9. Chelsi
CHAPTER NINE
chelsi
“Your husband is something else,” I say, standing in one of the guest bedrooms of Kate and Jake’s Nashville home, surrounded by boxes of my stuff. “Or perhaps the combination of him and Max is more accurate.”
Kate chuckles. “Once he gets an idea in his head, it’s full steam ahead on the execution.
I’m honestly surprised he didn’t have you moved in the day after you agreed.
The only reason it took this long was that the moving company was booked up.
Not that I wouldn’t put it past him to offer to pay double or triple to make it happen faster if he thought it was necessary.
” Kate’s face softens with a dreamy look, one I’ve seen countless times whenever she’s talking or thinking about the love of her life.
I shake my head, unable to comprehend how I went from losing my job to living in Nashville in five days.
It all happened so quickly after I agreed to Jake’s offer.
I barely had to lift a finger. Movers showed up and packed up all my stuff, minus my sex toys, because you never want some rando touching those.
The next thing I knew, I was in my car, headed south to figure out what the hell is next for me.
Not that I have a clue.
I sigh, appraising where to begin unpacking the shitshow that is my life.
Kate tightens her ponytail and stretches her neck. “Where do you want to start? I’m assuming the closet, since most of this has to be clothes and shoes.”
She’s not wrong. It’s practically all clothes, shoes, makeup, and jewelry, with a few knick-knacks thrown in for decoration. All my furniture stayed in the condo until I determine where I’m going to permanently live.
“Definitely closet first. You don’t have to help. I’m sure you’d rather spend the day with your husband.”
“Can’t get rid of me that easily. Plus, we already had some quality time this morning, so he should be good for a few hours while he’s in the studio.” A blush creeps up Kate’s face, and she looks away.
“Uh-huh. Why do I have a feeling I need to get used to hearing the two of you having sex if I’m going to live here? I should probably invest in better noise-cancelling headphones.”
“I mean—”
“Don’t say another word.” I reach for Kate’s hands and hold them.
“I’m really happy for you and all the amazing sex you’re having.
You and Jake were meant to be, and I’m so glad I get to witness it.
” I squeeze her hands before letting go.
“Please enjoy all the rabid fucking you want. Just give a gal a heads-up if it’s happening in a communal space.
I don’t want to accidentally walk into the kitchen to find him eating you for breakfast on the island. ”
Kate snorts. “I wish I could tell you that wouldn’t happen, but…”
“Note to self: make sure to wipe off kitchen counters before eating on them in the future,” I tease, squatting to open up the first box and grabbing a pile of T-shirts.
“Let’s get started on this hot mess so I can return you to your husband on time.
I’m sure he has a countdown on his phone until he has to be inside you again. ”
Kate doesn’t say a word as her cheeks redden further.
We spend the next two hours unpacking and mindlessly chatting, ignoring the elephant in the room: I’m without a job, and I don’t have any idea where my life is headed.
Somehow, being in her presence lightens my load and eases my stress a tiny bit, allowing me to have a break from the doom spiraling I was doing in Chicago.
The countless rabbit holes I went down as I contemplated whether trying to follow my passion for literally anything other than accounting was a fool’s errand.
Because that’s what it feels like. A huge waste of time and money to do anything besides what I went to college for.
Once the last box is empty, Kate leaves my room to find Jake while I collapse on the king-size bed, immediately cocooned by the plush mattress and cloud-like duvet. Where did they find this magical combination? It’s like being embraced by a warm hug, and I haven’t even gone under the covers yet.
Staring at the ceiling, my mind floods with the countless questions and concerns previously plaguing me—the ones I got a short reprieve from when Kate was with me.
What I’m going to do with my career.
Where I’m going to live.
Whether I want to become a cat lady.
How I’m going to survive financially.
Talk about irony. I’m a certified accountant who hates numbers and doesn’t follow her own investing advice. Why stick money in a 401(k) or the stock market when you can splurge on designer shoes, handbags, and clothes?
What sucks is I thought I didn’t need to worry about any of it. The promises Maddox made about his startup creating generational wealth were too enticing for me. I believed him when he claimed working there would change my life.
Technically, he didn’t lie. I am unemployed and living with my best friend and her husband. Talk about a life-changing turn of events.
I groan, draping my arm over my eyes. Maybe I’ll stay in bed for the next few days and wallow in my misery.
My phone dings. Once. Twice.
I sit up and reach for my phone at the end of the bed.
Kate
I’m making spaghetti carbonara. Should be ready around 7:30.
You might want to avoid the kitchen for the next hour or so.
A small laugh escapes me. Not going to think about what’s happening in there while she’s cooking dinner.
A pang of jealousy hits me, and I try to force it down. The last thing I want is to be envious of my best friend. She deserves all the happiness in the world. I’m so thankful she found Jake. I just wish… I wish something similar would happen to me.
I want a career where I’m energized by my work.
I want my other half. The man who cherishes me the same way Jake does Kate. The type of love that transcends everything. The missing puzzle piece in my life.
But I’m worried it may not be in the cards for me.
Relationships never seem to work out in my favor.
Becoming a cat lady is likely my future. Or perhaps a dog lady since I’m allergic to cats. Whatever the animal, I’m going to be the woman who is permanently alone, getting herself off with the latest sex toy she bought online.
I think that might be enough for me.
Maybe going back to being an accountant and choosing to be single forever is the best decision. I’ll know exactly what to expect and can’t be disappointed.
It may not feed my soul, but at least it won’t destroy me or make me question whether I’m wasting my life when everything inevitably blows up.
Here’s to a lifetime of spreadsheets and electronically delivered orgasms.