Page 7 of Trusting You
I shook my head. “Fun, but not my style.” Nora folded them neatly on the counter and opened the next box of merchandise. After getting a fashion merchandising degree at Parsons, she had come home to Havenport and opened her store, Jeanious Bar, on Water Street. Her philosophy was that there was a perfect pair of jeans for everyone. She stocked hundreds of brands in every cut, style, and size imaginable. It was her mission to help every woman feel amazing in her jeans. What started as a tiny hole-in-the-wall boutique had grown into a straight-up emporium of denim. People came from all over New England to have Nora measure them and find them their perfect pair. She took great pride in empowering every woman who walked through the door to look and feel her best. She even had a part-time tailor, Lucille, who could nip and tuck and make things totally perfect. In a time when retail was failing, Nora had forged her own way, finding her audience on social media and valuing diversity and inclusiveness.
Despite the physical distance between us, we were able to see each other a few times a year when Nora came to New York for buying trips. We would amble around the garment district together, looking at the latest fashions and singing karaoke in Little Korea until sunrise. Between these visits, we texted and talked every day, just as we had since high school. I was grateful to have her while I was trying to figure things out. She was kind, loyal, and unflinchingly honest. And she always made sure I was dressed well. I had hit the best friend lottery.
She rummaged under the counter. “Did you learn your lesson though? You dated him for two years despite most of the people in your life ringing alarm bells pretty frequently.” While I valued her loyalty, she also had this very annoying habit of calling me out on my shit. I admired her for it, but it didn’t make being on the receiving end any easier.
I busied myself folding to give my hands something to do. “I know. I know. I was an idiot. I just wanted a stable boyfriend. And I wound up with a snooty asshole who was sending photos of his dick to every woman in the Tristate area.” I suppose it could be worse. I could have been dumped. When in fact, I myself did the dumping. After two years of dating, I learned that Xavier had an active Tinder account and had the very disgusting habit of texting photos of his erect penis to women he connected with on the app. Thankfully I got to do the dumping, and while I could no longer afford my beloved apartment, I did gain some dignity. Not that dignity could pay my Verizon bill, but right now, I’d take any win I could get.
Nora paused and seemed to be choosing her words carefully. “Yeah. I never really liked the guy, but I didn’t peg him to be the type to send dick pics. That’s a plot twist. At least it makes him slightly less boring?”
“Trust me. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to have wasted two years of your life on a man who sends unsolicited dick pics?” I shuddered. “I feel like I want to apologize to all those unsuspecting women who just glanced at their phone and got an eyeful of his junk.”
“Tell me he at least has a nice dick. It doesn’t make it okay, but at least it could explain why he is so proud of it.”
I choked on my cold brew a little bit, uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “Um…not really. I mean, it’s a dick. I never was particularly impressed by it, but then again, we were not exactly setting the sheets on fire.”
“What do you mean? You didn’t have sex?”
“We did. Just not that often. We both worked a lot, and tax season runs from January to April, so he was usually super tied up and busy and I didn’t want to push it. And then summer came and we didn’t really rekindle the passion. I guess that’s why he cheated on me.” That wasn’t the whole truth. I suspect he cheated on me because I didn’t really love him or pay attention to him. I know I am not responsible for his behavior, but I knew from the beginning we didn’t really fit together. I thought what we had was good enough. Companionship, shared life goals, the same taste in TV shows—I thought these things could sustain a relationship. I knew that wild passion and romance were temporary and mostly overblown by movies and romance novels.
Nora dramatically banged on the table. “Don’t you dare blame yourself because he’s a creep!” Nora, while a lovely and supportive friend, was also extremely loud and loved to shout for emphasis. The sheer volume of her voice almost made me drop my coffee.
“Okay, fine. Also I guess it’s not cheating, is it? I mean he didn’t have sex with anyone. Just sent photos of his dick around.”
“I’m pretty sure that is cheating. Especially if you have a live-in girlfriend. Regardless, I am here for you and I will help you heal.”
“Thanks. You’re the best. But I’m honestly fine. I’m just embarrassed and a bit ashamed of myself. How did I ever think he was a good choice? How did I settle for a relationship that was so, so…blah?” It was a rhetorical question. I had settled because deep down, that’s what I thought I wanted. No risk, no drama—just an easy, dependable partnership. Unfortunately it turned out to be a relationship devoid of passion, friendship, and trust, so I clearly had no idea what I was doing.
“Stop it right there. You know I have no tolerance for negative self-talk.”
I never thought Xavier would be the type to cheat. I guess there is no type really. Xavier radiated “good guy” energy. Friendly and outgoing, he was a successful accountant who did pro bono work to help homeless veterans and ran marathons for charity. He was meticulous about his appearance and went out of his way to be friendly to everyone. In hindsight, maybe he was really only “friendly” to attractive women under the age of forty, but at the time I found his energy and positive vibes really alluring.
He was sort of handsome, in a very clean-shaven, suit-wearing, bland way. He was medium height and medium build and had a good relationship with his mother. He was a decent boyfriend, and the relationship was fine. I definitely did not fall head over heels for him, but he was safe, stable, and we got along really well. I just assumed we would get married someday, and that would be that. Little did I know he was secretly swiping right behind my back with dozens of other women. When I demanded to see his phone, he showed me hundreds of dick pics he had sent over the two years we dated. I had to hand it to him, he certainly found flattering angles and lighting because in person, it was not that impressive. I dragged myself to the Ob/Gyn and humiliatingly asked for every STI test on planet earth just to make sure. I was already nuclear mad, but if that fucker had given me chlamydia then I really would have chopped his balls off.
I plopped down on a large fuchsia couch. Nora’s store was enormous, but very charming and homey at the same time. The walls were covered in white shiplap and oversize colorful couches were randomly placed throughout. Large tables piled with denim were decorated with measuring tapes, and huge crystal chandeliers hung from the cathedral ceiling. It was industrial meets girly, and totally Nora.
“Regardless of the reason, I am thrilled to have you back for as long as you want. Or…forever?” She threw me a wink over her shoulder. “But seriously, are you okay?” She sat down next to me and put her arm around my shoulders. We sat for a few moments while Billie Eilish poured from the speakers. I leaned into her and felt overcome with gratitude for having this badass woman in my corner.
“Yes,” I said unconvincingly. “I’m just having a crisis. My career, my relationship, my apartment, everything is gone and I’m starting over and trying to make better choices and not keep fucking up my life.”
“You haven’t fucked anything up. Don’t be dramatic. You are just in a moment of transition. Embrace it.”
“Really? Embrace my quarter-life crisis?”
“Well, sweetie, you’re thirty-one.”
“Oh Jesus. So I’m having a mid-life crisis?”
“No. It’s more of a one-third life crisis. That sounds more mathematically accurate.”
I smiled at Nora. She could always make me laugh. “Okay, okay. I’m not staying forever. But practically, I’m probably staying through the end of the year.
“Have you thought about finding a job?”
“Actually,”—I hesitated, not sure why I didn’t want to tell Nora—“I found something.”
“What?”
“I interviewed at Binnacle Brewing this morning, and the owner offered me a job doing marketing and helping out with some other stuff.”
