Way To My Heart

by Barbara C. Doyle

  But instead of making it tear me up inside, I busied myself with work and exercise. And, okay, maybe a little food indulgence too.

  I was an emotional eater. What could I say?

  After a thirty-minute cardio workout, I downed half a bottle of water and peeled myself out of my workout shirt. The spandex pants weren’t as easy. In fact, I was sure they were invented as a way to burn more calories as you fought gravity to take them off. Usually, I liked having pants worn like a second skin, because there was a lot of rolls and chub that needed to be compressed.

  But hopping around on one leg, while trying not to trip over Mashed Potato, to slide them down my sweaty thighs made me consider living in the spandex forever.

  I blew out a breath as I swiped my wrist across my forehead, trying to let my heart rate spiral downward. The old version of me would have never owned workout attire. But working out had become my new method of coping with situations that didn’t go away. It was better than eating my feelings with an entire meat lover’s pizza—something I admittedly still did, just not as often.

  Defeatedly, I laid down on the floor. The cool hardwood feeling like heaven against my overheated back and legs.

  Mashed Potato appeared in my line of vision.

  “I can’t pet you, I’m dying,” I informed her dramatically.

  She huffed, smacked her tail into my beat red face, and walked away. She was clearly not impressed with my theatrics.

  After careful consideration of what I was wearing and how somehow would find me if I did die right now, I got my ass up and moving. I might not have hated my body as much as I used to, but there were still some rolls and stretch marks that the good people of Hell didn’t need to see when I was delivered in a handbasket.

  Pushing myself off the floor, I tried a new approach of shimmying out of the tight spandex. They held on as I added a little jump and quick wiggle. When they were halfway down my legs, there was a few short knocks on the door.

  “One second,” I yelled. Nearly tripping over my own two feet, I caught myself on the barstool closest to me. The metal bar banged against the floor as it crashed, landing on my pinky toe.

  I moaned in agony. “Fuuuuck.”

  “What the hell are you doing?” Iris shouted from the other side of the door. Thank God, it was windowless.

  “Nothing. Just give me two minutes.”

  “Are you having sex?” she asked, hope lingering in her tone.

  “What? No!” Now I’d really tripped over my own feet, falling hard on my ass while trying to remove the offensive material from the ankle first.

  The thud must have been loud enough for Iris to hear, because her frantic voice sounded from the hall as she wiggled the doorknob.

  “Paisley? Are you okay?”

  Groaning loudly, I managed to stand. Rubbing my sore tailbone, I trekked over to the door with a new limp and sharp pains coming from my rear end. Only I could hurt myself taking off freaking pants.

  I managed to pull them back up before letting Iris in, not bothering to feel self-conscious over my exposed midsection in my hot pink sports bra. Despite Iris being enviously thin, she never once made me feel bad about the shape of my body. In fact, she constantly boosted my ego by wishing she had my curves and figure.

  “You look like crap,” she greeted, closing the door behind her.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  She patted my butt as she walked by, frowning when I winced.

  “I fell,” I grumbled, walking over to where my water bottle sat on the counter.

  “How?”

  My face reddened. “I was trying to take off my pants. It happens.”

  She snort-laughed. “Only to you.”

  I shrugged, not bothering to argue.

  Fanning my face with my hand, I leaned my hip against the counter. “Did we have plans?”

  “I can’t just come over and see my favorite bitch?”

  Eyes narrowing in suspicion, I said, “No.”

  She sat down on one of my barstools. “Okay, I may be here as an advocate.”

  “Advocate for what?”

  “My brother.”

  Before she could explain, my phone pinged with a message.

  Nate: Hey

  A smile instantly formed on my face. “Hold on,” I told her, typing back a quick reply.

  “Who is it?”

  “Nathan.”

  I was met by silence. Peeking up, I saw a new frown splashed across her mouth.

  “What?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing.”

  I set my phone down. “No, tell me. You don’t like Nate.”

  “I don’t trust his intentions.”

  She was joking, right? After pushing me to put myself out there and start dating, it was like she wanted me to drop Nathan. And for what? Her conceited, annoyingly persistent brother?

  “What’s not to trust?”

  She ran her fingernail against the counter. “I just think that he’s leading you on, Pais. You told me that he doesn’t text you first, that you’re usually the one initiating conversation.”

  “So?”

  Her shoulders slumped. “If he was interested, don’t you think he’d reach out more?”

  Nate was busy. I didn’t expect him to text me twenty-four-freaking-seven.

  “He’s got a lot going on.”

  “Too much to send a two-second text?”

  I waved my phone in the air. “He texted me just now, remember?”

  “But when was the last time you talked?”

  There’d been plenty of silence between us, but I hadn’t wanted to bother him. Our shifts at Wilkins hadn’t lined up lately, I was always leaving when his shift was starting. Or the opposite.

  Maybe Iris was right. I was the one who usually texted him first, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t interested. Why would he invite me to his place or make plans to take me hiking if there was nothing he wanted from me? Then again, those plans haven’t been put into fruition.

  “I’m not trying to upset you,” she added when I didn’t reply. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “What you want is for me to give Caleb a chance.”

  “You already did,” she pointed out.

  And yet here I am.

  Walking over to the fridge, I placed my water inside to cool down. My eyes caught a glimpse of the master’s program acceptance latter hanging by a kitty magnet on the freezer door. The sight of it reminded me that I have been so caught up in distracting myself lately I hadn’t thought about my decision. Should I stick with my two jobs? Or should I go back to school?

  I sighed, turning to face her. “Listen, Caleb seems nice, but—”

  “Don’t,” she cut me off. “Don’t give him the brush off before you even get to know him.”

  I threw my hands in the air. “He gave me the run around first!”

  She drew back. “What? He told me he asked you out.”

  “That was over a week ago, Iris. I know when I’m being played.”

  “Do you?” she doubted.

  I knew she was throwing shade at Nate, but I ignored it. “I get that he’s your little brother, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be an asshole.”

  “I’m not saying he isn’t—”

  “Then why are you being so intrusive? He’s waited over a week to even get in contact with me!”

  She stayed quiet.

  “Listen, I’ve got stuff to do,” I dismissed, pulling at my pants.

  “Don’t be angry with me.”

  “I’m not.”

  I was irritated sure, but not angry. I understood Iris was hoping for the best between myself and her brother. That didn’t mean a relationship between us wouldn’t be toxic, because we were on opposite ends of the universe. He must have realized that after asking me out, which was fine. I was a little relieved.

  “I’m going into town to get a new tattoo. Want to come?” she asked, standing up.

  “I really do have things to do.” I pulle
d the acceptance letter from the fridge.

  “So, you’re going back to school?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I just want you to be happy, Paisley.”

  I know.

  “Oh!” She reached into her bag and pulled something colorful out.

  Mouse toys? She hated my cat as much as Tater hated her.

  “I might have mentioned your obsession with the fuzzy heinous creatures to Caleb,” she admitted, pushing the toys toward me. “So, he got these for your little weirdo fur ball.”

  Slowly, I reached out to accept the gift.

  Caleb bought Tater toys?

  She smiled at me like she’d accomplished something. When she left, I sunk onto the barstool and read over the papers that had been stuffed in the acceptance packet, completely ignoring the toys. I used college as an excuse to close myself in, and I didn’t want to revert to that version of myself if I decided to attend grad school.

  But I also didn’t want to miss out on the right opportunities because I was focused on the wrong things.

  The wrong people.

  My shifts at Wilkins became fewer as new college hires were oriented into the schedule when the new school year started. August meant dry sticky heat and the end of summer. It also meant more time to catch up on episodes of Mysteries at the Museum that force-fed my history-loving heart. The best part, more free time to spend with Nathan. No matter how many misguided feelings Iris planted.

  I couldn’t let her obvious bias toward him impact my excitement. But when we finally hung out again, I couldn’t help but wonder if she was right. He wasn’t making moves that showcased his interest, but maybe I needed to find the courage to do it first.

  Spending the day plotting how to express my affection without making a fool of myself was mentally draining. I was incapable of doing something bold without being a little bit awkward. And, unfortunately, plenty of people in the past had put me on the judgement block for it.

  At some point during the day, I’d fallen asleep only to wake up on the couch in a foggy haze. The room was pitch black. Blindly, I reached for my phone, which rested on the edge of the coffee table. It was flashing with notifications, but my focus was on the white numbers illumining the screen in a soft glow.

  7:03.

  After a mild panic attack—thinking I was late for work—I remembered it was my day off. So, I face planted back into the couch, burying my nose into the cushion. Groaning loudly, I tried shifting my body around to lay on my back. But my legs got tangled in the throw blanket wrapped around them, and I lost my balance, free falling face first over the edge.

  Trying (and failing) to catch myself with my arms stretched out, my cheek caught the corner of the coffee table. Pain shot through my face, and an instant headache pounded in my temples.

  Laying on the ground, I blinked past the fuzziness. Mashed Potato popped into view, her white head cocked to the side, studying me. She didn’t look surprised at the turn of events, but then again, neither was I.

  She meowed, and I could only imagine it was her way of saying, really, dumbass?

  Slowly, I made myself sit up. I winced after gently pressing my palm against my cheekbone. I could already feel it swelling but considered myself lucky. Another inch and I could have lost an eye.

  And that would have royally sucked.

  I swayed until I found my balance, feeling my way into the kitchen for an icepack. Stumbling into a stool and stubbing my pinky toe, again, I let out a long string of curse words. The damn thing was bound to fall off soon from how many times I smacked it into hard surfaces.

  Finally, I got a towel to wrap around the ice and made my way back into the living room without any more damage to my appendages.

  Mashed Potato hopped up next to me, sitting down with her tail twitching.

  “Oh, shut up,” I grumbled, leaning back in defeat.

  She yowled.

  “Yeah, yeah. Like you’re any better?” I huffed, pressing the ice harder into my face. “Don’t forget that I pulled tinsel out of your anus last Christmas! We all have our bad days.”

  Her tail twitched faster over the reminder. Served her right for judging me like she was little miss perfect.

  Oh, God.

  I was fighting with my cat. My cat! And the sad thing was, she was totally winning.

  My phone buzzed on the table, lighting up the room. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust, but when I did I reached out to see who the text was from.

  Unknown: You there?

  Lowering the ice pack, I stared at the screen. The number wasn’t local, and not one I recognized. There was only one person who it could be, and I hated how my heartbeat quickened in my chest.

  Settle down, traitorous bitch, I commanded.

  Caleb had left me hanging, and I wasn’t about to let that slide. So, I set my phone back down on the table, ignoring him and the Facebook notifications that lit up my home screen.

  Mashed Potato hit me with her paw.

  “What?” I demanded.

  Her judgmental eyes pierced mine, lids narrowed like she was trying to see inside me soul.

  “I’m not being petty,” I defended.

  She let out a soft sigh before turning around, showing me her asshole. She was clearly over me right now, hopping down and padding off to who knows where.

  The little green light blinked on my phone, a nagging reminder that the text was waiting, unopened. I grabbed my cell and deleted it before I was tempted to reply.

  Instead, I texted Nate and asked if he wanted to come over. If I was going to allow myself to get hurt, it was going to be my own doing from trying and failing to gain the interest of my crush. Not by some asshole who left me waiting around like a love-sick puppy.

  How You Know It Won’t Work:

  You think about one guy’s abs while cuddling another

  Sitting on the hard cement steps of the building’s front porch, illuminated only by the dull light glowing from the one sconce by the door, I waited with bated breaths for Nate to arrive.

  Well, okay. Maybe not bated breaths. But it sounded better than erratic hyperventilating.

  It was going on eleven o’clock, a time I was usually curled up in warm pajamas, snuggled in bed with a romance book. But becoming the woman I wanted to be meant pushing myself to do more things I wouldn’t normally do.

  Like inviting a boy over to put together a barstool I spontaneously bought two hours ago. It was something I easily could have done myself—I’d assembled the two others I already had. But I couldn’t ask him to come over just because I wanted to spend time with him.

  So, I went out and bought a third barstool. One that, frankly, I didn’t even need. I barely ate at the breakfast bar, and Tater only curled up on the other stool with the off chance that I did sit there.

  Seeing Nate walk down the sidewalk, backpack hanging from one taut shoulder, my heart rate picked up. He wore a pair of tan cargo shorts and a loose white tee and looked freaking delicious. It made my jeans and loose sweatshirt with the words Too Tired to Function across the front feel too casual, but it was way too late to change now.

  Standing up and smiling, I said, “Hey.”

  He stopped just in front of me, smirk curling his lips. “Hey.”

  We stood there for a moment until I forced myself toward the door, unlocking it and gesturing for him to follow. Every step toward my apartment grew heavier, like having him in my space was suddenly a horrible decision.

  Truth was, I didn’t know what to expect. He agreed to put together the stool, but what then? Did he stay? Go? Was he thinking something would happen? After all, it was midnight in less than an hour. Nothing good happened after midnight.

  Walking into my apartment made me feel a little better. I was in my safe space. I searched for Mashed Potato, who was nowhere to be found. When Nate stepped in, I closed the door behind him and looked around while he did the same.

  “Nice place,” he complimented.

  I pointed toward hi
s backpack. “You can set that wherever.”

  He dropped it in the corner.

  Clearing my throat, I crossed my arms on my chest. “The tour won’t be long, because there’s not much to see.”

  I took him in my office first, which was more like Mashed Potato’s room since she spent more time laying on the desk and looking out the window than I did actual work in there. One wall was covered in bookshelves that were filled with my most of my novel collection. Fake flowers and cat figurines were placed strategically around them. In the corner was a large L-shaped desk that had my laptop, printer, and a few family pictures resting on it. Next to that was a waffle chair that Tater used to nap on when we lived in a tiny studio apartment three blocks over.

  He chuckled when he saw the wall art. “I recognize those.”

  Wilkins sold a lot of canvas paintings, which I owned two of. The first was an acrylic cat wearing sunglasses and holding a drink in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other. My cousin Cole had gotten it for me as a house warming present. The other was a water color painting of a pig with a donut in its mouth. I wish I could say that was a present, but I’d bought it on a whim after payday just for the sake of having it.

  “I thought they’d look cute in here,” I admitted. They had fit the playful theme I was going for. While the desk and shelves were either dark brown or black, the chair, picture frames, and wall art were all multi-colored to make the room seem more fun.

  He glanced at the diploma displayed by the door as we walked out, nodding in appraisal. Not saying anything else, I showed him the living room and kitchen area, bathroom, and the would-be wet bar area that my landlord never came to finish. It was just a little nook with wood-paneled walls and a butcher block counter top hanging in the crevice. Mashed Potato used it as a play area, a hoard of toys stuffed in the corner.

  I was hesitant to show him my bedroom, which was nothing special. Just a full-size bed with a black and grey floral comforter, a mismatched dresser and nightstand, and a black full-length mirror hanging on the wall. There were no pictures or personal items.

  “It’s no indoor jungle but…” I gave him a tiny smile, remembering that his room had its very own ecosystem.