Him: You aren’t. It’s your frustration talking. Just tell me what happened.
So I take a deep breath, a deep swallow of sparkling wine, and start typing. Sticking to the facts and not adding any judgmental comments, I spill every awful detail of the day and add my reactions and why I think I was wrong. I backtrack and tell him about perception being reality and how tired I am of Ziggy telling me to “breathe into it” instead of doing anything about a situation. Blake doesn’t interrupt at all, and when I’ve finished, there’s no response, which makes me reach for more wine and chocolate. Is he disappointed in me too and trying to think of something to say? I can’t take the suspense anymore, so I type another response before he’s answered.
Me: Are you still there?
Him: Uh, yeah. Just stunned.
Me: See? I told you I’m a raging asshole and—
Him: YOU are NOT the asshole in this situation!
My fingers hover over the keys as I wait for him to finish typing. I don’t want to feel like a jerk, but the bleak feeling weighing my shoulders and heart tell me that there’s nothing he can say to make this better. The truth is, I’m a horrible person—but I don’t want to feel like I am.
Him: The smocks suck. Uniforms are bullshit, and it’s brutal that they went about it in such an underhanded, passive-aggressive way. If they wanted to implement uniforms, they should have just come right out and told you they wanted you to wear one. Acting like they were for everyone when they only want you to have one is just mean. Besides, you’re gorgeous and could rock a paper bag, so the way you look isn’t an issue if you’re worried about that.
Me: I guess, but they were thinking of me, on some level.
Him: Disagree, but I’m not even done.
I smile and feel a little lighter. His next response takes a minute.
Him: Second of all, your ovaries are none of their fucking business. Your body is none of their business. I can’t believe they told you to stop a valid personal choice that is none of their concern. No, I can believe it because they are assholes who think they know everything about everything and can presume to boss people around.
Me: :)
Him: Still not done. Them having no boundaries pisses me off. It’s invasive and inappropriate and makes me cringe thinking of you being trapped there for hours and hours every day. I want to go over there and give them shit. I’ll swap the decaf tea bags for caffeinated! I’ll put GMO veggies in the fridge. I’ll pour fake satanic symbols onto the floor with refined, white sugar then steal you away and never take you back.
My insides are getting tingly. He always goes out of his way to make sure he asks how I’m doing, but the best part is he truly listens and remembers everything I’ve said. He truly cares.
Him: Damn it. I hate thinking of you there all alone, immersed in their bullshit, letting them make you think you’re a bad person.
Me: But maybe they’re not all bad.
Him: Period. Blood. Tea.
Me: Okay, that was supremely messed up.
Him: I puked in my mouth a little bit. Seriously, if a woman ever did that to me, I’d sue her.
Me: Yeah, that was nasty.
Him: I don’t know how you controlled your face and didn’t freak out when they told you that.
Me: It was hard. And like I told you, I didn’t. I was mean and hurt Fern’s feelings.
Him: Screw Fern. She can just “breathe into it.”
I snort, but a teeny twinge of guilt slithers through me. Maybe their views aren’t totally bad though. I still think I might be viewing things with a bias, you know?
Him: Uh-oh. You’re starting to identify with your captors! Stockholm syndrome!
Am I?
Him: Sarah, they aren’t good people. Maybe they aren’t horrible people, but that doesn’t mean they are GOOD. They bought into their own bullshit, thinking it’s the truth. They won’t solve any of the conflicts between you and Phyllis, but they’ll lecture you about anything they disagree with? No way. They are the ones in the wrong here, not you. Don’t ever think that you’re a bad person. The fact that you feel bad that you MIGHT have hurt Fern’s feelings shows me how good a person you truly are.
Hope swells in my chest. You really think so?
Him: I know so. You’re direct. And that’s tough when you’re in a place where they view their own perception as reality. I mean, how narcissistic and messed up is that?
Yes! That part I can’t defend at all. Perception ISN’T reality. REALITY is reality.
Him: Keep that in mind. The reality is that they are loopy hippies and are living in a dream world. Some of their things are good—self-improvement, recycling, etc. But the rest is crap. Don’t buy into their granola, fair-trade world.
His reference to the sugar makes me smile. Thanks for listening to me.
Him: Always.
Me: I feel like all I do is bitch when we talk, spewing hippie bullshit all over you.
Him: Not true at all. Besides, I love that you can talk to me about your problems. You need to talk about things instead of holding them inside. Do you talk to other people about this?
Not really. Pete doesn’t get it, and my girlfriends seem to only see the humor of the situation, which is frustrating as hell. Except for Naomi, but she ends up profusely apologizing when all I want to do is vent, and then I end up comforting her and trying to assuage her guilt.
Him: Then I’m glad you’re able to talk to me about it. I love that you share parts of your life with me.
Me: Parts? I’ve basically been spilling my guts to you about everything in my life since the first time we chatted.
He lets me be myself. He knows me better than anyone else in the world right now—because we talk about now. It makes me realize that I might not know my friends very well right now either. I know them as they were the last time we really talked, but when was that?
Him: It’s not often we sit around baring our souls to someone, talking about the things that really matter. We ask how their families are, their partners. How work’s going? Did you see the latest episode of that show?
Me: Exactly! It feels incredibly shallow after being able to indulge in the conversations you and I have had. It’s gotten to where I don’t even call anyone else to talk.
I pause over the next words but type them anyway.
Me: I head straight for you now, not bothering to even try to talk to anyone else. You’re always here for me, and I really appreciate it. I feel like you really listen to me. Like you’re not just waiting until I stop talking so you can speak.
Him: Same here. I like seeing the world from your eyes. I’m the one who’s thankful you’ve let me into your thoughts.
And heart.
He keeps typing, and I wait for his words. The thought of you feeling bad…knowing someone hurt you…makes me crazy. I wish I could protect you from hurt.
Me: Me too.
Him: Sarah, I really like you. I feel like with you, I can share things about myself that no one else knows. It’s easy to talk to you. It’s hard for me to open up to people, but with you it feels natural.
Me: I feel the same way.
Him: I miss you when you’re gone.
Me too. I look forward to his conversations all day. I’m sorry I didn’t show up. The words are hard to write, but that bandage has to be ripped off. And I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you again the other night.
Him: It’s okay. Full disclosure? I didn’t show up the first time either.
The fact Blake didn’t show up makes me feel better—and curious. Why didn’t you show up?
Him: Scared it was too soon. It felt too early.
Me: That’s my fault. I pushed you into agreeing. And then bailed on you. I’m such a jerk! You were right about the situation.
Him: Thank you, but you’re not a jerk.
Me: But you asked me if I wanted to meet up the other night?
It’s a while before he replies. Maybe it’s not too soon anymore.
My hea
rt slams into overdrive. I feel a bit…conflicted.
Him: Because everything is perfect right now, and safe, and because we haven’t met yet we can continue to be ourselves and idealize everything?
Get out of my head! I smile.
Him: Go out with me.
Me: You want to go on a date?
He replies right away. I want you to be my girlfriend.
Oh.
Him: I know it seems sudden, but I… Ugh. I’m just going to put it out there. I’ve fallen for you. In a big way. And I don’t want to lose you to someone else because I didn’t let you know how I feel. I’ve wanted to tell you for ages but never felt like the timing was right.
Wow.
Him: Say something.
I wait for a bad feeling or refusal to rise, but nothing comes up. Just a feeling of happiness and a shy optimism, like maybe this could really work out. Because he knows me. He understands me like no one else does. Jack’s face flits through my mind, but I push thoughts of him away. He gets my body, but we never really talk. Our relationship isn’t even a relationship. Not like mine and Blake’s is. Jack and I have incredible sex, but it doesn’t go further than that.
Blake and I have conversations that feel like forever. He’s perfect for me on paper and in reality…which means I can’t see Jack anymore. Because if I continue sleeping with him while feeling this way about Blake—and Blake feels this way about me—then I’m as bad as Mom. And I never wanted to be with someone who treated me the way she treated Dad. I swore I’d never be like her.
Me: It’s not that I don’t want to, but…it’s complicated. I’m not saying no, but I need time to think about it. Okay?
Him: Guess we should figure a day to meet in person.
Definitely. I want to give us a chance, but if I dove into exclusivity, I’d have to say good-bye to Jack—and I’m not quite ready to do that. Am I? I’ll talk to you later, okay?
Him: Okay.
Time to make a phone call.
He answers on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Hey, Jack.”
“God, I love hearing your voice.”
I can’t do this over the phone—that’s not fair to him. I’m going to have to do this in person. “Listen, do you want to come over? We need to talk.”
“Definitely. Should I bring supper?”
“No, that’s cool.”
“Something to drink?”
I swallow down the nerves. “No, I’m good.”
“All right. I’ll see you in an hour?”
“Sounds good. See you then.”
“Bye.”
Maybe things won’t be perfect between Blake and me, but I have to choose one man or the other.
Jack and I don’t really talk, other than foreplay. He doesn’t ask about my day. With him, I’d always be a little bit alone, left when he’s off having late nights to deal with work—or play? Could I ever truly trust him to settle for only me when shinier options shimmy around him every night? Even if I could trust him and get used to his business, he’s not emotionally available to me like Blake is. I don’t know where he’s at unless our clothes are off. What kind of relationship is that? We don’t talk to each other. I don’t even know if I mean more to him than friends.
And Jack doesn’t seem to want more than what we have together. Blake does. He wants a full, real, grown-up relationship. He asked me, and that has forced me to make a decision.
It’s time to move on with the man I see a future with.
Chapter 24
“I know you said no to supper, but I grabbed a couple of panini from that bodega you like, just in case.”
“Oh. Thanks.” Taking the bag with a smile, I move to the kitchen and grab a couple of plates for us. With the conversation to come, I’m so not hungry. Now we’ll have to sit through a hellish supper before I can tell him we can’t sleep together anymore. “Cola?”
“Sounds good.”
While I’d feel more comfortable drinking my way through a vat of wine, I owe it to Jack to do this as tactfully as I can and while sober. Or mostly sober—I’ve had a glass of wine since I got home.
“You made it sound sinister on the phone. ‘We need to talk.’”
“I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea and come in here kisses blazing.”
He takes his plate with a smile and follows me to the living room, settling opposite me on the couch. “I can see that. The last time we spoke was intense.”
I smile. “There wasn’t much talking at all. You nailed me over your island. I rode you in your bed.”
He looks surprised. “I meant after.”
It had been an amazing kiss when he dropped me off. He’d looked at me as if he wanted to have a long talk but hadn’t said anything. “A few things have happened to me since I saw you that night, Jack.” Things involving a sexy massage therapist working his way into my heart and asking me to be exclusive. He said he’s falling for me and wants more. I want more too.
“Like what?”
My sandwich tastes like sawdust. Why are the words so hard to find? It’s just Jack and me—we’ve been friends forever. The only difference is we’ll be going back to the way we used to be. And taking us back to where we were proves I’m a good person. I refuse to lead them both on and then tear their hearts out. “Nothing bad. Don’t look so worried. Eat your sandwich. You’re looking skinnier than usual.”
“I haven’t been sleeping well.” He resumes eating.
His unusual confession throws me off. “Why not? Everything okay? Is Pete okay? I haven’t heard from him much lately.”
“I haven’t heard much from him either.” He narrows his eyes. “But he’s been really quiet. I don’t like it.”
“Me neither. Things feel wrong when he’s not there being obnoxiously loud.”
“Do you miss living with him?”
The Coke burns a cold trail down my throat, making my eyes water. “I loved spending time with him, and I miss him, but no. I definitely like having my own place better.”
“I like you having your own place better too.”
I want to launch myself up his body and bite that lip, but no. I have to think of Blake now. It wouldn’t be fair to him to sleep with Jack. If I’m going to be Blake’s girlfriend, I have to be exclusive. But is that what I want?
Jack sips his Coke. “I can’t stop thinking about how sexy you were the other night. You’ve never been so unrestrained.”
Unable to sit still any longer, I stand and pace.
He sets his sandwich down. “What’s wrong?”
Everything. Nothing. “You can’t talk to me that way anymore.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Jack’s at my side in a second. “Why?”
“This shouldn’t be so hard. We were never anything serious.” I’m speaking more to myself than anything else, but he answers.
“We were friends. And now we’re more.”
I shake my head. “We were friends and we slept together. But that’s it. That’s all it ever could have been.”
“What, so you think I’m good enough to fuck, but not good enough to have a conversation with?”
I wring my hands. “No, it’s not that.” And he’s the one who never lets me in.
“Then what is it?”
I didn’t want to tell him. I didn’t want to tell anyone about Blake and me. It’s too soon, too nebulous to talk about with other people. But it feels right. “I’ve met someone.”
“What?”
“And we really connected. We met online a few weeks ago. You don’t know him.”
“Online?” He looks like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or leave.
“Yes.”
“So you’re stopping us because of some random guy you met on a dating site who you might have feelings for?”
“It wasn’t a dating site.” Not that that matters. “But, yeah. I have to give him a chance, and it’s not fair to be with you both. I refuse to be that person
.”
“You’ll give him a fair shot but I get shut out before even getting a chance.”
“I’m not shutting you out! I never shut you out.”
He steps closer, taking my hands. “Then let me in.”
My eyes close. Now he wants to talk and share more than a bed? His thumbs running against the backs of my hands are driving me crazy. “I did.”
“No, you didn’t and we both know it. I can make you scream my name in bed, but I can’t get you to call me and talk to me about your day.”
I didn’t know he wanted more. I was waiting for him to want more when all along I was the one keeping this physical only. Right? But if he wanted more, he could have used his fucking words. I have to face facts, so I force myself to look at him. “Our relationship isn’t—wasn’t—like that. We both know the score. All it was ever going to be was something casual and fun, or you’d have said something.”
“It was never just sex to me.”
“It wasn’t to me either.” Shit. I don’t mean to encourage him, but I can’t stand the betrayal in his eyes. Not when he does mean so much more to me than sex. “I thought you were content to carry on the way we have been.”
“You’re wrong. We could be great together. We are great together.” His hand caresses my face, making me shiver. “Tell me you don’t feel the connection between us.”
I should choose Blake, but I still want Jack too. What’s wrong with me? “I can’t.” My voice is barely a whisper.
He licks his lips. “What we have is real.” He pulls me into his embrace, and despite myself, I wrap my arms around him and squeeze tight. I don’t want to let him go either. “It’s powerful.”
“Jack, I—”
“I’m what you need,” he whispers into my hair. “I’m not just a walking cock. Don’t pretend I mean nothing more to you than that.”
God, I’m dying. I welcomed Jack into my bed and he’s crawled underneath my skin, burrowed inside me, and it would be easier to tear out my bones and watch them walk out the door than to say good-bye to him now. I’d written him off as a possibility because I thought I should, but it doesn’t feel right to end it now.
Missed Connections Page 17