by Abby Jimenez
His deep voice spoke over me softly. “Can I ask you a question?”
“What?” I whispered, opening my eyes.
“What does Sloan think of him?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Sloan hates him.”
“Why?”
“Because she thinks I’ve settled.”
He furrowed his brow. “Settled? How? Is something wrong with him? Is he a dick?”
I let out a long breath. “No. He doesn’t want kids.”
He scoffed. “Well, there you go. The kid thing is too important. Can’t be with him.”
It felt like a punch right to my uterus. A hard lump bolted to my throat, and I had to look away from him because I was going to cry.
There it was, straight from his own lips.
The kid thing is too important. Can’t be with him.
He stopped turning us, and he put my face in his hands. Once I was looking at him again, I lost it. My chin quivered and tears spilled over my cheeks.
His eyes moved back and forth between mine. “Don’t marry him, Kristen.”
My heart cracked in half.
“Don’t marry him,” he whispered. “Please.”
There was something desperate about the way he said it. I studied the look in his eyes. Distress. Longing. Pleading.
This wasn’t the look of a man who just didn’t want to give up his booty call. This was feelings. Josh has feelings for me.
The realization hit me like a deep, cancerous, soul-reaching sadness. These emotions I could see he had for me—they should have made me happy. I should have been ecstatic to know that what I felt maybe wasn’t so one-sided. But instead, a bitter disappointment descended on my body making me so weak I worried my knees would give out.
I had to cut him loose.
This thing between us had gone as far as I could allow it to go.
I wasn’t going to marry Tyler. I think I’d known that the whole time. After I’d said no, he’d begged me to think about it. So I did. But I wasn’t going to be with either of them. I couldn’t.
The kid thing is too important. Can’t be with him.
I couldn’t love Tyler the way he deserved, and I couldn’t give Josh a family. I could never give either man what he really wanted.
TWENTY-FIVE
Josh
Kristen told Tyler no to his proposal, and I hadn’t seen her in two fucking weeks.
Shawn, Brandon, and I stood on the Vegas strip in front of the Bellagio fountains, waiting for the water show to start. It was Brandon’s bachelor party weekend. It couldn’t have come at a worse time. I was losing my fucking mind. I needed to see her.
I checked my phone again. Nothing.
Shawn saw me check my cell. “Man, she’s not thinking about your ass. Fuck, you’re sprung.”
Brandon took a drink from his water bottle. “They’re going into massages. Sloan just texted me.”
Sloan was having her bachelorette party today back in California. I hated that I needed to hear about Kristen’s day in the third person. I fucking hated it.
The morning after karaoke night, our crew had been sent as an emergency strike team to Sequoia National Park to fight a wildfire. We’d been there for twelve days, and Kristen only called me once the whole time I was gone. She wouldn’t answer my calls or texts. She’d gone completely cold on me.
We’d gotten home just in time to leave for Vegas. I didn’t have time to go to her house.
I rolled up my sleeves. It was 2:00 in the afternoon and the sidewalk radiated heat. Sweaty tourists streamed past us. Sunburned spring breakers drinking out of souvenir cups, a cluster of young women laughing as they passed, huddled around a friend in a white veil, two middle-aged women wearing backpacks and cameras.
Couples holding hands.
Shawn lit a cigar. “She’s probably fucking somebody this weekend, bro. You should hook up too.”
“Shut the fuck up, dick.” I plucked at the front of my shirt, wondering offhand if Shawn was right, and getting irritable just thinking about it.
Brandon waved off a guy in sunglasses handing out flyers for a strip club. “No change at all with her, huh?”
I shook my head. “She’s been off ever since karaoke night.”
It was like an enormous tower had come up around her with a drawbridge, a moat full of piranhas, and machine guns on top. Compliments of Tyler, no doubt. I fucking hated that guy. I mean, I hadn’t really been making progress with her before he showed up, but at least she spoke to me back then.
One minute she was sitting in my lap in an Uber and dancing with me, telling me she’d liked me, and the next I couldn’t even get a text back.
I’d played that last night over and over again in my mind, trying to figure out what went wrong.
We’d been slow dancing. I told her not to marry Tyler. She’d obviously agreed I was right about that because she’d gone outside to call him and told him no to his proposal. Then she’d come back in a different person.
She’d made me take her home, cried the whole way there, and wouldn’t let me touch her. Locked herself in her room, kicked me out of her house, and she’d barely spoken to me since.
And I didn’t fucking get it.
This morning I’d sent her a text I knew was risky. But if she wasn’t speaking to me anyway, what was the harm? Things couldn’t get worse. I’d typed the words “I miss you” and stood staring at it for a solid five minutes before I hit Send.
That was three hours ago. She left me on read.
Brandon leaned on his forearms against the concrete railing over the lake, squinting out over the blue-green water. “I hate to say it, but Shawn might be right. Maybe you should see what else is out there.”
I couldn’t even look at him. “I don’t want to see what else is out there,” I said through clenched teeth. “If this was Sloan, would you want to see what else was out there?”
Fuck, if anyone should understand, it should be him. What did it mean that even Brandon was telling me to get over it?
He put his hands up. “Okay. You’re right. I’m sorry. It just doesn’t seem like this situation is getting any better, and I hate to see you chasing someone who’s not reciprocating. That’s all.”
“She’s just not that into you, man. Take the hint,” Shawn said, blowing cigar smoke. “Let me ask you something.” He tapped ash onto the sidewalk. “How many of your hoodies does she have?”
I wrinkled my brow. “None. Why?”
“She’s not into you, bro. Bitches love hoodies. If she’s not stealing your hoodies, she don’t want your ass.”
This thrust me deeper into my dark place. As ridiculous as it sounded, it also rang true. Even Celeste had kept a few of my hoodies at the end and she fucking hated me.
Sometimes I worried Shawn was some sort of idiot relationship savant. Too much of what he said had a convoluted wisdom to it.
This terrified me.
Still, there was one thing. “If she’s not into me, why did she check up on me through Brandon?”
This was weird. The whole time I was gone, she wouldn’t return any of my calls or texts. But then, on day eight of clearing brush, I’d gotten moved to a different firebreak than Brandon. When he got off shift, he told Sloan he didn’t know where I was, and within seconds of Brandon hanging up with Sloan, Kristen started blowing up my phone. It was the only time I’d talked to her. She’d sounded almost desperate to know I was okay.
Of course as soon as she realized I was alive and not burned to death, she hung up with me. But that’s when I realized she’d been using Sloan’s updates to keep tabs on me. Why? Why not just answer one of the many calls I made?
Shawn snorted. “Congratulations, motherfucker. She cares if you die.”
I glared at him. But it wasn’t just that. I caught her looking at me sometimes. Or when we were in bed, she would kiss me when she thought I was sleeping. Even at karaoke night, she was hugging me but she made a lame excuse about it. It’s like she didn’t want m
e to know she gave a shit. Like she’s pretending.
Shawn jabbed his cigar at me. “This is what you get for being a thirst responder.”
“A what?” I said moodily.
“A thirst responder,” Shawn said, leaning his back against the rail and crossing his legs at the ankles. “A thirsty motherfucker who hits on a bitch the second she’s single.”
Brandon chuckled.
I scowled at Shawn and then turned to Brandon. “Has Sloan said anything about it? Anything about Tyler? Or dating other people?”
Brandon shook his head. “No. Do you want me to ask her?”
“No.” I wanted to know, but I didn’t want Kristen to think I’d sent Brandon to sniff around. And Sloan would know if he was sniffing.
I dragged a hand down my face. I’d go right back to work at the fire station when I got back from Vegas, so that would be two more days. And then what? I’d come over and she’d ignore me in person? What the hell happened? I mean, I knew Tyler showing up had fucked with her, but I didn’t see what that had to do with me.
I fucking missed her. I couldn’t understand how she didn’t miss me back. Even on a friendship level, she should miss me. We hung out every minute that I wasn’t at the fire station. We were close. Could she really care this little?
“I just haven’t seen her in a while,” I mumbled, as if that explained it all.
“Good,” Shawn said, grinning at the asses of a group of women walking past in short skirts and high heels. “Let her miss that shit. What up, ladies? Want to help a couple of firemen celebrate a bachelor party?”
They giggled and smiled at us but kept walking.
Brandon pulled a cigar from his pocket. “It’s not the worst advice,” he said, lighting a match and puffing on the end of his cigar until it lit. “Try to have a good time. Focus on something else.”
Music erupted around us, and the fountains burst into life. An instrumental of “Ain’t That a Kick in the Head.” Water shot a hundred feet in the air and danced in time with the song, sending a cool mist over us.
It was a vibrant high-energy contrast to my shitty mood.
Brandon and Shawn leaned on the rail and watched the show, and I looked at my phone again.
Nothing.
I stared grouchily out over the congested strip at the black limos and taxis with their light boxes advertising shows I didn’t want to see and steak houses where I didn’t want to eat. What I wanted was to go home and see Kristen.
The ball was in her court.
It had always been in her court. This was her game.
Maybe she really didn’t have feelings for me. She’d said that one night at the karaoke bar that she’d had a crush on me, and that was the last bone she ever threw me. Hell, it was the only bone she ever threw me. And I’d been gnawing on it ever since. At the time, I’d even been a little hopeful that maybe, if she gave Tyler the boot, it was the start of something more between us.
Every time I thought I was getting closer to more, it was ripped away from me.
Maybe she was telling the truth, that all it would ever be between us was casual hookups and no strings attached.
Maybe even the casual hookups are over.
When the water show was done, Brandon looked at his watch. “I want to check out that rare bookstore before it closes.”
“Yeah, that sounds like a great fucking idea,” Shawn said. “Hey, let me get a picture of you guys. You can send it to Sloan.”
Brandon rummaged in his pocket and handed over his phone.
“Let me get one on your phone too,” he said to me. “You can send it to Kristen. Maybe she’ll print it and keep it where she keeps your balls.”
“Dick.” I put the phone in his hand.
Brandon and I posed against the railing in front of the lake, and I faked a smile. Shawn stood and held up Brandon’s cell for the picture. Then he drew his arm back and chucked Brandon’s phone over our heads into the water.
“Hey—” Before I could lunge for it, mine was next. Then he took his own phone, and like a fucking lunatic, he threw that too.
“What the fuck?!” I pushed him.
He laughed, taking the shove. “You two motherfuckers are in Vegas! This dude wants to go to a fucking rare bookstore, and your pussy-whipped ass is practically crying over some girl. I’ve freed you, bitches!”
Even Brandon looked irritated. “You’re buying me a new phone, asshole.”
Shawn pulled out a flask. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll all get new shit when we win at the craps table.” He shoved the flask into Brandon’s chest. “No more Sloan and Kristen. No rare motherfucking books either. We’re in Vegas, and we’re gonna fucking do Vegas!”
TWENTY-SIX
Kristen
Sloan and I stood in a waist-deep pool of rust-colored water, slapping mud on each other’s faces. I started her bachelorette party at Glen Ivy, a sprawling day spa in Corona.
Hot tubs, steam rooms, saunas. We rented a cabana by one of the pools and spent the first half of the day lounging and having mojitos. We’d just gotten out of massages and we’d made our way to the mud pit, a pond-size pool with a pedestal in the middle featuring a heaping pile of the spa’s signature red clay. We were supposed to smack it on, let it dry, and slough it off to exfoliate our skin.
Sloan’s mom, cousin Hannah, and Brandon’s sister Claudia were already baking their mud into a crusty layer, lying under the sun in lounge chairs.
“Did Brandon say what they’re doing today?” I asked, trying not to sound too interested.
Sloan smeared mud on her stomach. “They were walking on the strip the last time he texted me. And just so you know, that’s the last update you’re going to get from me. If you miss him, call him.”
I pressed my lips into a line and wiped two muddy fingers on her cheek. She’d taunted me earlier with a picture of the guys on their motorcycles. Wouldn’t let me see it. Told me if I wanted to see pictures of Josh, I should send him an Instagram request like a normal person.
“I can’t call him.”
She rolled her eyes. “Kristen, this is so stupid.”
“It’s not.”
Ghosting him was for his own good. Josh and I needed a reset—especially after some of the things I’d said when I was drunk.
Josh was nursing a little crush on me—I was almost positive. And ultimately we needed to stop hooking up altogether. But I couldn’t call off things with him just yet. Once I really thought about it, I realized there were complications with the timing. But his two weeks on a strike team were the perfect opportunity to put some much-needed distance between us. If he still wanted to see me when he got back, I’d see him. But for now this was the right move.
Sloan shook her head at me. “You can’t be serious about this. You miss him. And I bet he misses you too.”
I knew he missed me. He’d said it in a text not four hours ago. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, wondering exactly how he meant that to be taken. Was he horny? Did he see something funny that Brandon wouldn’t get and he wanted to tell me about it and it made him wish I was there? Or did he miss me, miss me.
No matter the answer, it reinforced my decision to back him off these last two weeks. He shouldn’t be missing me. We were fuck buddies—he should only be missing the sex. I wasn’t going to encourage him by engaging. Not talking on the phone or texting him had always been a hard-line rule for me, and I needed to stick to it, now more than ever. I didn’t want to lead him on.
“He sees other women, you know. We date other people,” I said defensively.
“Who are you dating?” She cocked her head to the side.
I rubbed mud on my arms, watching it smear over my skin so I wouldn’t have to look at her. “I went on that one date with Tyler,” I said lamely.
She scoffed. “That’s what I thought. What if he’s having sex with these other women? Doesn’t that bother you?”
The very suggestion of it felt like she’d reached into my chest and squeezed my hea
rt. Yeah, it bothered me. I tried not to think about it. Josh would have sex with other women, and one day he’d have babies with one of them. And that was just the way it was.
I shrugged. “He’s single, so he can do what he wants.”
“Hmm. And so why don’t you do it too, then?”
She knew why I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t be with another man. I didn’t want anyone else.
I stuck my finger in the pile of red mud on the pedestal. “I won’t be having sex with anyone else until after the hysterectomy.”
“How are you feeling?” she asked, eyeing my stomach.
I wore a T-shirt over my bathing suit to cover my belly. Even though it could be mistaken for a large lunch, I was too self-conscious about it. I knew what it was. And if even one person asked me when I was due, I would lose my shit.
“Well, the IUD kicked in. The doctor said it would take a few months to start helping with the bleeding, and I finally see the difference. It’s been huge, actually. I only spot now.”
Her smile was extra dazzling under the red clay on her cheeks. “Really? Could you live like this? Maybe put off the surgery?”
I shook my head. “No, I can’t live like this. I’m still bleeding almost daily, the cramps are horrible, and I look three months pregnant. Look.” I pulled my T-shirt tight around my waist and showed her my distended stomach.
She looked mournfully at my belly.
I think of everything, my swollen stomach was what made her get this. She had a beautiful hourglass figure, and what my uterus was doing to mine was her nightmare.
“I’m so sick of this being my normal, Sloan.” I let the shirt drop. “Every day of my life for the last twelve years, this uterus has made me miserable. It’s never done anything for me but give me grief, and it never will.”
It occurred to me that pain was literally a daily part of my world. I took it for granted. I lived with it like someone learns to live with background noise. And I was done doing it.
My doctor had suggested writing a thank-you letter to my uterus before the surgery. To give me closure, he said.
