Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
Qualities
I melt at Sarah's grin before she stabs her fork again into her omelet. We eat for a minute in silence while I contemplate her question.
“One of my worst qualities is that I'm demanding.” I pause, gauging her reaction. She stays open in her body language, chewing her omelet and keeping her eyes on mine. Good girl.
“Demanding how?”
"Emotionally." Her face stays perfectly calm, and now it's my turn to chew quietly, debating how much to share. “I divorced my ex-wife, Hannah, because she was so busy being a trophy wife she couldn’t be bothered to raise our son, Tyler. I just couldn’t tolerate it anymore. I took so much emotional abuse from her during our relationship that I vowed after I left her that I wouldn’t tolerate any red flags. So, I’ve been single all these years afterwards; I haven’t had a serious relationship since the divorce. ”
Sarah continues to chew silently, and I can tell she's mulling over my words. “You didn’t try to date?”
“Yes, several times. I can tell pretty quickly when it’s not a good fit. Especially for me.”
“Is it a standards thing?” she asks curiously, tilting her head just a little.
“Sure,” I quip. “And an emotional needs thing, an emotional intimacy thing, a physical thing…it’s multifaceted.”
“I get it. That's a long time to not be in a committed relationship, but it’s worse to be in a long-term relationship where the relationship is based on a lie, and you aren’t satisfied, you know?
” She puts her fork down and sits back, sighing.
“Because that shit is harder than what people realize. I think I’d rather be single myself, too. So I can’t blame you.”
I clear my throat, feeling validated with just a couple sentences from her. “Thank you, because I’ve felt very judged for a long time. From male friends especially…” I trail off, not wanting to get into all of that.
“So…you don’t jump into sex with women? I do find that interesting because you’re pretty prolific, no offense.” Sarah whips her hair to the front of her body and begins to stroke down the tresses in what I'm noticing is a nervous tic with her.
I smile humorlessly, finishing off my omelet.
“Hmm-hmm,” I reply simply, “I guess I am. Makes it harder for people to see the real me. All they want to see is the money and status. It’s annoying and makes it hard to have a sexual connection when all I can think about is what else they want from me. ”
“I’d be annoyed, too,” she responds almost to herself. Her fingers leave her hair to begin a slow rapping on the countertop. “Uhm… so do you not, like, want to provide? All you want is the emotional and physical connection?”
I stare at her for a second, fighting to not narrow my eyes. “Do you not see this house?”
Sarah looks around, arching a brow. “Yes, it’s pretty.”
“I bought it for her because she wanted it. I provide very well… she just didn’t deserve it, and I don’t feel bad telling you that at all. Is being provided for something that’s important to you?”
She bravely holds my stare. “I think it’ll be a hard adjustment for me, but I’d like for it to be. I’m not worried about it right now, anyways. I can take care of myself.”
I grunt softly and stab another piece of the omelet, deciding to change the subject. “So, what do you normally do with yourself on a Sunday?” I ask, watching her grab her orange juice without complaining like she did yesterday.
“I do my hair, watch a show, refresh my nails, and make dinner,” she says, deadpan her eyes falling to her fingers momentarily.
“Are you up for doing any of that today?” I ask, my eyes falling to her fingers as well and see her polish slightly growing out. I frown, not liking that for her, and an uncomfortable feeling settles inside of me because I know this bothers her more than she's letting on.
“No, just my hair and dinner. No mani or pedi today,” she sighs with a crestfallen look on her face.
“Why not?” I say, putting the last bite of food in my mouth.
“Well," she sighs, "I’m about to spend a ton of money, and I don’t think that I can spare the expense. Something's gotta go, and since I need gas in my car, a phone for work, and a place to live, then I think I can give up my nails for a while,” she says somberly.
“I see.” I take a slow swallow of my orange juice. “What are you thinking about for dinner tonight?” I ignore the uncomfortable feeling at seeing her have to sacrifice anything, especially something that she takes pride in, like her appearance.
“I’d like to make a pot pie. Do you like pot pies?’ she questions, putting her fork down with several bites of her omelet left. So I help myself, slicing through her omelet from the other end easily. Noting her amused grin.
“I absolutely do,” I half laugh. Glad I'm not the only one who craves fall time foods in the summer.
Sarah rubs her arm nervously. “Ok, well, I’ll pop over to the store, grab some stuff, and I’ll make it tonight. But I gotta disappear for a couple hours,” she says, giving me a pretty smile as she pushes a lock of hair behind her ear.
My heart skips a beat.
“We’ll pop over to the store. And what do you mean you have to disappear?” I ask, raising my brows as I place our forks into the skillet before turning to place it in the dishwater.
“I have to lock myself in the bathroom and do my hair.”
“Oh.” I can't help the disappointment in my tone. “Well, I’ll take that time and mow the backyard then.” I turn back to the sink, scrubbing the pan and rinsing it.
“You don’t have someone do your yard for you?" Sarah says with a slight frown. "That’s a pretty big backyard.”
“I enjoy taking care of my own home. And I like it mowed a certain way,” I reply absentmindedly, wiping my hands on a dishtowel.
"I hear you. On Fridays I get down on my hands and knees—” I flick my eyes to her suddenly, and she sucks in a surprised breath. “And I scrub the baseboards and clean at my practice,” she trails off, her lips twisting slightly as she tries to hide a smile.
God…
“Hmm-hm.” I grunt softly. “Well, I’m off to mow. Let me know when you are done with your hair, and we'll go to the store,” I say, giving her a look as I saunter out of the kitchen to go up to my bedroom to change to go work outside.
Ten minutes later I pop in my air pods and crank up the lawnmower, pausing momentarily to look up at her window.
My blood rushes at the knowledge that the subject of my desire is just beyond the pane, undressed as she washes her hair.
I shake my head and think about an hour ago and how perfectly I’d played my cello.
Wishing it was her I could wrap my body around and play instead. But I'll just have to be patient.
Another one of my not so great qualities.