“No, you don’t,” I laugh.
“Yes, I really do. I’m supposed to know when my best friend is having—”
“Had,” I interject. For now, anyway…but I keep that last thought to myself.
“Semantics,” Kat drones, “—having friends with benefits with the love of her life.” She exhales a dreamy sigh.
I hate to burst her bubble of love since she’s been waiting for this forever, but I have to. I need to do this my way without any pressure from Mrs. Happily Ever After. I still have a lot of things to sort out for myself, but I’m making headway.
But I know we need to have this talk; it’s definitely been a long time coming. I don’t usually keep secrets, especially not from Kat, so it’s no wonder she’s a little more aggressive with me than usual. I’m glad I’m going to spill the beans about everything because a part of me, despite hoping otherwise, believes that Matty and I are truly over this time.
With that uneasy feeling, I’m thinking this will be a good opportunity to talk to her about setting up some kind of Matty time-share thingy, because with the tension between Matt and I, we’ll need to map out some sort of visitation schedule because there is no way I can possibly face him. Not after the wedding—not until he and I get the chance to sit and hash things out, something I don’t think either of us is ready for yet. And I’m in no rush to see him.
Taking a deep breath, I come back to the here and now, preparing to do battle with Kat.
“Okay, there’s so much wrong with that statement. He’s not the love of my life…not anymore, anyway,” I tell her, defeated.
“Whatever, Claire.” She waves me off.
No longer able to hide my irritation, I ask: “Are you here to listen to me, or to sit in your little love bubble of happy, trying to project what you and Ryker have onto me? Because I’m serious. Shit has changed. Matt and I are over. You’re going to have to learn how to deal with it, like I’ve been trying to.”
“Whoa, calm down, killer. Maybe if I knew what’s been going on, I wouldn’t be projecting the love so much,” Kat chides, and she’s right. I’m being a bitch and it’s no-one’s fault but my own.
“I’m sorry. I swear I am. I’m trying to get better. I’ve been talking to someone. I don’t want to get into that yet, I have waaaayyyyy too much to tell you about first. Okay?” I say. “I’m getting the Claire Knox I’m meant to be back.”
“Alright. I’m glad and I can’t wait to hear about that. It’s about time.” She takes a sip of her steaming latte. “But, so you know, I’m not going to apologize for wanting you happy…” she pauses mid sip, gives me a sheepish grin before adding “…with Matt.”
“Kat!”
“Alright, alright. I’m done. For now,” she whispers.
“Dude.”
We laugh and it feels good, I’m so glad she’s back.
I get right to it and tell her everything that happened, from the bachelorette party to the wedding. I don’t leave out much.
What I really want to tell her is that she’s right, that Matt and I still have a chance to have our perfect ending, but I can’t, because deep down I know I’ve blown it. I’ve run him off for the last time. Even now, weeks after the wedding, I can’t get the image of the hurt and anger I put on his handsome face out of my mind. I still shudder at the shit I said to him, and what he said to me in return.
The fact that we’ve left things hanging between us like this since the wedding only solidifies the idea that Matt and I are through. Neither of us has reached out to the other. The radio silence makes it obvious—the bomb that was us has detonated.
Therefore, my goal today is simple: put on a brave face, fill her in, act indifferent and simply enjoy having my Kitty Kat back.
“First off, you can’t be mad at me. You were kinda busy with your wedding and honeymoon, you know. I didn’t want to ruin it with my fucked up drama,” I say. But who knows? Maybe she could have stopped me from ruining it all. No, it’s better like this.
I’ve been happy-ish again, for now at least. I’d managed to unpack everything at home, I painted my godawful kitchen, started making some lesson plans for school which is starting in a few weeks, and I’ve visited Mary and Doug a lot, asking them to share stories about my mom and dad with me. I wanted to laugh at the stories I didn’t know about my parents, the ones I’d never have the chance to hear them tell me. It felt good to reminisce, to remember them. It gave me a sense of peace, one I didn’t feel before.
Overall, I’d say I’ve got myself in a pretty good little routine. Thanks to Mary, I’ve been visiting that same place she took me to after she found me at the cemetery. It’s a place I should have gone to a long time ago, a place that is helping me to see that it’s okay to take risks and to not live my life worrying about being left behind, but rather to enjoy the here and now and stop dwelling on the possibility of bad things happening. I’m slowly learning a new mantra and I’m healing myself. Regardless of what happens between us, I’ll always be thankful to Matt for giving me the final push I needed.
“Did I mention he’s been dating, too?” I add, after the whole washroom incident recount. Needless to say, Kat wasn’t too happy with my whole “if you wanna fuck” line. Yeah, not my finest hour, for sure. “I heard he’s been out on a few dates, a little knowledge that Justin let slip one night when Brooke, Braun and I went to Pub Fiction for a few drinks. Let me tell you how much fun that was to hear.”
“Oh, Claire. I’m sorry.” Kat gives me a soothing look.
“Yeah, I’ll be honest, that tidbit of information, knowing that he’s moving on, cut deep. Even with Justin trying to explain that Matty wasn’t really dating ‘in the normal sense’. Whatever the hell that even meant. Justin tried to backpedal, saying that it was only twice and that nothing had come of it, that Matty still wanted me. I dismissed that, though, telling Justin it was none of my business and I didn’t need to know.”
God, dating. It’s something I can’t seem to bring myself to do, let alone think about. Before, it was all I ever wanted for myself. I loved my Three Dates and a Mate rule. Now the thought alone is almost enough to make me physically ill.
“I’m sorry, Claire, but I don’t buy it,” Kat says after I finish. “The dates were bullshit and you know it as much as I do. I believe what Justin said, and you should, too.”
“I’m not sure what I believe. I know what I want to believe, but I’m not sure I can let myself believe it.”
“Now, honestly, tell me you think he doesn’t still love you. That if you were to pick up that phone right now and call him that he wouldn’t drop everything for you. And then try to tell me you don’t love him. Tell me he’s not the love of your life.”
“Whoa, easy there with the whole love of my life thing,” I challenge.
“Deny all you want, sit here and lie, but know, Bear, that I know the truth. I see it in both of you. So you can stop trying to do whatever it is you’re playing at.”
“Jeez, I thought you said you were done with that?”
She laughs, “If you can lie, so can I. Just give it up. We all know what’s going to happen…that you two will happen. It’s meant to be. He’s always been your Dorothy. You’ve just been too afraid to admit it and to go for it full-on. Don’t get me wrong, I get it: you don’t want to commit for fear of losing him like you lost your parents. At the same time, though, have you really stopped to think about the logic in that?” She takes a bite of her muffin, while I try to process what she’s said.
“Wait.” Slightly confused, I need to backtrack. “What the hell do you mean by he’s my ‘Dorothy’?” I’ll get back to her “losing my parents” comment in a minute.
Kat sighs like I’m exasperating her: “Okay, so on Friends, Ross had his lobster, Rachel, right? His mate for life?”
“Yeah. So?”
“Let me finish,” she huffs.
“Sorry, sorry, okay, please enlighten me, wise one. I really need to hear this.”
“Okay, pre
pare to be wowed. This logic is brill.”
“Oh, Lord, I can only imagine where we’re going with this, especially when you start getting all giddy—and don’t even get me started on the use of ‘brill’ in a sentence. Don’t ever do that again. Now go on.”
“Whatever. Now, listen. So Ross and Rachael are lobsters, right? Of course I’m right. Everyone knows that, and they were indeed meant to be. Then look at penguins, they have their whole mating-for-life thing going on, again: meant to be. And then there’s me. I have my Honeybutter. And you. You—you have your Matty—your Dorothy.”
I shake my head, still not getting her analogy.
“Oh, for goodness sakes, Claire. You really did drink way too much in university, didn’t you? Do you not remember your whole speech about ‘any mere mortal of a man’?”
As I sit there with what must be a blank stare, Kat clears her throat theatrically before putting on her best Valley Girl impression and rings out a sequence of words that transport me back in time: “‘Oh, my God, Kat. Let’s not get crazy. I mean, jeez, I can’t go showing just any guy the wizard behind the curtain, now can I? The reality of that is just too great for any mere mortal of a man.’”
Words. Those words are the final catalyst. They break me. Making everything I’ve been thinking about my relationship with Matty come to light. Like snap cubes clicking into place, the idea of Matty as my Dorothy resonates deep within me, triggering so many crazy emotions that I burst into hot tears at the realization.
Matty is the only person I’ve ever shown what’s really lurking behind the curtain. Like Dorothy in Oz, he’s seen the wizard.
“Oh, my shit, Kat, you’re right. Matt is my Dorothy,” I gasp, between sobs. How the hell did I miss this? He’s the one man I let in, and he never ran when he saw behind my curtain of crazy.
“Oh, Kat. What the fuck have I done? I’ve ruined it all. I told him I was done. Why the hell didn’t you tell me this before?” I get angry now, mad that she’s kept this from me. As if it were somehow her fault.
Kat moves across to sit beside me. “I just didn’t think you were ready yet. But now you are.” She shrugs her shoulders like it’s nothing. “So, buck up, buttercup, and let’s figure out how we’re going to make all things right in the Land of Oz again.”
And just like that, my sister from another mister puts my love life into a perspective that I’d been trying to deny, one I know it’s time to admit and accept.
Matty is my Dorothy.
Now to go and get him back…
Chapter 27
Matt
“Hey, man, isn’t Ryker here yet? I thought I was gonna be the late one, for sure,” Justin says, taking the seat directly across from me. “Traffic on the QEW was brutal.”
We decided to meet for drinks at Pub Fiction, figuring we could catch up with Ryker since we haven’t seen him since the wedding, and go over some work shit at the same time. I love owning a business with these guys. Everything seems to come so easy, which makes the shitstorm that is my personal life the only source of stress right now.
“Yeah, he had to help Kat with something for Claire, I guess,” I tell Justin. “He’ll be here soon. I didn’t want to ask, I’m trying to be Claire-free.”
“Sorry, so Imma bypass the Claire talk,” Justin says.
“Yeah, let’s,” I say, glowering, despite the fact that I can never simply “bypass” anything to do with Claire Knox. It seems I’m unable to ignore the feelings the mere mention of her name fires up inside me.
The last few weeks have been an adjustment to say the least. I’d always held onto the hope that she’d eventually come around, that we’d work her shit out together, but as of now, I’d say it’s not gonna happen. Having her home has never made her feel so far away. I fucking hate it, but I don’t know how to fix it, her, or us. But even after our breakup, a small part of me thought we’d at least be talking again by now.
Waking up the morning after the wedding, I felt like I’d been at a funeral. It was like I was paying final respects to one of the people that I’d loved the most in my life. The only difference was, there was a chance that I’d be seeing her again, for which I was grateful, but at the same time it scared the piss out of me. ’Cause how the fuck do we get back to a place of peace after the words we’d said to each other in the washroom?
Not gonna lie, my life post-wedding has been total shit. My escape patterns of drink, work, drink again, work, hanging with the guys, and trying to date as a means to relocate my balls, aren’t working.
Justin says I need to date, he’s convinced if I date, I’ll magically be cured. According to him, I just need to get my dick wet, as if that’s gonna solve my problems. But the only thing I want wetting my cock is Claire’s tight pussy. Fucker doesn’t get it, not sure he ever will.
There is no substitute for Claire Knox—there never will be. Believe me, I’ve tried. For two damn years, I tried, tried to get her out from under my skin. It’s too bad this girl is meant to be a permanent fixture in my fucking life whether she or I want her to be or not. I swear, I’ve slid my finger over her name to type out a text so many times that the glass has a landing strip across it from the constant friction. I’ve driven by her house hundreds of times, but each time I start to replay the wedding in my mind to make sure I never actually stop. Rainy days are the worst—staying away during the thunderstorms has been the toughest—I know how much she hates them. Luckily, my brain overrules my heart, sending the pussy in me a gut-wrenching reminder that it’s no longer my concern, Claire isn’t my concern anymore. Despite mulling over Levi’s advice to be there for her, to be her friend, I can’t. I’m all out of patience where she’s concerned.
Needless to say, I’m a clusterfuck of I-have-no-fuckin’-clue-what-the-fuck-I-want and what-the-fuck-should-I-do?
Lucky for me, I have Justin, the perpetual bachelor, who keeps me busy and has managed to get me to agree to try a date or two despite my knowing I’m not ready. But hey, I need to try something. It’s a hard fucking pill to swallow, the hardest, and I still can’t believe after all this time I have to let her go. But Justin is right, enough is enough. I’ve wasted more than enough time waiting around for Claire.
That realization guts me, but I need to pull up my jock strap and toss my panties aside. It’s time I move on, let someone else want me, let in someone who will appreciate and love me, and thanks to Justin I’m starting to. Well, that’s what I keep telling myself anyway.
“So, tell me, how was the date with Emily the other night?” Justin asks, drawing my attention back to the here and now. He’s set me up on two this past week. I tried to tell him it was too soon but he begged me to give it a shot. I had nothing better to do, and I figured fuck it, at least she’d be out of my head for a few hours, right?
“It was shit,” I answer. “She’s blonde. I’m not into blondes anymore. No more blondes.” I pour him a beer from the pitcher Brooke’s dropped off.
“Fuck, sorry, guy, I didn’t think about that. But how was Lorelei? That chick is fucking hot and has the best set of tits I’ve seen. Well, they look amazing, anyway. She won’t show me. Some shit about being too good friends.”
Not a chance they’re the best, I’ve seen the best. “Yeah, she was okay. She’s a blonde, too, by the way.”
“Picky, picky.”
“You trying to help or what?” I ask, giving him a dirty look; sometimes I wonder whose side he’s on here. “She was nice enough. I think we had a good time.”
He laughs. “Dude, she said it was the worst date she’s ever had. She said she spent the whole night wishing her name was Claire. What the fuck did you do and say to the poor girl?” he asks mockingly, and I think back to our initial meeting. Fuck.
Maybe she didn’t have a good time after all…
She’s blonde.
But not the right blonde.
I knew I wasn’t ready. Fuck, I wasn’t ready three days ago with Emily, either. Stupid Justin and his ‘get on one to get ove
r one’ mentality. No wonder the dude is always gonna be single, I think to myself as I walk toward a smiling woman who I can tell is way too excited for this date. The one that Justin set up. The one I told him I didn’t want.
“Matty?” she questions, making sure it’s me. “Hi! I’m Lorelei!” she says, rising to greet me with a hug. She’s practically squealing and it grates on my nerves immediately. It’s a voice that’s also not the right one.
“It’s Matt. Only Cla—” I cut myself off. “I’d prefer Matt. Only my close friends call me Matty,” I snap, immediately feeling like a dick as she recoils. “Shit. I’m sorry.” I run my hand through my hair. “Honestly, this was a bad idea. I’m not gonna be the right guy for you. I should go, save us both the trouble.”
“Wow, okay,” she says, a bit of surprise lacing her tone. “Justin mentioned this was new, you doing the dating thing again,” Lorelei says, assessing me. “Hey, that’s okay. But, I mean, we’re here. Might as well eat, right?” she asks, hopeful.
I guess it wouldn’t kill me to sit and have a meal with her. She seems nice, and you never know, maybe one day I’ll wanna real date. “Sure. We can do that. It’s the least I can do after being so rude.” I gesture to the seat.
“Maybe it would do you good to try and talk about her.” Lorelei says, placing her napkin on her lap.
“Talk about who?” I ask, picking up the menu.
She laughs, drawing my attention: “Claire. I assume that was the name you were going to say before?” She looks up over her menu, offering a smile. “Why don’t you get it off your chest? She’s clearly on your mind. I mean, I’m dressed like this…” Lorelei gestures to what I notice is a pretty tight shirt, her ample cleavage spilling from the top. “I’m pretty much a sure thing and you haven’t even looked at my boobs. That’s a red flag, buddy. You’re either gay or in love.”
I relax and laugh, too. It feels good. “Okay,” I sigh. “You’re right. I’m totally not over my…wow, she’s not really even my ex; it’s fucking complicated. I apologize. You’re very attractive, but you’re right, I’m totally taken. Whether she wants me or not, I’m hers.”
One Last Shot (Pub Fiction #3) Page 13
