Was I any different than the guys who hadn’t given me a chance in the past? If I’d cooled down after our fight, maybe I wouldn’t be debating my level of hypocrisy…or eating salad.
“But where is the line drawn, Janine?”
“There isn’t one.”
I didn’t want to believe that. My life had always been structured so I knew when enough was enough. I’d pulled away from people because of how I was treated and saying there was no limit on risks when it came to Caleb meant wiping everything I believed off the board.
It meant starting over.
She laughed. “Don’t look so scared. Falling in love isn’t supposed to be easy. Remember that, okay?”
Falling in love?
There was no way that was what was happening with Caleb.
…was it?
Janine didn’t give me a chance to answer before heading back out to the office.
I put my fork down and pulled my phone out of my pocket. I’d had it off since I got to work, not wanting to listen to music or know if I had any texts. I wasn’t sure if I was more afraid that there would be a message or wouldn’t.
A little green dot blinked as my answer.
How You Know It Won’t Work:
You tell off your ex-crush at work and then quit your job
September rolled around with a cool breeze that broke the heat wave summer left behind and finally reintroduced sweater weather. AKA the best season ever. The frumpy knit lifesavers hid the amount of sugar consumed to fill the empty void left behind by your sort-of-not-really-boyfriend.
Boy friend? Friend who’s a boy?
Ugh. I needed more chocolate.
It seemed like my days not spent at work were filled with Taylor Swift jam sessions about scorned women and broken hearts. The day Taylor Swift started singing about getting her happily ever after would be the day hell froze over. Her career would be dead and gone, hanging with the devil himself in Alaska 2.0.
Half of my playlist was angry breakup songs that spoke to my soul. While Taylor was my main bitch, I loved blasting Linkin Park and Breaking Benjamin in my office while I debated on what delivery service to order next. At this point, I was sure Dave Chen and his family at China 19 had a plaque of me hanging on their walls as customer of the year.
The sad thing was, I hadn’t even been broken up with. If anything, I’d initiated Splitsville, cruising down the one-way road that led straight to a house filled with forty cats.
But nobody could blame me for taking some time away from the blue-eyed heartbreaker. Me least of all. I’d done the whole sorry-for-myself routine, but now it was time to snap myself out of it.
My text to Caleb three days ago was graced with no response. So, I opted to push him as far back as my mind would allow—behind an impenetrable steel barrier that separated the desperate part of me from the normal side. I’d allow myself to be awkward, but the last thing I was letting myself become was desperate.
Mashed Potato seemingly read my mind, and I was glad she couldn’t voice her opinion on the matter. If she could talk, I’d need therapy. Or an emotional support animal from her alone.
Because hearing what she thought about the pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream I devoured an hour ago, or the Oreo cookie sleeve currently sitting next to me on the couch ready to be loved on, was so not the kind of judgment I needed.
We girls had to stick together, not judge.
“You don’t get it, boo.” I sighed.
Her paw batted the cookie sleeve like she was trying to push it away from my greedy hands.
“Tell you what,” I bargained. “I’ll stop eating my feelings when my pants get too tight.”
Mashed Potato got up and knocked the cookies onto the floor. I gaped at her as she jumped down and sauntered away, as if getting her point across.
My eyes flew to the waistband of my yoga pants. Whoever invented elastic was a person worth marrying. Then again, I was already having a torrid love affair with Ben and Jerry’s and the creator of Reese’s cups.
I popped my bottom lip out. “Damn cat always has to be right,” I grumbled, turning off the television and bringing the cookies back into the kitchen.
I was an emotional eater. Happy, sad, angry, bored, I always had something edible in my hands. If I wasn’t careful, I’d be the next feature on My 600 Pound Life.
Leaning against the counter, I realized that wasn’t an option. The version of me who swore off guys for the sake of my sanity also worked her ass off to love herself in the process. And while food was an important part of the transformation—because I was not about to deprive myself of anything chocolate, cheesy, or fried—I learned what moderation was.
Sigh.
My cat was all about tough love.
I pointed at Tater as I made my way into my bedroom for workout clothes. “You’re annoying but I love you.”
I swore her yowl was prideful.
After yanking on my spandex capris, sports bra, and tank top, I plugged my headphones into my cell and opened my music app.
“Sorry Taylor,” I murmured, skipping over my pity-party playlist. If I was going to work past my funk, I needed to get back into feel-good mode. So, classic rock it was.
Scratching Tater’s butt on the way to the door, I slid my phone into my mesh pocket and made my way outside.
The cool air was welcoming against my skin as I drew in a breath. It filled my lungs with new beginnings and flooded my limbs as I thought about how today was a fresh start. There was no rainclouds or dark skies, or humidity that made my hair look like I’d just stuck my finger in an outlet.
Then again, I’d probably look like that after I was done jogging. Usually thirty seconds down the road I was face-first in the pavement heaving like I’d run a ten-mile marathon.
Just because I wanted to be fit didn’t mean the fit life chose me. The food life though? I was a strong advocate.
As my playlist went through the usual 80’s hits—Bon Jovi, KISS, Twisted Sister. I thought back to when Caleb first watched me dance horribly to Aerosmith. It made me want to change the music, like it should be banned from my memory forever, but I forced myself to listen as I kept jogging.
If I was going to give up on everything I associated with the people that hurt me, I’d live one boring ass life. And that said something considering my life wasn’t that amazing to begin with.
If I let go of everything that made me bitter and stopped expecting so much from so little, I’d be a lot happier. I wouldn’t have to guilt myself into running, which I hated. Or to stop listening to music that I loved just because it made me remember a guy. Or consider not getting my master’s degree just because it’d get in the way of a social life I didn’t even have.
I wasn’t living. I was holding myself back.
I slowed my pace in front of the elementary school, my sneakers coming to a stop an inch before an ant hill in the crevice of the sidewalk. Hunched over with my hands on my upper thighs to catch my breath, I let the thought sink in.
“Well, damn,” I breathed, shaking my head.
There was nothing special that I was holding onto—just familiarity. I’d gone to college, switched my major three times in indecision, and gave up making friends and dating to support myself with a nice apartment after graduation. But what came after that? Washing laundry for the rest of my life? Arguing with customers who thought paying twenty dollars for Ralph Lauren jeans on clearance was too much?
Baby Jesus, what was I doing with my life?
I straightened my spine and sucked in one last breath. My eyes caught the Southside Plaza offset by a patch of trees lining the highway it was next to. It was a sad little shopping mall, but the only source of entertainment with the cinema and Sweet Frog fro-yo store attached to it. Half of the spaces inside were barred up and empty, waiting for new business to take shape, but nobody ever stayed for more than a year. Besides Wilkins, it had a tattoo parlor, JCPenney’s, Shoe Depot, and a used bookstore that was in its final stages o
f closing down.
My feet took me in the direction of the Lettice Highway trail that connected the residential side of Oakland to the business sector. I hadn’t really known what I was going to do when I walked into the double glass doors of my home away from home, but before I knew it I was being blasted by air conditioning and surrounded by half-priced designer clothes.
Not once had I ever purposefully left my apartment in the state of disaster I was sporting right now. My tank clung to my sweaty body, my hair was a frizzy mess coming out of my ponytail, and the spandex pants formed to my hips leaving little to the imagination.
But I didn’t care.
No, instead I let my fed-up anger push me forward while my headphones played Survivor’s “Eye of the Tiger” like shit was about to go down. Regardless of looking like I was chased by a bear into a river where I almost drowned, I owned the new can’t-stop-me attitude.
And when I found the man I’d subconsciously been searching for, I stopped just short of his wide eyes and stricken expression.
Nathan looked like he wanted to piss himself. Whether it was because I was struggling to breathe or was channeling my inner cat woman—claws out and all—I didn’t know. Then again, I wasn’t sure I gave a shit. His fear only fed my confidence in that exact moment.
Jabbing my pointer finger into his shoulder, I said, “You’re an asshole.”
He drew back. “Uh…”
My fists opened and clenched. “Yep. You’re a total dickwad. In fact, I don’t think the English language has a proper name for what you are. I would know. I studied it.”
He blinked like he had no idea what to say, and his silence didn’t help ease any of my irritation. How could he have nothing to say? Did he not care that a woman was telling him off? Did it happen before? Did he think I was insane?
While I was sure the crowd gathering at my obvious distaste over him probably assumed I belonged in a Strait-jacket, it didn’t stop me from the word vomit escaping my twitching lips.
“How many girls do you play games with, Nathan? Does it make you feel good about yourself? Do you sleep better in your little hammock at night knowing you fucked somebody over?”
He tried to respond, but I wouldn’t let him.
“I bet it does!” I yelled, throwing my hands up in the air. “I bet you get your kicks surrounded by your stupid forest and your ridiculous fog machine. And who names their dog Denny? That is a fucking diner, Nathan. Not a pet’s name.”
I remembered what my cat’s name was and backtracked. “Okay, forget that last part. Your dog is adorable and I’m not even angry at him.”
I shook it off. “But you know what? I’m done. I’m sooo over it. No more texts or plans or cuddling. I mean, seriously! Who cuddles with people they’re not interested in? Get your shit together, man! You’re not a goddamn Professional Snuggler! Yeah—that’s a thing.”
I started backing away, my arms shaking with adrenaline. “I just needed to get that off my chest, because I’m worth so much more than you could ever give me.”
The customers who gathered to see my rendition of 2007 Britney Spears didn’t make me want to duck under the jewelry counter to hide. They made me want to do a bow and mic drop before giving them the duce and walking out.
Internally, I was patting myself on the back.
My attention was drawn to the college-age girls giggling over my outburst from the juniors section. The tall blonde looked at Nathan like she might have felt sorry for him, but I was going to shut that shit down.
“FYI ladies,” I said, stopping in front of them, “he has a tiny penis.”
Even the blonde who showed minor interest joined her friends as they burst out laughing. I tipped my head and walked toward the door. But before I could make my exit, I caught eye of Rita, one of the store managers.
“Hey, Rita.” I smiled innocently.
I felt a little bad that she had to see me blowup in front of customers, because I knew how much professionalism meant to her. But I needed to invest in myself somewhere I could grow, because working with people who played women like they were Hugh Hefner royalty was not going to get me anywhere in life.
But a master’s degree? Well, it was a step up from cutting girls out of dresses.
Plus, there was no way I could show my face in this store ever again.
I patted Rita’s shoulder. “I quit.”
I calmly walked out of the store.
A hot shower was exactly what I needed after my little outing, the water easing my sore muscles and clearing my head. Wrapping a towel around my body, I brushed a comb through my damp hair and really looked at myself in the mirror.
I just told random women that Nathan had a tiny penis.
I just quit my job.
The woman’s reflection that stared back at me in the foggy mirror had no tension in her shoulders or worry weighing her lips. She was happier, lighter, and freer.
Part of me knew that Nathan didn’t deserve all that anger. The person who should have gotten a big portion of it was Caleb, but I couldn’t track his ass down as easily.
And I didn’t want to.
My anger was residual at this point. I wasn’t okay with being called Kristen or being accused that I was just like her. But I also didn’t have room to act like people didn’t make mistakes.
After all, I made myself look like a psychotic bitch in public.
Plus, he’d spent years with one person. Despite being apart for so long, he was bound to slipup somehow. Granted, I would have hoped his mistake was ordering the wrong toppings on a pizza, or assuming I was a smaller pants size—things he was used to thinking by default because of her.
I hadn’t even owned a cat for as long as their relationship lasted, so he did have a point about my lack of understanding.
Still, if he ever made me feel like that much of an idiot again, I’d have to castrate him.
Squeezing some water from my hair, I threw it behind my shoulder just as my phone sounded from the kitchen. I tried beating down the hope that blossomed in my chest like a whack-a-mole, not wanting to disappoint myself when I saw anyone but Caleb’s name across the screen.
Holding the towel tight around my body, I noticed Iris’s name and answered it right before it went to voicemail.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Paisley!”
The panic in her tone made me clench the cotton towel tightly in my palm. “What’s wrong?”
My hearted pounded with worry when she didn’t answer.
I gripped the phone tight in my hand and swallowed past the hard lump of emotion that settled in the back of my throat. “Iris? What’s going on? Is it Caleb?”
“Caleb?” she sniffled. “No, it’s Tony. I can’t get ahold of my parents, and I need somebody to watch the kids.”
Relief washed over me, my palm loosening on the towel as I sunk onto the barstool. “What happened?”
She let out a shallow breath. “There was some kind of accident at work and he hit his head. They won’t tell me anything else until I get there.”
“I’ll watch the boys, just breathe,” I directed, slipping off the stool. “I can come pick them up now.”
“I’m almost to your apartment.”
“Oh.” I padded along to my bedroom, closing the door, so I didn’t give a show to anyone who might be in window-shot. “I’m sure everything will be okay. Just take a deep breath and focus on getting the kids here safe.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
After we hung up, I quickly pulled on a maxi dress and threw my hair up in a messy bun. I had no groceries, so I dug through my delivery menus to try picking something that was kid friendly.
Mashed Potato jumped on the counter as I sped read through my options. Iris’s boys were nearly three and six, so chicken tenders or macaroni and cheese seemed like a safe bet, but I’d have to go to Burger King across town just to get them. I had no idea when Iris was arriving, and taking th
e boys anywhere was out of the question because I didn’t have car seats.
I looked at Mashed Potato, distraught. “I am so not ready to have kids, Tater.”
She yowled.
“Are you agreeing?” I wondered.
Her tail twitched like it always did.
I groaned. “Why am I talking to a cat?”
She took offense to that, jumping back down and strolling into the bedroom.
What if Iris’s kids were allergic to cats? I knew they had animals, but I couldn’t remember what. A dog? A hamster? Maybe it was snake. Iris seemed like a reptile person.
No, they definitely had a cat. Her oldest named him Toothless after some dragon movie I’d never seen.
I forced my focus back to food, anxious over not knowing what to do.
There were plenty of people I could have called to help. Mom for one. But that would make her ask about twenty different questions that would somehow lead to a discussion about my future as a maternal figure, and I was not ready to have that conversation with her.
Deciding against reaching out to her, I called the one person who knew these boys as well as their own parents.
Caleb didn’t pick up, making me wait until the automated voicemail cut through the never-ending ringing. I’d always avoided leaving messages no matter who I called. It was a recipe for disaster. Tripping over my words was practically a skill of mine, and knowing it was being recorded only added to the pressure.
But I was desperate for help.
Blowing out a breath as soon as the phone beeped for my recording, I said, “Listen, I know that we’re going through something weird right now, but I know nothing about kids, Caleb, and I need help. They poop a lot, right? Or is that just babies? I mean, how much shit are we talking? And do preschoolers still wear diapers? I can’t remember if Andy is in preschool or pre-k. Is it the same thing? I don’t know how to change a diaper if Max is in one. I think your sister mentioned something about bribing him with toys to use the potty, but that could have been Andy she was talking about. I imagine Andy would need to be potty trained, because how could he be accepted into school smelling like pee? I feel like that’d be a prob—”
Way To My Heart Page 14