58. Stella
CHAPTER 58
STELLA
I f there’s a silver lining to what’s happened, it’s that I now have plenty of time for my coursework. I’m ahead on my modules, actually, and completely on top of Community Bean’s customer service demands, because any time I’m not doing things with Jessie, I bury my head in my job and school work, so I don’t have to think about anything else.
Trying not to think about them goes just about as well as you’d imagine.
Jessie’s outside playing, and she sticks her head in the door to ask, “Mommy, when are we going to have dinner with Cam and Wyatt again?”
“I don’t know, sweetie. I think they’re busy.” Busy sleeping with other women, I finish in my head.
Working beside me in the kitchen, Marissa gives me a sympathetic look. She’s been doing her best to keep my spirits up. She even called in Ana for backup, and they both cheered my cold turkey approach to the men. No contact, no internet searches, no social media stalking. I’m very proud of my resolve.
When I get down about things, my friends reassure me that my romantic experience has been too limited for me to say that I don’t know how to choose good men.
“It happens sometimes, to all of us,” Ana said. “You just have to keep trying.”
I told her I will, after I get over Cam and Wyatt. What I didn’t tell her is that it seems like that’s going to take years.
“I’m hungry,” Jessie says. “When’s dinner going to be ready?”
“About twenty minutes. I’ll call for you as soon as it’s ready.”
“Okay.” She slides the door closed, and I try not to imagine why she asked about the neighbors. She probably heard them out in their yard.
I wish we didn’t have so many months left on the lease for this house, because I’d move just to put more distance between us. I swear I can physically feel their presence nearby, even though I haven’t laid eyes on them for weeks.
You’d think, after what they did to me, it’d be easy to stop thinking about them. They weren’t who they said they were. They knew I didn’t want to just play around with them, so they acted like they wanted a serious relationship, even though they were sleeping with other women—their own assistant, even.
It even crossed my mind to wonder if they have a sex addiction, but I decided they’re probably just lying jerks. There are so many of them out there.
Knowing they’re not good men should make it easier to forget about them, but it doesn’t.
Somehow, I can’t get over how they made me feel—both physically and emotionally—even though none of the emotional part was real on their end.
Despite the way they deceived me, there is one thing I’m grateful to them for. They showed me that I need to have more fun and occasionally take time for myself. Jessie will always be my top priority, but in order to care for her, I need to care for myself, too.
I was also apparently in desperate need of the kind of physical pleasure a man can provide, but it’s going to be a long time before I’m in the mood to try to find that with someone else.
The thought of even going on a date with someone else is so unappealing right now.
“I’m putting the blender on,” Marissa warns before she flips the switch.
It’s jarringly noisy but pretty, as the bright green basil leaves transform into pesto sauce.
She pulses it a few times, and on the last round, there’s a different sound that makes me wonder if the blender is malfunctioning. Then I realize someone’s pounding on the sliding glass door, and there’s no way the loud knocking is coming from Jessie’s little fist.
Wyatt’s at the back door, and Jessie’s in his arms. There’s blood on her and she’s crying.
I’m at the door before I’m even aware that I reacted, and I tug on the handle to let them in. “What happened?”
“Mommy!” Jessie holds out her arms to me, and I reach for her, but before I take her, I need to find out what happened and how hurt she is.
There’s a long scrape on her arm that’s bleeding, but it appears to be more messy than deep. I’ll have to clean her up to know for sure.
“What happened? Where are you hurt?” I take her chin in my hand and look into her eyes. I need to know what also might be injured that I can’t see.
I hadn’t noticed Cam, but he comes in from behind Wyatt and speaks up. “She fell off of her playset. We jumped over the fence when we heard her scream.”
“It hurts, Mommy!” She holds her bloodied arm out to me, and I take her from Wyatt and head to the bathroom.
“This is probably going to hurt, too, but I need to get you cleaned up,” I warn her. While I gently clean her injury, I ask her about what happened, using yes or no questions. She continues crying, but nods and shakes her head to answer me.
I find out she fell from the top deck of her playset, which luckily isn’t too high, but is nearly as tall as the fence, which is about six feet. She says her head doesn’t hurt, but she cries harder when I gently touch her wrist, which is starting to swell. Her bleeding stops after some compression, but there’s a nasty scrape on her arm.
“What can we do?” Wyatt asks. He, Cam, and Marissa are all gathered in the doorway.
“I’m going to take her to urgent care to have her checked out. Her wrist might be sprained or broken.”
“We’ll drive you,” Cam says immediately.
“No. That’s not necess?—”
“Yes, can Cam and Wyatt drive us?” Jessie asks, her eyes still sparkling with tears.
They swooped in to help my daughter, and I’m grateful, but I don’t want to be in a car with them. I also don’t want to make a stink about it, if it’s something that will make Jessie feel better. Most of all, I just want to get her seen by a doctor as soon as possible.
“Okay, fine. Let’s go. Right away.”
“We’ll be back in your driveway in two minutes,” Cam says. He and Wyatt both wave and smile at Jessie, and then they’re gone.
“Want me to come, too?” Marissa asks, and I appreciate the offer, and the sympathy in her eyes, but I tell her no.
Now that the crowd has cleared, Goldfish rushes in and licks Jessie’s knee, making her giggle. Her laughter goes a long way toward easing my worry, but I won’t be able to relax until she’s checked for serious injury.
I grab my purse, Jessie’s jacket, and her favorite stuffed toy, and we go out front, where the men arrive as promised. They question me about what type of medical facility I want to go to, but that’s the end of their conversation with me, and I’m grateful.
The ride reminds me of the Goldfish-marshmallow incident, and I vow that we need to stop meeting like this.