Chapter 20
Maria
M y brow furrowed in confusion as I re-read the message on my phone.
Brian: Hi, Maria. I know I have no right to ask this, but would you be open to meeting up with me for a chat? No pressure.
I snorted at that last sentence. No pressure? Brian had called me every day, sometimes more than once, for the past week. The first time it had happened, I’d stared at his number in bewilderment until the call finally stopped. I figured he’d butt dialed me, but it still left me in a sour mood all day. How dare he interrupt my peace, even if it wasn't intentional.
Then, the next day, my phone started up again. I turned the air blue with my cursing before silencing the call. Maybe he saw my number on his call log and wanted to apologize for disturbing me?
But by the third day, it became apparent. Brian was purposely trying to call me.
Still, I ignored it, and then I continued ignoring his subsequent calls. I knew I should've blocked him, but every time my finger hovered over the button, I never ended up doing it. A part of me had a sick curiosity: How long would he attempt to call me before he took the hint and backed off?
But now that I had his text on my phone, spelling out in black and white his intentions, I fucking wished I’d just blocked him.
No pressure? I couldn't feel more pressed. What the hell did he want? If he was calling to cash in on the free haircut I’d promised him, I swear I was going to shave the word “asshole” into his head.
We hadn't been in a relationship, so there were no personal items to exchange and no emotional relationship baggage to trudge through. Christ, we barely dated. I was more annoyed that I didn't get to try the honey crème br?lée at Da Vinci's Grove.
Did he want closure? Got plenty of that at The Homestead. An image of Brian and Lissa canoodling flashed in my mind, and in a fit of pettiness, I poked the middle finger at his text message before promptly deleting it.
Still, I didn't block him.
"Did you tell me about Brian?" Dr. Anna thumbed back through her papers.
"No. No, I never did. We ended our...dating before I saw you." I paused, hesitating on whether I should admit to the next bit.
Ever astute, she peered at me over her glasses. "Yes?" she drawled, crossing her legs.
"He was actually the catalyst that made me seek therapy," I confessed in a rush. My cheeks heated at the admission.
Dr. Anna's brows almost touched her bangs. "Are you willing to explain further?"
I took a deep breath before launching into my story. I talked about our first meeting and initial misunderstanding about his deceased wife. I spoke about his courting, the muffins he sent me, the continuous texts and phone calls, our date at the bistro, and the connection I felt with him. I even told her about our one and only kiss and how proud I felt about walking away, even though I had been sorely tempted to fall back into my usual habits.
My traitorous heart still fluttered when I recalled his soft mouth on mine and the feel of his hard body pressing me against my vehicle.
But of course, I was forced to recount our disastrous date at Da Vinci's. Having to relive those raw emotions—anger, embarrassment, confusion, disappointment—those annoying flutters were soon replaced by a burgeoning ember that engulfed those butterflies in a raging inferno. I talked about our final conversation, something that was forced upon me when Brian ambushed me at work. I repeated what I told him—that I was seeking a monogamous long-term relationship and, until then, was determined to remain celibate.
"And then," I sighed, finally reaching the climax of my sad tale. “I went out with some friends to a local bar. I was having a good night until Lissa showed up and started running her mouth."
"Ah, yes, the erstwhile best friend," Dr. Anna recalled.
"Err, yes. Anyway, she took off abruptly and ended up straight on Brian's lap," I bluntly finished, crossing my arms defensively. It was too much to hope that Dr. Anna wouldn’t press me further.
She blinked at me several times before frowning in puzzlement. "Sorry, I must've missed something. Brian was there, too?
"Yes, but I didn't realize he was. No-not until Lissa ran over to him."
"Did you know that they knew each other?"
I shook my head. "I met Brian after Lissa and I fell out. I've barely seen Lissa since I fired her. I have no idea how Lissa knows him, how long or," I swallowed past the lump in my throat, "the nature of their...relationship."
"So, from what you witnessed, is it safe to assume they have a close...friendship?" Now, why did she have to hesitate over that word?
"He left with her. I didn't see what they were doing throughout the night; I purposely moved out of eye line. But I was by the exit when I saw them stumbling out of the bar together." Their arms had been wrapped around each other, and even though my friends tried to brush it off as harmless friendliness, I knew from Lissa's reputation and Brian's need for a "purely sexual relationship" that they would likely be off to bump uglies.
I was relieved that Dr. Anna wasn't trying to placate me with the same platitudes my friends did. She was quiet for a moment as she scribbled in her notebook, her mouth twisted in deep thought as she wrote.
I nibbled on my thumbnail as I continued to watch her. "Should I have told you? I should have told you, shouldn't I?"
"You should only disclose what you feel comfortable sharing, Maria." She tapped her pad with her pen. "In saying that, why do you think you omitted that information from me?"
"I don't know."
Dr. Anna's shrewd gaze never wavered from mine. I sighed. "Off the top of my head, maybe...maybe because including him in my therapy meant that he may have, possibly , meant a tad more to me than I thought he did."
"Are these feelings you know you feel, or are you telling me reasons you think I want to hear?"
I scratched at my nose. "A little from column A, a little from column B."
Dr. Anna stared me down unflinchingly and unamused.
I dropped my gaze and gave another tired sigh. "More the former," I reluctantly admitted.
"But I'm not heartbroken or anything. It shouldn't be a big deal. I mean, out of all the men that have let me down, his behavior was rather tame –"
"Don't diminish your feelings, Maria," she gently reminded me. "Regardless of what he did, you're allowed to feel hurt or angry or both," she added.
I nodded in understanding. "I processed my feelings for him. Yes, I was...all those things...but I got over it. I chalked it down to another harsh lesson, but I'm not sad it happened. Like I said, it was the push I needed to seek help."
"That's great you recognize that," she praised. "And I'm so proud of you for speaking your truth to him that night. You remained calm, stated your feelings concisely, and were open with him about your boundaries. When you feel you're ready to explore dating again, you –"
"He texted me," I blurted out.
Dr. Anna's mouth was left open. "I'm sorry?"
"Brian," I clarified. "He's been calling me every day for the past week, and then on Saturday night, he texted me." I repeated his text to her verbatim.
"Did you answer any of his calls or reply to his message?"
"No."
"What do you want to do with this information?
"I don't know."
"He hasn't given you any inkling as to why he's seeking contact?"
I shrugged, something I knew Dr. Anna disliked. "Maybe he saw me that night at the bar, you know, when he was with Lissa. Maybe he wants to apologize again. Or maybe –"
"Maria." Her gentle summons stopped me mid-sentence. "You know there's no point in speculating."
My heart sped up. "So you think I should talk to him?"
"Only you can answer that." Damnit, I knew she'd say that.
"But before you do," she continued, "ask yourself: will knowing make me feel better about my situation? Will seeing him hinder my progress or enrich it? Do I want to see him because that's what he wants, and I feel a courtesy to hear him out, or do I genuinely care about what he has to say?"
With that homework ringing in my ear, I left her office with a splintered mind. I delayed going home. Instead, I did what I always did when I was anxious, conflicted, happy, sad, angry...and that was some good old-fashioned retail therapy.
Since I planned on putting a small dent in my bank account, I headed to Helensville, the closest town with a decent shopping complex.
Walking around the mall with two Victoria's Secret bags—lingerie never failed to cheer me up—I suddenly remembered that Simon lived in Helensville. I snickered to myself as I thought of how panicked he would be if he spotted me out in the wild on his turf. His ego was that inflated; he'd probably think I was stalking him. Of course, if I wanted to stalk him, I'd just hang around his apartment.
Except...I didn't have his address. I didn't even know if he lived in an apartment or whether he had his own house. That was how much I rated in his thoughts. That was how superficial our relationship had been. He held all the cards, the power. When he beckoned for me, I came running like a kid following the Pied Piper.
When the sun started to set, I decided to call it a day and head home. As I drove, I finally allowed myself to think of Brian and his request to talk with me. I could see the correlation between him and Simon. Stringing me along, casting me aside, reeling me back in—like that night he ambushed me when I was alone at work or calling me repeatedly for a chat.
I swear, fuck-boys seemed to have a built-in radar for fucking up a girl's mental state. It's like they could sense when a girl was moving on, so instead of letting her be free, they came knocking again; just to make sure you never forget them.
Well, not today, Satan. I didn't want to talk to him. There was no point. I sat up straight, my hands tightening on the wheel as I made my decision. Once I got home, I would delete and block Brian's number.
Unfortunately, I never got around to that. By the time I reached home, I was so physically and emotionally drained, I collapsed into bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.
It still slipped my mind as I went through my morning routine before driving to work. It wasn't in the forefront when I hopped out of my car and headed to the salon. It didn't register until I glanced up from rummaging in my bag for my keys and spotted Brian holding two takeout cups of coffee. And wearing a guilty look on his face.
Well, fuck.