Hating Valentine's Day

by Allison Rushby - Hating Valentine's Day

  Ever since Drew left the office, my stomach has been churning, turning around and around and around, as I think about Mike, tonight and the bad timing that saw them both meet in the office.

  ‘You’re a lucky guy…’ The words come back to me, making my stomach flip-flop once more. Ugh.

  I go through the movements—the same movements as last night. Powder, blush, eyeshadow. But it’s half-hearted this time. There’s no…excitement like there was last night. No anticipation. And even though I want to look good, I know it’s for a different reason. I want to show Mike I haven’t suffered. That I’ve been OK without him. That there are a few less tiny wrinkles on my face than his.

  At seven-thirty-five I park my car and start the short walk down Rosalie Street towards the restaurants, my step faltering for just a second when I spot him. And when I do, bang, there’s that churning again. I feel awful. Sick.

  ‘Liv!’ Mike gives me a wave when he sees me and steps forward a few paces to give me a kiss on the cheek. I almost take a step back, wanting to tell him not to, but then realise I’d look ridiculous. Like I still care. And I don’t want to look like that, remember? I want to look breezy. As if this evening is effortless. As if it’s something I’ll have forgotten five minutes after I’m home. Just like I forgot him after we broke up.

  Yeah, right.

  ‘Hi,’ I say back, and return the kiss awkwardly.

  ‘I made us a booking,’ Mike says, stepping back again. ‘Guess where?’

  I look along the row of restaurants. I’ve been to a lot of them, but since the last time I was here several of them have changed hands. There’s a Greek, an Italian, a Vietnamese…I shake my head.

  ‘Isis, of course.’ Mike smiles.

  I don’t smile back. Isis? Is he joking? Isis used to be one of our favourite haunts. Of all the places he could have booked…

  ‘I haven’t been there for ages,’ he continues.

  I look at him in wonderment. ‘Me either.’

  ‘Right. Let’s go, then.’

  And before I can protest, Mike takes my arm and starts to lead me down the street.

  ‘So, what do you think?’ Mike asks from across the table.

  I take a sip of my water, trying to calm my stomach down, before I answer. ‘About…?’

  ‘The restaurant.’ He looks around. ‘It looks exactly the same, doesn’t it?’

  I’ve noticed. My stomach has noticed. ‘Yes. Yes, it does.’

  His head returns to his menu. ‘They’ve even got my lambs brains on offer.’

  ‘Great.’ Shudder. I’d forgotten about his love of lambs brains. Now I really do think I’m going to be sick.

  I don’t know if it’s Mike, the restaurant or the lambs brains, but over the next five minutes or so my stomach goes into overdrive. The cramps get stronger and stronger until I wonder if I’m going to be one of those freakish women who delivers a baby when they didn’t even know they were pregnant (though considering my sex life lately I’m really doubting it). In fact, the cramps get so strong I start to sweat again, like I sweated in the kitchen at work today. Thank God I didn’t wear a silk shirt like last night.

  I sit across the table from Mike and watch his mouth moving as he talks. And as the minutes pass I realise I have no idea what he’s saying. No idea what he said a few sentences ago. Every so often I take a sip of my water and pray that he won’t ask me a question. Like this morning, I’m on autopilot. I think that it’s just a bit much. Mike turning up. Mike asking me out for dinner. Being back at Isis. Being across the table from Mike. And what’s even more strange is how he’s acting like this is all so normal. But it’s not normal. It’s not normal at all. It’s all…wrong. Like a bad dream. Like the bad dreams I’ve been having lately.

  But this time it seems there’s no waking up.

  Drip. Another bead of sweat makes its way down from my neck, running between my shoulderblades.

  Cramp. My stomach contracts once more.

  ‘…don’t you think?’ Mike asks.

  I put my water down. ‘Sure. Yes. Of course.’ I blurt out a bit too loudly.

  Cramp.

  I get up. ‘I’m, um, just going to the bathroom.’

  Mike looks up at me. ‘I’ll order for you,’ he says.

  This makes me pause for a second. Order for me? I’d forgotten he used to do that. I always hated it. I still hate it now. But I don’t say anything. Just like I didn’t say anything about dinner. Or going to Isis. Instead I cross the restaurant, hoping my stomach and I will both make it to the ladies’.

  We do, but only just.

  I am not well. I am not well at all.

  Inside the ladies’, I close the door behind me, take a deep breath and make my way over to a chair they have beside the hand basins. As my stomach cramps fade a little, I take a look around me and slowly shake my head. I am spending way too much time in bathrooms these days.

  I sit quietly, thinking my own thoughts, the minutes ticking by. As time passes the stomach cramps fade until they’re almost gone, and I stop sweating. When I’m feeling almost normal again, I remember that I have to go back out there and it all starts up once more. What am I going to do? I look down at my hands, which are shaking slightly as they rest on top of my clutch purse. For something to do, I open it up to check if I’ve brought a tissue or two to fix myself up with. And then I spot it. My mobile.

  Sally.

  My hands still shaking, I grab my lifeline and dial away.

  ‘Sal?’

  ‘Liv. Hi. Where are you? The line sounds weird.’

  ‘I’m in the bathroom. I’m out at dinner. With Mike.’

  There’s a pause. ‘Oh, yeah?’

  ‘The thing is, I…’ I stop, not knowing what to say. Not really knowing why I’ve even called her.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just feel awful. My stomach’s cramping and I can’t stop sweating.’

  ‘God, are you OK? Do you want me to come and get you?’

  I shake my head. ‘No, no. It’s not that bad. I’m just…I’m just not sure what to do.’

  ‘Do you want to leave?’

  ‘Yes. No. I don’t know. I don’t know what I want to do. It’s so weird. He’s acting like everything’s…normal.’

  ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’

  Sally never really liked Mike. She told me after we split up that she’d always thought he was a bit arrogant. I don’t say anything, and Sally continues after a second.

  ‘Sorry, sorry. That isn’t very helpful. So, do you want to leave? Because if you want to leave, just leave. You don’t even have to say anything. You don’t even have to see him. Just breakout through the kitchen if you have to. I’ve done that myself many a time.’

  This makes me smile for the first time tonight. ‘I’ll bet.’

  ‘So?’

  I look around me, my eyes finally resting on the door. Outside, Mike is waiting. Probably wondering where I’ve got to. ‘I’m…I’m not sure.’

  ‘Look. Just take another minute. Try and tap into what you want to do. Listen to your gut. And if you want to walk out, just walk out. You don’t owe him any explanations, Liv. You don’t need to see him ever again if you don’t want to.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘And call me if you need anything. It’s no trouble to come and get you. Really.’

  I exhale. ‘Thanks. Thanks, Sally.’

  ‘No worries. Good luck, chickadee. I’ll be thinking about you.’

  I hang up the phone feeling a lot better, and then, like Sally suggested, I take that minute. I take that minute and I take ten deep breaths as well. And at the end of the minute my stomach feels close to normal again. I’ve stopped sweating completely. And I feel…good. Because Sally is right. I have to do what I have to do. And now I know exactly what that is.

  ‘Sorry I took so long,’ I say breezily as I sit back down at the table. And this time it’s not fake. ‘I was chatting with someone.’

 
‘Oh?’ Mike looks up. ‘A friend?’

  I smile. ‘An old friend. A very wise old friend.’

  He nods, but is barely even listening to what I’m saying, I realise, as he continues, ‘I ordered us some champagne. And here it is, by the look of things…’

  The waiter brings over an ice bucket. We watch as he pops the cork and fills our glasses.

  When he leaves, Mike leans over the table, glass in hand. ‘Well, Liv, I guess we should make a toast. To us…’ He looks straight into my eyes as he says this.

  I pause before I hold up my glass. I think back to ‘us’. And with Mike sitting less than an arm’s length away from me the past is amazingly uncloudy tonight. For the past couple of years ‘us’ has been something I think I’ve seen in a haze. What had Tony said in my dream? That I had to ‘see how it really was’. Funnily enough, I think I do now. Because now, now my past with Mike is so clear I could almost reach out and touch it, like I could reach out and touch him. If I wanted to, that is.

  ‘To, um, us.’ I clink my glass against his, meeting his gaze.

  Just as I put my glass back down on the table the waiter places our entrees in front of us. Mike starts in on his directly, but I don’t even look at mine. My gaze remains unbroken and my hand remains on my glass.

  Eventually Mike cottons on to the fact that something isn’t quite right.

  ‘Liv? Is everything OK?’ His knife and fork pause in mid-air.

  I look up at the ceiling for a second before I exhale and bring my eyes back down to meet his. ‘Um, no. No, it isn’t.’

  ‘But you love scallops.’ He looks at my plate. ‘Aren’t they any good? We can send them back if you want…’

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Mike, it isn’t the scallops.’ And I think we’re both surprised at the words that have come out of my mouth. Mike’s so surprised he drops his fork. It clatters against the side of his plate and falls to the floor beside the ice bucket containing the champagne.

  Champagne. Honestly.

  I lean forward, resting my folded arms on the table as if we’re simply having an intimate conversation. ‘What did you think, Mike? That you could just pick up where you left off? That the moment Amanda walked out again, like I told you she would, you’d just waltz back to me? That I’d be waiting in the wings?’

  Mike’s mouth opens and closes. ‘Liv, I never thought that…It’s not like that…’

  Suddenly Drew’s words from this morning pop into my head. ‘No? What is it like, Mike?’

  ‘I…’

  I smile then. ‘That’s what I thought.’ I stand up, coolly placing my napkin on the table. ‘So I’ll be off.’ I go to turn, but then stop. I rest a hand on the back of my chair for a second. ‘But before I go, do me a favour. Don’t call me. And don’t drop in. Ever again. Oh, and one last thing. Do your son a favour as well. Take a good hard look at yourself before he turns out anything like you.’

  I sit in the darkness of my car and catch my breath. At first I’m worried that Mike will follow me, then I snort. Mike won’t follow me. I know him enough to know that. Mike will finish his dinner and then Mike will go home. He’ll probably watch some TV. And then he’ll go to bed. Maybe over the next couple of days he’ll ponder on a few of my comments. Especially the one about Toby. But in the end he won’t worry too much about it all. He’ll expect me to call and apologise.

  But, I won’t.

  Looking out into the darkness, I shake my head. What a waste of time. I’m such…an idiot. There’s no other word for it.

  After a while I remember Sally and find my mobile again. I’m scrolling through the numbers in my address book when one flashes onto the screen that I don’t expect. Drew. I’d forgotten I put that in there. I pause, looking at it, then think about my gut again. What did Sally say? That I should listen to my gut. So, before my head can argue with it, I press the little green phone button and bring the mobile to my ear.

  Drew answers on the third ring. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Drew, um, hi. It’s Liv.’

  There’s silence on the end of the line.

  ‘I’m really sorry about today. I just…Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I was wondering if you could come out for a drink? Or coffee?’

  ‘I can’t. Sorry. I’m a bit busy.’ His voice sounds like it’s a million miles away. In another country.

  ‘I just met with Mike. Told him where he could go shove his flowers and—’

  ‘Look, Liv, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go.’

  I pause. ‘Right. I’ll…um…I’ll…’

  ‘Yes. Thanks for calling.’ Drew hangs up.

  And then, with my mobile in my hand, I sit in the darkness for a long, long time.

  Y Y Y Y

  Friday 12 February-too close for comfort…

  ‘Well?’ Sally spins around in her chair as I enter the office.

  I dump my bag on the floor and go and sit down in my own chair with a thump. ‘Well, I blew it.’

  Sally pushes herself across the floor rather ungracefully. ‘What happened?’ Her eyes are wide.

  I sigh. ‘I listened to my gut and I went out there…’

  ‘And?’

  I remember what I told Drew on the phone last night. ‘I basically told Mike where he could shove his flowers. Now and for evermore.’ I’ve never liked lilies anyway.

  ‘Yes!’ Sally punches the air. She pushes herself over further still. ‘Good girl.’ She pats me on the knee. ‘I knew you’d do the right thing.’

  I shrug. ‘If I did the right thing, why do I feel like such an idiot? I feel like an idiot,’ I repeat, more to the studio itself, to all of humanity, than to Sally in particular. And then I grin a fake grin in order to stop the tears from flowing. What is it with me this week? Normally I’m not a crier at all.

  ‘Well, you shouldn’t feel like an idiot.’

  ‘But I do. I mean, what was I thinking? What have I been doing these past couple of years?’ I shake my head. ‘I am an idiot,’ I groan. And I am. I really am. I thought about it at length last night. I thought about what Tony had shown me in my strange dream. And I realised he was right—these past two years my life has been on hold. Like a fool, I’ve spent my time crying, yearning, hoping, longing. Waiting for the phone to ring. For Mike to drop in. For Mike to care. While I might have tried to tell myself that it was over for good when Mike went back to Amanda, while I might have tried to tell myself that there would be no second time around, at the back of my mind there was always that niggling little ‘what if?’. What if she doesn’t stay? What if he realises he’s done the wrong thing? What if, what if, what if. What if he wants me back?

  Well, he does. Did.

  But the funny thing is the thing I’d cried, yearned, hoped, longed and waited for…

  I don’t want it any more.

  I snort at this. How about that?

  ‘Hey, what did you mean?’ Sally breaks my train of thought. ‘That you’d blown it?’

  ‘Drew.’ I bite my lip as the tears start to surface.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yes. Oh. I called him last night, to see if he could come out for a drink or something.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And he said he was busy. Oh, God, I just want to die. I want to curl up in a ball, right here on the floor, and die.’

  ‘Like a cockroach that’s just been sprayed?’ Sally asks.

  I give her a look. ‘Yes. But without the flailing around. And don’t try to make me smile. Or laugh. I’m never smiling or laughing again.’

  Now Sally shakes her head at me. ‘Liv, don’t be so damn hard on yourself.’

  When she says this, the tears really start to well up. I try as hard as I can to push them back. I don’t deserve to cry. It’s my own stupid fault. I sigh and look at Sally. ‘I just can’t believe I’ve done this. The other night…I realised that I was ready. Ready to, you know, date again and everything. And I was so excited! I mean, I really wanted to. And now Mike comes along and I just throw everything away. For nothin
g! Nothing!’

  Sally pats my knee again. ‘Look. Don’t worry about it. Drew will come around. You’ll see.’

  My shoulders slump. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Well, I do. I bet he calls. Today.’

  I give Sally a small smile, trying to look hopeful. But something tells me Drew isn’t going to call today. Or tomorrow. Or the day after.

  The fact is, I had my chance. And Drew isn’t going to call ever again.

  I spend the next hour or so working diligently, trying to keep my mind on the job.

  It isn’t easy.

  Every time the phone rings, both Sally and I jump. But none of the calls is from Drew.

  When, just after ten o’clock, my mobile buzzes in my bag, Sally wheels herself over to me again. ‘This is it!’

  I stick my hand in my bag hurriedly and pull out my mobile. It’s a text message. But it’s not from Drew. It’s from Justine…

  YOU ARE SO AVOIDING ME

  Ouch.

  Obviously she’s spoken to Drew. I think about calling her, but decide I can’t face the music yet.

  Another half an hour passes. Another fifteen minutes. Finally, I whip around and face Sally. ‘I’ve got to do something.’

  Sally swivels around. ‘Like…?’

  ‘That’s the problem. I don’t know. I can’t call.’

  Sally points a finger at me. ‘Don’t you dare e-mail. Or text. That’s such a cop-out.’

  ‘I know. I won’t.’

  ‘What about flowers? No, that’s lame…’ She vetoes the suggestion as fast as it’s out of her mouth.

  ‘That’s what I thought.’

  ‘Umm…how about a note?’

  I pause for a second. ‘But how would I get it over there? I can’t mail it; it’d take too long. And I can hardly fax…’

  Sally shrugs. ‘Courier it over?’

  Something comes to me then. ‘I’ve got it!’ I say, rocketing out of my chair. I grab my wallet out of my bag. ‘Call the courier. I’ll be back in a tick,’ I say as I race out through the front door.