Pause

by Kylie Scott

  A grunt from her. “Men. Who the hell knows?”

  “Whatever works, honestly,” I say. “I just want out.”

  She makes a humming noise.

  “Bizarre to think I was going to spend my life with him and now I’ll probably never speak to him again.”

  “Bizarre or for the best?”

  “A bit of both. So how are things with you?”

  “The job is fine. My apartment is terrific. And Tony wants to get back together.”

  “The new job is working out?”

  “Yes. I like the people. And I’m on track for that corner office and partnership by forty, so yes, work is fine.”

  “Go, you good thing. Yay or nay on Tony?” I lie on my childhood bed, relaxing after an intense occupational therapy session this morning. Four months since waking up and there’s no end to the work in sight. But I’m getting there.

  “Undecided,” says Briar. “He fucks like a beast, but is emotionally wanting.”

  “Hmm. Hard call.”

  “And he gave me a gift certificate for Christmas.”

  “That’s bad?” I ask. Certificates were Ryan’s gifting present of choice on account of me being impossible to shop for. I can be a fussy thing.

  “It hints at a lack of careful thought and consideration when it comes to making me happy,” she says.

  “Okay. I can see that. Though he might just have no shopping skills.”

  “No.” Briar sighs. “The lack of care shows up in other areas of our attempted life together as well.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too. We’re compatible in some ways. Just not enough of the ones that matter.” She makes a humming noise. “So I guess that answers that.”

  “That’s sad.”

  “Yeah,” she says. “Well, no. I’m happy to keep dating. We’re not even thirty yet, for goodness sake. Who says we have to have it all together and be settled down by a certain age? That’s nonsense. We’re probably not even a third of the way through our lives. There’s a ton more for us to explore and experience.”

  “That’s a very valid point.” I stare at the shadows on the wall made by the tree outside my childhood bedroom window. Even after months of being back it still feels strange. It feels like a failure. Like a setback. That’s the truth. “Though I thought I had it all together.”

  “Life threw you a curve ball.”

  “It sure did. In the shape of a car. It knocked me on my ass.” I open my eyes painfully wide. “If I haven’t said it before, thank you for sticking with me through all of this and listening to my moaning.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  I don’t know what else to say. My brain is both a blank and a rush of blah. Perhaps it’s a mood swing kicking in, which is normal and to be expected. Another side effect to be managed.

  “How did it feel kissing someone who wasn’t Ryan?” she asks.

  “Exciting. Weird. And then wrong. Very, very wrong. Mostly because he rejected me, which is bound to be a downer.”

  “Eh. It happens. Better luck next time.”

  “I’ve learned my lesson. Don’t think I’ll be rushing back for more anytime soon.”

  “Take your time. You’ll be ready when it’s right,” she says. “And then you too can once more confront the eternal dating questions of what the fuck are they even thinking, what does it all mean, and what the hell do I do now?”

  I laugh.

  “Celine reached out to me again,” she adds.

  “Huh.”

  “Wanted to tell me all about the baby and so on.”

  I both do and do not want to know. “Okay.”

  Briar clears her throat. “She’s had real bad morning sickness. It’s been a pretty rough pregnancy, apparently. Tired and nauseous all the time.”

  “Oh.”

  “I told her I was sorry to hear that, but that unless you magically decided to forgive her I didn’t have anything much to say to her.”

  “I appreciate the solidarity,” I say. “But you don’t have to pick sides. We’ve all been friends a long time. I understand if you want to talk to her.”

  “And if that had been me in that bed and my husband with Celine?”

  I swallow hard. “Then I’d be done with her.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I’m sorry to hear she’s having a tough time, but . . .”

  “But . . .” repeats Briar.

  “Exactly,” I say as I nestle deeper into my old bed. The only real sign of my personality in this room is the old My Chemical Romance poster on the back of the door. I’m kind of surprised it’s still there. Because otherwise, this house has always been very much my mother’s domain. A pale pink feature wall and a white bedspread with small embroidered pink roses. It’s a room fit for a princess. I hate pink. Mom let me redecorate when I was ten or eleven or so. Right before I hit the tween years and got myself a personality that wasn’t I Love Ponies. Any attempt to update the color scheme in the past almost twenty years has been stonewalled. And as accommodating and above-and-beyond-the-call-of-duty helpful my mom has been, I need to get out of here. I need to figure out who I am now. Away from Ryan and away from the color pink. Away from the baggage of my childhood or people who think they know who I am and how I should be.

  Which is what I tell Briar. “As much as I’d love to come visit you, I can’t move far away yet because of all the medical appointments. But I do need my own space.”

  “So get your ass into gear and start looking.”

  “Yes.” I smile. “I believe I will.”

  “You’re really not going to let me take you, are you?” asks Mom, sitting on the edge of the sofa with her legs neatly crossed at the ankles. It’s her queen pose. Very regal and self-assured. I wish I had her poise. I think I used to. But now, most of the time I feel like I’m stumbling from one disaster to the next. Leif would probably tell me to embrace the journey, or something like that. And today I am taking a step in the forward direction, which is great. Two weeks’ worth of legal appointments and apartment hunting have led to this moment. To a chance of some independence from both Ryan and my parents. I am an adult, dammit. I can do this.

  “I feel like I need to do this by myself,” I answer.

  “I still think it’s too soon.”

  “I disagree. It’ll be fine.”

  “If you say so.”

  And I mean it. It’ll be fine because I have a plan. Everything I do takes a bit more effort and organization these days. A bit more time to get ready and get sorted. However, I’m up to the challenge. Hell yes I am.

  My cell chimes with a text.

  Leif: Talk to me.

  Me: Greetings. How are you?

  Leif: Talk to me as if I’m someone you actually know and like.

  Me: That was me being nice. This is a trap. Whatever I say you’re going to give me trouble.

  Leif: Of course I am. You went silent on me again for two damn weeks.

  “Is everything alright?” asks Mom.

  “Ah, yes. Just a friend.” I frown even harder, because what the hell do I say to him? He kind of has a point. I have a bad habit of going into hiding when things go wrong. And because I’m me and this is my life, things tend to go wrong often.

  Leif: Open the door.

  Me: What?

  Which is when someone knocks at the door and huh. How about that? Mom smothers a brief smile, and what is going on here? The woman is neither surprised that we have a guest nor making a move to answer said door. I sense a setup. A bizarre one.

  When I open it, Leif is standing there all ridiculously hot and happy with himself. Is it any wonder I did the wrong thing and kissed him? I’m not used to being around beautiful sunshine-y people. Wild men with long hair and ink who keep smiling at me and giving me chances when I mess up. They’re an adventure all their own. I don’t know how to act. I don’t know how to be just his friend. Invasive naked thoughts keep taking over. I feel like a complete asshole for objectifying him
all of the time, when I know good and well that there’s so much more to him than how he looks. But here we are. Shame on me.

  He waltzes right past me and says, “Hey, Denise. Nice to see you again.”

  “Leif.” Mom gives him a polite nod and smile. “Welcome to our home.”

  He nods and looks around. The beige color scheme does not impress, according to his expression. Same goes for the collection of golfing trophies on the mantel. Which is where Dad is, at golf. I don’t know why he doesn’t just move to the course.

  Leif is the last person who should be judging Mom’s suburban castle. Any bet his condo is still rocking the blank-white-wall look.

  Mom fetches her purse from the side table. “I have a thing at the church.”

  “So you didn’t want to take me after all,” I say.

  Her smile is brief. “I knew you wouldn’t let me. That’s why I asked Leif.”

  “You and Leif talk?” I ask, tone somewhat incredulous.

  “Sure,” he says, leaning against the living room doorway. “Denise and I are old pals.”

  “Less use of the word old, thank you,” reprimands my mother.

  “Sorry.” He crosses his arms. “We’re house shopping, huh?”

  “Looking at apartments to rent.”

  A nod. “Don’t worry, I borrowed Clem’s SUV. You won’t have to try to hop on the back of my bike in your pretty dress.”

  It’s a simple green maxi dress with a cream cardigan and matching sandals. I’d like to think it says responsible adult who pays her own bills and won’t trash your property, but it probably just says I couldn’t be bothered with pants. Such is life. He’s wearing an old The Clash tee, black jeans, and sneakers. His hair is tied back into a man bun that my fingers itch to tousle. There it is again. The bad and wrong thoughts. All of this makes me wonder when I started feeling so distinctly unattached. So single. It’s weird.

  When I woke up from the coma, Ryan’s was the first face I wanted to see. I know that much. But when the truth of what he’d been up to came out, followed by all of his excuses, which were then superseded by his attempts to gaslight me, things changed. Dramatically. Guess my love for him was conditional after all. Conditional upon him not treating me like shit. Though inconvenient thoughts of my new male friend does not mean that I’m ready to start dating or actually attempt a relationship with someone. The whole idea just freaks me out. I need time to grieve the end of the relationship. A chance to pull myself together and figure out where all of this leaves me.

  So first up, I shall go seeking domestic independence in the form of an apartment.

  “Best of luck, sweetheart,” says Mom, waiting to lock the front door. She sure is in a rush. Also, she’s wearing a rather dapper black pantsuit with a fancy lace camisole underneath. Curiouser and curiouser.

  “You’re going to a church thing?” I ask.

  She nods.

  “I’ll see you later then.”

  “Yes.” And she’s gone. Huh.

  Leif and I head toward a black Jeep waiting in the driveway. Like a gentleman, he opens the passenger-side door for me. Someone raised him right.

  “How about that gleam in Denise’s eye,” he whispers as I climb into the vehicle. “Your mom is totally going for a hookup with your dad at some fancy hotel in town.”

  “What?” I do not screech. It just kind of sounds that way. Unfortunately.

  “I’m just guessing. I could be wrong.” He closes the door and jogs around to the other side of the vehicle. “Were you unaware that your parents still have sex?”

  “No, but—”

  “They’re not that old, Anna. And with you in the house, I can understand why they might want to get away for a little privacy now and then.”

  “I know that, but—”

  “Gotta admire them for it, really.”

  “Would you stop interrupting me and let me finish?” I ask, aggrieved.

  “Sorry.” He starts the engine and backs us out of the driveway. “You were saying?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, clutching my purse and my list of addresses. I’d probably be clutching my pearls if I actually owned any. “You’ve got me all flustered. Give me a minute to get my brain back on track. And stop talking about my parents having sex. It’s weirding me out.”

  He laughs all low and dirty like. “You sweet, innocent naïve creature.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I am. And I texted you the other day to ask how you were and to talk smack about pickles,” I remember out of nowhere. “So there. I did not completely go into hiding.”

  “But when I answered, did you text me back?”

  “Maybe not. I wasn’t sure what to say. Then I overthought it and it all sort of went to hell so I gave up. I mean, what if I said the wrong thing. Or if whatever I said was taken the wrong way due to lack of context? Communicating with people is hard sometimes.”

  “Wasn’t communicating with people part of your job?”

  “Actually, Celine handled most of the front desk management. I was more out back concocting schemes and handling paperwork.”

  “Huh.”

  “The truth is, I’m still mildly horrified about the kiss,” I admit. “And then I overthink everything and get worried that you are kind of different from the people I’m used to dealing with. Not in a bad way. To the contrary, in a very good way. But still different. I’m not always sure how you’re going to react.” I pause to take a breath, not blathering at all. “Not that I believe you’re going to be harsh or anything. I just worry sometimes, and then I feel awkward, and then I kind of spiral.”

  He just blinks.

  “What? My neurosis makes sense on a certain level when you think about it.”

  He raises a brow. “You sure about that?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Sorry, sorry.” His smile is brief. A bare hint of the usual happy. “I don’t like that you worry or feel uncomfortable with me sometimes.”

  “It’s not your fault and there isn’t anything you can do about it. It’s me. I just need a bit of time to adjust. Really.”

  “In that case, C-minus for effort,” he announces. “Must try harder with the texting. I look forward to practicing with you. And I’ll always give you the benefit of the doubt, I promise. I’m not going to jump to the worst conclusion over something you say, Anna.”

  “No. That’s more my kind of thing.”

  He takes a deep breath. “Now that was a very beige house you grew up in. Though I found the occasional tan accent to be quite out there and daring, really.”

  “And you call me judgy. Hey, it was raining this week,” I remember all of a sudden. “Was your arm okay?”

  “Eh. Some aches and pains. Nothing out of the ordinary,” he says. “Where are we going?”

  “There’s one in Oakdale that looked okay.”

  “Wrong side of the highway.”

  “I know, and transportation is kind of an issue for me these days,” I say. “The less I need to drive, the better. There was a more promising one in the West End.”

  “Okay,” he says, heading in that direction. “So are we going to talk about that kiss?”

  I wrinkle my nose. “No.”

  Another laugh.

  “There’s nothing to say. I made that clear at the time. It never happened and we’re moving on.” I raise my chin in defiance. The truth is, I need to be single for a while. Sex friends are all nice and well and useful, but the focus here is on me getting my life together. Not on finding a transitional person to help me get over Ryan. Acclimatizing to being single is what’s best for me right now. I don’t need sex (involving other people) and I don’t need my hand held. I am a grown-ass woman. “I thought about a small house, but the fact of the matter is, I have enough going on looking after myself. Taking on a yard as well seemed foolishly optimistic, even if having a little garden would be lovely.”

  “Not to be an asshole and suggest you’re unable to cope on your own or anything, but you’
re okay with living on your own?”

  I grip the seat as we turn around a corner. “Please slow down a little.”

  He darts a look at me.

  “Sorry. I get panicky in cars sometimes.”

  “Of course,” he says, easing his foot off the accelerator. “I’m sorry. Should have thought of that.”

  I swallow hard, doing my best to relax. Shoulders down, breathing even and all that. “Anyway . . . what are my options? Sharing a house isn’t appealing and I’m fortunate that I can afford my own small space. For now, at least. My friend Briar would love me to move to New York, but I’m not so sure about that.”

  “New York?” he asks, brows raised and eyes surprised.

  “Yeah. A clean slate might be nice, but I don’t know.”

  “Big cities are fun to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there,” he says. “Portland’s great. A bit slower and smaller. Plenty of cool bars and nightlife if that’s your thing. Not so small that everyone’s in your business.”

  “Speak for yourself. Me and my drama is the talk of the ’hood.”

  “Yeah, well . . . you’ve been a bit too exciting lately.” He winces. “I know what that feels like. After the truth came out about my crazy ex trying to kill Clem, it felt like everyone in the world knew. There were pictures in the papers and a police investigation and you name it. But, Anna, these things do calm down sooner or later. How’s the divorce going? Is the douchebag fighting you?”

  “No. I think he’s given up on messing with me and is focusing on his new and improved family with Celine.” Ugh. Whatever. I do not care. I refuse to care. “We’re dividing up the things from our house.”

  “What’d you make a grab for?”

  “First up was the chunky mahogany dining table and chairs with the matching sideboard.”

  He grins. “I knew you owned a sideboard. Bet there’s even linen napkins in there.”

  “Shut up.” I smile too. “Then I got petty and went for the big-screen TV and sound bar that he loves more than life, but is too cheap to go for straight up because he knows it’s not the thing worth the most money in the house.”