Midnight Valentine(78)
She says sarcastically, “You think?”
“Are you deliberately trying to make me feel worse? Because it’s working.”
“So your plan is to do what? Go over to his house and confront him about why he’s acting like a dickhead and abandoning you after your ‘sweet, intimate’ lovemaking?”
She has a point. I don’t have a plan, I just want to see him. But what if he doesn’t want me at his house? What if he wants me to leave him alone?
Oh God—what if I’m not the only woman on the receiving end of his nocturnal visits? Maybe he has a trail of haikus he’s left on pillows all over town!
Suzanne intrudes on my dark musings with an annoyed “Hello? Anybody there?”
“Still here,” I answer, though my mind is taking a trip into Paranoiaville.
“Listen, I’ll give you his address, but why don’t you send him another one of your magical emails first?”
“I was trying to give him space.”
“Space?” she repeats, incredulous. “No, he doesn’t get to have space, he’s been inside you! You can crowd him all you want!”
“You make a good point.”
“Oh, I’m full of ’em. Here’s another one: showing up unannounced at a man’s home doesn’t exactly count as giving him space. Not that he’s allowed to have space, because he’s already dipped his willy in your honey pot, I’m just saying.”
“You’re ragging on me for saying penis while you throw out ridiculous euphemisms for genitals like willy and honey pot?”
She ignores me, switching into concerned-friend mode. “Tell me the truth now, honey. Are you okay? I’ve been worried about you.”
I stand from where I’ve been sitting on the edge of my bed and walk to the patio windows. Looking out at the restless ocean, I say, “Define okay.”
“That really doesn’t help my peace of mind.”
“I’m just confused, I guess. I don’t know how to handle this. I haven’t been with anyone since my husband died.” My laugh is small and uncomfortable. “I wasn’t with anyone before him either.”
A blistering curse comes over the line, then Suzanne says hotly, “And Theo has the nerve to ghost you after sex!”
Ghost. That word strikes a jarring chord in my ears. I back away from it as if it’s a hissing snake. “You said it yourself, Suzanne—he isn’t in his right mind. I’m sure this is as difficult and unexpected for him as it as for me.”
“It better be,” she says with vehemence. “Or I’ll rip off his balls myself.”
Despite how unsettled I am, I have to smile. “Not so long ago, you were defending him when I called him an asshole. Look at you now.”
“Yeah, take note. This is how you girlfriend, girlfriend. It’s us against them. Hoes before bros and all that. Now get a pen so I can give you your lover’s address—and call me the second you hear from him! I’m not letting you deal with this alone.”
* * *
After Suzanne gives me the address and we disconnect, I spend half an hour engaged in my new favorite form of exercise: pacing. Back and forth I march over my bedroom floor, chewing my thumbnail and working myself into a frenzy.
Why didn’t I ask him where’s he’s been when he was here? Why didn’t I ask him when I’d see him again? Is this what it’s like to date nowadays? Is this what I should expect, intense, soul-searing sex followed by a disappearing act that would make Houdini proud along with flowers, a fresh pot of coffee, and a cryptic poem on my pillow?
Okay, the flowers and the poem are nice touches. I’m calling the flowers a “nice touch” so I don’t have to call them what they really are: prime magical-thinking material. But the more I think about the disappearing, the more it bothers me.
I really hope he didn’t leave because of how loudly I snore.
On the other hand, compared to whatever else it could be, that’s not such a bad reason.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Megan, Suzanne is right,” I scold myself. “You and Theo slept together. If he didn’t want you feeling weird, he shouldn’t have run out in the middle of the night. Just contact him!”
That decision made, I feel better. I get my laptop and compose a short email to Theo saying I can’t wait to see him again. Then I spend five minutes afterward hating myself for every word, because on a re-read, it sounds desperate.
I forget all about my desperation when I receive an automatic response from Theo’s email server that says he’s out of the office and not responding to email.
A strange feeling forms in the pit of my stomach. I decide to try Theo’s phone. When it goes straight to voicemail, the strange feeling intensifies into anxiety.