The Resistance(40)

Pushing back from the desk, I realize I’m useless. This isn’t good. I don’t get like this over guys. Guys are for my entertainment. I leave them wanting, not the reverse.

When did I become that girl? I stand at the window and wonder when I became one of those girls—you know, the type of girl whose life revolves around a man—the type of girl until now, I’ve judged as weak. The answer is obvious but I refuse to acknowledge it. I make myself a cup of chai tea instead.

My Lime-itude greeting card line is due and I only have ten of twenty cards finished. Sitting out on the patio, I hear the ocean breaking in the distance. I should take a walk to clear my head and get the creative juices flowing, so I slip on my flip flops, grab my phone and head out.

The beach is three blocks away from my condo. It’s a nice walk, the streets lined with palm trees and flowering shrubs, but there’s just something about when I first lay eyes on the ocean. It gets me every single time—the realization that the world exists beyond my online community. It’s a nice reminder that life happens beyond the stucco of my sanctuary. I take a deep breath and appreciate the awesomeness of this life I’m so fortunate to lead.

Finding a bench to sit down on, I pull my knees to my chest and rest my chin. Dalton is half way around the world from me and my heart seems to have packed a bag and joined him.

I haven’t called him, but it’s been a struggle not to. The thrill of this new relationship and what might be is too exciting not to dream about. But I’m a logical girl, one everybody relies on for a reason. Sure I can be spontaneous and fun, but it feels like that was the me of many yesterdays. The success of my business has taken a toll and I’m starting to think I’m its first victim. I love it too much to give it up, so I’ll learn how to balance.

Maybe dating a musician who’s on the road all the time is the kind of relationship that will work best for me. I can be me, and he can be him, and when we find ourselves in the same city, we can be together.

I’m not sure anything works out that easily. My heart’s got a wager on the line that says yes, but my head still has doubts.

My phone rings and I pull it from my pocket. I stand up and start walking when I answer. “Hey Trace.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m at the beach.” The sun is high, the temperature nice.

Her tone shows her surprise. “You are? You’re taking a day off?”

I laugh. “No, you know me better than that. I’m just taking a break and getting some fresh air.”

“This is Los Angeles, Holli. We don’t have fresh air here. Smoggy air—yes, but not fresh air.”

“You know what I mean,” I say, smiling. “What are you doing?”

“Eating a salad. I’ve been thinking about what you said on the drive home yesterday… Or maybe more about what you didn’t say. I’d like to hear about Jack if you want to share.”

“I do, but not today. I feel weird and need time to process the weekend. It still feels surreal, like a dream to me.” I take a deep breath and exhale loudly. “I’m afraid if I start to believe it was real, I’ll jinx it. Does that make sense?”

There’s a sigh in her tone, the kind where you know the other person feels sorry for you. Then she says, “When you’re ready, I’m here to listen. I should go. I have a ton of work to do and I’m trying to make yoga class tonight. You should come.”

“I can’t tonight, but I’ll be there Wednesday.”

“Hey, Holli?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s real and I know you’ll see him again.”

“You’re always the sentimental type.” Looking back at the waves breaking before me, I say, “Never change. Okay?”

“Okay,” she says with a laugh and then hangs up.

Only time will tell. I just wish I had more patience.

At the corner, I cross the street to head home. Sea air, the ocean view, and people watching are things I love and usually helps center me before putting in long hours of work. But not today. Dalton isn’t easily forgotten or I’m not easily diverted from the memory of his strong arms, how he bites his bottom lip, and the way he looks at me after sex. He’s altogether too distracting.

I close the door, walk straight to my bedroom, and flop on the bed. I rest my head on his pillow—the one I stole from the penthouse in Vegas—the one that still smells like him and close my eyes. I like the closeness, but it still doesn’t alleviate the ache.

Work is the best course of action. I’ll trudge forward. After heading into my office, I have one foot propped up on the seat and the other pushes off my desk and I do a slow spin around. Funny fruit anecdotes. Comedy. Sad Fruit, Happy Fruit. I try to think of more greeting card quips. My eyes target my phone with each pass I make, so I grab my keys and wallet and go for coffee down the street.