Page 18 of Staying for You

“You seriously have no clue…”

“Shut up,” I interrupt with two words I hate when used together. Sighing, I say, “Just… stop. Unless you’re going to use that mouth to finally speak some truth, I don’t want to hear it.”

I watch as an eagle soars high above the lake and take another sip of my coffee, laying my head back against the chair. Majestic and graceful. Peaceful. Beautiful. I used to want to be a bird. Then I realized that they either ate worms or freshly killed animals and I changed my mind. But the flying part will always be fascinating to me.

“Just tell me one thing, Scott.”

“What’s that?”

“Do I need to be tested?” He doesn’t know I had my doctor run every test imaginable but this is my way of getting more information out of him.

“I don’t have a disease,” he snaps.

“Are you sure? How long have you been sleeping with other women? I thought you’d just been having affairs. I didn’t realize you’d been gettingpaidto do so!”

“No, you don’t need to be tested,” he says quietly. He waits a few seconds before he admits, “I’m tested regularly.”

“Well, that’s a relief. At least you’re safe with your own health.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” he whispers, sounding offended and sad at the same time.

I sit quietly. I believe him. We had our problems, obviously, and he didn’t always put my needs first. But somehow, I believe him that he wouldn’t do that to me. Put me in a position where I need to worry about whether or not I got an STD from my ex-husband.

“You used condoms? With everyone?”

“Yes. And, as I said, I am tested. Often. Also, if you remember, it has been a while since we were together. Alongwhile.”

Ahh. How could I forget. He made sure to throw it in my face during the mediation when he slipped from his firmI never slept with anyone elsestanding. He actually said, ‘Can you blame me? A man has needs.’ However, the fact that it’s been almost a year since I’ve felt the weight of a man on my body or making me feel wanted or needed, is probably the reason why I had a sexual dream about the resort owner last night when I finally fell asleep on the thin mattress. I’m so hard up, needing release that I’ll no doubt have to be a very active participant in some self-love soon. I can only hope I don’t close my eyes and see his face during the act. “You realize how many questions I have?”

He chuckles.

Actually chuckles!

The ass.

Now I’m laughing, too, because it’s all so damn ridiculous that if I don’t laugh, I’ll just scream or cry and I’m sick of doing that right now.

“I imagine you do. This is probably a dream come true for you. It’d give you years of writing material.”

“Damn right! I think you owe me after making me put up with you over the years. Though, this is quite a bit more than I ever imagined I’d have been putting up with. Seriously, what were you thinking?”

“Honestly? I really wasn’t. Or am not…”

“Am not.”

“Right.”

“You’re such a shit,” I say.

“Yeah. That’s probably accurate.”

I grin. Actually grin! And not at his expense! Because he’s being the Scott I first met and even though this situation is entirely day time talk show worthy, it’s one I no longer have to worry myself over. We’re divorced and he’s no longer my problem. Besides, It’s been a long time since I was able to laugh with him, even if he’s not currently laughing. He’s probably squirming in his briefs. Man, I hope he is.

I fell in love with Scott for a reason. It was years ago and many, many,manyscrew ups between then and now, but I do remember the love we once shared. Kind of.

We’d laugh for hours and stay up all night talking. At one point, we were the annoyingno, I love you morecouple. He has always been immature and pretty ridiculous. Kind of a douchebag but not in a sleezy douche way. He was always just Scott. Unapologetically. The guy who’d take and take and rarely give back but somehow it was okay because he never made promises that he didn’t follow through on. Never would he tell a friend he’d help them move and not show up. He’d just simply let them know he’d come see the house after the move was complete.

The more I think about it, though, the more our love was around me taking care of him. Something I’d done my entire life. I was used to being the caretaker. My dad was severely injured in a motorcycle accident when I was seven years old and my mother became a full-time nurse-wife-mom overnight while working as a dental assistant four and a half days a week. When I was fifteen, Dad passed away and my mom’s guilt over not doing enough — which she did — and missing him became too much for her to handle.

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