Chapter 19
Chapter
Nineteen
Kitten
When I wake up, he’s gone. Only the fading light pink lines on my breasts and the aching soreness are all I have of him. Hell, he even took the blindfold off the stuffed animal when he left.
I texted him just to say thank you, but I’m blocked. That’s what makes me cry so much that I’m late to work.
Ryan texted last night, but I’m not in the mood to talk. I just want to wallow in my sadness. Still, I scan the lobby to see if he’s there. I also look around to see if anyone else is as depressed as I am.
Ryan’s not around and everyone has the same “I hate work” expression. Not “I’m broken-hearted because I just dumped an amazing girl.” Zero for two.
When I get to my desk, my phone buzzes. I shouldn’t check it. I’m a professional and at work. But … I also have very little willpower at the moment.
Ryan sends me a video. It’s of a highland cow in a pink tutu and a matching bedazzled cowboy hat running in a field to “Big Pimpin”. I watch it three more times. I’ve concluded this is the single greatest video the internet has ever spawned.
Ryan: Don’t know why, but it made me think of you.
Ryan: I think it’s the tutu.
Me: You have no idea how much I needed this.
Ryan: ?
Ryan: Are you okay?
Ryan: Can I get you anything?
He’s so sweet. Too sweet. I doubt he’s the type of guy who would tie me up and fuck me four different ways in one night.
Me: I’m ok.
Ryan: I am underwhelmed with that response.
Me: Well, not everything can be as great as a cow in a tutu.
Ryan: I can think of a few things.
He sends another video—two cows running to “Chariots of Fire”. Damn it. I’m smiling. I’m supposed to be in my sad-girl era, and instead, he has me smiling.
Me: Will you be eating dinner sometime this week?
Ryan: Every night.
Rebound sex is off the table—that’s for damn sure. I’ll need a few days to recover from last night. But hanging out might be exactly what I need.
Me: How about tonight?
Ryan: I’ll meet you at 5.
Me: Make it 5:30—I rolled into work late so I need to make up the time.
He sends a thumbs-up and I toss my phone in my purse.
My body is still aching, so I pop some aspirin from my desk and get to work.
It’s time for another installment of getting rejected by Alana King.
Earlier, I sent a picture of an elephant with a fancy hat.
It’s stupid. I hate it. I’ll be super pissed if that’s the one she goes with.
My desk phone rings a few minutes later. “I love it, but my partner hated it,” Alana says without saying hello.
“Partner? You’re dating someone?”
“Business partner—and he’s not really a partner. I’m the one paying for everything. He’s my best friend slash roommate slash employee. Negative one million romantic feelings there.” She pauses and there’s a little lightness to her voice. “Speaking of which, how are things with you and Fox?”
I should've cut her off, but I get the impression no one cuts her off and lives very long. “We broke up.”
Silence. “Oh shit. Sorry.” There’s genuine sorrow for me.
My purse buzzes and I peek inside. It’s a geolocation Ryan picked. “It sucks, but we were never forever. Besides, I’m talking with a guy who’s great.”
“Damn, girl. Way to rebound.”
“Yeah. His name is Ryan. He’s super sweet, really funny, and like the cutest. He’s got this whole geeky sandy-hair, golden-retriever vibe.”
I expect her to squeal and be happy, but instead, in a dry, dull voice she says, “Ryan? His name is Ryan.”
I laugh. “You don’t get much more white-boy than that. But I checked—he doesn’t work for Alpha Dogggz.”
Alana doesn’t do that huff thing she does when she’s sort of kind of laughing, which sucks because that was a damn good joke and I thought we had moved into the jokey part of our sort of friendship. “Did I do something wrong?”
She sounds surprised. “You? No. You’re fine.” Alana’s quiet for a second. “I’ve got a bad feeling, but I’m sure it’s nothing. I can’t wait to reject your next design.” And poof—dial tone.
The next few hours are spent watching the clock and begrudgingly working at my desk. The art helps take my mind off the heartbreak Fox gave me and the hope Ryan gives me. Plus, I’ve been fixating over the mystery that is Alana King. Instead, I focus on vector design and website templates.
When five thirty rolls around, I’m out the door. Walking to the elevator, I check my phone to see if plans have changed. Ryan texted saying he’s ready. There’s a missed call from an unknown number. I didn’t block Fox from my phone yet, so it wasn’t him.
A familiar sense of panic tingles up my spine. Please be a butt dial. There are no voicemails, so that’s a relief.
I’m safe.
I did everything right to make sure he couldn’t find me.
My concerns vanish when I see Ryan in the lobby. Damn, his smile is so freaking cute. Should I hug him? Maybe a friendly high five? He makes the choice for me and kisses my cheek. This time, he’s picked a steak restaurant—not Ruth’s Chris, but a smaller mom-and-pop place. It’s elegant but casual.
“Are you going to tell me why you needed cheering up today?” he asks once the waiter returns with our wine.
See, everything was going great until he did that. What sort of guy remembers that I was upset and then calls me out on it? Oh, right, one who cares. I forgot that was an option. Ok, so I’m a little bitter and hurt, and Fox did care, in his own way. “My fuck buddy and I are no longer a thing.”
He flinches a little. Is it sympathy or the use of the term fuck buddy? He regroups and his eyebrows crease with concern. “Are you okay?”
I give a little shrug. “I guess we ran our course. We both got what we wanted.”
He glances over at his red wine and smirks. “Well, I’m going to play hard to get for a little while. I don’t want to be your fuck-buddy rebound.” He means it as a joke, but my stomach knots.
“I don’t want you to be that either.” As dinner continues, we start talking about more substantial topics, but we stay on the theme of heartbreak.
“Was it a messy breakup between you and your wife? Do I have to worry about a crazy ex coming to hunt me down?” I laugh, but there’s a sadness in his eyes I’m not expecting.
“No. She passed away.”
Oh shit. I gasp. “I’m so sorry. We can change the subject—superhero movies: are they overrated or our modern-day mythology?”
He stares at his plate, at the gravy pooling around his mashed potatoes. “No, it’s important you know the truth.” He takes a deep breath and gets that far-off look in his eyes.
“Her name was Harper. We met when we were teenagers at an epilepsy camp. We called it Camp Shakes … that’s not the real name for legal reasons.
We were both counselors and we started dating the summer when we were sixteen.
She lived one town over, so it was easy to keep up the relationship.
Both of our parents were worried about us driving, but she had been seizure-free for almost a year.
Junior and senior years of high school flew by, but college was a little more challenging.
We broke up for like a week and a half, but both came crawling back to each other.
She was funny, kind, and liked documentaries about birds and volcanoes.
When she got a job working for the Olympians, we decided to get married—partly for the great insurance.
But we’d been in it for the long haul and I couldn’t see myself with anyone else. ”
He exhales and closes his eyes. My hand reaches across the table and rests over his.
“Bear’s older brother was getting married, and I was a groomsman.
I went down for the rehearsal dinner two nights earlier.
Harper was going to come the day of the wedding.
I didn’t like the idea of her being alone.
It hadn’t happened in a long time, but she occasionally had seizures in her sleep.
It made me feel safer if I slept next to her in case she needed help.
This was going to be the first weekend we were apart in years.
But she was stressed about work and didn’t want to take the extra time off. Besides, it was a guys’ trip.
“The morning of the wedding, I had a bad feeling. She wasn’t picking up and I couldn’t take it, so I bailed and went back home. Her parents were out of the country and most of our friends were already at the wedding.”
He stops talking and I rub my thumbs over his knuckles. He clears his throat and says, “I found her in our bed. She died alone in the middle of the night.”
His terrified trip home fills my imagination, constantly calling and getting no answer, how he must have flung the door open and sprinted up the stairs only to live his worst nightmare.
Fox sounded that upset, pounding on my door when I didn’t answer the phone. Why does my stupid, traitorous brain keep going back to him? It shouldn’t. Ryan is the one telling me the truth, sharing his darkest moment. Fox couldn’t even tell me his name.
Ryan is honest and raw. He’s real and Fox was just a fantasy.
“I’m so sorry.”
He shakes his head. “She was scheduled for surgery three weeks earlier, but she didn’t want a shaved head to ruin the wedding pictures and pushed it back. It had been three years since her last seizure. She should have been safe.”
His fingers lace with mine and he gives a sad little laugh.
“The first time I saw you was after grief counseling. I was running late and we shared an elevator. One of the Alpha bros was hitting on you. You made a comment when he left and it made me laugh for the first time since she died.” He shrugs.
“I recognized you during my panic attack. Sorry I didn’t say anything until now. ”
I don’t know what to say. My usual emotional walls aren’t prepared for this level of honesty. I’m the first woman he’s been on a date with since his wife died. Followed by I made him laugh, a point of pride for me. And he recognized me when we first met. I don’t know what to do with that.
Thankfully, the waiter comes over to check on our progress and ask if we want dessert. I smile up at him and say, “Why don’t you circle back in a few minutes?”
Ryan gives me a half-hearted smile. “And yes—I do think superhero movies are modern-day mythology that are highly commercialized and test-marketed to reach the masses, but that’s central to their appeal.” He grabs his fork and points it at me. “That was an excellent question.”
I like the tone of his voice, it’s comforting and calming, with hints of a southern accent. And even his half-hearted smile warms my soul. His lips look familiar, but all lips kinda look the same, and chins too.
I push my hair over my shoulder and smirk. “I am very smart.” Then the seriousness of what he confessed earlier hits me. “Thank you for telling me about your wife. That must have been really difficult and I appreciate that you trust me enough with that information.”
“You deserve the truth.” A different waiter walks by with a dessert tray. God, I haven’t seen one of those in years. My eyes linger on the chocolate cake.
“Dessert?”
“I’m not going to turn it down.” He laughs at my response and we spend the next few minutes debating superhero movies and myths. But something nags at the back of my head. “What did you mean when you said your wife was scheduled for surgery?”
The waiter returns with the chocolate cake we ordered during the Spider-Man vs. Superman debate (we fell on opposite sides of that one).
Ryan’s fork dives into the chocolate frosting. “There’s a surgery that reduces the chances of seizures. It has like an eighty percent success rate.”
“Are you a good candidate for it?”
“Actually, I’m the ideal candidate, and it’s covered by my insurance.”
Well look at that, he solved all his problems, like a grown-up. “When are you getting it?”
“I’m not.”
Now I’m confused. “This might sound callous and super insensitive … so I’m giving you the caveat before I even ask the question—”
But he cuts me off. “Why am I not getting the surgery?” He waves away my concerns.
“I have the same fight with my parents and Bear all the time.” I nod as he goes to take a second bite, but my fork beats him to it.
“It’s more complicated. Eighty percent isn’t one hundred.
There are major risks.” He leans over the table, closer to me.
“What if mid-surgery the doctor sneezes, his hand slips, and poof—I can’t do math anymore? ”
I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. “Is that really your concern?”
“Wouldn’t that be yours?”
I shrug. “I guess a little, but if there was a chance for me not to live with that fear looming over every aspect of my life, it might be worth the risk.”
“Nothing in life is guaranteed except death. I know what to expect, and the fear is almost comforting.”
He leaves the last bite for me. Bo always took the last bite, and Fox never gave us a chance to go out to dinner. “I wish you could see that fear is holding you back from a future—and possibly happiness.” My cheeks burn as I say it. Did I go too far?
He shrugs. “I was happy once. I don’t need it again, but it would be nice to have.”
There’s a part of me that wishes I were enough to make him happy. But if he can’t see why he deserves it, then there’s nothing I can do.
I try to smile and stay present, but twice in twenty-four hours, I’ve had the emotional door slammed in my face when I opened myself up. It doesn’t even hurt as much as it did in the past. With each rejection, I’m growing more numb to the pain.