Page 22 of Every Broken Piece
Me: What birthday?
Amelia: Oh, no. You’re not gonna hide away on your birthday. You have a month to figure it out. Let me know what you want to do
I sigh. I’ll be turning thirty next month and I don’t want to think about it. Birthdays for me are weird. I don’t have family to celebrate with. Not to mention I wouldn’t know how to celebrate considering I’ve never had a birthday party like other kids, or a birthday cake, or even birthday presents. I was in grade school when I realized birthdays were a thing saw other kids bringing treats on the day they were born. When I asked my mother when my birthday was she asked me why I'd want to know.
Amelia wanting to celebrate ratchets up my anxiety so I push the thought away in the false hope that she'll forget about it.
My week rolls on. I don’t hear from Gabe at all, but Mary assigns me another client. I’m now fully booked. This many clients becomes a juggling act that I'm not happy with for fear it will affect the quality of my work, but I can’t say no because Mary will question my work and make comments about me not being able to handle a harder workload.
This new one is a pro baseball player who needs help cleaning up his social media reputation. I look him up online. He’s cute with shaggy brown hair and a warm smile, but he does nothingfor me. Not that I need to be attracted to my clients, but I can’t help but compare him to Gabe’s genteel sophistication and maturity.
I shake my head. I’ve never had these thoughts before Gabe and they’re completely inappropriate. I need to focus or these balls I'm juggling will start falling.
I schedule a video conference with my new client and amazingly enough, he’s on board with actually talking to me face to face—virtually, that is. Unlike myotherclient.
Thursday and Friday fly by. It’s amazing how much work just one more client adds.
By Friday night I’m ready to climb into my comfy clothes and snuggle into my couch. Even though I work from home and most of my communication is through email, I’m drained. Just thinking of talking to another person makes my chest feel tight.
However, I’m also lonely, which I know is weird. I don’t think people realize what true loneliness feels like, knowing there’s no one to come home to. No one to even notice if you come home. No one to talk about your day with. No one to snuggle into and watch movies with.
Amelia’s reminder of my approaching birthday makes me think that maybe this year I’ll treat myself and get a cat. I’ve never had a pet before and I've always wanted one. I could never trust my mom or my sister with animals. And for a long time I never knew if I’d have to pick up and leave quickly. Dragging a pet along wouldn’t have been ideal. But my life has calmed down in the last two years. For the first time ever I feel like I can settle in and not have to worry about my past catching up to me. This is by far the longest I’ve stayed in the same city.
Maybe a cat is the next step to finally putting down roots.
My work phone pings with a text and because it’s sitting on the table beside me, I glance at it.
GS: Going bar hopping tonight?
Chapter twelve
Gabe
I’m a fucking idiot.
I told myself last weekend that I needed to stop texting Tess. I don’t know why I’m drawn to her. I don’t know why she chases away my loneliness. Hell, I don’t even know why I’m suddenly feeling lonely. But talking to her last weekend had been nice. Comforting.
And, yeah, I’ll admit it, I missed her this week. Too many times I picked up my phone to text her with something that had nothing to do with work. One morning I snapped a picture of the sunrise over the mountains and stopped myself before sending it to her.
Like the cowardly dick I am, I avoided her all week. The fact I didn’t need her assistance with anything work related helped. I was in New York for a few days and my flight home had already been booked. I spent the rest of the week in the office, catching up on the thousand other things that crop up throughout the day and Tess is doing such an amazing job of keeping my inbox clean that I have time for those thousand other things.
But nearly every minute of every hour I wondered how her day was going. And every morning I looked forward to her good morning text and, yes, even the accompanying emojis.
I actually took her up on her bookstore recommendation and bought a book last weekend. I camped out in my hotel room to read it, avoiding the hotel bar. When I finished it, I wanted to talk to her about the crazy, twisting plot that kept me riveted. I had to stop myself from calling her just to hear her voice for the first time.
Like I said. I’m a fucking idiot.
Now it’s Friday night and I’ve reached the end of my endurance. I keep thinking about her going out to the bars with her friends and I need to know that she’s okay. That she’s safe. That her friends are taking care of her if she’s drinking.
Fucking idiot right here, folks.
I’m not her boyfriend. I’m too old to be anyone’s boyfriend and I’m way too damn old to beherboyfriend, that’s for sure.
Yet I know I won’t sleep tonight if I don’t confirm she’s okay.
Me: Going bar hopping tonight?
Tess: Nah. Staying in. I’m already under my blankie and about to open my book
