“Thanks. I’ll do the dishes in the morning.”
Calling the dog, I jogged to the kitchen and went out the back door, luring her with a treat since it was pretty brisk out. I wished I’d jammed my feet in some shoes as I hopped back and forth, waiting for Happy to do her business. Afterward, I fed her the biscuit and rushed back in.
“Okay, I’m off to kill stuff for an hour or so before bed.”
She raised a brow. “With anyone else, those words would alarm me. ’Night, Lauren.”
I flicked a hand at her as I went up the stairs. Happy followed me. Though she liked Avery, she was still my dog. She cocked her head at me as I hesitated in the threshold of the bedroom I’d shared with Rob. Months later, and it still hit me every time, like a punch in the sternum, that he was gone and not coming back, that I’d made it happen.
“I miss him,” I whispered to her as I closed the door behind us. “What about you?”
She sighed at me like that was a dumb question. A non-dog-lover would question how I anthropomorphized her, but I swore she understood me. Happy leaped up on Rob’s side and turned around three times before settling down. The sheets had been changed and washed a hundred times, more maybe, but I wished I had the luxury of crawling into bed and breathing him in. I’d never admit how long I waited before swapping the linens after he left; now there was only Happy and me scenting the bed covers, along with touches of detergent and fabric softener.
I put on my pajamas and sat down at my computer. There were always class projects, code to write, barbs to respond to from buttheads in my data structures class. But I backslid a little and checked for Rob Conrad Google Alerts before deciding what game to play or doing something more productive, like finishing a paper for IT ethics.
There wasn’t a ton about him; he wasn’t an A-list celebrity, but I found a new photo posted to a Toronto-centric site. Headline: Internet Sensation Rob Conrad Enjoys Time Off with a Lucky Lady. Is There Romance Behind the Scenes at Hot Property?
My chest ached as I read a short blurb about the show, then scrolled down to see him waving to the press with Annette Caldwell beside him. The picture was dated two days ago, and the caption offered the usual crap about him being really sweet to his fans. I had noticed that they were shooting promos for the show and posting them to Rob’s channel, professional quality unlike the vids we made, but these were still called At Home with Rob. His idea, not mine. I touched the screen lightly, closing the browser tab, but it felt like goodbye, as well.
For an hour or so, I stabbed monsters online, but my heart wasn’t in it, so I brushed my teeth and went to bed. Some nights it was hard to fall asleep for thinking about Rob, wondering what he was doing, if he was happy. I’d really like the answer to the last question, but I couldn’t become the lame girl obsessively grilling Nadia for updates. She told me what she knew as she learned it, and it would have to be enough.
The following Monday, I found a package waiting when I got home from work, left by the UPS man. I took it inside and set it down, pausing to pet the dog, who was so excited to see me. Then I got a knife and cut the box open. Inside, I discovered my three binders, fantasies I’d written about Rob when he was like a prince from a story to me, not a real person at all. Now I knew better; I knew what he liked the best in bed and how to hurt him the most. Though I searched, there was no note.
That’s the message right there.
Tears trickled down my cheeks as I hugged the binders. I’d lied when I said I had no use for these, so I was glad to have them back, even if it meant Rob didn’t want them—that he skimmed the stupidity, laughed and put it aside, moved on to more important things. There would always be room in my heart for dreams of him, wrapped around the memories that chased me in and out of each day like weary ghosts, reminding me of how sweet life was before. Yet even with the pain, I couldn’t regret my decision.
It had been a while since I’d wept over Rob, but today I couldn’t help it. Happy eyed me and then nudged against my legs, so I knelt down to hug her. Then I took the past upstairs and tucked it on the bookshelves Rob had built. Everything in this room had his imprint all over it, and if I had the right, I’d ship him the furniture, start fresh. I couldn’t live here forever; I knew that, but I couldn’t bring myself to discuss looking for a new place with Avery because it would mean contacting Rob, other than the check I mailed once a month. Damn, even the utilities were still in his name... Trusting of him. If I were an asshole, I could stop paying the bills and ruin his credit. Which I’d never do—and maybe deep down, he knew that. Regardless, I had to make a move; things couldn’t continue like this.
I just couldn’t decide what to do.
But there was one step I could take immediately. I got on my laptop and pinged Nadia, stifling a burst of glee when she answered right away. “Hey! Sorry we couldn’t make it for Christmas. I miss you. Everything okay?”
“Yeah. No. Well, gainfully employed anyway.” Still paying Rob’s mortgage, with Avery’s help. That seemed so strange and backward.
“Have you talked to Rob?”
“Nope. How’s Mr. Hot Ginger?”
“I’m right here, I can hear you,” a male voice called.
A high-pitched question: “Why does she call you that?”
“Crap, did I call at a bad time?”
“We’re trying to get Sam ready for bed. Can I get back to you?”
“Sure, no problem.”
Even if she was busy, at least I’d made the effort. I could feel good about that. This felt like closing the circle, trying to be a good friend again. In that same vein, I tried Angus next, but he didn’t show online. I left a text message on his Skype account, then stared at Max’s icon. Despite the awkwardness between us, I hadn’t deleted him.
And he’s signed on.
Taking a deep breath, I requested a chat, then I bit my lip, wondering if he even wanted to break the long silence. After thirty interminable seconds, the video connection went live, revealing a dark-haired guy with eyes so dark you could hardly see the pupils. He was lean and handsome in a scruffy sort of way. Just now, he had on sweats and a T-shirt, shaggy hair tumbling into his eyes.
“Long time, no talk,” he said.
“Yeah.” I took a breath. “I know it’s been a long time, and maybe you don’t think about it anymore, but...really, I just want to say sorry.”
“About what?” Cool, almost icy. I couldn’t tell if he’d really forgotten.