by Abby Jimenez
Fuck my uterus.
I had nothing to thank it for. It had ruined my life a thousand times over in a thousand different ways. Every time I bled through my pants in public or vomited from the pain. All the times it stole my energy and robbed me of milestones and opportunities. It ruined relationships and vacations, special moments and dreams.
And it wasn’t done. It would never be done taking from me. When it was gone, it would still take.
She sighed. “How do you intend to explain the surgery to Josh? I mean, the man works in your garage. He’s going to know.”
I looked away from her at the palm trees and birds-of-paradise that lined the mud pool. I did have a plan. I’d given it a lot of thought over the last two weeks.
“I’m going to fire him and break things off the day after your wedding.”
Her eyes flew wide. “What?”
“I was going to end it after that night at karaoke. But then I realized if I did it before the wedding, it might make things weird, and I didn’t want to ruin your special day.”
With the wedding coming up, the four of us were going to be thrown together. Big-time. I couldn’t vouch for how Josh would feel about the end of our arrangement, but I knew I’d have a hard time pretending to be happy once we were done, and Sloan would definitely pick up on that. There was no way that wouldn’t affect her.
So why make things awkward or tense? What was one and a half more weeks? I’d just stick to my rules, like I always did—when I wasn’t drunk—and it would be fine. It was just eleven days.
I looked at Sloan. “I figured we’d get through the wedding and then I’ll tell him I can’t see him anymore. I’m already putting out ads for carpenters. I need to find someone else anyway. He’s been gone for two weeks, and I had to put my stairs on back order.”
She sighed. “Oh, Kristen.”
“What?” I shrugged. “I knew this was all part of it. I sold my soul, Sloan, for a few good weeks. At least I got to have him, even if it was just for a little while. I’ll cut him loose before the surgery, but after your big day. Problem solved.”
Hopefully he’d already have someone on the side he could slide into. It would be easier for us both when the time came.
Well, it would be easier for him.
He would have the women he’d been seeing besides me. He’d have his free time back. We wouldn’t be able to have sex for months after the surgery anyway, so that would put an end to that.
Less than two more weeks until Sloan’s wedding. Less than two more weeks of Josh.
Then it would all be over.
* * *
The phone woke me up at 4:23 in the morning. I didn’t recognize the number, but I knew the Vegas area code. I sat up and hit the Answer Call button groggily. “Hello?”
“Hey…it’s me.”
My lips curled up into a smile. Josh. Drunk Josh by the sound of it.
“Tell me Brandon’s not in need of bail money,” I said, rubbing my eyes.
“No. He’s fine,” he slurred. “I managed to keep him out of jail. Best best man ever.”
I lay on my side and tucked my pillow under my head. “Sloan’s freaking out, by the way. Neither of you answered her calls.”
The truth was I had been freaking out too. Sloan’s talk about Josh sleeping with other people had haunted me all night. And without Sloan knowing where Brandon was, I didn’t know where Josh was. I hated that.
“Shawn threw our phones in the lake in front of the Bellagio.”
I snorted. “What?”
“Yeah. We’re not even in our hotel. We’re at—hold on. The Twisted Palm Motel. We couldn’t make it back. Too drunk.”
“Well, I’m glad you called. At least I can tell Sloan where Brandon is in the morning. He should have gotten to a phone. She worries.” And so do I.
“He’s too fucked up. Shawn made him take a shot every time he said ‘Sloan.’ We had to carry him to the room.”
I cracked up and Josh chuckled with me, a leisurely, tired, intoxicated laugh.
It felt so good to talk to him. I’d missed him so much. I didn’t realize how much until he was on the phone. I wished he were here, in bed with me instead of three hundred miles away.
“I had to go to the business center to call you,” he continued. “I didn’t know your number, so I looked up your website. I’m not sorry I woke you up.”
I scoffed. “Oh, really? And why not? You should feel terrible. I need my beauty sleep.”
“No you don’t. You’re perfect.”
I smiled. “Why, thank you, Drunk Josh. That’s very nice of you to say.”
There was a hiccup in the pause. “What did you do today?”
I told him about the spa and the mud and the suck-for-a-buck shirt. “Sloan made sixty-seven dollars. She’s not speaking to me, but we sold all her Life Savers.”
He laughed. “Do you have pictures?”
“Yeah. I’d send you some, but you don’t have a phone. If you’re still in front of a computer, look me up on Instagram.”
Sloan’s insistence that I connect with him on Instagram finally made me fold. I didn’t have any pictures of him. At least I could cyberstalk him if I followed him on Instagram, look at him when I missed him—which was all the time.
The phone shuffled. “Okay. Hold on.”
I reached under the bed and pulled out my laptop. “Can I follow you too?”
“You can follow me anywhere.”
He was flirty when he was drunk. It was cute. He didn’t usually say things like this to me. I shut it down immediately when he did. But Drunk Josh wasn’t really Josh.
“How come Sober Josh doesn’t have all this swagger, huh?” I teased.
He snorted. “He does. He’s just trying to follow your many rules. Drunk Josh doesn’t live by rules. Drunk Josh does what Drunk Josh wants,” he said, stumbling over the words.
“And what does Drunk Josh want?” I smiled, tapping his name into the search bar on Instagram.
“You.”
I arched an eyebrow. “You’re lucky you’re not here. I’d take advantage of you. You sound too weak to fight me off.”
“I consent.”
I sent him a follow request, laughing at his comment. A second later I got his and approved it.
We got quiet as we looked at each other’s pictures.
“I didn’t know you rock climb,” I said. There was a picture of him hanging off the side of a seriously high cliff face. He had on a harness and helmet, and he looked, as always, so handsome. “And you water-ski.”
“Tyler,” he said dryly.
I forgot I had those pictures on there. Tyler and me at the Marine ball. A few more goofy selfies during his leaves. One of him kissing me.
“Celeste’s pretty,” I countered, looking at picture after picture of them smiling together. She was a Sloan. The kind of woman who doesn’t need makeup. The kind who glows when she smiles.
“You’re prettier,” he said.
“And your dick is bigger than Tyler’s.”
This garnered me a laugh. I could imagine the sparkle in his eyes and the dimples in his cheeks.
I missed him.
The ache ripped through me. I hadn’t seen him in so long, and somehow the separation didn’t lessen how I felt the way it had with Tyler.
Tyler faded. He always faded, even though we’d talk on the phone and Skype and write. But Josh just got brighter. The ache got deeper the longer I went without him.
Hopefully it was the opposite for Josh. I hoped the time away from me had cooled any feelings he might be having, because I didn’t think I could keep my walls up when he got back. I missed him too much, and the time I was going to get with him was too short now.
How was I going to do it when things were over, when I told him after the wedding that I didn’t want to see him anymore? It was going to kill me.
I went back to the photos, and my mood dampened.
There were a lot of pictures of him with his nieces a
nd nephews. Him holding a new baby in a hospital. Giving piggyback rides. One picture had him buried to his neck in sand on a beach somewhere, flanked by two little boys who looked a lot like him, holding red plastic shovels.
“You really love kids, don’t you.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Come to Vegas. Let’s get married.”
I snorted. God, he was fucked up. “And upstage Brandon and Sloan?”
“Come on. Why not?”
“How much have you had to drink?”
Another hiccup. “You’re a unicorn.”
I smirked. Yup. Wasted out of his mind.
He went on. “When you find a unicorn, you marry her. I think about you all the time. Do you ever think about me?”
Always. “Whenever I’m horny.”
He got quiet. It didn’t feel like a comfortable silence. It felt like a disappointed one. At least it was for me. I hated the lies I had to tell.
“Kristen…I think I’m gonna throw up.”
I closed the lid of my laptop. The room went pitch-black again, and I sat there against my headboard in the dark. He wouldn’t remember this call. He was too fucked up.
“Josh?”
It took a long minute until I got a slurred, “Yeah?”
I took a deep breath. “I think about you all the time. I miss you when you’re not with me.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. I do.”
It felt so good to say it out loud. And to say it to him. Even if he was too wasted to retain it, it felt liberating to say just once how I felt.
I spoke low. “When you’re not with me, it feels like I’m hollow. I wonder what you’re doing. Who you’re with. I read your texts a hundred times.” My heart pounded. “I wanted to tell you I missed you back, but I can’t say that stuff to you. But I did miss you. The last two weeks felt like torture.”
He groaned and I heard the dragging of something metallic. Probably a wastebasket.
I sighed. “Josh, don’t black out there. Go back to your room.”
“No. I want to talk to you.” He sounded like he was spitting. He didn’t hear a word I’d said.
We sat in silence for a moment. I wondered if he’d passed out. “Josh?”
“Get Sloan and drive down here tomorrow. Let’s get married. Come on.”
I smiled gently. “I can’t marry you.”
Spitting. “Why? I would be a good husband to you. I would take care of you. I’d be a good dad.”
I moved the phone away from my mouth as a sudden wrenching urge to sob bolted into my throat. I pressed my lips together and forced it back down. “I know you would,” I whispered. “That’s why I can’t.”
More silence.
Then he spoke into my darkness. “I love you.”
My tears spilled down my cheeks and the lump in my throat threatened to suffocate me. “I love you too.”
The line went dead.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Josh
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.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Kristen
I held a bag of In-N-Out and knocked on the door. I checked my watch: 1:15 p.m. It took Josh a while to open it. When he finally did, I saw he hadn’t been kidding—he really was sick. He looked like shit.
His face was expressionless, like he felt too crappy to react to my unannounced visit. Red eyes and a rumpled shirt, like he’d been sleeping in his clothes. Messy hair, like I’d gotten him out of bed.
I smiled. “Hey. Surprise.”
Ugh. I’d missed his face so much.
So much.
When Sloan told me Brandon was home, my heart had leapt in my chest. They were supposed to come home late tonight and Josh had work tomorrow morning, so I wasn’t supposed to see him for three more days. Usually I’d just ride it out and wait for him to come back over. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t wait three more days to see him when I knew he was at home. So I broke my own rule and invited him over. And once I found out he was sick, I broke another one of my rules and went to him.
He didn’t move to let me in. He just stared at me.
“Uh, can I come in?” I asked, looking around him into his apartment.
He stood there for another few seconds, then pushed open the door and walked silently back inside.
I followed him in, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. He couldn’t still be hungover, two days later. Maybe the strike team and the trip had finally caught up to him. He must have been pretty worn down.