Page 21 of Vitamin Sea
Chloe took a deep breath, not knowing how to begin, when suddenly she blurted it out.
“It’s Liam,” she said, sounding distressed.
After that, the floodgates had opened, and all her words came quickly. Before Chloe knew it, she unleashed a torrent of thoughts onto her unblinking boss. The state of her relationship, her fears, Liam’s excuses, her suspicions, and her work to keep everything looking picture-perfect to everyone on the outside.
Chloe didn’t cry, although she had teared up. Finally, unburdened by the jumble of thoughts, she realized that by voicing them, she had been fooling herself the last several months. The expression on Dasha’s face didn’t change as Chloe kept spewing—she took it in like a Stanford-trained psychologistand let Chloe get it all out without any outward signs of judgement.
At one point, Chloe realized she wasn’t even sure what she was saying anymore and the stream of words became less of a torrent and more of a trickle. Finally, a few minutes later, she found she had nothing left to say. A quick glance at her watch revealed that she had been in Dasha’s office for twenty minutes.
Cripes. Twenty minutes and only a vague notion of what she had said in her emotional blackout.
Across from her, Dasha’s poker face gave no indication as to just how graphic or unhinged Chloe had gotten. Dasha continued to stare at her and then finally spoke.
“Well,” she raised, just barely raised, one eyebrow, “it sounds like you are under a lot of stress. Relationship issues can wreak havoc on a person’s self-esteem.”
Chloe nodded as Dasha’s last line hit her. It was very insightful and for the first time she realized that her relationship wasn’t the only thing that had taken a nosedive. So had her confidence. It wasn’t something she had noticed about herself, but now that someone had voiced it, she thought back to some of her recent behaviour. Instead of meeting the world wide-eyed and smiling, she now avoided eye contact and wore an expression that could best be described as dour. The helplessness she felt on the inside with regards to her relationship was shining through to the outside.
“From someone who has gone through something similar, I’m not going to tell you what to do,” Dasha said evenly, “but I will tell you that a woman’s intuition is rarely incorrect.”
Chloe sat there and pondered what her boss was saying.
“I’m not saying Liam is doing anything,” Dasha continued. “But it sounds like you have suspicions. Well-warranted ones,” she continued in a measured tone, “that you’re keeping bottledup. Keeping it bottled up won’t help your relationship with Liam, or your relationship with your friends and family, or your work.”
Dasha sat back in her chair and rested her arms on the armrests.
Chloe didn’t know quite what to say, but she was grateful for the advice and to have been given the space to vent.
Which she had done. Like a volcano. She knew it was probably inappropriate for her to bring her personal life to work, but damn if it hadn’t felt good. But after, oddly, she had felt a bit deflated.
Chloe shook herself out of her reverie and looked at the candle, which had melted down another few centimeters. The wine in her glass was down to the last dregs and she placed the pricey and now empty bottle on the kitchen counter.
Tears sprung to the corner of her eyes and she blinked several times to hold them back. She wasn’t sure if it was the wine that was making her weepy, but she knew it hadn’t helped. It was now nearly 9 p.m. and there was no sign of Liam. She turned off theSoft Jazzplaylist, blew out the pillar candle and, as ill-advised as she knew it was, grabbed another bottle of wine. A loud ‘glug’ punctured the air as she poured out a mega pint before grabbing a glass of water and heading for the couch.
So much for a romantic anniversary dinner.
Clicking the T.V. onto Netflix she clutched her wine as she scrolled through her watchlist until she hit onBridget Jones—one of her favourite comfort classics. She didn’t identify with the thirty-something British singleton looking for love, but there was something very feel-good about the film.
She draped a fuzzy black blanket over herself as she curled up on the couch. In the hopes of injecting a bit of romance into her and Liam’s celebration dinner that evening, she had put on a short, sexy dress. The bouncy blowout she had had done at the salon was meant to give her a bombshell look. Now, as shelay on the couch defeated, she felt annoyed by her bouncy hair. The come-hither makeup she had practically troweled onto her face was slick from the wine, which had made her feel hot and flushed.
Which was just wonderful.
It was in the spirit of hope that she had made dinner, set the scene, and dolled herself up. She imagined that by the time Liam got home, she would look a lot more like ‘nope’.
Bridget Jones began speculating about her future as a single woman, ending in being eaten by wild dogs, at which point Chloe checked her phone for any missed messages from Liam.
She knew he hadn’t texted, but a small part of her hoped she had somehow missed the sound of his custom notification. Notwithstanding the fact that two hours ago she had turned her notifications on to the loudest volume possible.
Her black phone screen came to life, and she was hit with disappointment that her boyfriend had not sent her a message.
With a sigh she set her phone on the couch and took a big drink of wine. The glass clinked as she set it on the table and snuggled herself under the fuzzy blanket.
???
The sound of the lock turning in the front door jolted her awake.
Chloe’s eyes flew open and she lay there, mentally trying to gather her bearings. It took her a second. Her head was hazy.
A glance at the television showed rolling credits forBridget Jones. There was a wet feeling on the side of her mouth, which, she surmised, meant that she had been drooling.
