Page 45 of Running Into You
“Spoken like someone who’s never been slut shamed.” She laughs bitterly. “What’s that like? Magical, I bet.”
My mind is racing, trying to understand where she’s coming from. Has someone made her feel this way about herself before?
“Is that what’s bothering you? You don’t want people to know about us because you think they’ll judge you?”
“Everyone will judge me.” She speaks slowly and evenly, but I can see how upset she really is. Her face is drained of all color and her eyes are wet with unshed tears. I take a step toward her, and she takes two steps back. “They will judge me, they will laugh at me and when you move on to someone else, they will pity me.”
We stand there, staring at each other. I don’t understand what’s happening and I can’t figure out how to fix it. I want to wrap her in my arms and tell her everything will work out, but at this point, I’m not sure if I just need to reassure myself. She inhales deeply, straightening up to her full height. She clasps her hands in front of her.
“This needs to end,” she finally says, looking away from me. My stomach drops and for a moment, I can’t breathe. She can’t really want this to be over, can she?
“Is that really what you want?” I croak, willing her to look at me, but she won’t. Something inside of her has shut down and I can’t get through to her anymore.
“Yes,” she says stiffly, her blank eyes not moving from the floor. “That is what I want.” I stare at her for a few more moments, trying to memorize every detail of her, hoping she’ll change her mind and ask me to stay. She doesn’t. I walk to the door and leave without saying another word.
The walk to my apartment is a short one, but today it feels like a great distance. I make it into my apartment and collapse into the new armchair I purchased last week. The one Betty helped me awkwardly maneuver in here, both of us nearly falling over with laughter when it got stuck in the doorway. When we’d finally pushed it through, she’d gone sailing over it and toppled to the floor in hysterics. Once she’d stopped laughing, we’d christened the chair by curling up in it and making out like teenagers. I grip the armrests, thinking about never being able to kiss her again.
What the fuck had happened? One minute I’m holding her and the next she ends things. Had I really been that delusional to think that this was going to be something more than hooking up? I know what we said when we started, but I thought it was more than that. I hate myself for imagining that since I was falling for her, she might be falling for me.
Apparently not.When you move on to someone else.Did she think I wanted someone else? There is no one other than Betty. No one in my life, no one in the goddamn stratosphere, as far as I am concerned. She is everything I’ve never allowed myself to hope for. Strong, sweet, funny, smart, sexy, and so many other adjectives that I can’t make myself think of any longer. But she’d pulled the plug at the first sign of conflict, so she couldn’t be feeling what I’m feeling.
I drag myself from my chair and make myself take a shower. Once I’m done, I dress quickly, desperate to put more than just these walls between us. Opening my door, I look down to see that she’s left the item’s I bought at Whole Foods in a brown paper bag just outside my door. She didn’t even leave them in the reusable bag, so I’d have an excuse to give it back to her. I slide the bag just into the door and lock the door behind me.
I take the elevator so I won’t have to walk by her door. It’s dark by the time I leave the building and the wind has picked up significantly. I watch my breath steam out in front of me and feel my still-damp hair stiffening against the cold. I walk with no direction in mind, not caring where I’m going and unaware of how much time has passed. It isn’t until I look up at my surroundings and realize I have no idea where I am that I decide to turn back.
By the time I get home, I’m shivering from the cold. I enter my apartment and head straight for the bathroom to have another shower when I hear my phone ring. I pull my phone from my pocket, hoping that it’s Betty, but it’s my mom. I struggle to accept the call with my frozen fingers.
“Hi, mom.”
“Sweetheart? Is everything ok?” My mother’s voice sounds alarmed. Can she sense my heartbreak through the phone?
“Of course,” I say through chattering teeth. God, I really need to warm up. “I just got in from outside and I’m cold. What’s up?”
“Oh, dear. You should run a bath, darling. That will warm you right up,” she says. My mother loves baths and would often prescribe them for any kind of ailment when I was growing up. Headache? Relax in the tub. Chest cold? A warm bath will open those lungs up. Menstrual cramps? A soak with Epsom salts will fix you right up. Ok, that last one had been for Rilla, but I’d heard her suggest it every month.
“Good idea, mom.” I’m not about to tell her that my apartment only has a shower. “What’s up?”
“Just checking in. How have the last couple of weeks been? I didn’t call you last week because I went with Kelly to see Megan’s little one. She is the sweetest little butterball you’ll ever see!”
Kelly is my mom’s sister. Megan is Kelly’s daughter and my first cousin. She had a baby earlier in the summer and mom has talked about her a lot since then.
“She’s already sleeping through the night. Megan doesn’t know how lucky she is! You didn’t start that until you were two and by that time, I’d had Rilla.”
I let her update me on my extended family. It’s a welcome distraction from thinking about Betty, even if I’m only half-listening.
“I had lunch with Eleanor yesterday,” she says, her tone tentative. That gets my attention. Why was my mother having lunch with my ex-girlfriend?
“Yeah? How’d that happen?” I ask not caring if it came out rudely.
“Well, she reached out to us after you moved. She misses you, darling. I wish you two could work things out.” Her voice is filled with concern, and I can’t stomach it.
I want to tell her that Eleanor and I are never going to get back together. I want to finally be able to tell her how suffocated I’ve felt these past few years. To tell her that I know what I want, and Eleanor isn’t it. But I can’t tell her any of these things. I can’t tell her that the girl who has spent every Thanksgiving and Christmas at our house for the past decade isn’t who I want to be with. I won’t tell her that the wedding she’s been daydreaming about planning isn’t going to happen. Because I can’t upset another woman I love today.
“I know you do, mom,” I say with a swallow. I’ve gotten good at pushing my feelings down. “I have a bunch of things to do before work tomorrow, so I’m going to have to let you go.”
“Of course, sweetheart. I hope you have a good week.”
“Thanks, mom.”
