| Closure |
[Nov. 6th, 2005|05:45 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  disappointed | ] |
| [ | music |
| | It's Over: The Goo Goo Dolls | ] |
Well, today I made my obligatory angry/sad breakup CD. I packed up everything I still had here. Clothes are going to the thrift shop. The book his mom let me borrow is going in the mail. And I’m keeping his movies.
What I haven’t done is said goodbye.
I feel like we’ve been hanging in this strange state of limbo, not knowing if it’s really over.
It’s up to me. I have to be the one who decides it’s really over.
I’ve been still waiting, still hoping, still thinking that maybe we could fix this thing that was broken. Maybe once I got over the hurt and the anger, we could move forward. Would I be able to trust him again? Would we ever be able to get back to those things that made us want to be together in the first place? I don’t know. He hasn’t even given me a chance to try and figure that out.
I need to face it. He doesn’t want me.
So why have I continued to talk to him, when it always ends in more pain? I don’t know, maybe I need the pain. Maybe I need to be reminded that there’s nothing more to say, over and over again until I believe it.
He’s supposed to be sending me my keys. |
|
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| Oh, dear... |
[Nov. 7th, 2003|05:53 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  scared | ] |
I was starting to imagine that he either didn’t receive the message, or deleted it, thinking I was a crazy person. But then, his name appeared in my inbox.
Hey, it was great hearing from you. I think I remember you. We should definitely get together for a drink sometime.
He left his cell phone number and encouraged me to call.
Ack! I don’t think I really thought he was going to respond. What am I going to do now? |
|
|
| Continued... |
[Nov. 3rd, 2003|06:52 pm] |
It was Emily. Here’s the conversation we just had:
“Hey, what are you doing?”
“Um, nothing.”
“Liar. What are you doing?”
“Okay,” I said. “Remember that state cop I met at Molly’s, at the Christmas party?”
“Yeah, vaguely. What about him?”
“He gave me his card. I kept it.”
“You did not—“
“I did.”
“Oh my God.”
“I know.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” Oddly enough, it hadn’t occurred to me to wonder what I would do if I actually found the card. “Should I call him?” I looked at the card again and saw an email address. “There’s an email address. Maybe I’ll do that.”
“Yeah,” Emily agreed. “Email him.”
So this is the email I’m sending. I rewrote it three times,
Hi Sean,
I don’t know if you remember me, but I met you at the Molly’s Christmas party last December. You gave me your card, and I just happened to come across it while I was cleaning. I know it seems crazy, but let me know if you’d like to meet up for a drink or something.
Casual enough? I hope I don’t sound like a crazy person. I don’t know what I’m expecting. |
|
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| On a mission... |
[Nov. 3rd, 2003|05:50 pm] |
Last December, Emily, Heather and I went to a Christmas party at Molly’s, our favorite local dive, after going to see a play. “Just for a drink or two,” we said.
Jerry, the bartender, had other plans. As soon as he saw us, he lined up three plastic shot glasses and began pouring his signature ‘red shit.’ Five or six shots of red shit later, we were the life of the party.
Everywhere we turned, men were talking to us, hitting on us, offering to take us home. Emily was smitten with Bob the D.J. Heather was chatting away with some blond guy named Michael.
That was when Sean spotted me.
He was standing near the end of the bar with a friend, looking casual but oh-so-cool in snug (but not too snug) jeans, a button-down shirt and a baseball cap. He stopped me and said hello.
“I couldn’t let the prettiest girl in the bar leave without talking to her,” he said.
I blushed. Or maybe it was just the liquor. “Bust a Move” pounded in the background.
We talked for a few minutes, and he asked if he could take me out sometime. I apologetically told him that I had a boyfriend.
“You do? Where is he?”
“He lives in Rochester,” I said.
“And what’s he doing in Rochester when you’re here?”
I tried to explain our situation. I was still in school, working on my master’s degree. He had just graduated from law school.
“A lawyer? Oh, come on. You don’t need that. I’m here now.”
He had a good job, he told me. And a house.
“Tempting,” I lied. “But I really am happy with my boyfriend.”
“Okay,” Sean half-shrugged in defeat. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. He handed it to me. “Here, take this. Call me if you ever change your mind.”
Sean O’Malley, State Trooper.
I’d tossed the card aside, but not thrown it away. I kind of forgot about it.
Until now.
When I got home, I emptied the basket on top of my dresser. I knew it was there. I had to find it. For some reason, I thought of that guy, and his business card, and I HAD TO FIND IT.
Concert tickets, safety pins, old photographs. I tossed all of them aside until I found it.
And now I’m holding it. What exactly am I going to do with it?
Ack, phone ringing. I’ll continue this later… |
|
|
| What's wrong with me? |
[Oct. 30th, 2003|05:49 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  confused | ] |
I met a guy for coffee yesterday. He’s attractive, intelligent and witty. I had fun. I had a lot of fun.
So why do I want to crawl under a blanket and wallow? |
|
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| Just can't take this |
[Oct. 28th, 2003|05:48 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  blank | ] |
| [ | music |
| | In Too Deep--Genesis | ] |
I got my keys in the mail today.
They were taped inside a card that said “Two’s company…one’s misery.” And it was signed like this:
Kate-
I’m sorry
I don’t even know what that means. Is the lack of even a punctuation mark significant? Should I care? |
|
|
| Drained |
[Oct. 21st, 2003|05:45 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | drained | ] |
| [ | music |
| | I Can't Cry Anymore--Sheryl Crow | ] |
I know it’s probably not true that I can’t cry anymore, but I’m tired. I just feel so drained.
Emily talked me into putting my profile on an online dating site. At first, I thought it was completely crazy, but then I thought, “what the hell.”
I will not be the girl I was when Dan and I broke up. I will not hide from human contact. I will not lock my heart up in a little box, terrified of having it broken again. I was completely miserable, and I will NOT do that again. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Oct. 20th, 2003|05:43 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | disappointed | ] |
| [ | music |
| | It's Over: The Goo Goo Dolls | ] |
Well, today I made my obligatory angry/sad breakup CD. I packed up everything I still had here. Clothes are going to the thrift shop. The book his mom let me borrow is going in the mail. And I’m keeping his movies.
What I haven’t done is said goodbye.
I feel like we’ve been hanging in this strange state of limbo, not knowing if it’s really over.
It’s up to me. I have to be the one who decides it’s really over.
I’ve been still waiting, still hoping, still thinking that maybe we could fix this thing that was broken. Maybe once I got over the hurt and the anger, we could move forward. Would I be able to trust him again? Would we ever be able to get back to those things that made us want to be together in the first place? I don’t know. He hasn’t even given me a chance to try and figure that out.
I need to face it. He doesn’t want me.
So why have I continued to talk to him, when it always ends in more pain? I don’t know, maybe I need the pain. Maybe I need to be reminded that there’s nothing more to say, over and over again until I believe it.
He’s supposed to be sending me my keys. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Oct. 13th, 2003|03:27 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  flirty | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Out Tonight, from Rent | ] |
Emily made me go out this weekend. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t been out in the past two years, but I haven’t been out like this. Out. "Out there."
Not that I’m ready. Really.
But what the hell, right? I can put on a tight skirt and flirt with a stranger if I want to.
We went to our favorite bar, because it’s always such an eclectic mix of people. College kids, grad students, professionals, hippies, stoners, punks...just about everyone ends up there eventually. It's especially interesting at closing time, watching the desperate singles cling to each other in the half-light. The guys we met basically fell into three categories: too young, too annoying, and too dumb.
"Just have fun," Emily whispered in my ear. "It’s not like you’re looking for THE ONE tonight."
I decided she was right. I spotted a guy sitting alone at the bar who looked promising. I thought he kind of looked like Vaughn from Alias, and we went to talk to him.
His name was Tom. He was a certified painter. (really. his business card said so.) We talked for a while, and I realized that Tom, the certified painter, was not the sharpest crayon in the box. Finally came the inevitable. He asked me on a date.
"Oh, no," I said. "I just broke up with someone. I really can’t."
It wasn’t a lie. I did just break up with someone. I didn’t have to tell him that I wouldn’t have been interested anyway, right?
After several assurances that, no, I was not going to go on a date with im, Tom the certified painter went off to try someone else.
And I came home with a smile on my face. It feels good to be wanted. |
|
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| Too much to ask for |
[Oct. 11th, 2003|03:24 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | melancholy | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Not the Doctor, Alanis Morrisette | ] |
I called him. Stupid.
If I keep talking to him, I can’t really believe it’s finished, can I?
I called because I needed to ask him to send back the keys for my apartment (which, thankfully, has not even been advertised yet. I still have a place to live.). Of course it wasn’t left at that. But it was just more of the same. Lather, rinse, repeat.
And finally, he told me that I didn’t need this, that I was better than this.
“You know what? You’re right. I don’t need this.”
And I said goodbye. Maybe this time it’ll stick. |
|
|
| Saying goodbye |
[Oct. 9th, 2003|03:35 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  angry | ] |
He called me last night.
I was just starting to calm myself down…the tears were just starting to dry a little.
"I miss you so much. I’m going crazy. There isn’t a second that goes by that I don’t think about how stupid I am, and how I screwed up."
"Alex, I can’t—I don’t know what you want me to say. What do you want me to say?"
"I don’t know."
There it was again. That was what he kept saying when we talked. When he confessed. “I don’t know.” How could he not know?
"If I decide I want to try, if I decide I can forgive you and get past this, can you tell me that you would want to work on it?"
Silence. I took a deep breath.
"Well. I guess that’s my answer."
He cried, asked me not to leave it like that. Said he loved me.
“That’s not good enough," I told him.
His words cut deep into me, twisting and slicing. What he did was bad enough, but this, this ambivalence. I can’t stand it. This pathetic, self-deprecating, miserable excuse for a man was not the Alex I fell in love with. I need more. I need him to fight for me.
"I’m a mess. I’m miserable. I can’t concentrate on work, and when I’m home, all I do is sit in my room and stare at the wall, thinking about how I screwed everything up. You—you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And now I’ve destroyed you."
Destroyed me? Was he kidding? I’m sad, I’m hurt, I’m angry…but never, ever, for a single moment, did I believe that I’ve been destroyed. I was destroyed when Dan left me, and that is never, ever going to happen to me again. I WILL get over him.
"No Alex." My voice was even, calm. "You destroyed us. You didn’t destroy me."
More silence. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I couldn’t stand it.
"Why aren’t you begging?" I screamed. "Why aren’t you on your knees promising to make it up to me? Telling me you’ll do anything—anything—if I just don’t leave you. Why, Alex?"
"I don’t know. I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I don’t deserve anything."
"Maybe not, but I thought I was the one who got to decide. I’m hanging up now. You call me if anything changes."
It wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. It was all wrong.
"Katie, if I ever get my head out of my ass and figure out what’s wrong with me, I’m going to do everything I can to get you back."
If. Again with the "if."
Just not good enough.
"Goodbye, Alex.”
I hung up. I don't ever want to speak to him again. |
|
|
| Happy endings, Part II |
[Oct. 7th, 2003|03:33 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | sad | ] |
I had a strange dream last night.
My alarm clock scared the crap out of me, shrieking, tearing me out of the dream. I couldn’t believe it was morning already.
I dreamed about the night Alex and I met. That’s what I get for posting that diary entry, I guess. I dreamed about the wedding I’d been planning in my head for months. It had started out perfectly, just the way I’d planned it, but then it started to rain. My dress, which had apparently been made out of white spun sugar, began to melt into a sticky, thready mess.
Today was better, at school. At least I kept myself busy. It’s so hard coming home now. It’s strange…I’ve been living here alone for two years, but somehow it seems…emptier.
And as if there wasn’t enough drama in my life, I lost my wallet yesterday. So there was that to deal with. I had to cancel all my cards. And my social security card was in it. Because I’m a moron. But I suppose I should consider myself lucky…it kept me busy for a few hours, kept me from completely melting down.
Here’s the rest of that journal entry. Because I’m a masochist, apparently. Bring on the pain, folks.
On that fateful night, the night Alex walked into my life, I’d been perched on top of a dryer, cross-legged, reading "A Wrinkle in Time," of all things.
I couldn’t sleep, so I’d headed down to my building’s laundry room with my book in hand. The weathered paperback, given to me for my 12th birthday by my godmother, had seen better days. The book, and its characters, were like family.
The hum of the dryer made pleasant background music, and I breathed in the comforting aroma of fabric softener. I wiped a stray tear before it dropped onto the already tear-stained page—the one where Meg saves Charles-Wallace from the clutches of It with her love. It always tugged at my heart, no matter how many times I read it.
"That one always got me, too."
I jumped when I heard the voice. It had to be at least 3 a.m., and I hadn’t heard anyone else come into the room. A good book will do that to me. Really, sometimes the newspaper will do that to me. My mom used to say the house could burn down around me and I’d never look up from my book.
I looked up and there he was, grinning at me.
The first thing I noticed was his eyes, clear, bright and blue. The wire-rimmed glasses he wore, the kind my best friend Emily and I dubbed "preppy glasses," only magnified them. They were warm, inviting, with just a tiny glimmer of mischief. They crinkled a bit at the edges with his smile.
The second thing I noticed was his dimples, deep enough to hide a quarter in. I’ve never met a pair of dimples I could resist.
Oh God, I’m such a mess, I thought in a panic. My unwashed hair was stuffed under a baseball cap. I was wearing my "laundry pants;" sweatpants with the cuffs cut off, covered with spilled paint and bleach marks, a sweatshirt that didn’t match, and fuzzy slippers.
I wanted to crawl inside the dryer.
"Mind if I join you?" he said, hopping onto the machine next to mine. "Didn’t you always wish you could travel through time?" he said, gesturing toward my book. "Or kythe like Charles-Wallace? I know I did."
I relaxed a little. He didn’t seem to notice how ridiculous I looked. Maybe that was because he looked almost as ridiculous; backwards cap, faded Big Country t-shirt, and plaid shorts, with a pair of rubber thongs on his feet.
"Sure," I said. "I still do."
We talked for an hour before I knew his name.
"Oh, God, how stupid of me," he’d said when I asked. He held out his hand. "Alex McDougall."
"Nice to meet you Alex, I’m Kate Miceli." The feel of his hand, warm, firm, and just a little rough, sent a shiver up my arm. I wanted to have his hands on me, touching me, cupping my face just before he kissed me.
I didn’t believe in love at first sight, but this was the closest I’ve ever gotten to it. Sure, I was attracted to him, but it was more than physical. I felt connected to him.
I pulled my hand away, blushing, afraid he’d be able to see what I was thinking.
We talked until dawn, folding towels, t-shirts, and socks. I found out that he was a law student…in fact, he and Emily had probably had classes together. He had two sisters, his parents were from Scotland. He had a degree in communication, just like me, loved 80s music, "A Few Good Men," and all things Scottish. Then he asked me to have breakfast with him.
"I need to know how you take your coffee," he said.
"I don’t drink coffee," I told him. "I actually prefer tea."
"I have so much to learn," he grinned, his dimples creasing lines across his face.
We parted only long enough to take hasty showers and brush the fuzz from our teeth. We left the scent of Downy behind, trading it for the strong, black smell of coffee.
"Miss me?" he’d asked when he greeted me at my door.
The funny thing was, I had.
We ate, and laughed, and as the morning passed, we began to act like old friends instead of complete strangers. And just twelve hours after that chance meeting in the laundry room, I was already trying combinations of our names.
Kathleen McDougall. Kate McDougall. Kathleen Miceli McDougall. Mrs. Kate McDougall. I liked the sound of it.
"I don’t know your middle name," I blurted through a mouthful of ice cream, as we strolled through Delaware Park.
"It’s James," he said. As if it were a perfectly normal thing to ask.
Alexander James McDougall. Mrs. Alexander James McDougall. I liked the sound of that, too.
Afternoon slipped effortlessly into evening, and I stared at Alex. We were sitting on one of the benches down by the lake at the park. It was starting to get cold, and I shivered. Alex slid his arm around me, and I let my head rest on his shoulder.
"Comfy?" he asked.
"Yeah," I grinned, turning my face toward his. He kissed the tip of my nose.
It amazed me, to be sitting with this person I knew so well, this person I hadn't known at all 24 hours earlier.
We had talked about everything. We both loved baseball; I was a Pirates fan, and he liked the A’s. I impressed him by quoting "Airplane!", and he admitted that Disney movies made him cry.
"I swear I’ll kill you if you tell anyone," he said.
"Don’t worry, your secret’s safe," I said. I thought it was the sweetest thing I’d ever heard.
There had been no hesitation. No thoughts of, "My God, what will we talk about?" or "How long until this is over, and I can pretend to be tired?" or "I’m missing must-see TV."
And at that moment, if someone had mentioned Dan, I would have said, "Dan who?"
Nothing mattered. Nothing but being next to Alex. I was completely oblivious to the fact that I hadn’t slept.
He walked me to my door and hesitated there, looking more like an awkward, shy 15-year-old boy than a 29-year-old man. I have to admit I felt like a teenager myself.
"So, do you mind if I call you?"
"You’d better call me," I said.
"Careful what you wish for," he joked. "You’ll get sick of me."
"Never."
He reached out, lightly brushed his fingers through my hair. He lifted my chin, and I closed my eyes, breathless.
When his lips finally met mine, it was like someone had pushed the world's pause button. I slid my arms around his neck, let my body melt into his.
"Do you want to come in?" I heard myself say.
"Are you sure you want me to?" he asked. He kissed my forehead, stroked my hair. "I might not ever leave."
I nodded. I had never been so sure of anything in my life. "I think that would be okay."
I definitely thought that would be okay. I took his hand, led him into my apartment, and shut the door behind us.
It's a good story, isn't it? Sigh... |
|
|
| Where's my happy ending? |
[Oct. 6th, 2003|03:30 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | blank | ] |
I made it through the day, somehow. Barely. Any second I didn’t actively have to be in front of the class, I was hiding. Crying. Trying not to talk to anyone.
The evaluation went all right, I guess. My supervisor told me he sensed there was something going on; that there was something not quite “me” in my voice. I didn’t tell him. What would I tell him? “Oh, I just broke up with my boyfriend.” I’m a grown-up. I’m supposed to be able to handle my life. I just said I was having a bad day and let it go at that.
But it’s over. It was almost better to have something to do, because now I’m alone again. Reading my diary. Re-reading what I wrote about meeting Alex. I wanted to turn it into a short story someday…except I thought it was going to have a happy ending.
When I was twenty-two years old, Dan Cotter broke my heart. I believed in him, in us, more than I had ever believed anything in my entire life. Three years after I met him, he said "I’m sorry Katie, I just can’t be with anyone right now." I forgot to eat that day. I had never understood that before, people saying they forgot to eat.
He tried to do it over the phone, but I forced him to meet me, thinking that maybe seeing me might change his mind. At the very least, I was going to make him face me. I thought it would make me feel better. But instead, it brought me face to face with the reality that the sweet, wonderful man I’d fallen in love with was gone. All I know is that when I got home at 11 o’clock that night, I was hungry. Starving. Sharp pangs tearing through my stomach. It hurt so badly I was afraid to eat, afraid it would just make the pain worse.
I didn’t think I’d ever let another man get close to me again. I started to wonder if there was something wrong with me, if I was looking for something that didn’t exist.
But it does, I told myself. I’ve had it, held it in my hands. I know it exists.
And so I waited, and wished, and hoped. I nearly gave up.
My mom gave me a hard time. "Katie, you know there’s no Prince Charming, don’t you?" she said.
"Oh mother," I sighed, rolling my eyes. "You just don’t get it."
What she didn’t get was that I wasn’t looking for the perfect guy; I was looking for the guy who would be perfect for me.
It wasn’t like I brushed the others off at first glance. I gave them all second chances. Some even third and fourth chances. But none of them turned my bones to jell-o when we kissed. None of them made me feel like I must have met him in a previous life. None of them made me feel like I was standing on the edge of something wild and wonderful, unafraid to fall.
Not one. Not until I met Alex.
There’s more, but that’s all I can stand to type for today. I’m going to bed |
|
|
| I'm going to throw up |
[Oct. 5th, 2003|03:12 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  sick | ] |
Well, he finally called.
So the truth, the real truth comes out. And he couldn't even say it to my face. Pussy.
Three phone calls later, this is what he tells me.
“I just can’t live a lie,” he said.
I had no idea what he was talking about. Live a lie? What did that mean?
“A few months ago, something happened. I did something terrible. I cheated on you.”
My heart slid down my body, dropping somewhere into my lower abdomen.
“I asked you that yesterday,” I mumbled. “You said no.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’ve debated ever since it happened about whether I should tell you.”
Apparently, it happened twice. The first time was at a strip club in Canada. It seems that he paid for some “extras”. That, in itself, makes me want to vomit.
Then, in February, shortly after he found out that his father had been having an affair for, oh, 27 years, he got a call from a law school friend who had just broken up with her boyfriend. He was in Rochester. The girl was in Buffalo. Where I happen to live. She apparently needed a shoulder to cry on, so he proceeded to lie to me, to go behind my back to meet with this girl and go out in Buffalo, and then have sex with her. (When he took her home, she said "Please don't leave." Disgusting. Men suck, but sometimes I think women suck more.)
“I was so disgusted with myself. After it was over, I just sat in my car and cried.”
As if this was supposed to help, make me feel better. It didn’t. I felt shitty.
“You deserve better than me.”
“So what does this mean?” I asked. “What happens now?”
“I think that’s up to you.”
Apparently, he agonized for months over whether or not to tell me.
And the real kicker in this...I just gave notice on my apartment, planning to be moved in with him by November 1st. So he waits to tell me this until TWO DAYS before he's supposed to sign the lease. He says couldn't let me move in with him and start a life with him without knowing the truth. F--- that.
On the one hand? It almost makes sense...why he's been so reluctant to get on with our lives, to move on to that next step. It makes him saying things like "You deserve better than me" make sense. But what am I supposed to do now? I've spent two and a half years with him. I've been planning my future with him. Can people get past these things? Sure, I think they can. But can I? Do I even want to?
I’m going to be sick. I want to crawl into bed and pull the covers up over my head, but I can’t. I have to teach tomorrow. I’m getting evaluated.
The last thing he said to me:
“I think you should take some time to think about what you want.” I could hear the tears in his voice, too. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Think about what I want? I want to erase the past two days. I want it all to go away. I want my life back the way it was before. I want to finish student teaching, graduate and move in with my boyfriend. I want to get married.
I have no idea what I want. |
|
|
| What's happening? |
[Oct. 4th, 2003|01:19 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | confused | ] |
Alex and I had a fight last night.
Actually, I'm not even sure it was a fight...it involved a lot of yelling and crying, but I don't have any idea what it was about.
He came to visit me, and he was acting strange. Really strange. He was quiet and withdrawn and hardly said a word. It seemed like he was trying to break up with me, but he didn't.
“Sometimes I’m not sure if I can do this,” was what he said.
Do what? Love me? Be with me? Move in with me? We were supposed to be moving in together. I was going to move to be with him as soon as I finished student teaching, and he’d found us an apartment, one that he thought I’d be happy with. And just a week ago, he'd seemed so excited when he told me all about it. He was supposed to sign the lease on Monday.
I told him to get out. I stormed around the apartment picking up everything that was his. Every book. Every CD. Every piece of clothing he'd left there.
“Katie, don’t. Please. What are you doing?”
“These are yours. I don’t want them here. I want you gone, and I want you to take these things with you.”
He’d already started to leave at least three times. I’d made him take the spare set of keys to m apartment off of his key ring and leave them. That was the last time, but he’d turned around and come back over to start all over again.
“Come here,” he pleaded. “Please”
I sat down next to him on the couch, and he pulled me to him, almost crushing me in a hug.
“I love you so much. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
”Then why, Alex? Why are you doing this?”
”I don’t know. I wish I did.”
He cried, and I cried, and neither of us said anything. Then my phone rang, and it was Emily. I started to let the machine get it, but then decided to pick up. I asked her if I could come over, and I knew she knew something was up. She knew Alex was in town for the weekend. She didn't say anything, though.
After I hung up the phone, Alex talked again.
“I think I need to go sit in a dark room alone until I get my head right. You go have fun with Emily. One of us should have a good time tonight.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I’ll call you as soon as I wake up tomorrow.”
“Are you taking this stuff?” I gestured toward the pile in the middle of the floor. He shook his head. “What about my keys? Does the fact that you’re leaving them here mean that you’re not planning on coming back?”
He picked the keys up off the coffee table and put them back on his key ring. I was more confused than ever. He kissed my forehead.
“I’m sorry. I’ll call you.”
"I'll call you."
That was the last thing he said to me. "I'll call you."
He still hasn't called. |
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