He laughed and squeezed my shoulder. “I’m following you, not stalking you.”
“Oh, well, yeah I knew that.” I laughed, too, as we neared our cars. “And shut up.” I nudged his shoulder. “I’m just not used to whatever this is that I’m doing.”
“Being single again?”
“Not quite single and not quite divorced. We’re separated.”
“Damn, I’m sorry about that, Kara.” Eduardo’s chocolate eyes reflected sincerity. “Any chance for reconciliation?”
“Kind of hard to reconcile when you don’t speak.” I shrugged.
“That’s tough.”
“Yeah.” My voice shook. “We were nearing our seven-year anniversary. Didn’t even get to the itchy part.” I leaned against my car, swiping at an errant tear.
“Hell, maybe one day you’ll find someone that you’ll get to seventy years with,” he said, smiling.
I shuddered, imagining myself at a century old. “I’ll settle for fifty. And thanks for talking and walking me back.”
Eduardo nodded and jerked his thumb toward his car. “See you later?”
“Every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday.”
He nodded, turned on his heels, and walked a few steps toward his car. He stopped, turned and speed-walked back to me. With a look of determination on his handsome face, he cupped my neck and kissed me. The shock of his soft lips against mine popped my mouth open. After a few beats, I relaxed under his expert tongue.
Eduardo broke away. “Damn, you taste like . . . like strawberries. I thought you’d be bitter.”
“Bitter?” I jerked back. “Why? Because I’m going to be a divorcee?”
“No. From the wine.”
I licked my lips, my heart racing. But as expertly as he kissed, something was off. Wrong. I slammed my back against the car. “W-what . . . What was that?” I fingered my bruised lips.
“I’m sorry.” He stuffed fingers through his hair. “You’re tough and extraordinary and beautiful. And you standing there, looking fragile and fierce at the same time, I just had to kiss you.”
“Look, I’m not even divorced and I—”
“I know. I knew as soon as I charged over to kiss you that it wasn’t the right time. But I had to take my shot.” He gave me a small smile. “See you later?” He repeated his earlier question. But I knew this time it meant something different. He wanted to make sure we were okay.
“Every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday.”
* * *
I stared at my phone, hands sweating and shaking, as I had been for the past thirty minutes. My mouth went hot and dry, so dry the swallow I forced had scratched my throat.
Can I swing by later today? I have a few things I need to get from the basement.
Darren.
I wished I could run into Raina’s room to get her advice, but she wasn’t home. She already had a full day planned with her brother, going to Six Flags, of all things. I shuddered thinking about the lines and thousands upon thousands of people.
“You can do this.” I wiped my hands on my summer dress and responded.
Sure. What time?
I asked so I could get the heck out of Dodge. I needed to see Robotic Darren like I needed a hole in my brain. I already had a huge hole in my heart.
There were dancing dots on the phone screen. He was responding quicker than I had anticipated.
I’m a few minutes away, if that’s okay?
My heart stuttered and plopped on the ground. I wasn’t ready for this. I wasn’t ready for him. I hadn’t spoken to the man in months. No talks of divorce proceedings or I miss yous. Just radio silence. I didn’t know what to do or say. From the research I’d done online on how to support a partner who’d been sexually abused, the biggest factor was to be supportive and give them time to process their feelings.
I bit my lip and paced the floor. What in the heck did he need from here anyway? He took everything, rented out a storage unit up the street. The day he left was the most emotional he’d been since starting his sessions with Dr. Fuckboy. He hugged me, albeit awkwardly, and promised to continue to pay half the mortgage. I didn’t know where he’d been staying, and I didn’t ask. I’d been too torn up to form a coherent sentence.
I rushed to the mirror, taking a quick scan of my appearance. When one goes through a divorce, one wants the soon-to-be ex–significant other to do a double take—and not from pity.
The summer dress that used to hug my curves hung from my body like a burlap sack. And speaking of ugly bags, they were present and accounted for under my eyes. My hair was smooth and together thanks to my earlier salon appointment.
Pulling open my vanity drawer, I grabbed and then scattered makeup on the counter. I swiped the foundation stick across my face, focusing on the bags.
“Problem solved.” I smiled at myself in the mirror. I dabbed on a clear gloss that tasted like strawberries.
“Damn, you taste like . . . like strawberries.”
A wave of guilt stopped me. The kiss was soft, gentle, reverent. And though the feelings weren’t there for Eduardo, I was secretly thrilled to feel wanted.
The doorbell rang. I was surprised. He had a key, and he’d paid well over half of the mortgage. He could walk in if he pleased, but I knew he did this to prepare me, prepare us, for the reunion.
I gave myself one more glance in the mirror and then rushed downstairs. I slowed midway down. Calm down. Keep your expectations low, deep-blue-sea low.
I counted my breaths; I was at thirty by the time I arrived at the front door. After keying in the security code, I opened the door.
Darren, back against the brick entryway, rubbed a hand over his scruff. There were patches of hair just below his cheek and along his jawline, a thick ’stache that I wasn’t all too sure I cared for. His normally short hair was long with a light curl. After my long perusal, his coffee black eyes caught mine. I gasped at what I saw.
It wasn’t blank, but active. Alive.
The small light of hope I’d had and pretended that I hadn’t, extinguished. Outside of the gruff and scruff, he seemed to be healing. Without me. Maybe he truly was better by himself. He didn’t need me. I was the crutch, and without me he was flying.
Good. Good for him. A smiled curled on my lips and yet, at the same time, my heart fell somewhere around my toes.
“Are you going to let me in, Kara?” His deep voice pulled me out of my weird headspace.
“Of course,” I flattened my voice, grabbed my dignity and stepped back. Darren walked into the house and somehow invaded my space.
“I’ll be upstairs. Just lock up and activate the code before you leave.” I could feel his eyes, hot on my back. Grabbing the banister, I hopped on the first step and dashed all the way up.
I shut the door to the bedroom. Like an old lady, I lowered my tired body to the bed, closed my eyes, and slumped against my pillow. I made it. I survived the encounter. Was it awkward? Yes. Hell, yes, but I needed to see him. I needed the closure.
I hummed the power ballad from one of my favorite movies by Disney, “Let It Go.”
Fitting. I felt cold and alone, but I needed to find my inner strength. I didn’t have the worst voice in the world, and the lyrics soothed me.