I scarcely had my sandals off and he swept me off my feet, up into his arms.
“Careful,” I said.
“Don’t worry. I won’t drop you.”
“I meant your back.”
He carried me through the apartment, toward the bedroom door. “Nonsense. You weigh less than a tree.”
I laughed. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about my weight!”
We got into the bedroom, and he didn’t set me down right away. “You feel good in my arms.”
“I sure do.”
He gently set me down on the soft bed. “Let’s light some candles and meditate.”
I laughed, then abruptly stopped. He was serious.
“For how long?” I asked.
“Does it matter? Have you got somewhere to go?”
I started to get a twitchy feeling all over, especially in my fingers. “I really need to check my messages.”
“Right now?”
“Sure. You get started meditating, and I’ll just go check my messages in the other room.”
He frowned, clearly disapproving, but still waved me away.
I retrieved my phone from my purse and went into the other bedroom and closed the door. A minute later, some new age music started to play. I tried not to think of Keith sulking because I didn’t want to meditate with him.
He’ll get over it. I fluffed up the pillows on the spare bed and got comfortable.
Soon enough, I was completely distracted by my messages.
My friend Golden had sent me a half-dozen texts asking questions about Adrian. She asked, what did I think it meant that he had asked her to hang out a few times, but nothing physical had happened? Was it the height difference? Was she just too short for him to kiss? Everyone's the same height lying in bed, she said.
Golden and Adrian? Blech.
Because I still had a lingering crush on him from high school, I didn’t like the idea of Golden putting her tiny paws all over him, so I wrote back: Is Adrian depressed about his recent life failure? Maybe he’s on one of those anti-anxiety medications that makes your willy soft.
Then I cackled to myself like an evil witch in a Disney movie. (Not Ursula.) I wasn’t going to hit the send button, but then the witch in me made me do it, and my words flew off.
Next, I opened up the one and only text message from Dalton. I was expecting him to tell me again I was being ridiculous, blaming him for something in a script, or maybe even for him to beg me to come back to him. (It would feel amazing to say no.) What I didn’t expect was a simple, two-word message: I understand.
What the f**k did that mean?
I understand.
WHAT?
I gave the phone some serious facial expressions and jabbed out a response: GOOD.
Then I sent the missive, and immediately wanted to take the message back. Saying nothing at all would have been the appropriate thing to do, but I can’t shut myself up—not in person, and not on the phone.
My best friend and roommate, Shayla, had sent me two messages.
Shayla, 6:37pm: I’m serving a table of adorable firemen and they won’t even flirt with me. I’m going to change into Trisha’s tiny shirt, and if I don’t get at least one number, I’m going to quit this stupid job, because there are no perks.
Shayla, 7:40pm: Your roommate is unemployed! Hey, do they need any extra help at the bookstore?
It was ten o’clock on the nose when I wrote her back: Please tell me you didn’t actually quit. How can we afford all our fancy brand name salad dressing if we’re not a double income household?
I tried to hide my concern with a joke, but I actually was worried. I’d be getting some money from the modeling and underwear line, but not pay-the-whole-rent money.
Shayla: I got a raise! I quit, and then Cameron hired me back for another two hundred a month!
Me: At last, Cameron does something decent and useful for a change.
She sent back a smilie face, then phoned me instead of messaging.
“Talk fast. I have ten minutes for my break,” she said. “Did you find anything else exciting at Dalton’s house?”
“I’m not exactly staying there anymore,” I said, and then I explained everything from the last two days as best I could without triggering a pity party.
“I told you so,” she said.
Wait, that isn’t true.
She did NOT say I told you so. Not in so many words. But the consoling words she said next still carried that exact connotation.
“That f**king sucks donkey balls,” is what she actually said, which sounds empathetic, but she said it with no emotion at all.
“It does suck donkey balls.”
“We’ll get through this together,” she said, even though it sounded a lot like, Next time, you’d better listen to me, you astoundingly stupid book-smart girl.
Attempting to lighten the mood, I said, “Keith is actually really fun. I hardly feel broken at all when I’m around him. Maybe there’s something to this whole rebound arrangement.”
“Hang on, I’m just Googling his name to find a picture of this Keith Raven dude, and… OH-MY-GOD.”
“Not bad, right?”
“That boy is so hot, you could use him to heat a whole room.”
I chuckled. “He’s in his bedroom right now, meditating.”
“Meditating? Oh, Peaches. The guys you pick. They just keep getting hotter and weirder.”
“I guess that’s my type.”
“What if Dalton begs to get you back? Then you’ll have two guys fighting over you.”
“Not gonna happen. Dalton isn’t the begging type.”
“Still, he seemed really into you. And he’s back in town Wednesday?”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t matter, because I won’t see him ever again.”
“You can’t stay away from that man and you know it.”
“Whose side are you on?”
She grumbled something, then said, “Send me a selfie pic of you and Keith. I’ll know when I see you together.”
“No way. Our arrangement is just while I’m here. I don’t want any photos of us together, for me to sob over in the future when I’m feeling lonely.”
“No pictures together… except for the underwear campaign all over billboards and magazines.”
A wave of nausea washed over me like a sewer backup over basement carpet.
“I’ve made a huge mistake,” I whispered into the phone.
“At least your huge mistake has… hmm, I’m zooming in on a photo of Keith, and… holy breadsticks, that certainly is a huge mistake. I’ve seen huge mistakes before, but this one is making me re-think my life choices.”