As much as I could tell I was going to want “necessarily” again, I was absolutely not going to be the proverbial other woman. This kid needed to figure things out if today’s events were ever going to repeat, or if we were ever going to even interact again. “That sounds like a good plan.”
“Cool. I’m off again two weekends from now, an awful lot of overnights until then. Would that be okay with you?”
“Absolutely.”
I wanted desperately to ask if he wanted to stay and sleep next to me, but I knew he needed space and refused to be that vulnerable. Or was I just afraid of rejection? Probably all of the above. We both put on our clothes, and he readied to go. I walked him to the door, and he turned around suddenly and gave me a kiss on the cheek, smiling. I hugged him.
“I’m here. See you in a couple weeks.” I hated that I said that. I was trying so unsuccessfully not to want him.
He looked over at the bedroom door in an obvious way, then over his shoulder at the apartment door, then back at me. “See you later, Dr. M.” He winked.
Just go, please. I’m going to go die on the couch now. Even Asshole Mind was defeated.
– – – – – – –
As the two weeks went by, I slipped back into work as usual, mostly relieved that I knew I wouldn’t run into Chance, at least at work. I did see him at the grocery one evening; I was doing some usual shopping (mostly beer) and this place was always on point with music, and loudly. The Universe had been messing with the playlist on this particular day:
If you change your mind,
I’m the first in line
Honey I’m still free,
Take a chance on me
(takeaChancetakeaChance takeatakeaChanceChance)
Of course I was dancing my cart down an aisle, and looked up to see him at the end, walking past. He smiled and waved but didn’t come up to talk; I couldn’t tell if he was with anyone. I left in a hurry, not wanting to find out.
I did get a text one evening, Call sucks.
I texted back, You okay?
He replied, LOL yeah, just trying to remember when I don’t have the answer, I know where to find it. I was touched, and my heart sank and ached a bit. Enough that I decided not to text back.
The weekend came when Chance had said he was off, and I wondered what might happen. I had no particular plans, but…dammit no, I was not waiting by the phone to hear from him. A text came Saturday afternoon.
Hey Dr. M, I’m really sorry but something came up this weekend. I won’t be able to hang out. Really sorry.
Sigh. No worries Chance. Take care.
Those last two words functioned in so many ways – frustration, sadness, ache, dismissal, farewell. I needed to stop. My best friend would have used the word “dickmatized” to snap me out of it. I called him up and told him everything. It was therapeutic.
Weekend without incident, another week of work the same. I actually loved my job, and that meant that when I needed it, it was both an obligation and a pleasant distraction from difficulty outside of work. I took comfort in caring for patients and teaching others to do the same.
Friday night came and I prepared for another night of quiet apartment, expensive wine, and reading.
Hey Dr. M, do you have a sec? the text came, about 7:30.
I thought about ignoring it and turning off my phone, but only for a second. The next several seconds were spent calculating the appropriate interval before responding; this time it was three or four minutes. Being available was one of my promises, after all. Sure, what’s up?
I’m working this weekend but I got out earlier than I thought tonight, and I know we were supposed to meet up last weekend (so sorry) but I was wondering would tonight be okay? Totally understand if you have plans.
Sigh. Wait five minutes while tearing around the apartment and picking up a bit. Put on more respectable clothes. Sure, I’m around now. Yeah, that’s nonchalant enough.
I expected the front door directory to call in about 30 seconds, and it was right on time.
“Hi.”
“Hey! It’s Chance.”
Buzz
Shortly there was a knock at the door. I walked up to it, but hesitated, with my hand on the doorknob. He came after all, so that was something, right? But he’s so polite, he would likely come in person to tell me he didn’t think we should have sex again, maybe not hang out, or even talk again. I hoped he was honest with himself, and going to be happy. I hoped.
Still unable to turn the doorknob, I leaned forward and looked out the apartment door peephole.
I saw a large bouquet of sunflowers, clutched against a blue scrub top.