I love you too.
I imagined there were only so many events in life that could have made it through that level of intoxication. A murder. A horrible accident.
Kristen telling me she loved me. I remembered.
Brandon was ready to be done with Vegas. We’d planned on staying an extra night, but Shawn’s bachelor party experience was enough for a lifetime. So after we dragged ourselves, hungover, back to our hotel, we showered, packed, went to the Verizon store so Shawn could buy us new phones, and we headed home.
We got back at midnight.
I couldn’t wait to see Kristen. She wasn’t expecting me and I didn’t call. I wanted to show up tomorrow morning and surprise her. I was going to grab her and kiss her whether she fucking liked it or not, talk to her about what she’d said. Force her to stop playing these games with me.
My heart felt light and hopeful for the first time in months. I couldn’t even sleep I was so excited to see her. I should have just gone straight there. I got up early and took off from my apartment before the sun was up, planning to just slip into bed with her.
But when I pulled up to her house and I saw the truck in the driveway at 7:00 in the morning, I was smacked back into reality.
I sat there, clutching the wheel with white knuckles. I couldn’t believe
what I was seeing.
I’d stayed the night enough times to know exactly how unlikely it was that a truck would be parked in her driveway at any time of the day, let alone this early.
Nobody came here. She never had visitors. And besides Brandon and me, she didn’t have friends who drove trucks.
She was in there with some guy. She thought I was out of town and she’d brought home some guy.
He’d stayed the night.
Is this what she’d been doing while I was on the strike team? Is this why she hadn’t answered my calls?
The reality of what I’d signed up for finally came full circle.
Disgust, anger, hurt, disappointment—they coursed through me and settled in my chest like a cinder block. My eyes pricked with tears and I pinched the corners, furious with myself for thinking she’d wanted me.
I put the truck in reverse and backed down the street and parked there, looking at the house, my mind racing. I wanted to kick in the fucking door and beat the shit out of him, whoever he was.
But could I really be angry?
She’d been clear. She’d been crystal clear with me that she was going to see other people. That she didn’t want to be exclusive. We were fuck buddies. That was it.
I’d agreed to this.
But what about what she had said? She’d said she loved me. Hadn’t she?
She had said it, right?
Or had I said it first and then she’d said it back? Or had she said it like the way she told Sloan that she loved her?
She obviously hadn’t meant it the way I’d meant it, or I wouldn’t be looking at some fucking guy’s truck parked in front of her damn house. I sat there, staring at the driveway for what felt like an eternity.
And then he came out. She stood in the door in her robe while he jogged down the steps. I breathed through my nose, trying to stay calm.
I couldn’t get a good look. Early thirties maybe. Jeans and a T-shirt.
He got in his truck and drove off, and I wondered if she was taking a shower now. Stripping the bed. What if I’d shown up just an hour later? Would she have slept with us both on the same day? Did she lie there with
him after like she did with me? Talking and kissing?
I put the truck in drive and went home before I did something fucking stupid.
When I got back to my apartment, the tower of boxes still standing in my living room taunted me. A reminder that I’d spent the last two months giving all my free time to a woman who didn’t fucking want me, who could sleep with someone else without giving it a second thought.
I kicked the bottom box and the whole thing toppled over, spilling clothes all over the floor. I grabbed another box and flung it across the room and stood there, panting, in my shitty cube of an apartment.
Done. I was fucking done.
I didn’t want any of this anymore. I didn’t want this fucking life. I didn’t want to live here. I didn’t want my shitty job. I wished I could un-know her. Go back and never meet her, never come here.
I pulled out my phone and scrolled through until I found Amanda’s number, the yoga instructor. I stood there, staring at it. I could call this woman. Do the same thing. See someone else too. Isn’t that what I should be doing? Maybe it wouldn’t have fucked with me like this if I’d kept my end of the bargain, if I’d actually been seeing other people like I’d said I would. Like she’d pressed me to do.
I typed in a text and was about to hit Send when my phone pinged.
Kristen: Hey, Sloan says you guys got home last night. Want to come over?
The irony was too much. She never texted me. Never asked me to come over. She never initiated anything—it was always me. She’d been totally cold to me for weeks. Her text sat there under my unanswered “I miss you” and a string of other ignored questions and efforts on my part, and the one time she finally did want me, I couldn’t even stomach the thought.
Josh: Sick.
It wasn’t even a lie. I couldn’t even look at her. I didn’t know if I could
ever look at her. I couldn’t even imagine walking her down the aisle at
Brandon’s wedding next week.
Kristen: You okay?
I shook my head at my phone and tossed it on the mattress. No. I’m not fucking okay.
I’m done.
