Chapter 80
Are you on your way yet? I’m excited to see you!
I sit here on the floor with my legs splayed out, painting my toenails between big spoonfuls of Cocoa Puffs.
The color’s hideous—a shocking turquoise shade with sparkle in it.
I regret the purchase and whoever I thought I was when I made it, but it’s the only polish I own that hasn’t gone goopy. At least it’s quick-dry.
Eight minutes later, another text comes through.
Sorry to bug ya, I’m sure you got caught up with something. Just let me know when you’re on your way. I’ll wait to put the salmon on until then!
I lean over to study the gray bubble, flat and lifeless. The gray bubble that seems designed to suck the emotion from a person, to reduce them to letters and tiny cartoon drawings. To contain them. And yet, it can’t. Emotion prevails. Bleeds through. Bursts the bubble.
I pick up my phone to send a message that will quell his anxiety, something reassuring and a little dishonest, but before I can, a new text comes through with that annoying bloop, the sound of a pleading question mark.
Just making sure you’re okay…? Thought you were gonna be here half an hour ago…
I drop my phone into my lap, repelled by it.
Repelled by him. By his neediness. By his teetering self-esteem, so conditioned on my adoration of him.
An adoration that is rapidly waning, partially due to his dependence on it.
It’s a dizzying loop of a catch-22, and I’m a hypocrite.
Just months ago, I was the pathetic one.
Desperate and maddeningly needy, my well-being solely dependent on how responsive he was to me that day.
And now here I am, not granting him the reassuring response he needs.
Letting him worry, letting him panic, while I sit here painting my toenails.
sorry! I text finally, the exclamation mark simultaneously meager and pointed. heading out in a sec. I don’t give him an explanation.
No worries at all! Glad you’re okay! I’ll put on the salmon!
He tacks on a little salmon nigiri emoji which doesn’t make sense since we’re not having sushi.
I get what he was going for but the reach irks me, and instead of heading for the door, I decide now is the right time to clean out my bathroom drawers.
I dig through them, violently purging the regretted purchases and the ones past their shelf life.
I throw away wrong shades of foundation, rancid perfume, soured lip balms, blushes with the labels worn off, crusty mascaras, eyebrow pencils worn down to nubs, crumbled bronzers, gunky highlighters.
It feels good, getting rid of all the promises I used to believe.
The products I’ve tried that didn’t work.
Or that worked for a time but don’t anymore.
There’s something freeing in admitting that.
The failure. Or the growth. Or maybe they’re the same thing.
I run a baby wipe through my newly purged bathroom drawers and move on to my closet.
Tights from and rusted jewelry from Marshalls and jeans from Shein with bunchy crotches.
Blouses I never could figure out which bra to wear with and cheap polyester trousers with poorly sewn seams and tank tops with straps that dig into my shoulders.
I fill trash bag after trash bag for Goodwill so somebody else can use these things.
Get something from them. But I can’t anymore.
I’ve let so many expired things fill up my life.
So many things I know don’t work but keep around because of sunk costs or sentimentality or something else.
Laziness or fear. There’s something scary about letting go.
Even if the emptiness makes room for something better.
Because I don’t know what the something better is.
Or if it’s coming. Maybe it won’t. And maybe I’ll regret getting rid of those bunchy-crotched Shein jeans. I did like the snap button closure.
Salmon’s done! You close?
A knot in my stomach. hey—sorry again. went on a cleaning rampage and got super tired. think i have to call it a night. save me a piece of salmon for tomorrow?
Those three ominous, calculating dots pop up and linger, the universal sign for “I’m drafting the most socially acceptable response I can muster even though I’m pissed.”
I’m sorry I won’t see you, but you’ve got it re the salmon! I’ll keep the dill sauce on the side so the fish doesn’t get soggy.
Then he sends another emoji of salmon nigiri.