"The market has shifted," Fiona told me, waving a hand. "I've been working on trying to move with the times for a while now. But Rush's job was never going to make the cut."
"Maybe his line wouldn't have gone so dead if..."
I couldn't bring myself to say it, to keep replaying it again and again and again. I'd finally been able to go the bulk of my day without having another panic attack over the whole thing.
"If you didn't really like how Rush gives the weather report?" Fee suggested, making a laugh bubble up and burst out. Fiona always was, and always would be, the queen of euphemisms.
"Yes, that," I agreed.
"All that raining. And earthquakes...."
"Fee."
"Oh, we're all girls here. I still call Hunter at work and phone smex him up. Keeps things fun. It's not a big deal. Or abnormal. If it was that freakish, we wouldn't have the booming business we have here."
"You never called in," I told her.
"I mean, no. But before Hunt, I was so wrapped up in my own fuckupedness—and, yes, that is the technical term—to invite any sort of intimacy with the opposite sex. OR any person at all, period. If I didn't grow up like I did, if I didn't have the trauma associated with that like I did, maybe I would have craved that connection. Plenty of women have called Rush."
I never wanted to think about the other callers. I knew they existed. Obviously. Or his job would have been gone a long time ago. But acknowledging it took away from the fantasy world I had built. Where it was something more than a job for him, where we had an actual connection instead of a business arrangement.
But they existed.
Were they women like me? Shy and lonely and desperate for even a vague facsimile of connection?
Were they just horny women who were too busy to go out to find men?
Women fresh off divorces, looking to dip their toes back into dating, but wanting to build their confidence first.
It didn't matter now.
His line was shut down.
The website had been revamped to remove all traces of a male phone sex line.
His desk had been taken over by a woman who used it to do live videos where she sat and ate whatever foods the callers requested.
"If they are going to pay me to eat a giant plate of pasta, I am going to take them for every penny they are willing to throw at me," Raina, the new girl, had said on her first day. "I mean, it combines two of my favorite things. Money and food. If I could just find someone to pay me to eat pasta while I binge-watch Youtube videos about van-life, I would be the happiest woman in the world."
Rush's mug was even gone from the drainboard in the kitchen.
It was like he'd never existed.
Fiona had been quick to fill the hole he'd left behind, but I still felt the void. Around the office that seemed to be missing the balance that the light, masculine presence of Rush provided. But it was more than that.
As much as I hated to admit it, there was a void in my life as well.
I tried to convince myself that nothing had changed, nothing was actually missing.
But that simply wasn't the truth.
I don't know if I was ever aware how much of my day had started to revolve around my calls with Rush. I guess because they started so suddenly, they were sporadic for so long. It was easy to miss how I began to look forward to the call.
But with a little space, I could be more objective.
I would get home from work, go through the motions of my evening.
Talk to my mom while I straightened up. Run errands. Prep food and clothes for the next day. Then, finally, I would dive deep into a book until my eyes got blurry.
Then I would go through the motions of getting ready for sleep, climb into bed, turn off all the lights, and make my call.
It was what, I could now see, I was waiting for all day.
I'd always known I had been codependent in my close relationships. Obviously, with my mom. Then, in a lesser way, with my ex.
I guess I hadn't been self-realized enough to know—or didn't want to see—that I had become dependent on Rush.
But there it was.
All the classic signs.
The low self-esteem he helped build up, the reactivity that happened when I obsessed over a turn of phrase he used that likely meant nothing, the dysfunctional communication—meaning none from me in this case—, and intimacy issues that I convinced myself he was helping but when I knew it very well was likely only making it worse.
Losing those calls was like losing a support system I hadn't been aware I'd been so dependent upon.
Each night when I went home was worse than the one before, leaving me feeling frustrated—in all the ways one can be frustrated—, then annoyed with myself, then lonely, and finally... sad.
It was ridiculous, but true.
I was sad because I couldn't call Rush anymore and listen to him tell me about his day, about what show he was watching and enjoying lately, about some new song he loved that I immediately ran to add to my playlist.
Maybe it was worse, too, because we'd spent so much time together in the woods. It took the fantasy into more of a reality, blurring the lines that had always made the situation just shy of toxic for me.
Because, now, I not only missed the calls, but I missed the chance to play board games with him, to talk about books, to help clean up after a storm with him, to cook for him then watch him clear his plate.
It should have been better that he was nowhere around, that I didn't have to see him, hear his voice.
It wasn't, though.
And I felt like each day was getting worse and worse.
My therapist was on the case, trying to help me work through it, move on from it.
It should have been helping.
But I didn't want to move on from it.
That was the kicker, I guess.
I wanted him in my life.
Even though I knew I couldn't have him.
My heart swelled in my chest as my phone rang on the coffee table while I tried to read the same page for the fourth time. It wasn't my mom. I'd already talked to her. She was going out with one of her work friends. She wouldn't be calling again.
I'd blocked my ex.
My bills were paid.
So, of course, my mind went to ridiculous places.
Like maybe Rush was calling.
Like he'd shown up to check on me when I hadn't been to work.
But, I reminded myself, that was before The Incident.
It wasn't him calling.
Of course, it wasn't.
But the person it was seemed almost as unlikely.
"Fee, is everything alright at work?" I asked, my mind already racing over everything I'd done for the day, week, month, trying to figure out what could have possibly gone wrong, what I could have messed up.
"What? Oh, yeah. Work is fine. I think. I mean, you're not using the stock room to, like, cook meth or something are you? 'Cause then we might have a problem. Especially because you wouldn't think of including ya girl in on those shared profits."
"I think you need more space than the stock room has to cook meth," I told her, getting a laugh out of her.
"Yeah, no, I was just calling to chat."
"To chat? With me?"
"I'm bored. My man is helping one of his many brothers build something or another or grunt over a car engine. Who the hell knows. They're doing manly things. And my kids all have lives. Like, who do they think they are, right? So I am sitting here all alone and bored. So I wanted someone to talk to."
"But, don't you have, like, a huge family?"
"They all have like a bajillion kids. And businesses. And I already know all their stories."
"I, uhm, I don't really have any stories," I insisted.
"Oh, you have stories. Everyone has stories."
"I kind of, you know, don't. I live a really quiet life."
"Well, what about that asshole ex of yours?"
"How do you know he
's an asshole? Fee?" I asked when her silence stretched long enough to be suspicious.
"Alright. Look. It isn't a big deal."
"The fact that you have to preface it like that says it probably is a big deal. What did he do?"
"He came in once looking for you. You had run to grab more milk. And he was a little inappropriate."
"A little inappropriate how?" I asked, stomach rolling, realizing there was another embarrassment in my life that I had been blithely unaware of, hadn't gotten a chance to stress over for weeks or months.
"He just has a big mouth, Kate. He said some things. And then I said some things back because, well, you know me, I don't play that shit. And then he left."
"He said some things like...about me?" I asked, feeling nauseated that maybe he'd told them what he had thrown in my face about being cold in bed, maybe he'd quipped about how it was ironic that I worked in a sex business when I sucked at sex or something like that.
"He said some things about me," she corrected.
"He hit on you?"
"It's not a big deal."
"It is a big deal. I'm so sorry."
"Ah, yeah, you're not the one who did it, so you don't need to apologize. But, yeah, that was how I knew he was an asshole. I did a little jig inside when you divorced him. You can do better."
"I don't know about that," I admitted. I wasn't someone who talked about personal things easily with others, but something about Fiona's Kool-Aid-Man approach of bursting into my life was making me feel like she genuinely wanted to be there, that she did want to have a chat with me. "I, ah, I have never been good with the whole dating thing."
"Well, yeah, because the whole dating thing blows. I was never good at the whole dating thing either. If Hunter hadn't moved next door to me and taken an interest, I would likely still be single and living in the city selling my dirty panties. I had no patience for dating. It is designed to be awkward."
"Add on my social awkwardness and—"
"You're not that awkward, Kate," Fee cut me off. "I mean, really. You're not. I think you think it is worse than it is. And I get that it's your anxiety that does that, but I just figured I would let you know that it's not like you're some freak. You smile and make small talk and you are friendly to people who happen in the door. I get that it might not be easy to you, come natural to you, but you're not a freaky loner who can't string a couple words or sentences together."
"Work is one of my comfort places."
"I bet if we went out for drinks, you would be nice to the server. I bet you could make small talk with her if she started it. I'm not downplaying your anxiety and you know, for lack of a better term, issues. But they are not as obvious as I imagine you worry they are. Just throwing that out there to mull over. But, yeah, you could date. But dating sucks. And, besides, there are better ways."
"Better ways like how?"
"Like stopping being so stubborn, and talking things out with Rush."
"Nothing is going to happen between Rush and me, Fee," I insisted.
"Well, why not?" she asked.
"Because, I don't know, it's just not."
"Give me facts and figures to mull over."
"Fact," I started, taking a deep breath. "He is one of the most attractive guys on the planet. Also fact, I am not one of the most attractive girls."
"Okay, first, we covered this. You're pretty. Secondly, even if you weren't, beauty is subjective. Everyone has a different type. Or they don't care at all about the outside, and they like a good brain or sense of humor. Did you ever notice that the uber-hot Hollywood guys tend to have rather girl-next-door wives? They could have any superficially gorgeous woman in the world but there is something else that they love most about those other women."
"What kind of women have you seen Rush with?" I asked, a part of me needing the confirmation bias, needing to validate my insecurities, no matter how messed up that was.
"Honestly, he hasn't dated-dated much over the years. I mean there was one girl years back. I barely remember her. She was small and with like in-between colored hair. All I can seem to remember about her is that she hated mashed potatoes."
"How can you hate mashed potatoes?"
"I know, right? I think she was a sociopath. Potatoes are practically my love language. But yeah... he has always been kind of casual with women. I mean with his work schedule, it's no wonder. At our work and then helping out with King. No woman wants to be second fiddle to some guy's jobs. And, you know, the whole phone sex thing too. People get jealous. He always said he would hang up his phone when he found someone he was serious about. But yeah. He doesn't really have a type, I guess, because he's never been all that serious about anyone. I see what you're doing, by the way."
"I'm just trying to get you to see that Rush—who can have just about anyone in the world—isn't going to pick me. That's not me being insecure. It's just realistic. What?" I asked when she let out a long-suffering sigh.
"I'm coming over," she declared, and I could already hear her throwing some things together.
"What? Why?"
"Because we are going to have a girls night. And we are going to have a teen movie makeover complete with wardrobe montage. Then you will see how pretty you are. Put coffee on, okay byeeee," she said, hanging up before I could even think to object.
Adrenaline surged through my system as I hopped off my couch, looking down at my oversize, drag gray bathrobe, slipper sock-clad feet, reaching up to feel the messy bun my hair was twisted into.
"Oh, God," I grumbled, rushing across my apartment to throw on something a little more presentable than my sweats and giant sweater.
I ripped my hair out of the bun as I went back to the kitchen, making coffee, wiping down my counter, relocating the massive stack of angsty romances I'd been binge-buying online for the past week or so.
Just as I was setting out the milk in a dainty pink ceramic creamer I'd bought years before but never had a chance to use, there was a slamming sound on my door. Someone kicking.
I opened the door to find Fiona standing there with both arms draped in outfits, bags hanging off her wrists, a giant rolling suitcase at her side.
"Did you leave anything at home?" I asked, wide-eyeing the items as she burst into my apartment, spreading the clothes across the back of the couch, then choosing the kitchen table to spread out an assortment of makeup.
"Oh, please. No one would even notice I'd taken anything with me," she said, smiling. "For our anniversary years back, my man built me a massive closet to organize all my stuff. It has a Ferris-Heel."
"I'm sorry... a what?"
"A ferris wheel, but it is actually a slowly turning shelf for my favorite heels. And it is everything shoe-lovers dreams are made of."
"I, ah, I don't wear heels."
"Well, if you fit into mine, you will be tonight," Fee declared, giving me a wicked smile. "Oh, good. Fuel," she said, going over to the coffee machine, helping herself. "What are your opinions on Chinese food?"
"Um, wait, what?"
I asked, having a hard time keeping up with her.
"You know. Lo Mein, fried rice, spring rolls..."
"I, ah, I like it?" I half declared, half asked.
"I'm starving," she declared. "Hunter wasn't home to feed me. I didn't feel like taking my chances in the kitchen. Besides, eating alone isn't as fun as eating with a friend while you Sandy-fy her."
"Sandy-fy," I repeated, smiling.
"Minus the cigarette because, ew. The leather though... you could pull off some leather. I didn't bring any, though, I don't... oh wait."
"Oh God," I whimpered as she went back to her stack of clothes. "Ah, is that a bra?" I asked.
"It's a corset. Well, sort of. It's a fashion corset. So it doesn't have the boning. Which you don't need anyway."
"I really don't think I can pull off leather."
"Listen, Sandy, we don't know what you can pull off until we try. Now let me go all Frenchie on you," she declared, grabbing my shoulder
, pushing me down into a chair.
I'm sure, at some point in my childhood, I'd had playdates with other girls my age. Maybe I even enjoyed it. But the older I got, the less I seemed capable of forming bonds with anyone, trusting that I could let anyone get close to me because of all the bullying, so I missed the whole 'fun with makeup and clothes' part of my adolescence and early adulthood. This was nice. Nicer than I could have ever expected.
"I always thought the girls' nights in movies and on TV were made up," Fiona said, seeming to read my thoughts. "I mean, I grew up in the woods with a zealot for a father. We didn't even have TV or friends. So when I got out of that world, and learned about the outside world, I had no experience with it myself, so I figured the girlfriend thing was just made up. Like how people in movies make this massive breakfast spread and then only take an apple and walk out the door. Like made up silliness. But then I got some friends, and had some girls myself, and I see it's real. And it's a lot of fun."
"You... you grew up in the woods?" I asked.
"Oh, yeah," she said, nodding, shrugging it off. "No electricity. No 'outside corruption'," she said, air quoting the words. "Just the four of us. It was like a cult but without the enigmatic leader and all the flower crowns."
"Your parents and..."
"And my brother."
"I didn't know you had any siblings."
"Just the one. He's not around a lot. He's married to Darcy. Of Darcy. The band."
"The metal band?" I asked, feeling a little overwhelmed with all this information.
"That's the one. So they're usually touring the country, breaking into haunted psych hospitals, putting on a sexy show for the ghosts. But we see him on occasion. The girls go to the City to see them when they're around."
"Wow. You've had a really interesting life."
"Don't," she said, shaking her head down at me, waving a mascara wand.
"Don't what?"
"Start thinking your life is lame in comparison. Yeah, I've had an interesting life. But it also involved being permanently scarred by someone who was supposed to love me, and a drinking problem, and a cutting myself to pieces problem. It was a lot of work to get over all that shit."
Pull You In (Rivers Brothers Book 3) Page 12
