Page 19 of Whatever He Wants
I drag my hands down my face, then stare up at my bedroom ceiling.
Well, fuck.
Life flipped a switch, and shit got complicated.
Yesterday, I opened a door that might never be closed again.I’d accepted Denise would never feel the same way about me as I do about her.Then I got a glimpse that might not be true, that it’s possible for her to want me too.
Now there’s a hunger growing inside me.A need to quit sitting on the sidelines, and finally go after what I want.Especially since Matt has escalated things with his attempted proposal.But there’s one cold, hard, unchangeable fact, an obstacle that seems insurmountable—Denise is off-limits, and she can’t be anything more than that.
So what do I do?
Suppress how I feel.
Act like nothing’s changed.
Keep my distance from her.
The first two would be easier because of the third, and I had the opportunity last night.I could’ve stuck to my threat that because she didn’t hold up her end of the deal by returning my watch within the time limit I’d set, she and her boyfriend had to leave tomorrow.Then she would be gone, and there would be no more temptation.
But I couldn’t do it.Blinded by rage, I didn't give a fuck when I threatened to kick her out yesterday.With a clearer head, that’s what I regret the most of all the things I said and did to her.I love Denise and want to keep her safe and comfortable.Tossing her out on the street and leaving her vulnerable goes against that.
It’s bad enough she already experienced similar treatment from her father.It would’ve been terrible if I did that too.She doesn’t deserve to suffer because of the barnacle she calls her boyfriend.
I get out of bed and start getting ready for work.As I grab a pair of socks from my dresser, my gaze lands on my watch box.Its lid is still open, the slot where my Steinhart used to sit glaringly empty.
The memory of the day Camille gave me the watch flickers through my mind.We were married for five years.The first two were pretty good, the rest a steady decline as we realized we weren’t as compatible as we’d thought.
We should’ve called it quits sooner, but one thing we had in common was stubbornness.We stuck it out, both waiting for the other to throw in the towel first.
In the end, Camille’s the one who tried to put us out of our misery.After dinner one night, she quietly set the divorce papers and the Steinhart’s watch case on the table.
My mother would put a few drops of honey in a spoonful of cold medicine, she’d said.
I signed the papers.
Two days later, I came home and found our house ransacked, and Camille lying on our living room floor, shot dead.
The horror, rage, and intense guilt from that moment stitch together into a familiar, suffocating blanket, one that was hard to escape while I grieved my wife’s death.I force my mind back to the present and continue preparing for work.
It doesn’t make sense keeping an object tied to bad memories.So I could say Matt did me a favour stealing and pawning the watch.But the watch is justified punishment.
Camille gave it to me to soften the blow of asking for a divorce.The sweet with the bitter.But it became the bitter, a constant reminder of the consequences of inaction.If I’d pushed to end things with Camille sooner instead of waiting for her to do it, maybe she’d still be alive today.
* * *
Whether it’s from lack of sleep or being distracted by thoughts of Denise, I’m not on my game today.Not only do I forget my phone and have to drive back to get it, I also take the wrong exit on the highway, wasting even more time.I arrive late to my first work order for the day, my patience running on fumes.
“You were supposed to be here almost an hour ago,” says the client.He’s the owner of a high end restaurant by the lakefront, and he’s made sure to look the part: goatee, thick-rimmed glasses, navy suit, and brown leather loafers with no socks.
“I’m sorry about that, Mr.Ashford.I got caught in traffic.”
It’s not completely a lie.The lanes slowed down by the time I looped back to take the correct exit.
“I hope your lateness isn’t a reflection of the kind of work you’ll be doing,” he says, frowning.“It’s crucial the problem is fixed and doesn’t reoccur.We’re hosting a large engagement party tonight, and nothing can go wrong.”
An engagement party.The universe should quit with the bad jokes.I don’t need the reminder that the woman I want almost got engaged to another man yesterday.
I force a smile, resisting the urge to be petty and show him my Master Electrician license.Instead, I assure him I’ll get the job done, and he leads me to the kitchen where the power issues started.
