71. Chapter Seventy-One
Three months later…
I fall into the empty seat across from Westley in the lunchroom and drop my head to the table.
“Rough day?” he asks, reaching for his can of soda.
I groan, lifting my head.
“I really wish clients wouldn’t hire us and then tell us how to do our jobs. Don’t they realize it’s why they’re hiring us in the first place?”
He shrugs. “May as well let them do both. If they’re going to pay you and do your job, that’s like free money.”
I glare. “You’re joking.”
He scoffs. “Of course I’m joking.”
I blow out a breath. “Good, because I was getting worried.”
“Come on. Me? Who is picky as all hell?”
I grin and open my lunch bag to pull out my salad and yogurt.
“You eat like a bird,” Westley adds, picking up his cheeseburger.
“What’s wrong with birds?”
“They’re… birdy.”
I choke out a laugh, shaking my head.
“I don’t know if I should be offended by that or not.”
His response is to grin.
His phone buzzes, and he picks it up, smiling at whatever he sees. Since he’s occupied, I focus on eating my food and space out for a bit. I need to stop dealing with terrible clients before lunch; I swear it gives me indigestion.
“You coming out with us tomorrow?” Westley asks after a few moments of silence.
I shrug a shoulder. “Probably. Unless I have an aneurysm by then.”
“Why in the hell do you say shit like that?” Westley crumples his cheeseburger wrapper and stuffs it inside the fry cup.
“Do you ever have anything nice to say about me?” I question.
He looks me up and down. “Nice tie?”
I roll my eyes. “That isn’t even about me. It’s my clothes.”
“Your… eyebrows are neat?”
“Good god,” I groan, stabbing my fork into a piece of grilled chicken.
“What? You know how many guys have bushy ass eyebrows. Or worse? One eyebrow!”
I laugh, but it’s true. He’s not wrong.
Since returning from Oregon, Westley and I have gotten pretty close. He’s fun to be with and pretty chill, compared to some of the other guys. Not that anything is wrong with them, they just take a lot of energy out of me. Westley doesn’t do that.
“Okay, thanks. Your eyebrows are nice too.”
“Damn right they are. I get them done professionally.” He flashes me a bright smile.
“For a straight guy, you do a lot of un-straight-guy things.”
He presses a hand to his chest, mocking outrage. “Excuse me for taking care of myself.”
“Something a lot of grizzly ass straight men don’t do.”
“You’re not wrong,” he says, then leans in close. “Like Tyler in accounting.”
His eyes shift to the right, and I follow his line of sight. I have to cover my mouth to stop from laughing so hard as I set eyes on Tyler. Who has one eyebrow and clothes that are way too big.
“Poor thing,” I mutter. “You’re mean.”
“Poor us,” Westley retorts. “We have to look at him.”
“Where are we going?” I ask as I go back to my salad. Usually the guys go out on Friday, but no one seems to want to do anything tonight. Saving it for a Saturday usually means they plan to party harder.
“No clue,” he answers, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands together behind his head.
“It better not be another strip club.”
Westley rolls his lips between his teeth to stop from laughing. He points at me and says, “That was a good night.”
“Yeah, for all of you!”
“Watching that girl grind all over you? Oh, it was perfect. The look on your face? Priceless.”
“It was horrifying.” I shiver and take the last bite of my food.
“Please, she had a nice ass.”
“It wasn’t her ass that was the problem, it was just… all of it. I’d have felt the same if it were a guy. Public lap dances are not my thing.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
We fall into comfortable silence after that. We mess around on our phones while we let our food settle, then head up to the office together. The moment I’m back at my desk, I check my emails. There is a never-ending supply of them at all times.
The last three months have been better than I thought they could be. My life here is really settling in. I keep in touch with my friends back home. Chris and I don’t go longer than a day without texting the other, even if it’s just a check in. He seems to be doing really well. I talk to Mila all the time too, and she agrees that Chris is doing great. Apparently, they went on an actual date. One that went well, but I haven’t heard anything more than that. Chris doesn’t want to give out too many details, and I think Mila is afraid to hope for more.
Tomas and I chat now and then, just to update one another. I never brought up the stuff with his father and Cole and probably never will. It doesn’t matter to me what happened with them. Especially now that Chris doesn’t remember any of it.
It’s been radio silence from Cole.
Now and again, Chris will mention something to do with him. Like how they started up their Sunday breakfasts again. Or if they go out to dinner or a movie, but that’s about it.
I can’t say that I’m over him, because I still think about him multiple times a day and I hate it.
Some days I’m angry. Some days I’m sad. Some days I just really fucking miss him.
And every day I wonder if I’m ever going to forget about him at all.
I want to. So badly, I want to stop thinking about Cole, but he left a mark on me and I’m not sure anything will make it go away. I need to learn to live with this, but I don’t even know where to start.
There are still some nights I cry myself to sleep. I want to call him and beg for answers. Answers to what? I don’t know. Other nights, I just want to hear his voice.
I just… miss him.
He’s fixed so many of my problems before, and maybe he could help me get through this too.
Tell me how to get over you, Cole. Please, for the love of god, tell me.
But that’s just pathetic. It’s embarrassment more than anything that’s holding me back. He’s obviously over me, and it’s about time I do the same. I just don’t know how.
I’ve come so far since moving to Boston, but I still have so much work to do on myself. My dad really did a number on me. Still haven’t heard a word from him, by the way. That of which I’m grateful for. He isn’t someone I want in my life. There is no amount of apologizing he could do to make me forgive him.
But this lingering obsession with Cole? It’s not normal. I mean, how long does it take to get over someone? How can I still want him after all this time? Clearly there’s something broken in me. Something I need to fix. Everything else in my life is moving steadily, this is the last thing I need to get past. Maybe it’s as simple as needing more time. Maybe it’s more, I don’t know. I’m just thankful Daniel finally gave up and hasn’t bothered me since that night Cole answered the phone. It’s one less problem I have to deal with.
“You ready to go?” I look up and find Westley standing in front of my desk with his jacket on and messenger back on his shoulder. I glance at the clock on my computer.
“Shit, I didn’t even realize the time,” I say.
The second part of my day always goes by fast, but today was faster than normal.
I save the file I was working on, turn off my computer, gather my things, and we’re out the door.
Boston winter is nothing to play around with. I bundle up like the kid from A Christmas Story and don’t feel an ounce of shame over it as we walk the streets to either take the T or a rideshare. Each day is different, depending on who we’re with and what we’re doing. Plus the weather and what’s available.
Today, we take the T, which means more walking. It’s fine though. I don’t mind all the walking. It’s nice. Helps clear my head. Especially since the winter chill can’t get through my twenty-five layers of clothing. Sometimes I get home and I’m sweating.
“You look ridiculous, you know that?” Westley mutters, shoving his hat further onto his head.
“Not ridiculous enough or I’d be walking alone,” I comment.
“Add one more scarf, and you will.”
Taking the T has become so normal to me now, but at first it scared the shit out of me. Being squished in the car with all these people sucks, but I’ve gotten used to it now.
The walk from the station to our apartment building is only a few blocks, and we get there before the sun is fully down.
Westley and I part ways at my door. I head inside, take off my layers of clothes, and go right to the kettle to start a cup of tea. I’ve started little routines that have helped me settle in more, and having tea when I get home after work is one of them.
I’m waiting for the kettle to buzz when there’s a knock on my door. Figuring it’s Westley who needs an egg or cup of milk, because he’s always making something and is missing one ingredient. It’s easier to come here than go to the store on the next block. Truthfully, I don’t mind. It’s just something I can give him shit about. Besides, when he’s making something sweet, he always shares, and that’s worth it for me.
I pull the door open, but it isn’t Westley who’s there.