me from any possible diseases or whatever. How disrespectful and stupid the sin was, exactly.”
A nod.
“The first place is on West Street.”
“Tell me about it,” he says.
“Two bedrooms, one bathroom, wood-burning fireplace and big bay windows.”
“Sounds nice. What else have you got?”
“A new one-bedroom, one-bathroom in the East End and an old one-bedroom, two-bathroom in West Bayside.”
“That’s a lot of bathrooms for one person,” he says.
“And both have heated floors.”
“Delightful.”
“The question is, do I want to go more old-fashioned or something urban loft style with high ceilings,” I ponder. “I’ve never lived on my own before. Never gotten to choose my own place.”
“I’d be more interested in location so you can walk wherever you want to go out. What restaurants and bars are nearby and so on,” he says. “You’re investing in a possible lifestyle, you know?”
“That makes sense.”
“So you basically don’t know what kind of apartment you want or where you want it, apart from roughly somewhere in the city.”
“Basically.”
“Any concerns about living on your own so soon after everything?” he asks, shooting me a glance. “Again, not to take the wind out of your sails, young Anna. Just wondering.”
“Yes,” I admit. “Some. But as much as I love my parents, I can’t keep living with them. For all of our sakes.”
“Fair enough. What about work?”
“Hoping to find something part-time in a couple of months maybe. It depends how rehab goes. I think I could handle maybe fifteen hours a week to start off. That’s what I’m working toward, at least.”
“What about money? Not to be nosey, but how is the divorce affecting things?”
“It would probably be more sensible to wait until everything is sorted, but due to Ryan buying me out of my half of the house I can afford something small.”
He hits the signal and pulls over beside a park. Children are playing on the slides, all happy and carefree. Big old trees shade the playground. It’s picturesque. There’s a small pain inside of me at the sight of the children. Not the greater hurt that I’d have imagined the scene would cause. Maybe I wasn’t completely ready for being a parent. Or maybe the idea of bringing a child into the world while everything is so unsettled just doesn’t appeal. I don’t know. But there’s time to figure it out later with the right person, which Ryan obviously isn’t. What I thought was a bright and brilliant future with him is most definitely not and I need to get used to that idea. Embrace it. I need to open myself to the new challenges or something.
“Okay,” says Leif. “Crazy idea time.”
“Crazy idea time?”
“Move in with me.”
“What?” And there I go sounding screechy again. So uncool.
He nods, all self-assured. Not an iota of doubt in his amber gaze. “Firstly, you have furniture, right?”
“Some. Yes. But—”
“Secondly,” he says, then stops. “Oh, shit. I interrupted you again. Sorry. You go.”
“What is secondly?” I ask, crossing my arms.
“It wouldn’t be some weird roommate situation with me. We could help each other. I’ll be around in case you need a hand. You’d have your space without being totally on your own. Just in case . . .”
“And?”
“And you’ll be there in case I, um . . . like if I need a jar opened or something. The strain on my arm can be quite painful.” He grimaces as if to display this unfortunate weakness. The clown. Like he isn’t muscled to perfection.
“You’re such a male,” I say. “I’ll pretend I believe you.”
“I can even tell you if you need to pack an umbrella each day. Very useful to have around.”
“What else?”
“You don’t exactly know what you’re doing or where you really want to be just yet. Therefore, committing to a lease doesn’t make sense.” He smiles all confident. “You wouldn’t have to do that if you moved into my spacious and light-filled spare bedroom. Do what you want. Come and go as you please.”
“This is all about helping me. You’re putting yourself out for my benefit.”
“No. Not entirely. I could definitely use some help paying for the place, okay?” He sags against the headrest. “Truth is, I haven’t been able to work as much in the last while due to the accident. It’s going to take me some time to catch up. Whether you stay for a week or a year, it’s going to help me moneywise.”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ve been thinking about getting a roommate. Honestly. So this would be perfect. It could be like your soft launch.”
It’s a lot to think about.
“Just say yes.”
“Don’t push me. I’m considering things,” I say. “What about the unfortunate kissing incident?”
“What unfortunate kissing incident?”
“Good answer.” I smile. “How about the fact that we’re fundamentally opposites?”
He blinks. “Please explain.”
“I’m hospital corners and you’re free and easy.”
“Ah. Gotcha.” He scratches at the stubble on his jaw. “Well, I figure that means we’ll complement each other and enlarge our experience of the world and people and stuff.”
“And stuff?”
“Yeah. C’mon, Anna. You’re clean, unlikely to host loud parties or annoy the living shit out of me. We get along fine. You pay attention to things I tend to forget about. Like furniture,” he says. And he’s not wrong. “This is a win-win situation for both of us.”
“Oh, God. I don’t know.”
“If it doesn’t work out you leave. Easy as that.” He taps his fingers against the steering wheel. “Anna, baby. C’mon.”
Here’s the thing about how my life has gone so far . . . playing it safe, being cautious, hasn’t gotten me far. I’m living back at home with my parents, for goodness sake. The man who made the most sense to me let me down in the worst way imaginable. One of the women I used to confide just about everything to stabbed me in the back. Safe, cautious, sensible—these things have not worked out. Maybe it’s time I try a new approach.
“Ugh. Okay. Yes.” And it was not his use of the term baby that won me over. It was something else.
He claps his hands in delight like a child. “Excellent.”
“We give it a try for a few weeks and see how things go,” I say. And who knows, it might work out. Because I can’t have a crush on my roommate. That would just be stupid. A rookie mistake. Things are complicated enough as it is. I’ll get over my unfortunate and weird feelings for Leif. Therapy and getting divorced are sure to keep me busy. Grieving the end of my marriage and getting used to life without Ryan. Stuff like that. Life sure comes at you fast. “See if it works and if we’re both comfortable with the arrangement and so on.”
“Whatever you say.” He grins. “This is going to be great.”