Page 126 of Bad at Love
“He doesn’t even care,” I say bitterly. “He told me he didn’t love me, broke up with me and then moved on.”
“You don’t know that.”
“He hasn’t even called.”
“Would youwanthim to call?” she asks. “If he called you right now, would you even answer it?”
I shake my head. “No. There’s nothing to say to him.”
“Then I’m going to guess he knows that.”
“He could try…”
“He doesn’t even know what he wants. He might be too afraid to try. Maybe he’s trying to figure himself out first. Have you tried looking on his Instagram.”
“No,” I say quickly. “And I unfollowed him on Facebook.”
“I unfollowed him a long time ago,” she says with a wry smile.
“Naomi!”
She shrugs. “He was posting too many Bukowski quotes. I fuckinghateBukowski.”
“Yeah, Laz loves him,” I say, almost dreamily and for a split second I’m back in time. I’m thinking of us as still together.
The reality…
Tears fall from my eyes.
“Oh no,” Naomi says, getting out of her seat and putting her arms around my shoulders. “I didn’t think you were a Bukowski fan.”
“It’s not Bukowski,” I sob. “It’s Laz. I love him, Naomi, I really do. I still do. I miss him. I want him back…but I need him to love me first. I need him towantto love me.”
“Oh honey,” she says, reaching for a napkin and handing it to me so I can wipe my nose, dab beneath my eyes. I haven’t worn makeup in forever for this exact reason. “I know, I know. I wanted Robert to want to make it work. I wanted him to want to stop cheating. He never did.”
I’m full on sobbing now, tears falling onto her arms. People in the café are staring at me and I have half a mind to get up and demonstrate the waggle dance for them, just like I did on that date with David when I started choking on linguine.
Oh god. That’s what I have to look forward to now.
I’m going to have to go on dates again.
Dates with men that aren’t Laz.
How do I go on, how do I live knowing I can’t have him, won’t have him, that no other man will ever measure up?
I won’t.
I will just become an even crazier bee lady. A spinster.I’ll revirginize myself. Maybe Barbara and Naomi and I can all live together and have an even more bitter version of theGolden Girls.
For some reason, that makes me cry even more.
“We should get going,” I finally say, looking around the café.
“Why? Because you’re crying in front of these strangers? You’re human, Marina. People should know by now that life is hard.” She turns around and yells at everyone in the shop. “Life is hard!”
“Damn right!” someone yells back.
“Naomi,” I whisper, pulling her back around. “It’s okay.” I grab another napkin and blow my nose.
