3. Chapter 3
Chapter three
I decide to wait until I get home to talk to Theo so I can spend the twenty-minute walk back trying to figure out what I want to say and how to say it. I hate confrontation and try to avoid it, but Mel was right. As much as I like him. As much as I want everything to work with him, it never will if things continue like this. Not if I’m always questioning where I stand.
I settle on my couch, pulling a cozy throw over my lower half for emotional support, and pick up my phone. Finally reading through all the alerts I’ve been ignoring.
Theo: Where are you?
Theo: Are you ok?
Theo: Calla, please talk to me.
The messages from last night and earlier this morning pour in along with notifications for several missed calls. He didn’t bother with my voicemail, clearly picking up on the fact that I wasn’t ready to talk to him.
Sighing to myself, I pull up his contact information and press the call button.
He picks up at the first ring.
“Calla,” I can hear the relief in his voice as if he’s been sitting by his phone waiting for me.
“Hi, Theo.”
There’s a pause at the other end before he asks if I’m ok. I can hear the hesitation in his voice but I’m pretty sure it has more to do with the fact that he knows he fucked up and not that he was worried I was dead in a gutter.
“Physically, yes,” I respond. “Emotionally I’m…Honestly Theo, I’m hurt and disappointed.”
“I know,” he jumps in, “but…”
I clench my fist in the blanket, annoyed that his first response isn’t even an apology but an excuse.
“No 'buts', Theo,” I cut him off. “You finally made plans with me and then you stood me up.”
He starts to protest but I press on.
“AND you haven’t even apologized for it! You left me waiting for you all night and you still haven’t even said that you are sorry!”
“I’m sorry, Calla, I swear I didn’t mean to. I had a whole evening planned for us.”
He sighs, and I can picture him running his fingers through his thick, dark blonde hair in frustration.
“Fridays are hard for me. It’s one of my busiest nights, you know that, and I couldn’t get away. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you some time.”
I note the use of the phrase ‘some time’. No actual plan in place. But I know that, as always, it will be on his time and not mine. If it even happens at all.
“Theo,” I ask him quietly, “I need to ask you something.”
“Sure babe, of course.”
I take a shaky breath before I ask the question I should have probably asked weeks ago. When I started feeling frustrated that everything was on his schedule. Before I caught feelings.
“What do you want from me?”
His response is slow. “What do you mean, Calla?”
“Exactly what I said.” My voice comes out clear and I feel a little stronger. “We talk all the time. You ask to see me. You promise me you’ll make plans but you never do. I’m always the one changing my plans and my schedule to see you rather than you putting in the effort to see me. So, I want to know. What do you want from me? Where do you see us?”
There’s a long pause on the other end. I can hear him breathing as he takes in my question, thinking of what to say. The fact that he doesn’t answer right away tells me what I need to know.
“I like you a lot, Calla. You’re special to me. I love spending time with you. But right now, I’m just too busy. I can’t give you the relationship that you want.”
There’s silence again. Each of us holding on to the line not knowing where to go from here.
“I’m sorry Calla, I really am.”
I hang up and slide down the arm of the couch, pulling my blanket up my body and tucking it under my chin as I curl around myself. My body feels heavy and exhausted and my mind whirls with a mix of emotions.
I try to tell myself that it’s not a big deal. We weren’t even a real couple and it was only for a few months. A situationship really.
But as much as I try to downplay my feelings, a tiny voice in my head taunts me.
Nobody ever chooses you.
This time I let the tears fall.
The rest of the weekend is spent on the couch with a stream of movies. On Sunday, Mel crashes my pity party and brings sushi takeout for dinner. While I appreciate that she brought my favourite treat, this also tells me that my attempts to play it cool and casual have failed miserably. Although, the ten-year-old Roots sweatpants with the holes in the thighs and oversized Banff t-shirt with the tear in the hem might also be giving it away. Both are key signs that I am desperate to do laundry.
Thankfully, she says nothing and we eat our rolls and nigiri while watching my go-to comfort movie, Mamma Mia.
I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve seen that film (although not enough yet to make Pierce Brosnan’s singing any better) and I never get sick of it. I love the songs and the story but most of all, I love the scenery. The peaceful islands, the clear water, the beaches. Greece has been at the top of my travel list for ages, mostly thanks to this movie.
“You should go,” Mel suddenly blurts out.
“Go where?” I ask, eyes fixed on the screen as a dozen or so Greek men dance on the dock in their flippers. It’s my favourite scene and I refuse to miss it.
“Greece!”
Mel grabs the remote and presses pause, forcing me to look at her.
“Go to Greece. You’ve wanted to go for years. So do it. Go!”
Her eyes shine brightly like she’s just come up with the greatest plan in the world. I, on the other hand, stare at her like she’s sprouted a third eye in the middle of her forehead.
“I can’t just go to Greece,” I protest, reaching for the remote to go back to the flipper dance.
She pulls it back and out of reach. “Why not, Calla? You can take time off work, you haven’t taken a proper vacation in forever. You have nothing holding you back here and I know you have the money for it.”
She’s not wrong. I could take time off and I do still have all my vacation days. Usually took them sporadically throughout the summer to take long weekend trips around BC, so I never actually really went away. But I have been saving up for my dream Greece trip. I had just always pictured going with someone else. Greece was a romantic destination and I never imagined going alone.
As if she knows what I’m going to say, Mel continues on. “Think about it, Calla! The islands! The beaches! The food! And the men! You could be like Donna in the movie. Who needs one man when you can have three!” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively at me, enough to make me laugh.
“I’ll think about it,” I tell her.
“Good.” She settles back into the couch and resumes play. “But if you get knocked up by a random gorgeous Greek, dibs on being the godmother.”