Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ALLIE
After sending my parents a quick text to let them know I can meet them for a late supper tomorrow, I fill the tub with bubbles.
Then I grab my book off the bedside table.
I used to have a thing for bodice-ripping romance, but that ended with Brett.
Since then, I’ve been more drawn to true crime and conspiracy thrillers.
After picking up my copy of Murderous Revenge, I look around my bedroom.
Even though I know this apartment is perfect for me, it’s going to take some time before it fully feels like home.
My main issue is there isn’t enough lighting.
I’m not a fan of dark corners, so I’m going to need to buy a few lamps.
After taking off my clothes and sliding into the tub, I remember that when Brett and I were together, he loved moody lighting.
It never bothered me then, but ever since we broke up, I’ve discovered a need to have a clear view of everything that surrounds me.
Metaphorically speaking, I’ve been bitten by things I can’t see in the past—like my cheating husband—and I want to have a clear view of any danger ahead.
Even though there probably aren’t any unseen dangers in my apartment, there could be spiders.
I’ve never been a fan. And while I don’t necessarily believe in the boogeyman, I’ve watched enough sci-fi television shows and movies to be semi-convinced a random portal could open up and swallow me.
While I may not be able to stop such an unforeseen occurrence, I’m pretty sure my odds of surviving are better if I see what’s coming.
For this reason, I’ve turned on the overhead and vanity lights before lighting the candles beside my bathtub. It is not in the least romantic, but since that isn’t the atmosphere I’m going for, it doesn’t matter.
I scoot down so the bubbles cover my shoulders before closing my eyes and reliving my first day as a teacher.
I really enjoyed spending time with the kids.
For the most part, they’re inquisitive and engaging.
Not only that, but they’re also entertaining.
Who knew it was possible to burp “The Star Spangled Banner”?
There’s a freshness about high school-aged kids that reminds me what it was like when my adult life hadn’t yet begun.
When you’re a teenager, you don’t know what you want to do with the rest of your life, so anything is possible.
What I wouldn’t give to go back and live just one day knowing my future was a blank slate.
I particularly like Leah Flynn. She’s spunky as well as studious. She had some great insight into Catcher in the Rye that caused me to really think. She pondered what the book would be like if, instead of being set in a post WWII timeframe, it took place in the future, post-apocalypse.
We discussed this in depth, and I realized I might have really enjoyed the book had it not taken place in the past. At any rate, it was refreshing to talk to someone who thought outside the box.
By the time you’re an adult, most have traded open minds for a small cell where new ideas never grow.
We hand over possibilities in exchange for a mortgage and life insurance. We trade potential for complacency.
I know this sounds harsh, especially because, had Brett and I stayed together, I would never have questioned any of this. Humans are wired to procreate. So much so that some of us will even break our marriage vows to make that happen.
Brett. I hear the name like a hiss in my brain.
It’s like acid corroding a pristine copper pipe.
I know I don’t love him anymore. I don’t even hate him.
But I do resent the heck out of him for taking seven years of my life by claiming he would love me in sickness and health, only to find out he’s a lying sack of dog poop.
When the water starts to cool, I step out and wrap myself up in a fluffy pink robe.
Going into the living room, I turn on all the lights before settling on the couch.
It looks so much nicer with the cream-colored corduroy cover I bought for it.
I can’t wait for brightly-colored throw pillows to come in.
Opening my laptop, I go onto the fake Instagram account I started so I could stalk Brett and his new wife, Holly. There are so many pictures of the four tiny humans they created that the page looks like the invasion of an infant army. I feel a combination of glee and melancholy at the sight.
Today’s post is of Brett and Holly taking their quads out for a walk. The stroller looks comical the way the seats are all in a straight line. It’s like the semi-truck of infant transport.
The canopy covers are all pink which means that in addition to the more basic trauma of having four babies at once, they’re in for a world of drama. I hope when the time comes, their periods sync together, and they really give Brett hell. Ah, to be a fly on the wall …
A close-up picture of the girls shows four pink cherubs sleeping soundly.
The caption reads, “Angels sleep while Mom and Dad enjoy a date night.” I could vomit.
I want to scream, “Wake up, babies! Give them hell!” But I know that will all happen in time.
Social media is not only a great tool to try to convince others how perfect your life is, it’s also handy when you’re trying to convince yourself.
On that note, I click onto my own homepage and hit the + button to make a post of my own. Pulling my hair out of the ponytail holder, I fluff the roots before pinching my cheeks for some color. Then I aim the lens at myself and snap a pic with my new apartment in the background.
I take twenty pictures before choosing the perfect one. I post it to the song “Stronger” by Britney Spears and caption it, “Living the sweet life.” I add a couple of heart emojis and hashtags like #peace and #metime (something Brett and Holly won’t enjoy for ages), before posting it.
Lorelai is the first to like it, and the phone rings immediately afterwards. “You moved out of your parents’ house!” she yells in my ear.
“I did.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I haven’t even told my parents yet,” I say. “I was going to tell you right afterward.”
“What do you mean you haven’t told your parents? Why haven’t you told them?”
Pulling the throw off the back of the couch, I wrap it around my legs. “They are surprisingly busy for two people who don’t even work anymore.”
“Your dad retired?” she asks. “He can’t even be sixty yet, can he?”
“They’re both fifty-nine,” I tell her. “But they act like they’re thirty.”
“Good for them.” Changing the subject she asks, “How’s the new job? Is my brother driving you crazy yet?”
“It’s good, and no,” I tell her. “Noah’s been very nice. He brought me a plant to welcome me on my first day.” Tingles crawl up the base of my spine. He looked adorable standing in my room holding it out to me.
There’s a long stretch of silence before Lorelai asks, “Noah brought you a plant? Was it poison ivy?”
“Mums,” I tell her. “Purple ones.”
“Huh. That seems out of character. You don’t suppose he’s finally decided to return your love?” she teases.
“First of all, I do not love your brother.” Anymore, I silently add. Even though we both know that once upon a time Noah Riley was all I ever thought about. “Also, I’m not in the market for a man. The last one has ruined me for the species.”
“I hope Brett swallows his tongue in his sleep and chokes to death. I hope he trips into traffic and gets hit by a bus.” After a beat, she adds, “I hope he drives off a cliff.”
I don’t bother to point out there aren’t any cliffs in the area. Instead, I say, “I hope he lives a long and healthy life.”
“What? Why?”
“So, he can go broke trying to take care of his daughters.” Then I add, “And I wouldn’t mind if his wife left him for someone else. Someone taller.” Brett is only five ten, but he lies and always tells people he’s six feet.
“I could get behind that,” my friend says. “Maybe she could leave him for someone who’s younger, too. Possibly Brazilian.”
“Why Brazilian?” I want to know.
“There something kind of swarthy and sexy about South American men. Don’t tell Luke I said that.” She laughs before adding, “Clearly, I also have a thing for men of Irish ancestry as well.”
I drain my mug of hot chocolate before asking, “How are things going with you two?”
She sighs dreamily. “So good. I mean, who would have ever thought Luke Phillips would come back to Maple Falls and sweep me off my feet? Not me, that’s for sure.”
“It does seem rather surprising. There don’t appear to be that many single men in town.”
“Not that you’re looking,” she reminds me.
“Definitely not,” I assure her.
“And as much as I’d love to have you for a sister, I don’t think Noah is good enough for you. He’s so grumpy all the time.”
I have yet to experience grumpy Noah, but I don’t tell Lorelai that. Instead, I say, “I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open. I think I’m going to hit the hay early.”
“Good night, my friend. Congrats on your new place.”
After we hang up, I take my laptop to bed with me. I go on several sites looking for lamps and actually buy a couple before snuggling under the covers. Then I spend most of the night dreaming about the last person I should be thinking about.
Noah Riley fills my thoughts like he used to when I was a girl.
We talk and laugh. We hold hands while going for long walks.
It’s pure heaven. Especially when he leans down and touches his pillowy soft lips to mine.
I want the kiss to go on forever, but Noah eventually pulls away.
He looks at me so longingly that my heart positively melts.
And then he says, “I can’t wait to marry you.
We are going to make the most beautiful babies together. ”
Just like that, my dream turns into a nightmare. I wake up in a cold sweat and my heart hammers in my chest. Noah wants to have kids of his own and that’s not something I’m capable of. As such, I’m going to have to redouble my resolve to keep him in the friend zone.
My last conversation with my mother pops into my head. The one where I tell her that I’m enough on my own.
All I have to do now is convince myself that’s true.