My eyes plead with Andrew. “Please.”
He lets out a long breath and grips the back of his neck, shutting the door behind him. The sound of his roommates’ disapproval doesn’t go unnoticed. I’m not going to worry about them though because I have Andrew’s attention and I have him alone.
“What do you want, Sadie?” He sounds exhausted, weathered, as if he just fought five battles and is ready to crash.
“I need to explain.”
He leans up against the side of the house, his arms crossed over his chest in a defensive pose. “Little late for that, don’t you think?”
I deserve that.
“I understand that you’re mad—”
“Do you? Do you understand, Sadie? Do you actually get what I’m feeling right now?” I go to answer, but he stops me. “Because I don’t think you do. You see,” he pushes himself off the wall and stands directly in front of me, invading my space, “I spent my entire summer with this girl I met, my coworker, a girl I fell for and fell for hard despite her reservations. I gave her the benefit of the doubt because I could see pain in her eyes, the kind of pain I wanted to wash away.” Tears well up in my eyes and easily spill over onto my cheeks as he continues to speak. “I gave her everything. I told her about my life, about my mistakes, about my embarrassing moments, and in return, she gave me her laugh, her smile, but never her fucking heart. But you know what? I thought, she will. She will slowly break down that wall and meet me in the middle. Open up. Let me in. Become mine.”
Andrew pulls on his hair in frustration, the veins in his neck starting to pulse from anger.
“But she never did.” He looks me right in the eyes. “You never fucking did.”
“I was going to.” I step closer. “Tonight, I was going to tell you everything.”
A sardonic laugh escapes those soft lips of his. “Yeah? You were going to tell me everything? You were going to tell me about Tucker being your fucking life-long boyfriend? That apparently you were pregnant with his baby? That you were planning to meet up with him behind my back? That you never really went to Cornell?”
“That’s not true.” I shake my head. I don’t bother trying to catch the tears of sorrow scattering over the porch. “I did go to Cornell and was majoring in Psychology. I dropped out because of the pregnancy. I lost everything: my scholarship, my future, and a few weeks later, I lost the baby.” I place my hands over my face and cry . . . hard. “I was too ashamed to tell you. You were so into school, I just . . .” I sigh. “I thought you would think differently of me.”
I look up to see him nodding his head. “Glad you thought so highly of me.”
He turns to walk away, but I grab his arm. “It wasn’t like that, Andrew. You came out of nowhere, swept me up into your world, a world I so desperately wanted to be a part of, a world that made me forget about the baby, about the miscarriage, about everything I gave up for nothing. For the first time in so long, you showed me how to smile again. How to feel.”
He glances down at me, and in that small moment, I see the understanding in his eyes as the anger softens. Turning back toward me, he loops his arm around my shoulder and presses me into his chest. Tears fall from my eyes. His warm comfort surrounds me. He lets out a long breath of air and speaks, his deep voice rumbling across my ears. “I’m sorry you had to experience something so traumatic as losing a baby, Sadie. I can’t imagine what that must have been like, especially after you turned your life upside down and left college.” This. This is what I’ve needed. Why did I hold back, deny his comfort and reassurance?
Just as I settle into his embrace, he pulls away and drags one of his hands over his face. “But that doesn’t change anything.” What?
“What do you mean?” I ask, my voice wavering.
Tortured eyes meet mine as he replies, “I fell for you, Sadie. I fell for you so fucking hard, but I fell for a girl who doesn’t know who she is. I fell for a girl who is lost and clinging to anything that will help her forget the woman she once was. I don’t want to be the person who morphs you into someone else. I want to be the person who embraces the incredible human you are.”
I step forward to hold his hand, but he pulls away and inches to the door. With each move he makes away from me, my vision tunnels. “Andrew, please.”
He shakes his head. “No, Sadie. As much as it kills me to say this, I can’t be with you. I don’t want to be with you. You need to find yourself, again, and clinging to me, looking for someone to shield you from the real world, that’s not what I want. I don’t want to be that man. I want to be the man who raises you up, who helps you accomplish your goals. Not the man who hides you.” He pushes out a large breath and looks to the sky. “You lied to me, Sadie, and I think you did it to hide. Up until tonight, I thought you had your goals, your future planned out, and I had hoped it included me. You’re smart. But, it’s as if you’re content to . . . to just give up. I’m just another wall enabling that.” Looking me square in the eyes, finality in his voice, he adds, “And to fuck if I’m going to be the wall that blocks you from your future.”
Before I can answer, he opens the door to his house, goes inside, and closes it behind him. On me, on our relationship.
And then I know. It’s hopeless.
He’s done.
We’re done.
He’s closed the door to me, to us, to the future I so desperately wanted with him. The ache in my heart intensifies, and excruciating pain envelops me.
He’s done. With me.
That night, I bury my head in my pillow, dreaming of Andrew’s beautiful face and the words he so thoughtfully and critically spoke.
Fuck if I’m going to be the wall that blocks you from your future.
What future?
My future? Right now, I have none.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
ANDREW
Here is a bit of advice for you, free of charge, because I’m a good guy like that. If you ever have the urge or inkling to start a workplace romance . . . DON’T!
I don’t care if he has bulgy muscles that you can see through three layers of shirts, or a smile that makes you want to pull out your stapler and start sitting on it, or hair that is blown in Fabio mode when he’s under an air vent. Stay the fuck away. Close up shop, button up your shirt, point your head forward, and stay far, far away.
Why, do you ask?
Because, isn’t it obvious? When the shit hits the fan—gross term—and the orgasmic relationship you thought you had crumbles at the tips of your naughty little fingers, you’re left with nothing but the most tension-filled, awkward, and incredibly uncomfortable workplace environment.
Imagine this, you don’t heed my advice and you succumb to Bulging Blaine’s advances and you decide this is it, you’ve found the one. You go out with him, he woos you, seduces you, shows you that his muscles aren’t the only thing bulging, and you fall in love. Collective sigh. Aw, Bulging Blaine. What a ruggedly handsome man with a schlong that tickles your intestines. You can’t believe the sheer luck and smart decision you made in allowing this giant cock of a man with the abs that you motorboat at least twice a night into your life. Great job. High five. Thumbs up. Nipple-to-nipple kiss.
You’re at work, doodling hearts on a Post-it Note, his name in bold, your name in cursive with a heart surrounding them. You’re high, not on the hashish brownies Always-High Helen brings in to work and leaves in the secret cupboard in the break room, but from the man who sits three cubicles away. He’s EVERYTHING. You’re so happy that when you walk down the hallways of your office building, you cry cupcakes for your coworkers, you sneeze sprinkles, and when you flip your hair to the side, hearts sporadically fall to the floor, making it look like Cupid himself had an all-night bender and he’s paying for it now.
Happiness.
It consumes you. You eat, sleep, breathe, and wax that cactus for the one and only Bulging Blaine. The way he kisses you, pressing his body into yours, the way he looks at you from over his cube, sexual suggestions waggling in
those seductive eyebrows, or the way he secretly lifts your skirt up in the break room, only to run a finger near your aroused “sex.” Heaven, right? Coitus has never been so good on a copy machine, right? Instant messenger has never been so naughty . . . Can I get an amen, ladies?
But then, the lust-filled bubble of cotton candy and condoms starts to fade and the truth comes out. Bulging Blaine has been lying to you. No, he doesn’t have a secret life; no, he hasn’t been fucking steals-all-the-tape Tanya with the hooker heels. It’s worse; he hasn’t been telling you the truth about himself. The man with the cock ring that sends vibrations to your larynx has been telling you this entire time that he is the proud owner of his Mustang Convertible and the stylish, yet modern townhome you’ve been using as a fucking surface, when in actuality, he’s been housesitting for his parents who are gallivanting over in Europe, knocking fists with the Queen and eating crumpets off her crown. GASP! (Lame example, I know, but I’m so mad, I couldn’t come up with a better one. Pretend it’s devastating and go with it.) Gah, the horror!
Your world turns bleak, you have tunnel vision, you can’t seem to breathe. The townhome you thought you were going to one day chase your child around in instead will be occupied by Bigger, Badder, Bulging Blaine Senior and his botox-filled wife, Glinda. Bulging Blaine tries to tell you he had plans of telling you the quartz counters he ate you out on five times really belonged to his parents, but he was just looking for the right time. But it’s no use, the deed has been done, he lied, he betrayed you, and you can no longer see yourself taking a shower in the five-piece shower stall that blasts your clit and ass at the same time, taking you on an H20 sexual enlightenment you’ll never forget.
The worst happens, you break up. You tell that lying piece of billowing bastard that you’re done and you slam the door on his face because let’s be honest, you’re a strong, confident, and proud woman. You don’t take crap from anyone, even if you spent three hundred dollars on a Photoshop artist to see what your children might look like.
You’re back at work, dread and unease setting in. You sit in your cube, waiting for the moment you see him, waiting to see if he looks like the pile of rotted-out cucumbers you hoped and prayed he would turn into overnight, but no such luck. When he walks past your desk, his cologne hits your nose, reminding you of the time you let him plow you in the emergency fire escape stairwell while everyone else was following protocol during the practice fire drill. When you get coffee, you run into him, seeing that the butt you fell in love with didn’t deflate overnight and for some reason looks better than ever. And when you go to the bathroom, hoping for a piece of solace, you run into him while he’s retrieving his mail, his eyes looking regretful, pleading with you to have a conversation.
You want to cry, you want to plow your fist through the cube wall in hopes that your force will also take out Breathes-Too-Loud Lonny on the other side.
Everywhere you go, you see him. Every time you breathe, you smell him. Every time you try to focus on the work in front of you, his face pops up in your head. It’s a living nightmare.
Can you feel it? Can you see where I’m coming from? Do you understand why I’m seconds away from storming into Stuart’s office and throwing my apron in his face while demanding my last paycheck?
The clearing of a throat pulls me from my thoughts. I turn to see Sadie standing next to the counter, her hands twisting in front of her, her eyes rimmed with red, and total defeat in the set of her shoulders. In a weak voice, she asks, “Did you get a chance to make my sundae?”
I look up at the ticket machine and notice a few tickets waiting to be made. I must have completely zoned out, trying to forget the girl standing next to me.
“I can make it.” Moving into the fountain area, I stop her, my hand accidentally landing on hers. Quickly I remove it and clear my throat.
“I can do it. Just give me a second.” I tear down the slip and start reading it but the letters and numbers are all jumbled together. I have no clue what the order is.
“I don’t mind.”
“I can do it, just give me a second.”
I place my hands on the counter and try to take deep breaths. She’s too close, her perfume is eating me alive, her eyes boring holes into my back. Focus, Andrew, fucking focus. It’s just a sundae for God’s sake.
“It’s just a vanilla sundae with fudge.” Her voice shakes with each word. When I turn to look at her, those crystal blue eyes of hers are filling with tears. All I see is her agony.
Fuck.
Fuck me.
See what I’m talking about? Don’t engage in workplace romances. I repeat, do not engage in workplace romances.
If you engage, be warned: coworker turns into co-WRECKER pretty damn quickly.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
SADIE
I toss my patched-up purse on the floor and fall into one of the pink recliners in my small one-bedroom apartment. What a long fucking day.
School started, and it’s been three weeks since I’ve seen Andrew. He quit shortly after we broke up. I heard through the grapevine that he told Stuart he needed to focus on school, but really? He couldn’t stand to be around me any longer. I don’t blame him; I can barely stand to be around myself.
Pity party, admission for one.
I lean my head back on the recliner and close my eyes, trying to will back the tears that threaten to spill anytime I have downtime, anytime I have a moment to think.
“Sadie?” Smilly pokes her head out of the bedroom door and looks around the corner to where I’m sitting. “I didn’t know you were going to be home so early.”
“Slow day. Stuart asked for volunteers to go home, and I took the chance. I couldn’t be there any longer than I had to be.” And that’s the truth. Every time I look over at the fountain area, my heart aches, my entire body pounds with misery. It’s been unbearable.
“Oh, that’s . . . nice.” Smilly swallows hard and looks around.
“Why are you being weird?”
Letting out a long breath of air, she steps out into the living room wearing a pair of leather ass-less chaps, a black leather bra, and a pink frilly bib. “I was expecting my man to come home any minute now.”
I take in her appearance and even though I probably don’t want to know the answer, I ask anyway, “What’s with the bib?”
She strokes it, in awe of the garment draped over her chest. “Mama has quite the appetite tonight, and she knows it’s going to be sloppy.” Her sly smile gives it all way. I vomit in my mouth.
I wave my hand in the air, trying to erase the last few seconds. “That . . .” I shake my head. “Nope, for the love of God, never say anything like that again.”
She giggles and takes the seat next to me, not caring that I can see her bare ass. If Saddlemire is going to be home soon, there is no way I’m going to be here when he arrives.
“Spoke to Emma today,” Smilly says while picking at her nails. “She met up with Andrew at the coffee kiosk. Apparently they talked for quite some time.”
“Information I don’t need to know.” The clench in my jaw almost makes it impossible to respond, my teeth on the verge of cracking. I trust Emma, and I know Andrew wouldn’t meet up with her to hurt me. But Emma is probably everything he wants. She’s nice. She’s not screwed up. She doesn’t lie.
Dramatically, Smilly flops to the side, leaning over her chair so she’s draping across mine. “Come on, what is taking you so long? Go get him back.”
“He doesn’t want anything to do with me. He made that quite clear when I went to his house.”
“No.” Smilly holds up her finger with authority. “He said he didn’t want to hold you back. He didn’t want to be the one you hid behind. Completely different. He wants you to find yourself. Everybody does, Sadie.”
“What, are you holding conventions about me now?”
“Yeah.” Smilly leans back in her chair. “Charging ten dollars per entry. I’m banking a shit ton of money with the amount of people
who want to see you succeed.” She shrugs her shoulder and continues, “So you hit a road block, don’t let it stop you from ever moving forward. It’s just a speed bump, Sadie. When you were learning to drive, you were blowing over those things, flying in the air without a freaking worry about what might happen. You were fearless.”
“More like stupid,” I mutter just as Saddlemire busts through the door, whip in hand and smacks his palm with it.
“I’m here, baby.” He takes in Smilly and then glances at me. His face falls flat. “I thought she was still at work? We really need to work out a schedule.” He then eyes Smilly’s bib and says, “Nice bib, babe. I hope it doesn’t get too dirty.” I know when I’m not wanted.
I stand from the recliner and say, “That’s enough of that. I’m going to change and get the hell out of here.”
It takes me no more than five minutes to change out of work clothes and into a pair of yoga pants and a tight-fitting hoodie sweater. I throw my hair up into a high bun and walk toward the door to grab my purse. I know where I want to go. It’s the one place I know I can clear my mind.
“Text me when you’re done,” I call out, digging in my purse for my keys.
There is giggling behind me, and I don’t bother to stick around for a reply. I need to get the hell out of there before the bib is used. Please God, let the bib be burned by the time I get back.
The drive takes me twenty minutes, but once I arrive, I shoot off a quick text and then head to my favorite spot, a broken log next to the shore of Dorchester Lake. I take a seat and tuck my feet under me so my arms can rest on my knees. I lower my chin so it’s propped up on my arms and stare out into the calm ripples of the water. The sun is starting to set, but I’m struggling to see the beauty.
There is a certain comfort I seek in this lake. It was there for me when I was a little girl, learning how to splash in the water. It was there when I wore my first two-piece in front of my friends. It was there when I had my first alcoholic beverage, and when I threw up that first alcoholic beverage—sorry, lake. And it was there the day after I miscarried. This lake, this water, it’s been the one constant, reliable thing in my life that I’ve truly counted on. Never judging me, never pushing me, never trying to make me someone I don’t want to be. Instead, it has helped me reflect upon the person I truly am.