Chapter 22 Lucy
Lucy
I don’t bother waiting until Marsh gets in the car. I walk as fast as I can and shut the front door of my apartment behind me. My throat feels tight and my lips begin to tremble, but I pull it together.
This is the best option. Things were starting to get messy. Marsh is coming off a breakup—albeit a breakup that happened a year ago—but Marshall Oakley doesn’t know how to be with someone like me.
Maybe a Lucy with rose-colored glasses could be honest and say that last night really did mean something.
That whatever happened between us was unlike anything I’ve experienced.
That there was a connection that I didn’t think was possible.
That I’m choosing to ignore all of that because I don’t want to become like my parents, like him and Julia, like all of the other people I know who get their hearts broken.
But I’m not that Lucy.
What I felt last night was something unfamiliar to me, and I frankly don’t know how to navigate those feelings. Not seeing Marsh anymore is best for the both of us.
It’s better this way.
After I unpack and take another shower, I slump onto my couch and put on an episode of The Shield. The gritty cop drama makes me feel at home, and I oddly have a sense of comfort watching Detective Vic Mackey make sense of the chaotic world we live in.
There’s a knock at the door and I glance at my phone. It’s almost ten-thirty p.m. Frowning, I get up to look through the peephole. Letting out an exhausted sigh, I open it.
“It’s ten-thirty,” I say.
Chris stands in front of me, hands in his pockets. “You’re not sleeping.”
“What if I was?” I step aside, letting him in. I’m far too exhausted, mentally and physically, to put up a fight.
“Then you wouldn’t have answered.” He walks in, kicking off his shoes. If there’s one thing I taught Chris, it’s that I do not allow outdoor shoes inside my home.
“What are you doing here?” I sit on the couch and turn off the TV.
“I missed you.” He sits beside me. “You haven’t responded all weekend.”
“I was in San Francisco.”
“What were you doing there?”
“It was a work thing,” I reply, dismissing him.
Chris frowns. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. Just had a stressful week, that’s all.”
“Want to lie down?” he asks.
I yawn, realizing how tired I am. “Sure.”
We walk to my bedroom and both lie on top of my bed.
Chris curls up behind me and starts rubbing my shoulders.
I close my eyes and I don’t think about who I’m with or where I am.
Chris places a kiss in the crook of my neck, then my shoulder.
I know where this is leading. Grabbing his hand, I place it underneath my sweatshirt, right on my breast. He lets out a low mmm and squeezes.
He turns me over and tries to give me a kiss on the lips, but I turn my head.
Chris pulls out a condom from his back pocket and swiftly takes off his clothes.
Meanwhile, I only care to barely shimmy down my sweatpants, leaving my sweatshirt on.
I don’t even look at him; I avoid eye contact.
He attempts to go inside me while I’m on my back, but I turn over onto my stomach, staring at the wall in front of me.
He pushes himself inside of me and I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Harder,” I say. He obliges. “Harder,” I say again.
He thrusts and thrusts until I remember what sex should feel like. Simply a physical pleasure. It shouldn’t matter who it’s with or who we are to each other. As long as I’m comfortable, it shouldn’t have to matter.
When Chris finishes, he pulls off the condom, and I don’t even look at him, just go straight to the bathroom. After cleaning myself up, I find him passed out, naked under my covers. I go back into the living room and finish my episode of The Shield.
“Morning.” Chris gently rubs my arm. I slowly open my eyes and see I’m still on the couch and he has a cup of coffee in his hand. “Why didn’t you sleep in the bedroom?”
“Oh.” I sit up. I instinctively reach for the cup of coffee and take a sip. My face scrunches as I realize it’s just plain black with no sugar or milk. “I wasn’t tired yet…What time is it?”
“Six-thirty a.m.,” Chris says.
I run a hand through my hair and do some mental math. I have to be at the office in three hours. “Thanks for waking me up.”
“Of course.” He smiles. He’s sitting on my coffee table across from me, just staring, and it makes me feel uncomfortable.
I wince. “What?”
“Let’s do something tonight,” he says.
“Tonight?” I repeat, confused. It’s unlike Chris to make any plans more than an hour in advance.
“Yeah.” He nods. “I’ll take you for dinner.”
I frown. “Why?”
“I missed you.” He takes both of my hands in his. “I’m glad I came over last night. It’s been weird not talking to you this week.” His thumbs start rubbing the inside of my wrists, and I think this is the most earnest I’ve ever seen him. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking…”
“Okay…”
“And I want to do this.”
My brows wrinkle. “Do what?”
“Come to my grandma’s ninetieth birthday party.” He smiles.
I blink. “Why?”
“To take the next step in our relationship,” he says, and a laugh escapes me. He can’t be serious right now. “What’s so funny?”
“I-I’m sorry,” I stammer. “You’re not kidding?”
“Why would I joke about that?” he asks.
I pull my hands out from his and look around my apartment for an answer. My throat feels tight and my stomach queasy. “Because why would I meet your family?”
“Because that’s the right thing to do,” Chris says slowly. “When you’re with someone. You have them meet important people in your life, you go on trips, you move in together.”
“I know you.” I adjust in my seat. “You don’t want those things.”
“I didn’t. I do now, though.” He takes my hands in his again. “So, my brother got engaged a few days ago—”
“You have a brother?” I say. This is the first I’m hearing of it.
“Yeah, we’re twins.”
“What?!”
“But I swear, it’s like that was a wake-up call,” Chris says. “I’m in my thirties and I’ve never been in a serious relationship. You’re the closest thing I have to a girlfriend, so why not just make things official?”
“That’s not…” I frown. “That’s not a reason you introduce someone to your family, Chris.”
“Then what is?” he asks. “Luce, I’m crazy about you.”
“Since when?” I startle. I’ve never in my life thought that Chris was crazy about me. Attracted to me, yes. Sees me as the convenient option, yes. But not crazy about me. “You treat me like shit.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true!” I counter. “Everything and anything we’ve done was always at your convenience. Whenever you’re free, whenever you’re not tired, whenever you’re horny.”
“Lucy, I have a busy schedule,” he says, defending himself. “My hours on set aren’t easy—”
“You’ve done one short film and a guest spot on Grey’s Anatomy in the year I’ve known you…and you didn’t even have any lines.”
“Okay, where is this coming from?” He pulls back. “I’m telling you I want to be exclusive and I’m the bad guy? I thought this is what you’d want.”
I have shown him no signs of wanting to be in a serious relationship. “Why would you think that?”
“Because that’s what women want!” Chris counters, baffled.
“You’re…” I run my hands through my hair in frustration.
I’ve had this conversation with too many men in my lifetime.
“Look, Chris, you’re not the bad guy. I just don’t think you’re doing this for the right reasons.
You’re doing this because you think you’re losing me.
We have a good thing going and to keep it you think, Sure, I can slap on whatever label Lucy wants to give this, but nothing needs to change.
And a few wasted years later, you’ll realize that you didn’t want any of this in the first place. ”
The words linger between us and Chris shakes his head. “That’s not true, Lucy.”
“I don’t think this is working anymore,” I say. I instantly remember Marsh saying the same thing to me last night, and it stings.
“What’s not working?”
“This.” I gesture between the two of us.
“Are you breaking up with me?” Chris’s face drops.
I truly cannot help but laugh. “Breaking up with you? There’s no way you thought we were together this whole time.”
“I’ve hardly been with anyone else since meeting you.”
“Chris…this past year was not a relationship,” I tell him, easing up. “I’m sorry. I am truly grateful for the time we had together, and you’re a kind person who I know means well. But this was not a relationship, and if you think it was, this is definitely the right choice for both of us.”
“Lucy, I thought we had something good going here,” he says, a candid look of disappointment on his face. The thing is, Chris isn’t a bad person. But I’m starting to think that maybe I am.
“Yeah, well,” I sigh apologetically, “you thought wrong.”
Monday goes by slow. I stare at my blank Word document and have never felt more uninspired than I do right now.
My next story is due at three p.m., and I can’t for the life of me decide what to write about.
It feels too soon to talk about the downfall of my relationship, but coming up with a new story feels almost too painful.
But as most writers do, I push through. I push through and write about what I’m feeling and hope that it steers me in the right direction.
I’ve learned that when it comes to writing, sometimes you need to write all the wrong things, all the feelings that you have that will never see the light of day, just to get it out.
So, I start writing about how I felt this weekend.
I write, pretending that the conversation with Marsh and me never happened and that it ended before I ever said anything.
The Lucy writing this article kept her stupid mouth shut, accepted the breakfast burrito, and just enjoyed the rest of the weekend.
That Lucy didn’t regret opening up about her mom and dad, she didn’t have meaningless revenge sex with Chris, and she told Marsh how she really felt.
She admitted to not only Marsh but also to herself that she felt something and that she doesn’t want whatever they’re doing to end.