Missed Connections

by Tamara Mataya

  “Pete’s a guy, so he wouldn’t have that—but because he’s gay, if he runs into bigots, then he’s extra vulnerable. And if he’s walking around worried that someone’s following him to hurt him for something he can’t change?” I shake my head. “I don’t want him feeling that. Knowing what happened—what almost happened—at the club that night will do absolutely no good.”

  “He’s been in some situations like this before, but not for years. Not since we were in school. The world’s a better place than it was even a few years ago. Or I thought it was.”

  “All the more reason to let him feel like that’s firmly in his past.”

  “I agree.”

  He’s always been Pete’s protector, looking out for him, defending him even when Pete has no idea. How many other fights has Jack gotten into that Pete never knew about? Jack’s like Pete’s personal superhero, working from the shadows to keep his twin safe. I kiss his cheek, liking the way he’s letting me in. “What about you? What are you scared of?”

  He stares at the ceiling. “Time.” He takes a breath like that revelation was taxing.

  “You’re afraid of dying?”

  “No. I’m worried that my time will run out before I get to do the things I want to. Not getting the chance to experience things I need to. The funny thing is, I haven’t even discovered what most of those things are yet.”

  “So you’ll need time for that as well.”

  “Exactly.”

  Was that part of what freaked him out so much tonight? He got to thinking about time and how we’re all just zooming along in our lives, and it got to be too much for him all at once? Maybe he almost got in a car accident. He needed me to distract him for a while from the ticking of the clock in his mind. “Then I’m glad you’re wasting some of your time with me.” I kiss his nose.

  “Time with you is never a waste. Lately it’s the only time that makes sense to me.”

  His words creep from his lips into my heart and squeeze. Unable to speak, I kiss him again.

  Chapter 28

  My head hurts, and I have no appetite. Probably because I’m stuffed with the guilt of leading Blake and Jack on and not making a decision. Blake is usually the one I talk to about my problems, so it’s weird that my first inclination is to talk to him to sort this out, because I can’t.

  Nor can I continue to drown in pleasure with Jack. It makes me feel amazing at the time, but when he’s gone, I crash and feel like crap again. And since Jack has been opening up emotionally, and Blake and I connected sexually, things are more confusing than ever.

  Maybe we can move to a commune and all be hippie, happy lovers? Somehow, I don’t think Blake or Jack are polyamorous. I wonder if cheating is genetic. Either way, that’s no excuse.

  “Are you planning on doing any work today, or are you going to just sit there looking stupid?”

  “Excuse me?” Disbelief that Phyllis would say this at all, never mind in front of two clients in the waiting room, disintegrates any snappy comeback.

  “You heard me.”

  “I don’t feel like this is a discussion to be having right now.”

  “Whatever.” She looks at her client. “Come right on in, Steph.” Steph follows Phyllis into her room, and the door closes.

  What the hell? I try to compose myself and not make a scene in front of the remaining client, but I can’t handle this today. “Meryl? Will you come with me? I’ll get you settled into a room for Ziggy.”

  Meryl follows me with a small smile. She’s one of Ziggy’s regulars, a regal, elderly woman who, Naomi told me, wears fur coats if the weather dips below fifty-five degrees, which I take to mean Meryl comes from money. That, and she’s got a boy toy, though he’s in his late fifties himself.

  “Ziggy will be right in.”

  “Sarah?”

  I turn back to her. “Yes?”

  “Don’t let her push you around. And don’t trust her as far as you can throw her either.”

  “She’s not all evil. I think.”

  Meryl laughs. “Girls like her never change. I’ll say no more. But I like you. You’re a hard worker and a lot nicer than the other girl they had working the desk.”

  “Thank you.” This time I don’t have to force a smile. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that today.”

  She pats my shoulder, and I leave the room. She’s right. Screw Phyllis—she was supremely unprofessional, and I’m going to talk to Ziggy or Fern about it the first chance I get. Grin-and-bear-it time is over. Fern saw the other day that Phyllis has an attitude with me. Maybe if I tell her about this, she’ll understand that wasn’t an isolated incident and Phyllis will get put on probation or something. It’s too much to hope that she’d be fired outright, but I can’t see Fern letting go of something that could potentially cost the business money. Phyllis and Fern seem close, but Fern cares about the business.

  My first chance comes at lunchtime. Phyllis cut out early, and Ziggy’s client left a couple of minutes ago. He ran to grab a sandwich from the grocery store. It’s better to let him eat something and then I’ll tell him. I get impatient and snappy when I’m hungry and someone’s preventing my food intake, so I’ll wait for a few calories to hit his stomach. He comes back and rushes past with a bag throwing off the scent of melted cheese, bacon, and turkey. I give him exactly five minutes, then walk back to the kitchen and peer inside.

  “Ziggy?”

  He swallows and looks up. “Yes?”

  “I wanted to bring to your attention some behavior that I think is inappropriate for the workplace. Phyllis insulted me in front of clients, berating me and being verbally abusive.”

  “Ah.” He dabs his mouth with a hand towel (because napkins are evil). “That’s not what she said happened when she texted me before lunch.”

  Bitch! “What did she say?”

  “She said that you were fooling around online during work hours, and when she reminded you that that is inappropriate, you resorted to name calling.”

  “That’s not what happened at all.”

  “Phyllis doesn’t lie, Sarah. No one in this office tells lies. We’re very selective about our employees, and there are no liars here. We’d feel the energy immediately.”

  “Then I guess you made a mistake with her because she hates me and is lying about me.”

  He looks awed. “She said you’d say as much. Fern and I know that perception is reality and that the truth of the situation lives in the middle. Either way, this is something we might want to look at working out etherically with Phyllis at the retreat this weekend.”

  Etherically. The hippie way of feeling good about not actually doing anything. “I’d prefer we sat down and worked things out right now, to be honest. Maybe you and Fern could mediate so we could sort this out once and for all.”

  “We don’t want confrontational or defensive energy here. It’s best that you work it out with her this weekend.”

  “I thought Phyllis wasn’t coming this weekend.” Great, just what I need: to be trapped at a hippie retreat with a woman who might try to slit my throat in my sleep. No thanks.

  “Oh, she’s not. You’d work on it etherically, energetically. Your spirit will talk to hers and work things out between you. It’s very powerful.”

  I want to kick him right in the root chakra.

  “Was that all?”

  “Yeah.” Disgusted, I turn and walk out. The phone’s ringing when I get back to my desk. “Inner Space.”

  “You know, you’ve really got some nerve. But did you actually think you could beat me? Honey, you’ve got to up your game.”

  “Phyllis? Something I can help you with?” I inject as much sarcasm as humanly possible into my voice since the waiting room is now empty.

  “The sad thing is, you truly think you’re going to win. You’re not. You’re a pathetic little nothing. You have nothing to fall back on if you—no, make that when you get fired. You’re a receptionist. Do you know how fucking insignificant you are? How
replaceable you are?”

  “I’m a paralegal. I have the shiny degree and everything.”

  “Yet look at where you are. Wearing a smock and changing used bedding. Doing laundry and dishes for people who know how disposable you are. Did you need a degree for that too?”

  I don’t hang up because then she’ll think she’s getting to me.

  “Ziggy and Fern will fire you. I’ll make sure of that. And then, ten minutes later, they’ll have hired someone to take your place at the desk. You’re nothing.”

  “If I’m nothing, you sure spend a lot of time talking to me about the same crap. Who are you trying to convince? Me, or yourself?”

  “That’s cute. But the thing you really should be focusing on is what you’re fighting for. Seriously. You love Inner Space so much you’re willing to tangle with me? Sweetie, I’m an orange belt and a firecracker. I eat little bitches like you for breakfast. I’ve stabbed bitches bigger than you.”

  That I do believe.

  She continues. “Watch your back. It would be better for your health if you quit. Besides, you don’t even want to be one of us. Why are you fighting so hard to stay?”

  I laugh when it hits me—I’ve gotten under her skin just as much as she’s gotten under mine. She isn’t antagonizing me for something to do. She really wants me out of here because, in her mind, I’m her nemesis.

  With a triumphant smile, I hang up on her. The annoying part of the conversation is that she’s right. I don’t want to be one of them. The thought of doing Fern’s course makes me itchy, but for some reason, I’m going along with it and fighting to stay here. Why haven’t I been looking for another job as hard as I could have been? Have I just been sucked into the competition with Phyllis?

  * * *

  Later, at home, my phone rings. Call display shows Pete’s number. I answer with a heavy heart.

  “Hello?” God, I hope he’s not calling to ream me out more. Today has been filled with too much everything already, and I can’t take more. I’m at saturation point.

  “You okay?”

  Yeah, like I can bitch about anything after a client’s hair came out in his hands. She and Pete have way worse things to worry about and deserve more sympathy than I do. Hell, my situation doesn’t require sympathy at all. “I’m fine.”

  “Liar. Look, I’m sorry for being a bitch the other day. You needed me, and I wasn’t there.”

  “Pete, you had a shittier day than I can even fathom. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

  “All the sorrys in the world won’t fix things. And all problems are relative, right?”

  “I guess. But really, it’s fine. You don’t need me unloading all over you again.”

  “Bitch, please. There were starving kids in Africa when I called you and pissed and moaned about not getting floor tickets to Gaga. Right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And there were women being subjugated all over the world when I called and cried over Thomas standing me up after I’d spent all day making him that picnic lunch—and then when I bawled all over your living room when we broke up two days later, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, spill. I want to hear all about this massage therapist who isn’t a hippie who you have delusions about being just as cute as my brother. My twin brother. Who you are sleeping with, which must mean you think I’m the bee’s knees.”

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t pick up on that.”

  “I always knew you thought I was hot. How long have you been in love with me?”

  I smile. “Jack is hot. You’re too groomed.”

  “Denial. Anyway, tell me about this online fiasco.”

  With more coherency than during the other night’s phone call, I walk him through each relationship from beginning to end, blushing at the naughtier parts. The great thing about Pete is that he only interrupts to clarify things. Ten minutes later, I’m flushed and still confused but feeling lighter.

  He’s quiet for a minute when I finish catching him up. “I really wish you’d have told me this all along.”

  I sigh and flip around on the couch so my feet touch the wall. I trace invisible patterns with my toes. “Me too. Things might not have been in such a big mess.”

  “No, they’d still be in a mess. But I was right the other night when I said you need to choose. I know you’re freaking out about history repeating and becoming your mother, even though that is utter bullshit and you’re nothing alike. So you need to choose which guy to be with as soon as possible for your sanity’s sake.”

  “The thought I’m just like her has been dancing through my conscience. The reason I called you in the first place was because I need help choosing between the two of them. Carrying on with them both isn’t right at all, and I hate myself for it more every day. I already know I need to make a decision; I’m just terrified of making the wrong one.”

  “Unless you date them both in an open relationship. Poly is in.”

  “I thought about that too, but I’m not built like that.”

  “I don’t know about this Blake, but neither is Jack, so that option’s out.”

  “So who’s the one? How do I know?”

  He hums. “Who’s the first one you think of every day when you wake up?”

  “Blake.”

  “Who’s the last one you think of at night?”

  “Jack.”

  “Sarah! You’re not making this easy.”

  “I’m torn. I can’t help it! I think of them both, dream of them both, want them both. Pete, I think…I think I love them both, and it’s killing me. The more time that goes by, the more the lines are blurring.”

  “How?”

  “Blake and I sort of had cybersex the other night. And Jack and I actually talked instead of just having incredible sex. I can see myself with either of these guys and being completely happy. I just don’t know which one I need to be with and which I have to say good-bye to.”

  “Who gives you a more visceral reaction when you think of him?”

  “Jack. No competition. But I haven’t slept with Blake, so I feel like that might not be a fair comparison.”

  “Then you need to think about who is better for you outside the bedroom. Sex eventually cools down. So you have to decide who is the one you can rely on no matter what. Who do you call or turn to when you have problems?”

  “I can rely on them both, but the one I think to call when I need to talk is Blake.” Always Blake. “Not being able to talk to him as much while I decide between them has been awful.”

  “Then, Sarah, I think he’s your answer. The man you turn to when you have a problem is the one. And as much as I’d love for you to be legit family and marry and make gorgeous babies with my brother, sex isn’t love, no matter how hot it is. You’ve been friends all along, but on the periphery. Not friends like you and I are. So mostly, all you have is sex. And it’s probably amazing because he’s my brother and there’s no way my twin could be anything less than a sex god.”

  “But I haven’t given Jack the chance to be there for me. Ugh! I love them both. I never knew that was a possibility. I always thought that was some bullshit people used to cheat on their partners.” I can tell myself I’m different than my mom, but I don’t know what her intentions were. I just saw the fallout. Maybe she felt as conflicted as I do right now. Maybe cheating is genetic and I’ve been doomed from the start. But I don’t want this. “But now I’m smack-dab in that situation and I totally get it and I’m miserable. I always thought love was infinite. But it’s not. I need one person to give myself to completely. Just one. Right now I’m being torn in half emotionally, and I can’t keep this up.”

  “The real question is who do you love more?”

  I bite my lip and tell the truth. “I’m not sure.”

  Chapter 29

  It has to be close to six in the morning. With a violent shiver, I push the air from my lungs, trying to see my breath and feeling surprised when I can’t. Sitting up as quietly as I can, I g
rab my hoodie from my bag and put it on over my pajama top. How the hell am I supposed to flit around in the morning filled with love and light when I’ve slept for maybe forty-five minutes—freezing my ass off—and am absolutely starving?

  Visions of a hot breakfast float through my mind. Buttery waffles drowning in heated syrup. A side of crispy bacon. Scalding hot coffee with lots of cream and sugar to replenish the calories I’ve missed by not eating for most of yesterday…all served by a hot, naked waiter with a hot, Scottish accent…

  Part of the Awakening includes an all-day fast on day one, which is really only three hours, since we arrived just before six and got to leave the circle at nine p.m. It wouldn’t have been bad, but Fern and Ziggy drove me here right after work on Friday, so I didn’t get supper. They wouldn’t stop at a fast-food place so I could grab a bite. Not even a drive-through. Instead, I got a rant about GMOs and hydrogenated oils corrupting my soul star. Whatever the hell that is. They munched happily on road snacks and never offered me any. I didn’t want to ask for some, afraid of what might lurk within the granola clusters, so I arrived at the workshop hungry and annoyed.

  Tightly wrapping the itchy wool blanket around my shoulders, I glare around the room. It’s definitely not the glossy-brochure retreat experience I’d hoped for. Screw our own rooms; we don’t even have our own beds. Seven of us are crammed onto straw mats in a small room. Not even an air mattress in sight. My pillow has the size and comfort of a lump of unleavened bread. I wasn’t expecting much, but this is ridiculous. Are Ziggy and Fern making everyone slum it so they can take home more money?

  So far, the workshop itself hasn’t been quite as invasive as I thought it would be. The twenty-two of us—twenty participants plus Fern and Ziggy—sat on the floor in a circle and introduced ourselves. We had to state our intentions for the course, meaning what we hoped to get out of the workshop. That took up a fair amount of the evening, because some people crammed a life story into an intro that was supposed to be a minute long—and, of course, nobody reined them in.