The Love Sucks Club(58)

Chapter Fifteen



For a few minutes, I can’t make any sense of where I am. Then slowly, it comes to me that I must have fallen asleep on the deck. The plastic cover of the footstool has pressed a noticeable groove into the backs of my calves and they feel tender. Stretching each leg one by one, I bring myself into more of a sitting position. It’s full dark and the moon has gone behind the clouds. I’ll have to go back down the stairs and around the house to get inside, since I’m sure I didn’t leave the sliding glass door unlocked.

Blinking up at the sky, I try to remember what I was thinking about before I fell asleep last night. I vaguely remember meditating myself into a peaceful state. After that, it’s all a blank. My back is screaming as I drag myself to my feet. Actively forcing myself not to grunt and groan as I stand takes a force of will. My body feels so much older than I really am some days. Shuffling along the deck, yawning and stretching, I make my way to the stairs and around to the front door. Frank is patiently waiting on the counter next to his food bowl. Though it isn’t empty, I give him a refill and change his water. I hop up onto the counter and sit there swinging my feet while he eats. His fur feels soft under my hands, and he purrs around mouthfuls of food as I stroke his back. Sometimes, I wish my life was as easy as Frank’s seems to be. He has a pretty smooth life here. On the other hand, I did leave him alone all day and most of the night. I wonder if he was afraid of being alone or if he thought I wasn’t coming back. We’ve reached a comfortable level of commitment in our relationship. I feed him, water him, pet him, and give him treats. In return, he gives me constant companionship and occasionally pukes on the one rug in my house. It’s never that easy with women. Maybe I should just stay single and have cats for the rest of my life.

As long as I’m awake, I might as well be productive. Stripping off the khakis I borrowed from Susannah, I take a quick shower and put on clean boxers and a tank top. Back to the kitchen for a cup of tea and a snack. With cup and plate in hand, I wander into the front room and situate myself on the couch with my computer on my lap. Frank follows me in and sits on the other end of the couch. Two old grumps hanging out in the middle of the night. I have a deadline approaching on two articles for a magazine, so I knock those out first. They were mostly done anyway. I just had to put the finishing touches on them and get them in the proper format. Procrastination is my middle name. I’ve been working on the same novel for six months and I swear I only have it half finished. Admittedly, it took me two years to write Annabelle Lies, but I usually whip out these romance novels in a few months. Rereading what I have written to date isn’t helping. None if it is interesting to me.

I must be the world’s biggest hypocrite. I write all of these amazing love stories with super happy endings and in real life, I am the president of The Love Sucks Club. And it isn’t just a joke, though we treat it like it is. I really do believe that love sucks. Even when I was with Fran, for whom I would gladly have died, I didn’t find love to be some rosy and beautiful spiritual experience. It was tough and messy and painful. Fran was always going off into her own brand of craziness and I was always chasing after her to bring her back to the real world. So, I guess it is fair to say that I’ve never really been happy in love. I did love Fran. That’s not in question. I loved her the way some people love a tornado. It’s dangerous and unpredictable and if you get too close, you’re going to get hurt. Doesn’t stop people from chasing them. I think I even loved she-who-shall-not-be-named. Okay, okay, Jackie. I mean, I know I felt something for her, especially in the beginning. We had a good time together and even though I had quit drinking by then, we still seemed to have enough in common to make it work. We both loved the same authors and we could spend hours talking about our favorite books. In the beginning, when we were still new enough to not have that wall of resentment between us, we used to play Scrabble almost every night. Flipping over to a solitaire game from my latest manuscript, I move the mouse mindlessly, putting one card on top of another. Jackie wasn’t a complete nutcase when we got together. She seemed kind of solid and ordinary and after the whirlwind with Fran, I thought it would be a welcome change to have a relationship that was kind of boring. Back to my manuscript. I erase about six sentences, write one, erase that one and five more. Back to the kitchen for more tea and I’m ready to work. Frank makes his blerting noise and comes over to my side of the couch. Scratching his head, I stare at the screen, reading over what I wrote the last time I sat here. I pound out a few more sentences. Slamming my computer shut startles Frank. “Sorry, old pal,” I whisper, petting him on the head again.