Then I realize that I at least wanted some kind of reaction, some kicking and screaming, maybe a single tear or even a heartfelt “We can work it out, give us another chance.” I mean, we had been together for a year now. Instead I got an “Aw, I’ll miss you babe” and that was it!
I told him I’d be by for my things later in the week – even though I barely left anything at his house – and he said “Cool beans, I’ll leave them with Chuck if I’m not home, going to LA again” and that was that.
Now I’m alone in my condo, lying in my bed and feeling incredibly empty inside. I stare up at the ceiling at the crappy plaster job I did the other day when I tried to patch up the leak on my own and I kind of want it all to come crashing down on me.
There is a sense of relief though, that I did the right thing. I know I did and it’s better for Aaron too. If he wasn’t upset in the slightest by the break-up, then we really weren’t meant to be together at all. I wonder how many couples coast through life and eventually marry each other because it’s the comfortable thing to do? Because they feel like they’ve been together long enough, that it’s what is expected of them?
It would explain a lot of divorces, that’s for sure. And I find myself hoping that no matter what happens in the future, with Linden or with anyone, that I never settle for something less than fireworks.
I close my eyes and curl up on top of the covers. I keep replaying in my mind, over and over again, that kiss, that look, those words. Now that I can do it without guilt, my fingers trail down my stomach and slide beneath my underwear. I desperately need a new vibrator so my fingers will do and it’s not long before I’m biting my pillow and coming hard.
All I need is to remember how hard and thick and long he was as he pressed himself against me, eager to show me how much I turned him on. I want to show him how much he turns me on, how just the memory of his lips and tongue melding into mine, the feel of his hand at my neck, the way he spoke about wanting him, gets me off in seconds flat.
So much has changed in such a short time and yet I reach between my legs again.
***
Lunch hour doesn’t really exist when you’re self-employed. Actually, none of the things that ordinary, nine-to-five type folk take for granted really exist. There is no clock to punch in and out of. If I’m not at the store, I’m concentrating on business stuff at home. I can’t even online shop for fun anymore – and this is a major blow – because everything always ends up being for the store.
At least I can write-off my wardrobe, that’s the one perk about this whole thing. But lunch hours and breaks? Forget it.
As it is, I’m taking my lunch hour the usual way: standing behind the counter and shoveling French fries into my mouth. I know I’m supposed to be eating healthier – I told myself I wouldn’t ruin my body in my thirties, that I would do kale shakes and pumpkin seed salads and kombucha or however you say it. But there’s a lot to be said for convenience and when I have just a moment to grab something to eat or I’ll turn into a raging hangry bitch, then the fries win.
It’s too bad my ass doesn’t like them as much as my mouth does.
Today it’s cold and raining and there is barely anyone in the store. Days like this make me panic that no one will come tomorrow and the business will fail and I’ll have nothing, but then I remember it was like this last year too. In fact, I opened at one of the worst times and it all still evened out in the end. I declared a loss but it wasn’t that great of one. This year is already shaping up to be better.
I’m thinking about the roof in the condo and if this new bout of rain is going to cause even more problems and whether I should bite the bullet and call Linden, just to see if he can come by and really fix my roof (not a euphemism), maybe see if he’s broken up with Nadine, when something catches my eye on Facebook.
It happens to be Nadine herself. For a split second, because there are so many exclamation marks on her status, I think that this has to be the “I hate you Linden! Men suck!” update that I’ve been waiting for. Not many women make it through a break-up without spewing hatred all over Facebook.
But on closer look, that’s not what it says at all. In fact I nearly drop my phone and choke on a fry when I realize what it actually says:
Thank God for guardian angels!!! I knew the Lord was watching over me when he gave me such a good man as Linden McGregor. Thanks to my bae, I’m moving in with him as of tomorrow. I’ll be in Russian Hill, bitches, so message me if you want my new address!!
What. The. Fuck.
No, seriously.