Page 36 of On the Line

“What kind of night is that?”

I set the phone down on the dresser so it’s propped up where I can see her, and then I unbutton the cuffs of my dress shirt and start unbuttoning the front.

“The kind where I remember how lonely it is doing this all by myself.” She wipes at her eyes with the cuff of her sweatshirt, which she’s balled around her fist. “But then again, I’ve been doing this alone all along.”

“What do you mean?” I ask as I slip the dress shirt off.

She catches sight of me there in my tightly fitted undershirt and lifts an eyebrow.“Nothing. Sorry, these are my problems to deal with, not yours.”

“Hold on a sec,” I say as I step out of the view from my phone, grab my sweats off the desk chair where I’d left them this morning, and quickly change. Then I pick my phone up and head to the bed. “Okay,” I say, once I’m sitting back against the headboard. “Tell me what you meant about doing this alone all along.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” she says, and I think she rolls her eyes, but they are so swollen that it’s impossible to tell. I hate seeing her like this, but at the same time I’m relieved and maybe even a little bit honored that she’s sharing this moment with me.

“Are you sure that talking about it wouldn’t help?”

She gives me a low laugh, practically an inaudible rumble. “Is talking how you work outyourfeelings?”

“Sometimes,” I say, dropping my voice before I add, “Depends on what type of feelings we’re talking about.” A shiver runs up my spine because I know that my last comment was borderline inappropriate, and I halfway don’t care.

“Really,” Lauren says, her voice equally low. “And how else do you work through your feelings?”

If I didn’t know she was still grieving for her husband, I’d think she was flirting with me. “You don’t want to know that,” I say.

“Don’t pretend to know what I want, Jameson,” she says, but her eyes are closed and her words are slow, like she’s only half awake at this point.

“Why not?” I ask quietly as I reach over and turn out the light next to my bed so it doesn’t keep her awake.

“You were always terrible ... at understanding ...” She pauses, almost asleep now, and I hang on to her words, hoping she’ll finish that sentence so I know what it is I haven’t understood. But her pouty lips are parted slightly, and her breathing is so rhythmic she has to be asleep.

I give myself a moment to watch her sleep, and then I whisper, “Good night, Lauren,” before I disconnect the call.

I lie there for longer than I should, rehashing that conversation, trying to figure out why Josh wasn’t the partner she needed, and what she meant when she said I’ve always been terrible at understanding. Did I not understand her? Or what she wanted? I’d know so much more about where I stood with her if she’d finished that sentence.

CHAPTER12

LAUREN

I open the enormous box of doughnuts on the table in the office kitchen, hoping there are still some left.

When I brought them in this morning, Patrick laughed and asked, “You’re bringing doughnuts to your first day of work?”

“A friend had them delivered to my house, and this is way more than my girls and I could ever eat,” I’d told him. There was no way I could explain who that friend was.

For the last three days, starting the morning after our phone call, Jameson has had ridiculous amounts of food delivered to my house. First, it was a caramel latte and a dozen bagels with a note that said, “Hope Iris’s hand is feeling better today.” Then another caramel latte and a dozen croissants, with a note that said, “Hope your week is getting better.” And this morning, my favorite latte again and a dozen specialty doughnuts, with a note wishing me good luck on my first day at the new job. Thank goodness bagels and croissants freeze well. At this rate, the girls and I will have breakfast for a month.

I’ve sent him thank you messages via text each time but haven’t talked to him since I fell asleep during our conversation a few nights ago—partially because I’m embarrassed that he saw me crying like that, and partially because I don’t remember what I said to him right before I fell asleep.

I was so tired I felt almost drunk, and it really could have been anything. I’m halfway afraid that I admitted how much he hurt me five years ago when I thought we were turning a corner—thought we’d established that we both had feelings for each other—and then he told me he couldn’t “do this right now” and introduced me to Josh.

But now it’s the end of the day and I’m having a major energy crash. I thought chasing toddlers around day in, day out was exhausting, but I’d honestly forgotten how draining it is using my brain like this all day.

Today has been a lot, but in a good way. However, I’m starving and tired, and I could use a little sugar pick-me-up so I have the energy to make dinner for my girls and play with them when I get home.

I’ve just taken a bite of the most amazing glazed old-fashioned doughnut when AJ appears in the doorway. “Hey, how was the first day?” She leans against the opening, one ankle crossed over the other. She’s in heels and wide leg trousers with a skintight turtleneck, arms folded under her chest, and her dark brown hair hangs in loose waves past her shoulders.

I wonder if it’s normal for the GM to stop and check on new hires, and I suspect it’s probably not. I swallow my bite of doughnut, and tell her, “It was great, but also exhausting. I’m so glad to be back doing what I love, but it’s an adjustment, for sure.”

“Most of the things in life that are worth doing are also exhausting,” she says.

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