Chapter 5
Chastity
The next day,I’m at work when I get a text from Hank.
What’s up?
I text back.
Just about to take a break.
You weren’t supposed to respond. That was a test.
Oh. Oops.
But…
No buts. Ignore me. Don’t respond to this.
My fingers start typing, “How am I supposed to know when to respond?”
But he must see the text dots appearing as I type because he texts before I can hit send.
Chastity. Stop.
“Argh.” I delete the text and drop my phone in frustration.
“What’s wrong?” Bobbi asks from behind the nurse’s desk. She’s in her forties and has four kids. She is always feeding me and worrying about me.
“Do you think you should text back a guy who just texts you ‘what’s up?’”
“I think when it comes to boys and men and texting, you have to lower your standards.” She pulls her own phone out of the pocket of her scrubs and stands up. She leans over the counter and shows me her phone. “Look at this text exchange with my sixteen-year-old son.”
How was school?
Ok.
There’s chicken in the fridge to reheat for dinner.
Ok.
I’ll be home around seven.
Ok.
Dad’s going to pop in on Meemaw on the way home from work so he’ll be late.
Ok.
Is that your only answer to everything?
No.
“It’s pointless.” She shakes her head. “I could say the world is ending, and he’d say ok.”
I feel for her. It’s kind of funny, but I’m sure it”s frustrating.
“So I have that level of non-communication with my son to look forward to, is what you’re saying. Fantastic. I can’t wait.”
“My husband is only moderately better.” She swipes through her phone. “Look at this gem.”
She texted him first, “Can you drain the pond like we talked about?”
Only if you drain my balls.
My jaw drops. I start laughing. “Bobbi, I can’t, oh my goodness.”
“There’s romance right there, honey. Twenty years of sweet talking like that from my man. My point is, don’t expect much.”
“At least your husband added a laugh-cry emoji.”
She rolls her eyes. “We’re giving points for that? What does the eggplant emoji score?”
“Is he sending it or are you?” I joke.
We both laugh.
“Tell me about this guy,” she says. “Where did you meet him?”
“I went to high school with his sister. We cheered together, so I’ve known him for years. He was here yesterday visiting Mr. Young. He’s his grandson.”
“Ooh, I saw him. He was cute. I like men with tattoos.”
“Your husband doesn’t have any tattoos.”
Bobbi grins. “I know. No harm in looking, right?”
I give her a long look. “There might be.”
“That sounds territorial. You have a crush on this one? I’ve never seen you interested in a man before.”
“I’ve been interested in men as a whole. Not a specific man. But Hank is a friend. We have a bit of a…history.” But for some completely mortifying reason, I blush when I say it.
“Oh, sweetie,” Bobbi says, and her voice is filled with concern. “And he texted you nothing but ‘what’s up?’”
Now I’ve backed myself into a corner. I don’t know what to say, but fortunately, I hear my name.
“Chastity.”
When I turn, it’s Hank standing there, smiling. Damn, he’s hot. That smile is wicked and charming and panty-melting.
“Hi.”
“Are you on break yet?” he asks.
He’s wearing jeans and work boots. He has a paint-streaked sweatshirt on and has two bags in his hand. It smells like lunch, and I’m jealous of his grandfather.
“Yes,” I say, whether I am or not. I know he came to see Mr. Young, but my heart still beats a little faster.
“I see,” Bobbi says, rolling her eyes a little. “Guess we’re taking breaks whenever we want now.”
“I was going on break,” I say, annoyed that she’s making me look too eager. Which is ridiculous, because I am eager.
“Want to go outside for a few minutes? I won’t take up your whole break. I just want to see you before I hang out with Pops.”
“Great, sure.” I shove my phone in my pocket. My palms feel sweaty. “There’s a bench out back we can sit on.”
I walk toward the door, and he follows me. Once we’re outside and sitting side by side, Hank hands me one of the bags.
“I don”t know if you brought lunch today or how much you really eat at work, so I didn’t pack you the works, but I made bread pudding, so I brought you some.”
“Thank you.” I take the bag and peer inside. The piece is big enough for me and three other people. “It looks delicious.” I gesture to his shirt. “Painting your apartment?”
“No, the restaurant. Just a primer coat. I’ll save the finishing work for the pros, but I’m trying to save money.”
“I’d love to see it.” I would. The old courthouse was always a little gloomy and ominous. I can’t really envision it as a restaurant.
“I’d love to show you.”
“So is this what people do when they’re dating?” I ask, rubbing my arms a little against the slight chill in the air. “Hang out randomly for a few minutes when they can?”
“When one of them is a single mom, yes. A man should respect that your son is your priority when you’re not working. It takes effort and creativity to date a single parent. You need a man who understands that.”
“Have you dated any single moms?” I ask, and hate myself the second I ask it. I sound way too curious. But I am curious.
“Two, actually. With one woman, I never met her daughter because she wasn’t comfortable with that since we weren’t that serious about each other. We did a lot of schedule workarounds so we could hang out. The other one, I did spend time with her son, and it was actually really hard when we stopped seeing each other because I missed that kid. More than her, if I’m being honest. He was twelve and a good kid.”
“Why did it end?”
“It felt like she wanted a dad for her son more than a partner for herself, and if I’m going all in on helping to raise a kid, I want a woman who fucking adores me, you know? Not one who sees me as convenient or a safe bet. It seemed like we were both more interested in creating a family for her son than having mad love for each other. I want mad love if I’m doing the whole relationship thing.”
Mad love.
That sounds amazing.
I’ve probably always pictured the safe bet, if I’m being honest with myself.
Knowing you always have someone to come home to, to bounce worries and plans and dreams off of, to have unlimited hugs. I want all of that.
But mad love…I don’t even know what that looks like, let alone feels like. It sounds incredible and passionate and risky and scary as hell.
“I get that. I find that interesting because I definitely want a man to love me, not just my child. And I want to be in love with him.” It doesn’t feel odd to talk to Hank about relationships. It feels natural. In a way, he knows more about my relationship life, or lack thereof, over everyone but Nevaeh.
“That seems logical to me too. Which was why I ended it. Though I was ready for it to end anyway. She wasn’t the one for me, not long-term.”
“Why did the other relationship end?”
He tilts his head. “Hm. Well, I guess it just ran its course. We both knew it wasn’t serious.”
“Then why were you together?” I find that fascinating. “If you knew it wasn’t going anywhere?”
“You can date just to date. To enjoy someone’s company without a blueprint for where it’s going. Marriage isn’t always the goal.”
That baffles me a little. “You’re just using them as a placeholder?”
“No. Not at all. You’re living in the moment. Enjoying being with someone but knowing it”s probably not forever. Or it might be, but you don’t care, and you don’t care that you don’t know. You don’t have to know.”
“I don’t know if I’m wired that way,” I say honestly. “I told you, I’m risk-averse.”
“But how do you know if you’ve never dated? Isn’t that what this is all about? Dating around and figuring out what you want in a partner? It’s not just a checklist, it’s also a feeling.”
The idea makes me tired. “That seems very time consuming.”
“Maybe there’s an app you can go on for people who want to get married.”
I asked him for his advice, and now I don’t like it. I want to have a relationship, but the thought of putting myself out there both terrifies me and exhausts me. “That probably does exist. But what are the odds of finding someone right here?”
“You’ll never know if you don’t try.”
“True.” I stare across the parking lot. I was pleased to see Hank, and now I feel deflated. “Maybe I need baby steps. Maybe you’re right.”
The memory of lying in bed the night before plagues me. I have a horrible feeling that maybe what I want is actually Hank. That’s just not going to happen, and I know that, and I need to stop myself before I even go there. He’s not the settling-down kind. He just said last night he’s too busy for a girlfriend, let alone a single mom who wants the whole shebang. Marriage and more kids immediately.
This is my problem. I want all or nothing.
I can’t have it all, so I have nothing.
No one is getting orgasms with that kind of attitude.
“I think maybe you just need to learn to have some fun,” he says. “You’ve been forced to be goal-oriented, driven. Let’s remind you how to just let go and relax and have a good time.”
Getting orgasms would be a good time.
He’s right, though. “That makes a lot of sense.” I smile at him. “Thank you. You’re always so sweet to me.”
“Sweet?” The corner of his mouth turns up. “Now go on back inside for the rest of your break. Don’t let a man hang around your job too long, or he’ll think he’s in control of the situation. He’s not. You are. You decide how long you want to see him.”
“Oh. Right. Well, I need to head back in,” I say, and I sound like a bad actor in a kids TV show. It feels like there should be a laugh track at the end of my sentence.
“I don’t know your work schedule, but are you busy Thursday? It’s supposed to be a nice day. We could go to the park.”
I just stare at him. He eyes me back.
If I say yes, does that mean I’m overeager? If I say no, am I telling him I’m not interested? Is he being sweet and respectable, inviting me to the park, or did he just friend zone me? In our fake dating, I mean.
No clue what the right response is, I continue to stare at him. “Well. Um.”
“What?” he finally asks.
“Am I supposed to say yes or no to that?” I ask.
Hank looks like he wants to laugh, but he stops himself. “That’s an acceptable offer. It’s showing interest on his part but not trying to push you into the hookup arena. Don’t accept an invitation to meet up for drinks on date one, two, or three. That’s basically saying that if the liquor is flowing and the chemistry is there, sex is on the table.”
“Got it.” That, I do understand. Then I realize the implication of that. He had definitely thought I was agreeing to sex when I met him at The Swamp. Because why wouldn’t he? If we were both single and we’ve had sex before, why wouldn’t we again?
Part of me, the one that feels perpetually guilty for everything, wants to apologize. Again. But I know we’ve talked about it enough. Actually, we’ve talked more about it than we should have, and it’s a miracle he’s even still willing to be in the same room as me. I need to just shut my pie hole.
He nods. “See you Thursday, then. I’ll text you.”
“Do I respond to your text or not?” This feels like being in nursing school. I like being the star student. I need to know all the rules up front.
Now Hank does laugh. “Tell you what. You do whatever feels right to you, and we’ll discuss it Thursday.”
Do whatever feels right.
I’m not sure I even know what that means or how to listen to my gut.
And either my gut is a fool or I suck at listening to it.
Maybe both.