And I’m being sued for saying the wrong thing. That is, for someonesaying I said the wrong thing.
Maybe I should move back home with my parents. Curl up under the covers and stay there. No dating. No working. No problems.
No way. My parents believe in tough love. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t let me back in just because I wanted to hide from the world. Sucks.
By the time four o’clock rolled around, I'd finished with email, filing, and other non-essential work. I decided to do a little web surfing and take off. Maybe even leave my computer here. Not take work home.
I looked at the clock what I thought was a few minutes later. It was 5:35! How does that happen? Every time I start wandering around the Internet, hours go by. Maybe there’s some kind of hypnosis thing going on. You start reading something, and hit a link, then another link, and soon — they’ve got you! Of course, who and for what reason, I have no idea. I know, I’m mental.
I shut down my computer and picked up my briefcase. It really was much lighter without the laptop in it. I stood up. Leave it or take it? Leave it or take it? I stood next to my desk for a few seconds (probably looking like an idiot), then dropped my briefcase on my chair and began unplugging the stupid computer.
Better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it. Yeah, and when I’m ninety and walk stooped over to the right from carrying this thing around all the time…
An old woman may be the first to be preserved and used as a demonstration to school children and business people, a local taxidermist stated. The idea was raised when an undertaker was unable to fit the woman’s body into a casket because she spent her life carrying a heavy briefcase on one shoulder. Her neck and back grew into a permanent forty-degree angle.
I finally got it all together (physically only, of course) and got out the door. As I pulled my keys out, I looked up to find Dirk lounging against my vehicle.
I don’t know if you can understand this, but I had taken so many hits that I didn’t have anything left when I saw Dirk. I mean, I wasn’t mad, I wasn’t irritated. I was just, you know, there. My day couldn’t get any worse.
I was being sued, after all.
“Hey gorgeous,” he said. Then, “You look like you’ve been hit by a Mack truck. Bad day?”
“You could say that. What’s up?” A serious departure, I know, from “What in the heck are you doing here?”
He looked away and then back at me. “I was thinking, maybe you’d like to get some dinner.”
Was that hesitation I heard? Worse, was I actually considering it?
Hot food, prepared by and cleaned up by someone who is not you, said a Voice.
“We could drive our own vehicles. I’ll treat, of course.” He waited. “You look like you could use a hot meal.”
I took a deep breath. “Where were you thinking?”
“On a Tuesday night, the Aerie at the Grand Traverse Resort should be quiet. Get a window seat, view of the bay.”
I fiddled with my keys. I couldn’t think anymore today.
“It’s five minutes away. It’ll be nice to unwind.”
All the right words. “Just for a little while.”
He smiled and touched my shoulder. “I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
I unlocked my door, wondering just what I had gotten myself into.
CHAPTER 31
HE DIDN'T say, “I’ll meet you at the top of the Empire State Building at sunset, Valentine’s Day,” but I should have known going to dinner with Dirk would have equally tragic consequences.
The evening started out as a refreshing escape from an otherwise horrible day. We were among the first patrons for dinner, so the service was excellent and the view — breathtaking.
Dirk was charming, attentive, sweet, and funny. The Dirk I remembered from the good days. Thankfully I was too worn out to compare and contrast with the bad days. That kind of study simply wasn’t on my agenda tonight. I just wanted to be treated kindly. Kid gloves.
And I got the royal treatment. We ordered prime rib (whichalways tastes like heaven here) and seafood appetizers. Normally I’m not much of a squash eater, but what came with the meal was to die for. I made Dirk laugh when I pointed at the sunset and exclaimed that it was the same color. By the time we finished eating, I was relaxing and finally in a fairly good mood.
That must’ve been Dirk’s cue.
“You know, Sydney,” he said, playing with his wine glass, “things have gotten really messed up between us and I wanted you to know that I take full responsibility.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I looked out at the bay and didn’t say anything. Somehow life’s problems looked a little hazy around the edges when seen from sixteen stories.
“I love you, and you love me. We belong together.” He paused.
I didn’t give him any sign I’d heard him.
“I want to work this out, fix the problems, and move on.”
I wanted to move on, too.
“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” he said with a bit of a hopeful tone.
Or it just makes you want to lie down and die.
“Say something. Please.”
I finally looked at him. “Do you know what the fifth stage of grief is?” He didn’t answer. “Acceptance.” I looked at him, trying to figure out who we were, why we were here.
The waiter quietly took our plates. Dirk looked up and smiled at him. Apparently, that’s the cue that you’re allowed to interrupt the conversation.
“Would you like to have some dessert tonight? We have a dark chocolate mousse torte with swirls of fudge and raspberry sauce as well as our usual dessert menu.”
Dirk raised his eyebrows in my direction and smirked. He’d never seen me pass up a chocolate dessert.
“Yes?” he said.
“Yes,” I said with a small smile.
“Two of the chocolate tortes, please. And I’ll have a—”
“Dirk!”
He laughed. “You aren’t ordering two?” He turned back to the waiter. “That’s it.”
“We have to at least try them before ordering seconds,” I said, grateful to him for lightening the mood.
“Oh, yes, right, how silly of me.”
We laughed. This really was rather nice. I wondered if wecould start over. He must’ve seen a more serious look on my face because he picked up the conversation where he left off.
“I don’t think anyone is given enough warning about how hard life will be. How easy it is to make a mistake that will change everything.”
He folded his linen napkin, arranged his wine and water glasses, brushed some crumbs toward the edge of the tablecloth. “We could start slow, like this. Not even call it dating, if you want. We could have dinner, see a movie.”
Ah, another with the “we’re not really dating” line.
Leave it alone, said a Voice.He’s trying to be nice.
Yes, he is. Sorry.
“Can I think about it?”
I’m pretty sure “relief” would characterize his expression. Though he was good about covering it with a drink. I think he was afraid to frighten me off.
“Sure. Take your time.”
Yeah, he sounded relieved. It kind of made me want to say, “Yes, I could try again” right then. The lack of pressure sometimes is exactly what you need to move forward. Isn’t that weird?
Thankfully, the waiter arrived with our desserts before an uncomfortable silence could ensue. The first bite was heavenly. I think it eased us out of the serious conversation and back to more neutral topics. About halfway through, I excused myself for the ladies’ room.
I know it’s silly, and maybe old-fashioned, and maybe just a show and not sincere, but Dirk stood when I stood. I really kinda liked it.
In the bathroom, I looked in the mirror when I washed my hands. How do you feel, girl in the mirror? Are you doing the right thing? I smiled a little and looked away. Maybe mistakes can be forgiven, even if they’re the “I don’t love y
ou anymore; I love her” type of mistake.
I smiled in anticipation as I walked back to the table. I guess it worked out that Matt and I never really got a relationship started. Maybe my ability to forgive Dirk and move on was a sign that we could build a long-term love.
Of course, you wouldn’t even be here, said a Voice,if Matt were still talking to you.
As I walked toward our table, I saw a woman talking to Dirk. He laughed at something she said and she leaned closer. She was tall and willowy (seriously, I’m not making that up) with long, dark, satin hair. Absolutely stunning.
As I got closer, I saw her pass a business card to Dirk. He glanced at it and put her card in his pocket. She looked up and caught my eye. She said something to Dirk, who looked up at me with a brightly innocent expression. Then the woman walked carelessly away.
I know. It sounds like something out of movie. (My whole life is a series of the worst movie scenes ever.) When I got to the table, Dirk was looking decidedly uncomfortable. And red in the face. I just looked at him, not believing and completely believing what I thought I saw.
“I don’t know her.” He stumbled over the words.
I raised my eyebrows.
“She just came over and started talking to me. I swear. I’ve never seen her before in my life.”
“She gave you her card. With her phone number on it.”
“I wasn’t going to be rude. I’ll toss it when I get home. Don’t make this into something else, Sydney. I’m not leaving you for another woman again.”
I stood there with my hand on the back of my chair, tapping my foot, trying to think. I picked up my purse.
“You’re right. You’re not.”
“Syd, don’t go.” He never called me Syd. “Sit down and finish your dessert.”
“I can’t spend my life wondering if it’s okay to go to the bathroom.” I sighed. “Goodbye, Dirk.”
And just that quietly, I walked away. No scene. No turmoil. They say you can see your life flash before your eyes when you’re dying. I think I saw a flash, but it must have been my spirit dying because I managed to drive myself home just fine.
I TOSSED and turned all night. Again. I dreamed I was a prisoner in a desert camp. I escaped from my cell, but as I was getting away, they saw me and started chasing me. They never caught me, but I never got away either. Just one long chase. I hate those dreams. They’re really nightmares except they don’t have anything particularly scary in them. They just fill you with a sense of dread.
I woke up about four to go to the bathroom. I felt horrible. I fell back into bed and went right back to sleep. Right back to the horrible dreams.
I woke up again around 7:30 and groaned when I looked at the clock. I really didn’t feel good.
At 10:17, I rubbed my eyes open and tried to figure out why it looked so dark in my room. The clock must be wrong. I went to the bathroom, then peeked through the curtains when I went back to bed. Looked like it was going to storm. Pretty dark out.
Like how I feel, said a Voice.
I lay under the covers, curled around a pillow trying to figure out if I was getting up. I didn’t feel good. In fact, I felt downright rotten. Must’ve been something I ate.
You’re not sick, said a Voice.
I really don’t feel good. My stomach hurts.
Your stomach doesn’t hurt; your heart hurts, said the Voice.
My head hurts, too.
You’re not sick. You’re sad. You’re heartsick.
I’m sick. I’m going to call in sick to work. I’ll lay in bed the rest of the day, eat chicken soup, and then I’ll feel better.
Chicken soup won’t make you feel better, said the Voice.It didn’t make you feel better last time.
I reached for the phone on the nightstand and dialed the office. Carmen picked up on the second ring.
“Hey Carmen, it’s Sydney. I’m not coming in today. I’m really sick.”
You’re lying, said the Voice.
I’m not lying. I feel awful.
“Oh, hon, you sound awful.”
See? Told you.
“Can you let Perry know? And take my calls?”
“No problem. Do you want to forward your cell here for the day?”
“Mm, that sounds good. When I can get out to wherever I left it, I will. If you think about, will you email me at the end of the day and remind me to un-forward it?”
“No problem. You just get some sleep and take care of yourself.”
I hung up and went back to sleep. Thankfully, the awful dreaming was over. I just closed my eyes and it was like turning out the lights.
It was afternoon when I finally really woke up. My growling stomach was the villain. I thought I was going to die I was so hungry.
Told you you weren’t really sick, said the Voice.
I splashed cold water on my face. My eyes were all gritty and hurt as if I had fallen asleep crying. But I hadn’t.
You probably cried in your sleep.
I was too tired and toosick to have a conversation with myself. Today, my plan was to ignore everyone and everything and feel better.
In the kitchen, I found my cell phone and remembered to forward my calls to the office. The little envelope was flashing showing I had new voice mails, but I decided to check them after I ate.
I found a can of chicken and rice soup and added more rice to it. When it was hot, I took a small bowl of it into the living room and sat down on the couch in front of the TV. I flipped through channels aimlessly. I love not having to share the remote.
Pillow Talkwas on, so I dropped the remote and ate my soup. When that movie ended,Bringing Up Babycame on. By then, I was curled up on the couch with my pillow and my softest blanket. I fell asleep in the middle ofBaby. The reason I know this is that I woke up with a jolt when thunder crashed over my head.
Oh, I hope it rains. Soon. The rest of the night. I always sleep so soundly when it’s raining. I couldn’t tell what movie was playing, so I flipped the channels and came uponHow To Lose a Guy in 10 Days. I love that movie. I own it, but I’ll watch it if it’s on, even if there are commercials.
At the next commercial break, I went in the kitchen and opened the freezer. Ooo, breaded mushrooms. I’d forgotten about those. I turned on the oven and dumped the whole boxful on a pan. (It’s not like it was that big a box.) I stuck the tray in without waiting for the oven to warm up and opened the fridge. After staring at everything, I pulled out a stick of string cheese and a strawberry-kiwi Snapple.
I returned to the couch and watched the movie. When the mushrooms were done, I dove in. I’ve had better in restaurants, but these were good. I got so caught up in the movie, I’d eaten the entire pan of breaded mushrooms before I realized it. I cried when Andie got all mushy about how Ben’s family dotes on her. I cried again when those nasty girls (who remind me of the Siamese cats inLady and the Tramp) trick the guys into telling Andie about the bet.
I hate it when people try to break other people up. Do they do it on purpose? Are they just not thinking about the consequences? Are they really malicious or just plain old-fashioned selfish?
I wondered what happened to the girl Dirk left me for earlier this year. Wow, was it only this year? I wondered if he left her for someone else, or if she left him. I wondered if he called the woman from last night.
And who takes someone’s phone number when they’re out with someone else just to be polite? Does that sound like a line of crap or what?
I really wasn’t feeling well, so I curled up in a little ball and channel-surfed some more. I finally flipped off the TV in frustration. (As in turned it off, not gave it the finger. Though for sixty bucks a month and there’s not even something on I want to watch, I should’ve given it the finger.)
I sighed and pulled myself up and over to the bookcase. At the bottom, near the back, were some of my favorite romance novels. Just a few that I enjoy so much I can’t help but read them again and again. I picked upThe GiftandA Knight in Shining Armor and bro
ught them back to the couch, turning on the light on the way.
Which one to read? Fall in love with a pirate who turns out to be your husband? Or fall in love with a knight from four hundred years ago after you’ve been dumped by the guy you thought was going to propose? The choice seemed obvious. I wanted to read again how you can find true love even after someone whosays they love you throws you out like yesterday’s newspaper. (Okay, I recycle, but you get my drift.)
I read for a while, then decided to see if anything new was in the fridge. The pizza in the freezer looked so delicious, but the whole process of having to take it out of the box, put extra cheese on it, heat it up — too much work. So I took a wiser course of action. I ordered a delivery pizza. Deep-dish crust, Hawaiian toppings, extra cheese. Yeah, baby.
When it came, I opened the box and breathed in the magnificent scent of hot cheese. Mmm, now this is happiness.
I ate two slices while I continued to read. An hour later, I reached for a third. Oh man, it was delicious at room temperature, too. Then I had another piece. Good stuff. I wouldn’t say my stomach hurt, exactly, but I probably should’ve quit sooner. In any case, I felt better. And the girl was getting her guy in the book. That’s what counted.
As I read, I tried not to wonder ifthisgirl would getanyguyever.
The thought kept hounding me, so I got up and plucked a pint of Godiva ice cream from the freezer. The more I wondered if I’d ever be happy, the more sick I felt, so the more ice cream I ate. Not helping.
I got up and found the Grasshopper cookies. They’d be great with the chocolate ice cream. “Lady Godiva,” I said, “meet the Keebler Elves.” Then I put a whole cookie in my mouth, followed by a spoonful of ice cream, and chewed it all up together. Ahh,now I felt better.
I ate almost all of the ice cream and a third of the cookies, crying as the heroine loses her man. I put the ice cream back but left the cookies on the couch beside me — just in case.
I got to the part where the girl finds her guy again (albeit, four hundred years earlier). I felt awful. I wasnevergoing to be happy. Iknew it. Even though I was reading a funny part, I cried anyway.
Little Miss Lovesick Page 24
