Chapter 13 Margot #2
Ever since we broke up, I’ve worried about Jeremy showing up here.
There was a lot I didn’t know about him, but there’s one thing I do know: he doesn’t let things go easily.
Sooner or later, perhaps on some drunken night, he’ll knock on my door.
It’s just who he is. Jeremy fixates on the things he can’t have. And that now includes me.
Whether he’s looking for forgiveness or a second chance, I’m prepared to give him nothing but a stern warning that I’m calling the police.
He already stole all of our furniture (which, by the way, I would have been happy to split equitably) and damaged my belongings.
I don’t need more proof that Jeremy is no longer the great guy I met in college.
Clutching my phone in my hand, I make my way into the living room. My thumb is already hovering over the screen, ready to dial 9-1-1 as I squint out the peep hole in my door.
But it’s not Jeremy standing there… it’s Ethan.
I pull the door open. “What are you doing here?”
Ethan steps inside, rubbing his forehead and looking slightly disheveled. For the first time in history, his hair isn’t quite right, and his clothes are wrinkled. Is this what Ethan looks like after sex?
Something tells me it’s not.
“I need to decompress after that date,” he says. His eyes dip to my cat print flannel pajama set, and he frowns. I’m not sure why. Personally, I think they’re adorable. “I was driving by and just sort of ended up here. I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course,” I say, closing the door behind him. “Was the date that bad?”
He turns and drops his hand to his side with a sigh. “She has a cat.”
A cat? That was the problem with his date?
A laugh bubbles past my lips. The look Ethan cuts me in return is wholly unhumorous.
“Lots of women have cats, Ethan. This can’t possibly be the first woman you’ve been on a date with who owns a cat.”
He shakes his head. “No, like… she has a cat. This massive, fluffy… thing with a flat, weird little face. And buried somewhere in all that fur is this woman’s entire personality.”
“Wait, she didn’t bring the cat, did she?” If she brought the cat on their date, I guess I could see Ethan’s point.
He blows out a breath like he’s seen some shit he doesn’t want to remember, and replies, “Some of it.”
“Do I want to know what that means?”
“She was wearing this outfit…” Ethan makes a weird motion that makes me think the woman might have worn a cat costume on their date.
“Overalls?” I guess instead.
“No, it was more like what auto mechanics wear.”
Ah, probably a jumper then. That’s not so bad. Jumpers are cute.
“It was covered in cat hair,” he continues. “Absolutely covered. Every time I looked at her, I sneezed. And I’m not even allergic to cats.”
“Okay…”
“Anyway, she takes the cat to conventions. That’s her primary source of income—cat shows.
How much could that possibly pay? They’re cats.
There’s like ten stray ones on every street.
Why would anyone pay to see these particular cats?
I’m not trying to be a snob, it’s just… is she okay?
Should I start some sort of charity for the cat people? ”
Knowing Ethan as well as I do, I can tell that he’s completely serious. If I said it was a good idea, he would set up a charity for all the discouraged, honorable mention cats and their owners who need money for cat food and, apparently, lint rollers.
“Don’t do that,” I tell him instead. Motioning for him to follow me to the kitchen, I grab two water bottles out of the fridge and pass one to Ethan. “I’m sorry, I feel partially responsible since I picked the woman for you. Are you traumatized? Did you at least make an excuse to leave early?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Ethan takes a long swig of his water then looks up at me, his expression shifting. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
The earnestness in his voice catches me by surprise. Glancing away, I take a small sip of my water. When I look back up at Ethan, his eyes are still fixed on me. He clears his throat and tips his water bottle to motion at me. “What about you? How was your date?”
“It was fine,” I shrug.
“Just fine?”
“Yeah, I mean, he was nice. He said all the right things, but I was quiet and awkward the whole time. It just felt…” I trail off, picking at the label on my water bottle.
“Felt like what?” Ethan presses after a few seconds.
“I don’t know… contrived? Disingenuous? Like he’d been on hundreds of dates just like tonight and learned exactly what to say and do, and I was just sitting there without a clue about what to say in return because, on some level, it all just feels so fake.
It felt like I was on a scripted dating show and had forgotten all my lines. ”
Ethan’s eyebrows scrunch together and his jaw tightens like he’s thinking something over. When he swallows, I can hear the click of his throat in the otherwise quiet kitchen.
“Do you think you’ll see him again?” he asks.
“Definitely not,” I say with a brittle laugh.
“I think I weirded him out by being too quiet. He didn’t really mention a second date.
He just said to give him a call if I changed my mind about…
” I cut myself off. How did I go from saying too little to saying way too much in the span of an hour?
The inquisitive look on Ethan’s face tells me he’s not going to drop it though, so I grit out the last two words as quietly as possible. “… hooking up.”
A familiar cocoon of shame wraps around me.
I could almost take comfort in it by now.
Embarrassing myself in front of my boss has become second nature.
It’s who I am now: getting drunk, crying, yelling at office plants, discarding my bra in a hallway, reading smut in plain sight.
Oh, and let’s not forget about mauling him in his sleep then nearly kissing him in the morning.
Not that I’ll ever forget that…
The butterfly springs back into action at the mere memory of Ethan’s lips near mine. I try my best to wrestle it back down. Any imaginary flying insect that wants to take up residence in my stomach is going to need to have more realistic expectations.
“Well, that’s something you were interested in, isn’t it?” Ethan’s voice is stiff, and his eyes don’t meet mine.
“Maybe… but it just didn’t feel right tonight.”
He nods, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “Look, first dates can be awkward. You just need some more practice.”
“Yeah,” I say with exactly zero conviction. “You’re probably right.”
What I actually need is a powerful vibrator and some time alone with my harem of blue aliens. Vibrators don’t require talking. Same with aliens, I assume. We probably don’t even speak the same language.
“I should head home,” Ethan says, looking frazzled and exhausted.
“Alright, drive safe. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night, Margot.”
“Good night.”
Even though I still wouldn’t call this night a total success, I feel a little bit better about it when I crawl back into bed.