Chapter 17 #2
A stupid, low response, but she flips me off as she gets in the Uber and slams the door. Fuck. I rub my eyes, exhausted like I just ran a marathon, and turn to see a flock of older women with their reusable bags in arms glaring at me in disgust. Of course, it’s my fault.
I finally get home and feel like absolute shit.
I can’t even gather myself to tackle my to-do list on the fridge.
I sit on the couch and think back to what Carrie said.
It felt like we were in the same relationship dating different people.
We were dating what we wanted the other person to be.
I didn’t fit the mold she created for the perfect boyfriend.
Maybe she’ll find love in Mr. Fig Vendor.
Honestly, I wish her the best because the last thing I want for her is to dwell on this relationship.
But shit, I almost spent a year with her, and it’s over in an instant.
I go by each day thinking about a person.
What they are up to, how they are feeling, and within an hour, it’s as if all of that doesn’t even matter anymore.
I couldn’t care less about what she is up to right now.
I wish I could erase her from my mind. I wish I could rewind back a year and get my time back.
I get up and find an empty cardboard box and start going around my house, gathering everything that reminds me of her.
A fuzzy pink scrunchie with red hairs tangled around it in my key bowl, a single sock at the bottom of my hamper, and her sugar-free soy milk in the fridge.
That’s going directly into the trash. I should have known her not liking oat milk was a red flag.
My scavenger hunt for my ex’s items turns into a full deep clean of my apartment.
I even break out the duster I bought when I first moved into this apartment a couple of years ago.
I realize I’m probably doing this to keep my mind busy so I don’t think about Carrie.
At least my house will get the cleaning it desperately needs.
I should burn some of the palo santo that my coworker Nancy gave me for Christmas to cleanse the air.
My phone starts buzzing in my back pocket, and I wince when I pull it out, worried it’s her already.
I really don’t want to work things out. I’m done with the guilt she makes me feel.
Thankfully, my dad’s photo lights up my screen.
The picture is him in a jovial, belly filled laugh that instantly calms me down.
“Hey, Dad, what’s up?” I sandwich my phone between my ear and my shoulder as I try to dust the tops of all my door frames.
“Hi-what's wrong? What happened?” I swear I can sneeze, and he can tell something is wrong.
I let out a sigh. “Carrie dumped me.”
“Oh, son…” He lets out a sigh of his own, “I’m sorry, breakups are never easy. How long has it been since she split?” I hear the sink running in the background. We are both fussing around our houses to get things tidied up. Like father, like son.
“Hm.” I look over at the clock on the stove. “Probably two hours now.”
The faucet promptly shuts off. “That’s it? You sound sad, but not two-hours-fresh-breakup-sad.”
“Yeah, I think it was destined to end at some point. We were bickering more, and I was happier when I was away from her.”
I plop down on my couch and curl myself in a quilt Pam made me when I moved up to Oregon. She stitched gradients of greens in a spiral pattern and added tassels to the edges. She put a fuzzy flannel on the bottom so it is soft and comforting.
“Well, get yourself some tissues and let it out. You can focus on yourself now. Didn’t you two start dating when you first moved up there?”
“About a couple of months later, I walked into her bakery and asked her on a date. And I don’t cry over breakups anymore. I realized I didn’t even feel that strongly toward Carrie.” Haven’t felt that way since college.
“Oh, Reid, you never did get over Anni.” I immediately wince at the mention of her name. “That was a rough breakup for you. I always thought it was serendipitous how you dated after having a crush on her in middle school.”
I never should have brought it up. I can barely unpack my latest relationship, let alone one that barely lasted a month in college.
I felt so alone after. I just called my dad and Pam, who took turns on the phone with me for three hours.
Probably the most I’ve cried, and I just felt so embarrassed by it. I’m not going to cry over Carrie.
“Pam! Get in here. Reid needs one of our famous counseling sessions again!” I hear my dad calling out on the other end, which I can’t help but laugh at.
“Dad, I’m twenty-four I don’t need my parents consoling me. I’m fine, trust me.” I wrap the quilt tighter around me and would give anything to teleport Pam here so she can make me some soup. Maybe I do need my parents to console me after all.
“All right, if you say so. And hey, we are going to see you next weekend. So if you need to bottle up your emotions, we’ll be there soon enough, and you can let it out.
You’ll have two sets of shoulders to cry on.
” I close my eyes and am thankful that the drive from the Bay Area to southern Oregon is more manageable, so Dad and Pam come to visit every other month.
“I’ve got a few boxes of your things to bring you now that you have a house.
I’m cleaning up the garage to convert into my retirement workshop. ”
“I’m renting. It’s not my house, Dad.”
“But it’s a lot more space than you ever had in California!”
That’s true. I get more space here for the rent than I ever would in San Diego or in the Bay Area. “I’ll see you guys next weekend. Thanks for the chat.”
“Love you, Reid,” my dad says. “Love you, Reid!” I hear Pam echo in the distance.
I hang up and turn on The Godfather for the twentieth time. I’d like to stay curled under this quilt for three uninterrupted hours.