“Whether you think you do or don’t, you’re still young enough to change your mind. I’m thirty-five, and my eggs are aging. If I can’t have kids now, how do you think I can have them if we’re together and you change your mind?”
“So that’s it?”
He’s angry, and I’m sorry for it. My heart breaks. He’s a good guy and everything I wish I’d had ten years ago.
I nod. “There’s a girl at work who’s a year younger than you. She’s really cute. You should come by so I can introduce you.”
The stillness in his body is nerve wracking. “We had sex. You promised no regrets. And now you want to fix me up with someone else.” He ends on a humorless laugh.
“I don’t regret anything,” I lie. “We can still be friends. I just think I need to date guys my own age. I’m not ready to settle down yet. But if I find someone, I want their expectations about our future to be certain. Most men my age or older might already have kids, or they are totally sure they don’t want any.”
Somewhere along the way, we are no longer sitting, but standing facing each other. His height makes me feel small. The way his eyes have gone flat without emotion makes me want to cry.
He gives me a stiff nod. “I should probably get going.”
His back is to me before I can squeak out a protest. “Wait.” He doesn’t stop his stride as I call out, “Your food?”
The door is open when he finally turns enough to say over his shoulder, “Keep it. Happy birthday, Olivia.”
Ungracefully, after the door closes, I fall to my knees and sob.
Five
My phone rings off in the distance. I sit on the floor where I landed, having cried myself into dehydration.
It’s my birthday, I think dully as my phone finally silences.
The look of betrayal on Joel’s face replays over and over in my head.
The phone rings again, and I remember I have family who may need me. What if someone is sick or hurt, and I’m too busy wallowing in a cesspool of my own making? Bones creak and pop as I get to my feet. I plunge into the gloomy darkness of my bedroom and find my phone.
“Hello,” I say, taking a nosedive on the bed.
I want to bury myself in the covers and forget. But how can I when Joel’s clean, woodsy scent clings to my sheets like I’d clung to him hours before?
“Happy birthday, Livvy.” And that’s when I start to cry in earnest. “What’s wrong?”
“Joel hates me,” I whine like a dog who wants to come inside on a cold night.
Rolling over, I tuck my cell between my shoulder and my ear. I wrap myself in covers, shivering from the frosty look Joel had given me when he left.
“Joel?”
“I had sex with him,” I say like the words are lyrics to a Taylor Swift song, sorrowful and filled with pain.
“You didn’t!” She sounds like our mother when she’d scolded me in the past for doing something wrong, while trying not to laugh when whatever I’d done had been funny.
“I did!” I sob, covering my face with a pillow as if to hide from the reality of it.
“How was it? Wait.” The background noises start to fade before I hear a door close. “Okay, Corey’s here, and I don’t want him eavesdropping.”
It all comes back to me. “Traitor. How could you invite him over for my birthday dinner?”
“He’s Darren’s cousin. I didn’t invite him. But when he showed up, I couldn’t send him away. The kids adore him.”
Groaning, I’m reminded again that Corey will never completely be out of my life. We’d grown up in a small town in northern Maryland. The dating pool is small there, but at least we only ended up with cousins, not brothers.
“Let’s get back to sex with Joel. How was it?”
“I was drunk, thanks to you. And when I woke, Corey was at my door, pounding like he knew I was inside.”
“Oh.”
“What did you tell him?” I demand.
She sighs. “It’s not what you think. I was caught off guard. He was talking to Darren, apparently, while I was trying to get a crayon out of Izzy’s nose. I didn’t know who he was talking to, I swear. So when he asked if you were home, I answered truthfully and said you ought to be.”
“Great.” I start to ask about my niece and the crayon when she beats me to the punch.
“What happened?”
Resigned, I tell her the rest.
“I open the door, thinking it’s Joel, but it’s Corey. Joel was still in my room and comes out shirtless. Corey looks like he’s going into anaphylactic shock. Hell, I was about to get my Taser gun to shock him back to life when Joel kisses me.”
“In front of Corey?” my sister asks like she has a bowl full of popcorn in hand.
“Exactly. Then they practically circle themselves in male domination. I wanted to preen like a peacock, but the thought of cock had me thinking of Joel and his magic stick.”
“Magic stick. Does he move like Mike?”
“Mike?”
“You know, Magic Mike?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen the movie,” I confess.
“Blasphemy. What do you visualize when you break out your vibrator?”
“My imagination.”
She tsks. “We must rectify this immediately. Do you have a DVD player?”
“Amelia?”
“What? Darren bought me the DVD. He puts it on when he wants to get me in the mood.”
“Oh. My. God.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Besides the TMI.” Her laughter has me quickly adding, “Let’s get back on track.”
“Fine. What happened next?”
I give her the condensed version.
“You told him your ovaries were old?”
“Not in so many words,” I groan.
“And you’re going to fix him up with someone else?”
I nod, but remember she can’t see me. “Yes.”
“You fucked up.”
“I know,” I cry.
“Okay. We’re going to sign you up for a dating site. Don’t worry about coming over tonight. The kids will eat your cake and love it. I’ll call Ella.”
After we disconnect, I head for the kitchen to grab food and turn on cable to watch a movie and try not to feel like a total loser on my birthday.
Six
Waking, I feel empowered. After a night of watching the movie How To Be Single and eating the entire ice cream cake, though it had only been a tiny one made for two, I stretch.
I shake off the gloominess from the night before, determined not to be depressed that my life is a solitary one. It had been my choice.
After all the useless calories I’d consumed in the last two nights, I am itching for a run. But the coward that I am, I can’t seem to bear the idea of running into Joel at the gym. So I powerwalk my apartment living room with my earbuds in.
When the afternoon rolls around, there’s a knock at my door. This time it’s not a shock to see who’s behind it. My carefree younger sister who takes after our mother strolls in with her bohemian style and former dancer grace. She practically floats across the floor with her silky hair breezing behind her. It’s another thing I could hate her for. My hair is a frizzy mess when not tamed by the beast known as a flat iron.
“Are you ready?” She looks me over, giving Sable some attention when the cat worms her way around my sister’s legs.
“Really? What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I indicate my jeans and a t-shirt.
She comes over with her finger to her lips and taps it there. “Got it.”
Before I know it, her hand is at the collar of my tee. She pulls, and the fabric gives under her tiny hands. She is a few inches shorter and several pounds lighter than I am. Standing next to her, I feel like a giant. Thank God for Amelia, or I would have thought I got the short end of the stick with our parents’ gene pool. Or should I say, giant sized end?
“Hey, wait, that’s my favorite shirt,” I compl
ain.
“Yeah, and that shirt makes you look like your tits are for milking.”
She moves around to my back, missing my glaring stare.
“Not funny.”
“It isn’t meant to be. You want a man, you’ve at least got to look like you’re interested in one.”
“Maybe I should just stay home and graze the pasture.” I slouch in my seat, feeling defeated. “Moo.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.”
“I don’t. I think extra-large comes to a guy’s mind when he sees me.” Ella swats my butt before tugging my shirt tight at the bottom. “Hey, you’re going to give me muffin top if you keep doing that. Then a guy will think dessert, but not me.”
“Rog happens to think you’re a babe.”
Her current live-in boyfriend, Roger, prefers to be called Rog.
“That’s not saying much when he likes men too. Is it my man hands he’s into?”
Ella rolls her eyes. My baby sister fancies herself a former lesbian; I call her bisexual. She dated a woman for over two years and now is dating Rog.
“He’s not gay. He’s sexually fluid.”
I laugh. “You realize that sex and fluid…”
She’s in her bag and pulls out makeup, urging me to take a seat. I do. She’s so much better at it than I am.
“You old people try to fit everyone in a box. Love is love and shouldn’t be labeled in one category. Most people out there haven’t found their soulmate. They’re too busy constricting themselves to preconceived ideas about what love is and who it should be with. You should probably date a woman. It will do wonders for your self-esteem.”
There’s no need to argue. I know she’s right on some level. The world would be a better place if love eclipsed hate.
“How was the parade?”
“It wasn’t a parade. It was a fair showcasing LGBT artists.”
She couldn’t celebrate with me yesterday night. She and her fluid boyfriend went to New York for some gay pride event. Plus, she sells her art at fairs, and apparently the event was a fair.
“Okay, so how’d it go?”
“Great.” She smiles and eyes the work she’s done on my face. “Okay, let’s go. We have an appointment with Madame Zelda.”
That stops me. “I did not agree to go see your psychic.”
“Why?” Ella asks before putting everything back in her bag, which could double as carryon luggage. “I’ve told her all about you, and it’s part of your birthday gift.”
“Fine.” I’m frugal like that. Plus, staying in the house another minute is depressing. With Ella as my shield, maybe I can survive an encounter with Joel.
But we don’t run into him. “I was hoping to see this hot neighbor of yours. I should come over more often.”
“Don’t make Rog jealous.” I waggle my eyebrows.
She laughs. “We don’t get jealous.”
I don’t bother to ask. I don’t want to know if they share or not.
We walk a few blocks, but we finally find a cab.
“Why didn’t you get Uber?” I whisper in the back seat after she gives our destination to the driver.
“Uber means planning. I wasn’t sure when we’d leave, and I hate to be confined to time.”
I don’t bother to mention she told me we had an appointment, which contradicted her words. Sometimes saying nothing to Ella is best.
We arrive at a place in Old Towne Alexandria. It’s across the water from where my sister’s loft is located in the revitalized Waterfront area in Southwest, Washington, D.C.
We have to walk upstairs. Ella opens the glass front door, and we enter a room that has to be cliché of every stereotypical psychic’s workplace. The walls are a deep orange, and every surface is stacked with knickknacks of all things creepy. The place can easily be described as an organized hoarder’s mess.
“Welcome, Ella.”
My heart almost leaps from my chest. I’d been staring at a statue of a one-eyed monkey. Standing straight, I focus on the woman who looks like an older version of my mom. That should make me feel less weirded out, but it makes me feel more so.
Her gray hair is streaked with white, and she wears a long maroon colored skirt that covers her feet. An Indian styled orange shirt finishes the outfit.
“This is your sister.”
I try not to say duh. Ella already told me that she’d spoken to the woman about me. She extends a bony hand, which seems at odds at her rounded body. No judgement, but I didn’t expect it.
“Call me Madame Zelda.”
When I grasp her cold hand, Zelda’s whole body stiffens. At first, I wonder if the woman needs emergency assistance.
Ella sees my distress. “Don’t worry. She’s having a vision.”
I frown. Honestly, I don’t believe in this. When I pull my hand away, Zelda comes out of her trance.
“We should go sit.” Ella points to an opening in the back wall.
Zelda nods, and we follow her into a room past the beaded curtain which is so cliché I stop myself from saying “Come on.”
The room we enter is so small, the three of us barely fit. There is a tiny table in the center, lots of stuff on the walls, and shelves all around. Thank goodness there isn’t a crystal ball on the table, or I might have said something rude. Instead, I smile. This is all in good fun. Zelda seems nice. Though my sister is obviously getting taken for her money.
“Give me your hand, child,” Zelda says.
I give Ella the stink eye before extending my hand with a smile. I’m hit with a tiny jolt of static electricity and cry out in pain. Ella gives me a smug grin.
“This is about a man.” Zelda’s eyes are closed as if she’s channeling something from beyond.
Okay, seriously, I’m not sure how well my acting skills are going to hold up today.
“Isn’t it always?”
Ella kicks my shin under the table for my remark. In turn, I aim angry eyes at her. Thankfully, Zelda’s are closed as she divines—or rather guesses—at my romantic future.
“This man is tall, with dark hair, and handsome.” The older woman speaks slowly, and it comes off like a bad horror movie in the making.
Seriously, isn’t that what most women want with some version of hair color? I try to pull back, but Zelda is surprisingly strong.
“He desires you and wants you in his bed.” The psychic’s voice has gone all creepy, and I wait for her to open her lids and reveal milky colored eyes.
Her guesses are too generic to be anything but what she thinks I want to hear.
“He’s an accountant.”
“Strike one,” I say.
“His name starts with P.”
“Strike two,” I count.
“A child will come between you.”
“Strike three.” I yank my hand away. The idea of a child, knowing I’m barren, sears a hole in my heart. “I’m out.”
“We still have time in our session,” Ella says.
“Please wait, there’s more.”
“Give Ella a reading. I’ll be outside. I need fresh air.” I speak as politely as I can muster.
Storming isn’t necessarily the word, but I leave like a tornado, not caring what’s in my path. Taking the stairs two at a time, I pant from lack of exercise over the course of three days and lean my back on the wall.
Of course, everyone gliding by on the sidewalk is a mother, father, child, or a pregnant woman. Feeling like less has never hit me so hard.
When Ella finally joins me, I have no concept of how long I’ve been out there.
“That was rude.” She glares at me.
I shrug. “I didn’t mean to be. You know…”
Ella’s expression immediately softens, and she wraps me in a hug. “I’m sorry for that.”
I hold onto her a few seconds longer. When we pull apart, I break the tensions by saying, “Let’s face it. She didn’t hit the mark. Neither Joel or Corey fit those descriptions.”
“Not completely, but Corey�
��” She’s thinking of the baby portion of Zelda’s premonition.
“He’s blond.”
She nods. “She’s usually right on the money.” I want to yell at my sister for being taken for her money. “Maybe she’s seeing a guy in your future.”
Disagreeing with her, I shake my head. “When I came in, she asked if it was about a man. The only men in my life who are making me confused are Joel and Corey.”
“Notice how you keep saying Joel’s name first,” Ella says triumphantly. “Do you want me to tell you the rest of what she said?
“No way. Let’s just get out of here.”
“Want to grab some food first? Rog is out with a friend.”
As much as the words almost tumble out of my mouth, I still them. Ella lives a different life, but honestly a happy one. Whatever she and Rog do is her business.
“Sure, and by the way, I’m going to get you back for that tattoo.”
I’ve tried not to remember what it looks like and what it says.
Ella laughs. “I thought for sure you were going to call me and curse me out.”
I would have, but I’d been dealing with other truths.
“Don’t worry. I’m going to get you back. Mom and Dad might not recognize you when I do.”
She snickers. “Speaking of our parents, have you talked to them?”
“Yeah, they called on my birthday.”
Luckily, we spoke while I’d been watching a comedy. My laughter ensured Mom didn’t worry about my emotional well-being.
And just like that, we slip into easy conversation, which helps take my mind off a certain sexy inked-up guy who has utterly rocked my world.
Seven
Sitting at my desk, I seriously consider my job options. My title of office manager doesn’t make me one. I’m a glorified receptionist at a dental practice of one dentist and two part-time hygienists. Instead of finishing my degree, I went to work to put my cheating-ass husband through school, so my options for a job are limited. I gave up a job a few years back to focus on having a baby. So here I am, trying not to have a meltdown as the two young female hygienists bounce on their toes.
Three days I haven’t seen Joel, if you count Sunday. I’ve come so far and haven’t had a daytime fantasy about him.
Blinded by You Page 18
