Daddy’s Nervous Little by Jess Winters

CHAPTER 7

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wendy

I run warm water over a washcloth and use it to gently dab my eyes. I sniffle and nearly burst into tears again, but manage to stop myself. It’s been a week since I broke up with Lawrence and I still spend most of the time crying – either at home on the couch, or in the shower, or in a corner of the nurses’ lounge, or my car. Pretty much anywhere I am, I’m crying.

I knew it would hurt breaking up with him. I loved him. Hell, I still love him. I knew that even before I broke up with him, but now it’s all I can seem to focus on. I loved him and I literally pushed him away. Why did I do that? Why on earth, when I finally had the man of my dreams and was so close to having the life of my dreams, did I suddenly get cold feet and allow my fear to get the better of me?

Tears threaten at the corners of my eyes again and this time I can’t stop them. I collapse to the floor of the bathroom sobbing. Images of Lawrence flood my mind – him on top of me, his hands and mouth all over me as we make love. Images of his smile, of the way his eyes light up when he sees me, the sound of his voice when he tells me how proud he is of me.

I miss him so much.

God, what a liar I am! In my message I said I didn’t want someone to hold my hand, but the truth is I didn’t want someone to see me fail. It’s really that simple. I knew I would fail and I didn’t want him to see it when it happened.

But what if I didn’t fail?

Oh, for Christ’s sake! I’m not just a nurse. I’m a patient advocate. It’s my whole job to help patients understand they can face difficult problems and they have the right to face those problems with dignity. Why in the world do I give others that opportunity, but regularly deny myself the same thing? It’s horrible and self-defeating and I wish desperately I could stop from doing that.

I force myself to stand up and walk out of the bathroom, trying to gain some semblance of strength to face the next ten minutes without him. I can’t even begin to think about trying to spend the next forever without him. I don’t understand how a man who’s spent so little time with me can be so important to me, but he is.

I look at my apartment.

It’s messy.

It’s messy like it was the day of our date. We were going to meet after work and clean it up together. I broke up with him before our relationship even had a chance to start.

“Before you had a chance to start, Wendy, you stupid bitch,” I say bitterly. Then I suddenly stand up straight. “I’m not stupid,” I say. “I’m not supposed to say I’m stupid.” I realize with surprise that outburst is the first time I’ve called myself stupid since Lawrence told me not to.

Since my Daddy told me not to.

Dear God, what have I done?

No matter what I have done, I know what I need to do. I need to see if Lawrence will have me back. I take a deep breath and try to come up with the strength to send him a text. I try, and then I fail. I feel the tears come as I collapse on the couch. I want Lawrence to rescue me so badly I feel like I’m going to shrink into nothing. I look around my apartment. It’s messy and disorganized just like me. It wouldn’t be that way if I hadn’t been so nervous.

I stop crying.

I stare at the mess and remember what he said. If I cleaned up it would give me confidence. It was something like that, I think. I wonder if I clean up if it will give me the courage to get in touch with him. I don’t have a whole lot of faith, but I’m grasping at straws. At the very least it will be something I can do simply because the man I hoped would be my Daddy told me to do it. That’s good enough for me. I take another deep breath and stand up.

I start with the kitchen and I do more than just straighten up. I clean all the dishes and, while I’m at it, I clean the cupboards and the refrigerator as well. Once that’s done I make a shopping list, now that I can actually see what I need. I feel so damn motivated that getting to the living room is easy. I clean up until it’s immaculate and I add a few houseplants to the list. The closet in the hallway is next, and then the bathrooms. When they sparkle I feel damn accomplished. I do the bedroom and it seems inviting – a place of warmth, a refuge. It’s been forever since it seemed that way.

I glance at the clock and I’m amazed to find it’s after eight. I’ve spent the whole day cleaning and it’s the best day I’ve spent in a long time. I went overboard, sure, but I feel wonderful. I don’t want to lose the momentum, so I grab the shopping list and head to a large store open twenty-four seven. I get back home at about ten-thirty and it takes me almost an hour to put all the things away. Though once I do I have a stocked and organized cupboard, a stocked refrigerator, and two new houseplants. I have all of the toiletries I need and some new towels as well. The kitchen looks beautiful. The living room looks beautiful. The guest bathroom, bedroom, and master bath are immaculate. Hell, even the closet is immaculate.

It’s eleven-fifteen, so I figure I’ll have to get in touch with Lawrence tomorrow. I’m worried the courage might fade, though, so I thumb the text immediately and send it.

Can you come over tomorrow? I was wrong. I miss you. I need you. Can I have a chance to make things right?

Unlike everything else I’ve done with the cleaning and the shopping, this doesn’t make me feel any better. On the contrary I feel nervous, almost terrified. I set the phone down and sigh. What if he says no? What if it’s too late? What in the hell possessed me to send it now so I’ll have a sleepless night, tossing and turning like an idiot until tomorrow morning when he sees the text.

I groan and go to the bathroom. I have a nice pullover dress hanging on the bar, because when I saw it in the closet I thought it could use a good steam. I put it on the towel holder and strip. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I put my clothes in the hamper. I step into the shower and let the heat of the water flow over me. It feels good. It feels very good, but though it quiets my body, it does nothing to quiet my mind.

I step out of the shower and dry off. I put the dress back on the shower curtain bar and hang the damp towel in place. If nothing else, I guess I’ll be neat now. I grab the dress and walk out of the bathroom. Just as I’m about to hang it up, I hear a knock on the door.

Who the hell is it at this hour?

Since it’s closest and easiest, I just pull the dress over my head and answer the door.

It’s Lawrence.

I stare in wonder and he says, “Of course we can start again. You’ll need a spanking first, though.”