Page 34 of My Infatuation with Isabella

Scott:You’re really worrying me.

Five minutes later.

Scott:Dyl?

Five minutes later.

Scott:Dylan, are you still there?

Scott:Dyl...

Scott:Say something...

Five minutes later.

Scott:Please let me know if you’re okay

Scott:Or at least answer your goddamn phone! I’m trying to call you.

Scott:You know what. I’m coming over

Dylan:Don’t. Fran is asleep and I don’t want to wake her. I’m fine. This shit doesn’t matter anyway. It’s in the past. Isabella means nothing to me now so I couldn’t care less if she screwed another guy or not.

Scott:Okay. I’ll come see you tomorrow

Dylan:No. I don’t want to see you for the rest of the week.

Scott:Dyl come on. I’m sorry. I didn’t know this was gonna happen. Don’t shoot the messenger.

Dylan:Trust me, it’s in your best interest to stay away from me.

I don’t know how I feel when I get to the end of the thread and hand the phone back to Scott. Part of me feels battered and completely numb. The other part feels like I’m drowning in a sea of cold, harsh rejection. The waves are tumbling over me, and I just stand there, stunned and speechless.

I reason with myself that this is how he’s supposed to react. He’s married. He’s not supposed to care, but I still feel so exposed. It was unintentional, but I laid myself open and for him to brush my feelings aside so callously, is like someone rubbing rough salt into my gaping wound.

“Well, crisis averted,” I say, using every inner mechanism I have to keep my voice steady. “He doesn’t care.”

“Really?” Scott raises skeptical eyebrows at me. “That’s what you’re getting from this? You readallthat...and that’s your takeaway?”

“It’s not some cryptic code that needs to be cracked,” I reply with a shrug. “He’s outright saying he doesn’t care.”

“Isa, Dylan is?”

“Scott, can we please leave this alone now?” I drop my head, covering my face with my hand because I am struggling to keep all these emotions inside me. “I feel like I’ve been taken through the wringer, and I just want this day to end.”

“Okay.” By the tone of his voice, I can tell that he’s not just remorseful, but ashamed as well. “I’m so sorry, Isa. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Well, it’s done now,” I whisper.

“I’m gonna go.” Scott knows me well enough to know when I want to be left alone. He takes three steps toward the glass revolving doors before he turns to face me again. “And...and I’m sorry for judging you. I was one of those people who believed those rumors...and I should’ve known better. I’m sorry for that, too.”

I know he means well, and I know it’s not his intention to make me feel worse, but that is exactly the effect his apology has. I feel so...open, so fucking raw. People who shouldn’t know these personal things about me now know them, and my skin crawls every time I acknowledge that fact.

“Let’s end the night here...please.” Even though it’s barely a whisper, the words seem to echo within the hollowness of my being.

Scott nods and walks out. It takes a few minutes and some deep breathing before I can move my numb limbs. Tommy and I walk out together in silence. I only manage to keep myself together until we reach his car. The second I’m safe inside it, tears spill out of me. Tommy starts the car and pretends he can’t hear the sniffles; he pretends he can’t see me continuously wiping the moisture off my face. He doesn’t say a word about it. It’s 23:37, but he takes me to the night market and gets us rainbow grilled cheese sandwiches.

We find a bench and sit down to share our food. Blue, pink, yellow, and green cheese stretch between us as we pull the two halves apart.

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