Chapter Fourteen
ME: SORRY, SWAMPED at work today. Can’t make our lunch date.
It’s Wednesday. I haven’t heard from Ren since Saturday, although I usually don’t hear from him on Sundays, Mondays, or Tuesdays. Because I am only a compartmentalized part of his life.
Which now seems like a huge red flag waving in the wind begging to be noticed.
Ren: Bummer. See you tomorrow night.
No, he won’t. But he doesn’t know that yet.
I spent all day Sunday questioning myself, moping around the house, wondering how I could be so blind.
Now I’m just plain mad. More at myself than Ren. He agreed to be friends, and he kept his promise. I’m the one who changed the rules, assuming we were more than friends.
I thought his intentions were obvious. It appears I was wrong. I’m backing out because I can’t take the emotional upheaval. If I spend time with him, my feelings will continue to grow. It’s time to cut ties and protect my fortress from attack.
It appears I have a talent for getting tangled up with the wrong men.
It hurts, but not as much as it would’ve hurt if things had happened between us. As it stands, I’m losing another best friend.
Who am I kidding? It hurts so much I can hardly think about anything else.
On Thursday, I send him another text.
Me: Still swamped. Have to work late. Can’t make it tonight.
Ren: I’ll miss your palate. Okay, and you.
I can’t even muster a smile. I think I hate love. If I’d stuck to my plan to not date for a year, none of this would’ve happened. I set myself up for heartbreak.
Ren tries to call me a few minutes later, but I don’t pick up. He doesn’t try again.
On Friday, I don’t send my text until early evening, knowing he’ll be busy with the dinner rush.
Me: Coming down with something. All weekend plans are canceled.
It’s not a lie. My sickness is a broken heart. It’s the most painful thing I’ve ever felt. I thought I loved Sawyer. Now that I’ve experienced time with Ren, I finally know what real love is all about.
He sends me a text late that night.
Ren: Hope you feel better soon.
I stare at his message for a long time. There’s no heart emojis. No “I miss you so much.” No “When can I see you again?” His message seems almost clinical. The lack of sentiment tells me I’ve made the right decision.
We don’t have the relationship I thought we had. Not at all. Nor were we headed in the direction I assumed. I can’t handle the heartbreak or the wild emotions. Not again.
For these reasons, I’m out. Sigh. I’ve been binge-watching Shark Tank.
On Saturday, I sleep late. Then I pull my hair back into a ponytail, throw on leggings and a t-shirt, and park myself on the couch with a bowl of buttery popcorn. I browse Netflix and choose a new show to binge.
Halfway through the first episode, everything that’s happened hits me.
I finally break down and have a good gut-wrenching cry.
It’s long overdue. I’ve been holding it in for an entire week.
I swear, where love is concerned, I’m cursed.
The force of my sobbing makes my shoulders shake and my muscles object.
But I let it all out as though I’m releasing pain with each moan.
Mandy’s head pops up from her perch on the loveseat and she stares at me like she knows I’m upset. Her beady cat eyes actually convey concern. She’s probably wondering who will feed her if I die from crying too hard.
“What?” I tell her. “You don’t like me either.”
I curl up into a ball on the couch with my favorite pillow and my favorite fleece blanket. This is my life today. Yay me.
I doze off for a while and when I wake up, I’m on my back.
It takes me a minute to realize what has pulled me out of my slumber.
There’s a heavy weight on my chest along with a strange rumbling sound making my bones vibrate.
I peel open my eyes to find Mandy sitting smack dab on top of my chest, her nose practically touching mine like she’s trying to steal my breath.
Her purring is the loudest I’ve ever heard.
I’m glad one of us is receiving pleasure from this situation.
This is new.
I don’t move an inch, scared she’ll bolt. When she notices my eyes are open, she meows as if she’s trying to say something. If I’m not mistaken, she’s saying she feels sorry for me. Or she’s hungry, but I’ll stick with the first option.
Slowly I reach up and she allows me to pet her, something she’s never been keen on. She always nips at my fingers like I’m a nuisance to be dealt with.
Today she lets me massage her neck while she continues to purr with ecstasy.
Can she feel my pain? Sense it?
This morning I would’ve said no. I’m just the annoying human invading her space. Now I’m not so sure.
When the doorbell rings, she doesn’t budge. When I move to get up, she falls onto my lap and refuses to move. So I pick her up and cuddle her in my arms. She doesn’t fight me. Instead, she continues her happy purr.
I think my roommate likes me now. Dare I say it, I think she might even love me. Or maybe it’s just a sympathy cuddle. Either way, I’ll take it.
I peek out the peephole and see Ren standing on my doorstep. I seriously consider not answering the door.
I guess I need to face him. Get it over with. It’s the grown-up thing to do. No games.
I throw my door open and tell him, “I’m not feeling well.” And it’s your fault.
“I know. I’ve come to make you homemade chicken noodle soup. Did you know it’s a cure-all?”
“It can’t cure this.” I wish he’d take me into his arms and hold me. Tight. The kind of hug that makes everything better. That’s what I need. Be my tribe. Tell me I’m amazing. Beautiful. Loving and kind. Thoughtful and compassionate.
I need to hear it, to become it.
He’s clean and fresh, as though he just got out of the shower. His hair is still slightly wet, combed back on his head. He’s dressed casually, looking like he just threw on some jeans, then grabbed a button-up, rolled up the sleeves, and left it untucked. Lazy day wear. Very sexy on him.
His smile fades, and he looks down for a moment. He must sense that I’m upset. “Can I come in?”
I open the door wider and take a step back. I don’t say anything more. Regardless, he takes my actions as the yes I mean them to be.
He walks to the kitchen, sets down his bag of groceries, and begins removing the items one by one. “I make the best chicken noodle soup you’ve ever had in your life. You’re going to love it and beg for more.”
I plop down on the couch and hold Mandy to my chest. She doesn’t object. I watch Ren move about my kitchen. He’s a man on a mission.
He pauses, studying me. “I see you and your archnemesis have become friends.”
“She liked me all along. It was just a well-kept secret.”
He nods. “What’s wrong with you?”
Everything. “I’m not feeling well.”
“Is it a cold? Stomach flu?”
“No.” I appreciate that he doesn’t ask if it’s endo pain, even though he knows it knocks me flat on a monthly basis.
“Whatever it is, chicken soup will do the trick. You’ll be running five miles by tomorrow.”
I wish it were that easy.
Ren opens my refrigerator door, as comfortable in my home as he is in his own. “Seriously, Bree?” He stares at the basically empty shelves with a frown.
“I told you I don’t cook. Several times in fact.” A breath of disgust passes through my upset lips. He doesn’t listen to me.
“I didn’t believe you. Yet week after week I’m faced with this sad, empty sight. What do you eat?”
“Restaurants exist for a reason. You should know, you own one.”
He approaches the coffee table and picks up the half-empty bowl of popcorn. “Really?”
“Breakfast of champions.”
He shakes his head and sighs. “I’m here to save the day.”
While he and his chipper attitude are intent on making soup, I resume my fetal position on the couch, my new companion tightly curled up at my side. I think I doze off because when I next awaken Ren is standing above me, holding a tray with a bowl of steaming hot soup.
“It’s ready,” he says, concern marring his features.
I sit up, running my hands over my face. I probably look like death warmed over. Don’t care.
“Thank you, Ren.” With the tray taking my furry friend’s place on my lap, Mandy curls up at my side.
Ren grabs a bowl for himself, and we sit on the couch together eating our soup while staring at the TV.
He was right. His soup is delicious. It does make me feel good. Too bad it can’t cure a broken heart.
I set my tray on the coffee table, and he follows suit.
“Thank you. That was really good.”
“You bet.”
Okay, Ren Chambers, here it is. Your final chance to make things right. I reach out and grasp his hand. I watch our fingers thread together and I feel the warmth of his skin. But when I look up at him, I’m devastated.
I don’t see a tender smile or a warm expression. I see a furrowed brow and upset eyes.
I feel his grasp go limp as he removes his hand from mine.
“I can’t, Bree. I just can’t,” he says quietly.
And there it is. The words that were hanging in the air all this time, finally spoken aloud.
He grabs our dirty dishes and cleans the kitchen until it’s spotless. He’s a master at avoiding the subject.
I watch him the entire time, thinking I should’ve known better. He’s been much too perfect from the get-go. Clearly, he has flashing-siren faults. I just didn’t see them.
When he’s done, he stands before me, his demeanor utterly serious for a change. “Are you really sick today?”
“Heart sick.”
“What does that mean?”
I answer in a roundabout way. “You know, Ren, I’ve had a lot of time to think this week, and that’s a dangerous thing.
I’ve realized a lot of things. All this time, I thought you were moving slowly because of what I went through with Sawyer.
I thought you were giving me the time I needed to adjust to a new relationship.
I thought you were giving me space, giving me room to grow and breathe, to become a new person.
Blah, blah, blah.” I stop myself. I’m not going to be sarcastic or lose my cool.