by Lindsey Hart
“Geez.” I keep rubbing Steph’s back, and she lets out a shuddering breath that threatens to topple her after her big speech. “If I paid you more, would you tell me nice things like this every single day?”
She sniffles. “You’re so ridiculous. I tell you nice things all the time. You just don’t listen to them.”
I hug her tight to me for a few seconds while I work up the courage to tell her what I have to say. I know she’s not going to like it. She might even try and knee me in the balls. I know I’m going to hurt her. It hurts me to think about it, but I know I need this.
“Steph?”
“Hmm?”
“I have to tell you something,” I whisper against her ear. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to hurt you.”
She pulls away so fast that her knee nearly does connect with my balls. “What? You’re going to tell me what? That you don’t want this? You and me? Because we have to go back to Denver and go back to reality, and the reality is that this was a paid thing, and it was about your ex-wife and not about us at all? We were just a fluke?”
“It wasn’t just a fluke. Steph, listen to me. Please.”
She was edging away slowly, but now she stops and grasps her arms around her chest. “Whatever. Say it then.”
“I…I really didn’t mean—”
“Stop right there. I don’t want to hear it.” She storms off to the cabin. I follow her because I need to say this, and she needs to hear it, even if it sucks.
“You don’t know what I’m going to say.” I plunge through the door after her. Steph hunkers down on the couch, and she looks miserable, which makes me hate myself for doing this. “I was going to say that this thing between us, neither of us expected it to happen, but it wasn’t a mistake. That was not at all what I was going to say. The truth is, it was the furthest thing from a mistake.”
She stares at me like I’m the snake we found along the path.
“It was stupid. It was really, really stupid and childish. This whole plan was. I should never have asked you to do this. It was worse than childish. And I’m glad you’re here, even if you had to see me get completely destroyed like that. I haven’t had my head on straight for a long time. I’ve been a mess inside, and I’ve used work as a crutch, so I didn’t have to get the rest of my shit together and work on that. I need time, Steph, to fix that. I don’t want to just rush into this with you because that’s not fair to you. You deserve to be with someone who treats you properly.”
Her jaw drops. “I can’t believe you! It’s the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ line. Are you for real? That’s what they all say.” Steph rolls her eyes. I try to tell her that’s not what I mean, but she cuts me off. “Blah, blah, blah. I get it. I’m not rich, I’m not even pretty, and I’m shaped like celery. You could do way better.”
“Stop. That’s not what I’m saying, and it’s certainly, sure as fuck, not true. I’m trying to tell you to just give me a couple of weeks to decompress and figure out what makes me happy other than working a sixteen-hour workday so that I don’t have to go home to an empty house and so I don’t realize that outside of work, my life is pretty much meaningless. I just need some time to figure out who I even am.”
“That’s also stupid.” Steph jumps up and storms off to the bedroom. She scrambles around, throwing clothes into the big hiking backpack where she brought all her stuff in. “I’m done, with all of this. Let’s just go back to Denver, and we can pretend this never even happened.”
“I don’t want to do that, though. That’s not…ugh. That’s not it at all.”
“Okay, well, that’s it for me. I don’t want this. I want the Adam I know, not some new age Adam who gets all into crystals or something. Not that there’s anything wrong with crystals. Crystals are fine. I just don’t want some guy who says he has to figure out who he is when I already know who he is. It’s so obvious. You’re the only person who doesn’t know. If you can’t see it now, you never will. And you talk about wanting to give me better? Well, I don’t want that. I…just…whatever. I’m just done. I want to go home. Can we just please do that?”
“I’m not trying to hurt you, and I’m not making excuses. I’m just trying to process everything.”
She looks up sharply, a shirt in hand. “Jesus, Adam, you’ve had years to do that. You’ve been alone for years already. Just admit it. I was just someone you used to get over your ex. That’s fine. It was good. Yeah, the best I’ve had in a while, but that’s not saying much. You have great bedroom skills. Amazing, actually. And a big dick. Anything else you’d like me to say to pump up your ego? No? That will be three grand then since you said you were into paying me to say nice things.”
“Not that way,” I mutter. God, I’m an asshole, I think. I’m not sure. I don’t want to be one, but Steph sure is making it sound like I am. “You somehow misunderstood me because you’re pissed off. I never used you, and I would never do that. I would never sleep with you to get over someone else. That’s a terrible thing to even consider.” I guess I must sound pretty damn pathetic because Steph looks up again. When she sees I’m serious, that I’m hurting, and I feel like shit too, some of the anger lines knitting her eyebrows together loosen a little.
“Whatever,” she mumbles. “I’m sorry. Maybe I didn’t mean that. I just want to go home. Can you please help me pack?”
What I want to do is take her in my arms and hold her and kiss her and tell her I’m not going anywhere. That I’ve realized so much shit, and as soon as the dust settles, I’ll be able to give her all of me. That maybe I’ve wanted to do that for so much longer than just these past couple of days. That I didn’t realize all these years, at least the past couple, when she’s been working right beside me, I’ve come to depend on her, but also, I’ve come to care about her too.
I’m an idiot. Why did I have to realize it so late? Why didn’t I see it a year ago? The year before that? It was there. I know it was there. I just tamped it down under all the bullshit I preferred to think about and feel instead.
Maybe I didn’t think I deserved to have someone care about me. I don’t know.
Whatever I felt, when I look at Steph and the pain she’s in, even though she’s putting on a brave face and storming around packing, I know I’ve hurt her.
And somehow, this feels so much worse than what happened with Ex-Stephanie just about an hour ago.
CHAPTER 21
Stephanie
A few days off.
This is the first time I’ve ever asked for time off other than the vacation time I’ve booked, and even that is only once a year.
I asked Adam—when he dropped me off at my house—if I could have a few days off, and he just nodded grimly. It made me go a step further and inform him sadly that he didn’t have to pay me. It would only further dilute what we’d shared.
As in past tense.
After what happened with Adam’s ex-wife, I’m pretty sure we’re not going to continue on with being a couple, with dating, and with any sort of relationship other than our work relationship. I don’t think he’s ready. I think the run-in with Stephanie and her spiteful words wounded him beyond ever being ready. They came at the worst time. Any time would have been the worst time, but especially then. We were still in an innocent state of bliss—a fragile, beautiful, and bright beginning like a fresh morning rain-washed and laden with dew, all sparkly and new and sunny. Then Stephanie had come into it like a huge thundercloud, a thundercloud that rained down shit if such a thing was possible. She rained shit all over that beautiful morning and all future mornings.
She ruined everything.
I promised Adam I wasn’t going anywhere, that I wouldn’t, no matter what happened. How easy it was to promise. I didn’t make it lightly, but I didn’t think it would hurt this much. I vastly underestimated how hard it is to be an adult.
And now I’m ten thousand dollars down on my plans for the roof. The money doesn’t matter. It seriously doesn’t, but I can’t fix my roof if I don’t hav
e a job, and I did promise Adam, so after he dropped me off, all the thoughts I had all day yesterday and this morning about quitting were not exactly relevant.
It’s early now, just after five. Of course, I’m awake because I hardly slept last night. Or the night before. I just kept playing what ex-Stephanie had said over and over. How it destroyed Adam and how he looked at me like his entire life—past, present, and future—was broken. Like there was no room in it for the good things like trust, hope, friendship, and maybe even love.
I really wish those time machine socks were a thing. I don’t believe everything is predestined or fated because if I did, I’d have to say Adam and I were fated not to work out no matter what. That the universe was sending us subtle signs by snakes, crashing tents, and sunburns to keep us apart, even if it didn’t work. None of it worked, because nothing is predestined. Well, I’d like to mess with time. I’d like to go back and be the one Adam met. This Stephanie, not the other Stephanie. Not the evil Stephanie who used him from the first, who scarred him so deep that even years later, he still didn’t believe in himself the way he should. I’d like to be the one who he fell in love with, who married him. I’d like to be the one at his side, wrapped up in his arms at night, celebrating all the milestones together, supporting him, and working with him even. Instead, I’m like the second place wife. I manage his life, I get his clothes cleaned, I grocery shop for him, I make sure his house gets cleaned, his pool gets cared for, and I make sure all those details are covered.
But I’m not his wife. Not even a second-place wife. And I never will be.
Those depressing thoughts have kept me company endlessly since I got dropped off. I asked for a few days, but I didn’t specify how many. And Adam didn’t either. I don’t know how many that means, and I don’t know how many more I need before I feel normal again. I’m not going to say good, because I doubt I’ll ever feel good, but a close approximation of normal. More the old me—the Stephanie who was ready to go to work and tackle anything, the Stephanie who didn’t look at her boss with longing, and the Stephanie who was oblivious because she thought she didn’t stand a chance as Adam was emotionally unavailable.
It turns out I wasn’t overly wrong.
He is unavailable. If I had just stuck with that, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much now.
I have a queen-sized bed, and I clutch the pillow from the other side to my chest. I dig my nails in and stare out the window. It’s slowly getting to be light out, and I know that soon, I should get up and do something with my day if I’m not going in to work. The world isn’t going to stop just because my heart hurts. It’s something I’m going to have to learn to deal with, as millions and millions of other people have before me.
I’ve always had shitty luck with men. Why did I think this would be any different? I guess because it felt so different. There have been lots of terrible dates and let-downs, such as guys who have hurt my feelings, and guys who have acted like basic assholes. But this is the first time I’ve ever been truly hurt. And this is the first time my heart was actually at risk.
A noisy truck rattles through the neighborhood, the exhaust loud enough to wake up half the city as well as everyone who was sleeping here. The loud rattle shuts off abruptly, and a volley of loud, male voices take its place.
It’s Friday, and it’s summer, so maybe someone was partying before the weekend and is just getting home now. Maybe someone is coming to a party. The neighborhood might be predominantly an older crowd, but who knows.
I tell myself I don’t really care, and I roll over, still clutching my pillow.
A few minutes later, I can hear what I assume is another truck and more loud voices. I groan into my pillow. Not even five minutes later, which I’m just guessing because I’m not looking at my phone or a clock at the moment, there’s a roar outside—a massive truck pulling up. More voices are greeting each other, and at this point, I have to assume it’s someone getting work done on their house. Maybe getting a pool or a fence put up. Someone lucky enough to be getting new shingles. Something I feel almost hopeless about ever having. I wish it were just shingles because my whole roof is shot. Why did I ever think the house was a good deal? Oh, right. I thought I’d gradually be able to save up enough money to fix it, or I could take out a loan on the equity or something. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
Fuck my life. I’ve always thought that statement was pretty crude, but seriously. Right now, as of this moment, I’m going to use it. Then, in five minutes or so, I’m going to get out of bed, shower, and get dressed. And I’m going to put on a happy face. I’ve heard that if you smile, even a fake smile, it makes you feel happy for real. So, I’ll smile as much as it takes, and I’ll get myself back on track. I’ll get back to work, and I’ll work just as hard as before. Maybe I’ll even take a second job—one on the weekends or evenings or something. I’ll fill up my hours, save up for my roof, and get it done.
Keeping busy isn’t the worst thing in the world. I can handle it for a few months. And if I got a part-time job, in a year, I’d probably be able to save up enough to get the roof done. It doesn’t matter that in a year, the thing might cave in on me. I don’t have a lot of other options.
Pride.
If I wasn’t so damn prideful, I could have had the ten thousand dollars, except I would have looked like a real shit bag asking for it. I couldn’t do that to Adam. I couldn’t hurt him further or make him think the weekend was just about that for me, boiling it down to just being about a buck. That would have been the worst thing I could have done to him. I would never do that. I would never intentionally hurt him, and that would have been rubbing some majorly salty salt in some majorly open and festering wounds.
When my doorbell rings, I actually leap out of bed. I’m so startled, and my heart is pounding so hard that for a second, I’m almost convinced I sprouted some really short-lived wings.
“Holy shit.” I set my hand over my beating heart. It’s five-thirty in the morning. What the heck could someone want?
The trucks. Those guys probably have the wrong address, and they’re likely at the wrong place—my place. I figure I have to go down and tell them, even if I am in grungy sweats and a t-shirt with my hair an epic mess and unshowered. They’ll understand. It’s the butt crack of freaking dawn out there.
I stumble down the stairs, bleary-eyed and off-balance from lack of sleep. I feel every bit as horrible as I probably look. When I pull open the door, though, the big, burly, middle-aged guy doesn’t seem to notice. He just shoves a clipboard at me with some paperwork and has a smile that is far too big for this early in the morning.
“Morning, ma’am. We’re here about the roof.”
“What?” I stare stupidly at the forms that were just thrust into my hand.
“The roof. We quoted on the job, and we had the go-ahead yesterday. It’s paid for already, so the guys and I thought we’d get an early start and get it done as fast as we can. We usually don’t get full payment until the job’s done, and this one doesn’t sound small.”
“If you haven’t seen it, how would you know what you have to do?” I’m more sure than ever that they’re at the wrong house. Ha. Wishful thinking that it would be my roof they’d come to fix. I guess maybe things might be predestined after all because the universe is playing really shitty jokes on me lately.
“We got paid in advance, yes. They weren’t entirely sure of the scope of the job, but it was explained that a new roof was needed, and it might be quite advanced. We were given the approximate square footage. We sent out a quote based on the very rough numbers, and we got payment in full and a promise of further funds if the work is more extensive. I thought I’d ask you if it was alright to take a look, and then we’d get started.”
“Uh, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t pay for anything, and I’m pretty sure you’re at the wrong address.”
“But, you do have a roof that needs fixing?”
“Yes,” I admit carefully. “But I didn’t pay for
it, so I can’t have you do any work. You have the wrong address. You’re probably supposed to be at one of the neighbors.”
The guy lifts a brow, backs up a step, and studies the numbers on the side of the house. “Nope. This is the right place.”
“But I…I didn’t pay for anything.”
“No, you didn’t. But someone named Adam Fino did. He gave us a previous quote from someone who looked at the house for the bank before it was sold.”
“Oh my god.” Now I remember sitting at my desk, studying the appraisal of the house, and looking at the work that would have to be done. I remember talking to someone about it even though I can’t remember who it was now.
I do remember that Adam was in his office, so he probably overhead everything. I scanned the document into my work computer, where I keep a few personal documents as a backup for safekeeping. I’ve asked Adam if it’s alright, saying I don’t have a scanner at home, and he was fine with it. He does have access to my desktop at any time and all my files, as they often need to be shared since they’re work-related. I also have access to most of his desktop, his email, and most of his files as well. I have nothing on my work computer that I ever intended to hide.
That’s where he got the original quote.
When did he do it? Certainly not before we went camping. That wouldn’t have made sense. Could it have been after? Yes, it had to have been.
“Is it alright if we come in and take a look? This can get kind of messy, and we’ll have to cover up a bunch of things and tarp everything off. When it gets down to that, probably later this afternoon, you might want to find somewhere else to stay for a couple of days. It would save you from having us in your hair and literally having no roof .”