20. Bridget
CHAPTER 20
Bridget
Each day, the pain in my abdomen lessens, and I start to feel more and more like my pre-surgery self. Working from home has been an adjustment; I’m back to my normal workload, but I feel more productive without all the interruptions that come from working in an office.
Ethan and I have settled into a comfortable cadence. At this point, he spends more nights in my bed than on the couch, and his stuff is slowly infiltrating my space and closet. I felt bad that he was still living out of his overnight bag, so I figured if I’d agreed to let him stay the whole six weeks, the least I could do is let him unpack.
The utensils and gadgets he’s added to my kitchen are foreign to me, but I’m not complaining if they help him prepare the gourmet meals he’s been making. He’s still mostly doing lunch shifts, but he’s picked up a few dinner services, and that means that tonight I have my place to myself.
Well, not entirely to myself. Becka is joining me. We’ve texted a bit since she got back in town a few weeks ago. While it wasn’t my intention to keep anything from her, I realized how my lie of omission hurt her, and I’ve been trying to work back into her good graces. Tonight is a chance to make things right and show her how much she means to me.
I’ve ordered pizza for us, so when there’s a knock on the door, I’m expecting it to be the delivery person, but Becka is there, pizza in hand.
“The delivery guy followed me up here, so I told him I’d take it. I tipped him well, so you’re welcome.” She walks past me and into the kitchen.
“Becka, I ordered online. I already pre-tipped in the app.”
“No wonder he was so thrilled to let me take it off his hands.” She opens the box and takes a big bite, the stringy cheese in her mouth still connected to the slice.
I grab two plates, hand her one, and add some slices to mine. We eat at the counter in silence for several minutes, savoring the cheesy goodness. Well, I am. Becka has already inhaled two pieces as I chew on the crust of my first slice.
“Fuck, Becka, you training to beat Joey Chestnut in next year’s hotdog eating contest?”
She lets out a burp. “I forgot how amazing it is to eat without a child interrupting me every five seconds. If I don’t inhale my food, I don’t eat warm food,” she explains. “So, we gonna talk about what’s happening with you and Ethan?”
I knew this was coming. She’s been careful not to talk about him too much, only casually asking about him here or there in a text.
“There’s not much to talk about. He’s just a friend who’s been helping me with my recovery.”
“You and I both know that’s a load of horseshit. That man is crazy about you. And what help do you even need at this point? You seem to be getting along just fine now. I’m pretty sure you’d have kicked him out if you wanted to.”
“Yeah, I can’t.”
“Because you like him as more than a friend?”
“Because we played truth or dare one night, and he won. He picked staying the whole six weeks as his prize.”
“Ooh, that’s kind of clever of him. But you didn’t deny that you like him. The Bridget I know wouldn’t let anyone stay in her apartment for that long unless there was something more going on.”
“We… might have had a moment a few weeks ago,” I admit.
“And?”
“We kissed, and I gave him a hand job, but the angle I was in when I did it pulled something in my stomach, so it’s been hands-off since then. I don’t want to reinjure myself, and I don’t want to rely on someone again for that much help. That first week was really hard for me.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be here for you, but it sounds like Ethan stepped up.”
“He really did. Becka, he held my hair as I vomited into the toilet. It was extremely uncomfortable being that vulnerable and dependent on another person. I’d have felt equally as unbearable depending on you.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You know what I mean. I’ve lived most of my life on my own. I don’t need anyone to open my jars or change a lightbulb for me. And letting someone see me at my most vulnerable felt exposing in a way I’ll never be comfortable with.”
“But you let him,” she says leadingly.
I give her a look. “You obviously have an opinion about this. Spit it out.”
“He’s perfect for you, and I’m worried you’re going to push him away because getting attached to people scares you. It’s clear that he likes you. He might be falling in love with you.”
“And that’s also why I stopped the physical stuff. I cannot fall in love with him.”
“With him or with anyone?”
“Did I piss you off or something? Why are you coming at me so hard about him?”
“I was pissed at you when you didn’t tell me about your surgery. I get that you did it so Robert and I could get some time away, and I’m grateful, but you needed someone. And when I came over and saw Ethan, it was all over his face, his concern for you, how much he cares about you. I knew then you made the right decision, and I was thrilled you let someone else into your bubble. We weren’t meant to do life alone, and here is this man who wants to be part of your world. Why are you keeping him in the friend zone?”
It takes a minute to force out an answer as I try not to cry. I never thought I’d find myself in this situation again, letting another person take up residence in my heart, consuming my thoughts. What if he betrays me like every other man I’ve let in? A pain stabs at my chest, and I press my palm against my sternum to ease the ache.
“Because I don’t think I’d recover if it didn’t work out.” I hold back the sob that wants to escape, but my voice cracks on the last word, and I bury my head in my hands.
“Oh, honey, you can’t think like that. What if it did work out, and you missed out because you didn’t give him a chance?”
I let her words linger in my mind, searching for a response, but I come up short. An adult would ponder this more, weighing out options and feelings before deciding. Fuck that shit. Deflecting is my go-to.
“Hey, so you mentioned that something happened with Robert on your trip, but you never told me what it was.”
“Nope, I know what you’re doing, and it won’t work. We’ll talk about that later. I may have made it into a bigger deal anyway since you weren’t texting me back as quickly as I wanted.”
Well, fuck. How else can I get out of this conversation?
“Why don’t we make a list?” Becka offers. “You love lists, and this might help you process how you feel. I think you’ll be surprised how many pros are in his favor, and maybe it’ll help you stop fixating on the cons.”
I sigh, knowing I can’t derail her now. “There’s a notepad in the junk drawer on the end, pens too.” She retrieves them and joins me on a stool at the island.
“Which should we do first?”
I shoot her a look. As if she really needs to ask me that.
“Cons it is.”
She writes out “Pros” and “Cons” on the top of the paper, adding a line down the middle.
I think for a few seconds. “He’s only twenty-two.”
“Got it. What else?”
My fingers tap in a rhythm against the granite countertop as my brain tries to find more reasons. “He… uh… Actually, let’s do some pros. I’m sure I’ll come up with more cons as I think through things.”
“Sure.” There’s a hint of disbelief in her tone as she draws out the word.
“Okay, pros. He’s amazing in bed.”
She holds up the paper pointing to the dick she’s already doodled in the pro column. “The Goldilocks penis. Not too small, not too long, just right.”
There’s a fit of cackles between us before I continue. “He’s an amazing cook. And he’s incredibly sweet and thoughtful. Oh, he doesn’t want kids.”
“He doesn’t?”
“Nope, that’s what led to the hand job.”
“Breadcrumbs, Bridget. I feel like you’re leaving out important details.”
“He has sisters that he’s had to help raise so he doesn’t want kids of his own.”
Becka puts the pen down and focuses on me. If I look at her, I’ll crack. “Don’t say it, I know what you’re thinking.”
“That he’s made for?—”
“Stop. We’re doing this so I can decide. You only need to take notes and remain impartial.”
“I didn’t agree to that last part but continue.” She picks up the pen again.
“Oh, I’ve got a con!” I exclaim. “His dimple.”
“I thought you liked his dimple?”
“I do, but I swear it makes me do things I wouldn’t normally do.”
“Forces you out of your comfort zone, pro,” she says as she writes.
It takes a while to come up with the next con. “Oh, I know, he can read my mind. He’s so in tune with me sometimes. It’s like he’s in my head. I can’t hide what I’m feeling.”
“Are you hearing yourself? I’d love to have Robert be able to read me like that. The key is if he does anything with that information. Like, does he read you and then give you what you need without asking? Because that sounds like the dream.”
“Kind of? Sometimes, he asks if I’m feeling a certain way, but he’s always spot-on. It just feels intrusive, like I’m being called out.”
“Honey, that sounds like he is perfectly in tune with your needs. I’m adding that to the pros.”
I pause again, thinking. “He’s always here ,” I complain. “In the beginning, every time I’d turn around, he’d be there. And even now, when he’s not at work, he’s here all the time. Sometimes I need my space.”
“I can see how you’d think that’s a con, but does he give you your space when you ask for it?”
“Yeah…”
“You’re an introvert and you need your time alone to recharge, but that doesn’t mean you should always be alone, and as long as he respects your need for space when you ask, it’s a pro.”
I think again, an even longer pause this time. “I got it. People judge us. If I went out with a man my age, I wouldn’t get the same kind of looks from people that I do when I’m out with Ethan. That’s a con.”
“That sounds like a you problem, not a con. It’s not his fault, or yours, if people stare or judge you.”
“Well, it fucking sucks. I get enough judgment in my career; I don’t want to deal with more in my personal life too. Put it under cons.”
“Honey, all the things you think are cons can be pros. You tend to focus on the negative and what could go wrong, even if things are great.”
“That’s the definition of a pessimist,” I concur, my tone biting, not liking where this is headed.
“You need someone to balance out that little rain cloud. He does that for you.”
“Read them back to me.”
She looks down at the pad of paper, picking it up as she reads, “Pros: that dick, cooks, sweet, thoughtful?—”
“I said sweet and thoughtful. Those don’t count separately.”
“They mean different things. We aren’t arguing semantics,” she asserts before continuing, “DINK?—”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“Dual income, no kids. It’s what you guys would be. Think of the life you would live. Going out to eat, vacations, hobbies. You guys have more in common than just sex, right?”
I nod.
“Like?”
“We both enjoy cooking, reading, and we like the same hockey team. But you’re forgetting the part about not wanting to be seen out with him.”
“I wish we had another income. Having a kid really changes your budgeting. I love Hallie, don’t get me wrong, but I miss the financial freedom we had pre-child,” she laments. “So, in your case, DINK is a pro. Continuing on… the dimple, in tune with you, supportive.”
“I feel like you twisted some of my words there. Read out the cons,” I say, frustrated.
“Cons: younger.”
“That’s it? I swear there were more.”
“The only other con was ‘people judging,’ but that goes with the age thing and shouldn’t count against him.”
“There have to be more cons than that.”
“I won’t say he’s the perfect guy because no one is perfect, but maybe he’s perfect for you . You have enough in common, but you’re different, and those differences balance you out.” Becka fixes me with an imploring stare. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy. You’ll annoy each other, you’ll disagree, but you could also complement each other in a way that no one else can. You have to decide if you can look past his age.”