Man Crush Monday

by Kirsty Moseley

“We need a break,” Jared says again. “Some space. Take as long as you need.”

  He scoots forward on the seat, but I don’t let go. I clutch him closer.

  “I really should go, Amy.”

  He pulls his head back, and I do the same, our eyes meeting.

  He forces a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I can’t help you with this one. You need to figure it out yourself. We need to make sure this is right before we go any further. If we’re meant to be, we’ll be. If not …” He trails off and shrugs sadly.

  His words feel like he’s gutted me with a blunt knife. I’m hollow, empty, just a raw, ragged mess. He eases me off his lap, and I stand on my weak legs, wrapping my arms around myself for comfort as my whole world feels like it’s falling apart.

  Sadness consumes me, and when he leans down and presses his lips against mine, I kiss him back with all the passion that I have, putting all my feeling into it. The kiss is beautiful, poignant, and heartbreaking.

  I don’t want him to go, but he’s right. I need to fix this mess myself. There’s no one else who can untangle this but me.

  He breaks the kiss and presses his lips to my forehead. They linger there, and I close my eyes, savouring the feel of them.

  “Bye, Amy.” He pulls away, and I hear the hitch in his voice, but he’s already walking away towards the door, pulling it open.

  He strides through it, leaving me alone in my flat with my heart breaking and big, fat, devastated tears rolling down my cheeks.

  twenty.five

  Two days pass, and they feel like the longest two days of my life—worse so than when I had that stomach bug where I didn’t even move from my bathroom floor for thirty-six hours. Before this, that was the pinnacle of worst time of my life. I thought that was rock bottom. I was wrong. Now, that low seems like a distant memory and a far cry from the depressed state I’ve slipped into.

  I’ve barely slept. I’m walking through life like a zombie. My emotions are all over the place, and all I can think about is Jared, Theo, and how the hell I can try to distinguish my feelings between the two of them. Where do my feelings for my train crush stop and my feelings for Jared begin? Or are they one and the same? Was what I had with Jared ever real? It felt so real at the time, but now, I can’t be sure.

  Through my confusion … I miss Jared. I miss his voice, his smile, his sarcasm, and just the way he makes me feel when he holds me at night.

  It doesn’t help that there are little reminders of him everywhere. Even dreary, monotonous stuff like showering and brushing my teeth are tinged with memories of him. The stuff that he left here on Saturday (before my life imploded with the big twin reveal) still sits on the neat little spots he chose for them in my bathroom.

  Even my bed is betraying me. What used to be my favourite place in the world is now a shrine to my on-a-break boyfriend. His scent is all over it, agonising and torturous as it lulls me to slumber where I dream of a magic-performing Jared, who turns and suddenly splits into two. And then, when I wake, I’m surrounded by his smell, and I’m reminded again of what I’ve lost. Because that’s what it feels like, as if I’ve lost him, and it hurts more than I even care to admit to myself. I could change my sheets, get rid of the smell, but I can’t bring myself to do that. I love it and hate it in equal measure. When the smell begins to fade slightly, I even find myself spraying his deodorant around the room like air freshener and spritzing my spare pillow—his pillow—with his aftershave just to torture myself further. I deserve it.

  We haven’t had any contact since he walked out of my flat and called time on us. The no-contact thing makes the time drag into one endless bad day and even worse nights where I cry myself to sleep.

  Today is Thursday. I am seriously contemplating bending one of the fundamental on-a-break rules. I’m considering texting him.

  His meeting with Gillian Jenkins was today, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him all day long. I stare at my screen, seeing the message that I just typed out sitting there. I delete and type again. My thumb hovers over the Send button as I debate on if I can send it or not. Does on a break mean no contact at all? Most likely. But I am desperate to know how his meeting went.

  I groan and read the message again.

  Hey. How did your meeting go?

  Light, friendly, just a question.

  Before I can change my mind, I press Send and then drop my phone down next to me on the sofa and frown, waiting for his reply. Suddenly, a thought occurs to me: what if he doesn’t reply? What if Jared isn’t interested in speaking to me again after the pain I’ve caused, driving a wedge between him and his brother?

  I groan and push my microwave meal around its little tray with my fork. The TV is on, but I can barely see it or concentrate on it.

  When my phone beeps to life, I jump so hard and pick it up so quickly that I almost drop it in my food.

  It was good. Thanks for asking.

  I chew on my lip, worrying over the lack of a kiss on the end. Does that mean anything? Has he done a Ross from Friends and found himself a copy-place girl he can spend his “break” with? Is she getting the kisses from the end of his texts? Is that the type of break we’re on? I seriously hope not because the thought of him with other girls makes my insides ache and my blood boil with jealousy.

  I hit Reply, wanting to keep this small line of communication open.

  Great news! Did anything come of it?

  I debate on adding my own kiss on the end and decide against it.

  Almost as soon as the status of the message changes to read, the phone rings in my hand. Jared’s face appears on my screen, and my insides jolt. I could weep; I’m so happy.

  I put the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Hey.” The sound of his voice makes the hairs on my arms stand on end and my tummy flutter. “It would take too long to type it out, so I thought it would be easier just to call you,” he explains.

  I nod, savouring the sound of his voice. “How are you?” It’s all I’ve been wanting to ask for the last two days, ever since he walked out of my flat and didn’t look back.

  “I’m okay. How are you?”

  “Good,” I lie, and it really is a total lie. I’m not doing good at all. All I can think every second of the day is the fact that I might have made a terrible, terrible mistake, but I just have no clue if that is right or not. “So, tell me about the meeting. I’ve been thinking about you all day, sending all the good vibes and Karma at you.”

  “Oh, is that what I was feeling, good vibes and Karma? I thought it was nerves,” he jokes.

  I smile and clutch the phone closer to my ear.

  “Meeting went well. Really well actually. She loved almost all my ideas. She wants me to put together a proposal for the new specialist team and present it to the board in a couple of weeks. If that goes well and they approve it, I could be heading the department and taking on new staff, branching out, and expanding.”

  Pride swells in my chest, and I grin from ear to ear. “Jared, that’s amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

  “Thanks.” I can hear the modest embarrassment in his tone. Jared isn’t one who likes to have a fuss made of him. “She asked about you. Remembered your name and everything.”

  I shift in my seat and wince. “Did she mention my Spanx?”

  He laughs a loud, throaty laugh, and I feel it vibrate in my tummy.

  “No. She just asked how you were. She said you were positively charming. Those were her exact words. She liked your honesty and asked if you wanted a job there.”

  “Ha! They couldn’t afford me,” I joke.

  “I told her you probably wouldn’t enjoy being bossed around either.”

  “Unless it was by you.” The flirtation slips from my mouth before I even knew it was coming.

  Jared laughs again.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I didn’t mention anything about what’s going on. To be honest, I wouldn’t even know where to start. I just said you were fine and
that I’d pass on my regards to you,” he says.

  I close my eyes, hating that I put him in that position. “Of course that’s fine. Next time you see her, tell her I said hi.”

  “We don’t exactly hang out together in the tearoom or anything, but if I happen to see her around, I will.” I hear the smile in his voice. “So, what time are you meeting Heather? Is she coming to yours, or are you two going out?”

  I play with my food, stabbing the pasta and squishing it with the back of my fork. “We’re not doing Tequila Thursday this week.”

  “Oh, really? Is she out of the country or dead?” he teases.

  I love the fact that he remembers something I once joked weeks ago.

  I shrug. “Neither. I just didn’t fancy it tonight.”

  This is the first time in five years we’ve not had a BFF tequila night, but I just couldn’t face it. I’m not in the mood to socialise. I know she would want to talk about Jared, and I’m just not up to it yet. It’s too fresh and raw. I’m still too confused. We’d just end up going over the same old stuff until my head ached. Instead, I just want an early night and to snuggle in my Jared sheets.

  “Really?” he asks, his tone concerned. “Are you all right? You’re not dead, are you?”

  I feel dead inside; does that count?

  “I’m good,” I repeat my earlier lie.

  “Okay, so if you’re not drinking margaritas tonight, what are you doing?”

  “Right now, I’m just eating dinner.”

  “What are you having?”

  “Microwave mac and cheese from Marks and Spencer.”

  “Ah, top-end, processed shit.”

  I laugh at the disgust and disapproval in his tone. “Yep, it’s delicious.”

  I look down at the congealed mess in front of me and scrunch my nose up. It is categorically not delicious. Leaning forward, I push my plate onto the coffee table and decide not to even attempt to eat the other half of it.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, changing the subject.

  “Current status: sitting in bed, working on my laptop, talking to you,” he replies.

  My eyebrow rises. I can picture it clear as day, and my stomach clenches. “Do you want me to let you go, so you can get on with whatever you’re working on?” Please say no! Please say no!

  “No, it’s fine.”

  I smile and look down at my nails. “So, how are things? Are you …” I clear my throat. “Are you and Theo okay? You haven’t fallen out over this, have you?” I wince, waiting for his answer.

  “We’re fine,” he replies. There’s a tough edge to his voice, but it doesn’t sound like a lie. He’s just finding it difficult, and it’s probably a little awkward. “I told you, it’s not anyone’s fault.”

  I nod. It’s not my fault, but I still feel guilty about it.

  “Did you finish Stranger Things?” he asks—his turn to change the subject this time.

  I raise one eyebrow. “No. I pinkie swore, remember? Why? Did you?” My mouth opens in shock as I think about him skipping ahead without me.

  He laughs quietly. “I knew you wouldn’t have. Seeing as you’re not drinking your weight in margaritas and I have nothing on that can’t wait until tomorrow, do you want to watch the next episode now?”

  My eyes widen. He wants to come over? Panic surges through me as my eyes dart around my flat, seeing all the mess—the unwashed plates in the sink, the crumbs from my biscuits still sitting on the table, my neat pile of Dr Pepper cans I’ve been stacking on my worktop like a carnival ball toss game, my dirty clothes in a bundle next to my washing machine where I lost concentration earlier when I meant to put a load on. And my very much unshowered self, whose current best friend is a can of dry hair shampoo.

  “Um …” I know I’d need to delay him at least an hour, but the excitement at the prospect of seeing him is bubbling in my stomach.

  Jared continues, “We can watch at the same time and talk on the phone. It’ll be kind of like watching together. I don’t think that constitutes a break in the pinkie-swear rules.”

  I smile in understanding, a little more disappointed than I care to admit that I’m not going to see him in person. But at least I won’t have to rush around like a madwoman on crack and tidy up now.

  “Okay,” I agree.

  “Great. Open Netflix and select the next episode,” he instructs.

  I do it, finding the place we made it to before everything went so wrong.

  “Got it?”

  “Yep.”

  I hear him tapping keys on his laptop. “Okay, I’m ready. Press play in three … two … one …”

  I hit play, and we synchronise the episode. Grinning, I put Jared on loudspeaker and sit back on the sofa, getting comfy. If I turn to the side slightly and try hard enough, I can imagine him sitting next to me and that nothing is messed up. It’s nice. Really nice.

  twenty.six

  By the time the weekend finishes, Jared and I are over halfway through the new season of Stranger Things with just three episodes left. By my calculation, we will be finished on Wednesday night. I’m not looking forward to not having an excuse to talk to him after that. We’ve spoken every day, watching episodes together on the phone, chatting and laughing as we synchronise watching. We pretty much have it down to a fine art now. It works better, we’ve discovered, if we listen to the phone call with one earbud in rather than loudspeaker. Less echo that way from the TV, and we can still talk freely while watching.

  During those hours of phone calls, neither of us has mentioned seeing each other again or even spoken of the situation at all. I love that he’s giving me time to get my head in the right place. I appreciate it more than I can articulate. But the trouble is, nothing is getting any easier or clearer. I am beginning to wonder if it ever will. Or will it always be a murky mess? Will Jared and Theo always be interwoven and inseparable in my brain?

  I’ve tried so hard to split them. I lie awake for hours, going over our separate interactions. Replaying memories of my crush on the train—him sharing his phone, chatting happily, reading his books, drawing. And I replay my time with Jared—our dates, our lazy Sundays, him meeting my mum and helping my nanna. And just the quiet moments we shared when the rain was pattering on the window and we snuggled on the sofa in our own little bubble or how I’d be perfectly content to watch him work when he was on a tight deadline. The little look of concentration that would create the line between his eyebrows that made my tummy fizz.

  My mum’s question keeps popping back into my head. Would I have given that good looking, well-dressed man a second look if the first time I’d met him was at that coffee shop? I have to admit … probably not. If it wasn’t for Theo, I wouldn’t have been with Jared. How do I know this? Because I remember the first time Theo got on my train all those months ago. I remember doing a double-take, thinking he was fire, but it was more in a celebrity-crush type of way, not a serious I want to date that guy type of thing. What made me really notice him was when he climbed off the train and turned back to help a lady lift her buggy down the step, all the while pulling silly faces at the toddler in the pram. I noticed it, stored it, and remembered him two weeks later when he got on my train again.

  Of this, I am one hundred percent sure: Theo is the reason I was even with Jared in the first place. If that guy on the train had walked up to me that first day and asked me out, I would have likely said no. It took a while for me to become properly attracted to him, a lot of train journeys before I noticed I was slowly falling for him.

  I am very specific in what I am attracted to, and on first glance, the Stone twins aren’t that.

  Theo was the reason I agreed to the dinner date with Jared. And the deeper I delve into it, the more I realise it wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for my crush on Theo. The chemistry on that date with Jared was off the charts; a small touch of his hand made my insides erupt with passion because I was attracted to him already. If I took away the sizzle from that date, would I have no
ticed that Jared and I had nothing in common? Would I have agreed to a second date, kissed him in that stairwell, thought about him all night long? No, I probably wouldn’t have seen him again. I certainly wouldn’t have slept with him on a second date. That knowledge hurts.

  But the other side of the argument I keep having with myself is, maybe it was supposed to happen like this. Maybe I am supposed to be with Jared, but fate knew I wouldn’t have given him a chance, so she sent in Theo to butter me up and mellow me out before she threw the real prize at me. It seems unlikely. And if that is somehow true, fate has one seriously messed up sense of humour. It seems to me like I am reaching a bit here with my explanations, trying to justify chemistry where there should be none.

  One thing I know for sure though: I love talking to Jared. I love that, after watching TV together for the last few days, before he hangs up the phone, he promises to call the next night, so we can watch some more. Not least because it means that, if he is on the phone with me, he isn’t out screwing other girls. That knowledge makes me deliriously happy.

  My weekend breezes by, and before I know it, it’s Monday again, just an average, dreary Monday. I’m on my last trip, the London to Cambridge 3:12 p.m., when I step into the last carriage and stop short. Theo is sitting there, chilled and relaxed, his book open in his lap, his feet stretched out and propped on the seat in front of him. I didn’t see him get on the train. In fact, this isn’t even one of his weeks. He went to London only the week before, so he isn’t due again until next week.

  I step to his side. “Hey.”

  He looks up from his book and gives me a cheerful smile, sitting up in his chair more, his feet dropping to the floor. “Hi.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his ticket.

  “I didn’t see you this morning?” I say, glancing at his ticket.

  Theo blows out a big breath and rolls his eyes. “I missed the usual early train. Had to get the next one. Always knew it would happen eventually.” He shrugs. “My bed is too warm and comfy to get out of, especially this time of year when it’s all dark and depressing in the mornings at that time. Early starts should be illegal.”