Part Four
*Alice*
I wasn’t sure what to do.
Milo wasn’t returning my text messages, emails, or calls. I wasn’t pressuring him, just messaging once a week, trying to check in. After the first month, I’d cut down to once every two weeks. After three months, I asked my sister Jackie what to do, showing her our last exchanges and explaining that he’d been in a foul mood in the tea shop the last time I’d seen him.
“And you were there with someone else? With that Pete guy?”
I nodded, frowning at my phone and scrolling through the messages again for approximately the one thousandth time. “I wasn’t avoiding him when he got back from Nepal. I just—” I huffed, tossing my phone to her couch. “I needed a minute to recalibrate things, you know? And to make plans with Pete, see where that went.”
“Ugh, that guy.” Jackie flopped down next to my phone on the couch, scooping it back up and typing in my passcode. “Has he finally taken the hint?”
“Yes. Thankfully.” I flopped down next to her, peering over my shoulder as she pulled up Milo’s last message to me. My heart gave a sad little twist. “I just wish I knew what I did wrong.”
“Hmm.” She twisted her lips to the side. “I don’t know. I mean, he said he missed you and then didn’t call you back? You don’t need those kinds of mind games.”
Crossing my arms, I tore my eyes away from the screen. I wasn’t convinced Milo was playing mind games. We’d known each other for so many years, so many, and he’d never done this before. “I’m worried about him.”
“What can you do? He won’t return any of your calls.” She passed the phone back to me, depositing it on my lap.
“I could go to his office.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t show up where he works. If you’re determined to see him, go to his apartment. Less chance of causing a scene if something really is wrong. But I think it’s mind games, and you should ignore it. Ignore him.”
I considered this advice, biting my thumbnail. "I've decided relationships aren't for me."
Jackie twisted toward me, angling her body. "Oh, really? Because of Milo’s mind games?"
“No.” I shook my head. "Dates. Several dates. Actually, fifty dates in the last two months."
She reared back. "Wait, what?”
I slid my eyes to hers. “You helped me set up that dating profile, remember? I told you I was going on dates.”
“Jeez, Alice! I knew you'd been going on a lot of dates, but has it been fifty?" Her mouth hung open.
"It has. This morning was my fiftieth. And I think I'm done."
"What? No. You just need to—"
"Nope. I'm done."
"Okay, I'll bite.” She huffed, rolling her eyes. “Why are you done?"
"Because I feel worse about myself after each date. I feel ugly and insufficient; I feel more awkward and oblivious. These dates, every single one of them, has made me feel like I'm an inferior human, and I don't want to do it anymore. Nothing can be worth the torment of that." And Milo never made me feel that way and I miss him and, dammit, everything sucks.
"Oh, honey." She pried one of my arms away from where I’d wrapped it over my stomach and cradled my hand. “It’s hard out there, I know. But you have to just—"
“No.” Withdrawing my hand from hers, I grabbed my phone and stood. “I'm done with romantic relationships, and I’m tired of waiting for Milo to text me back. You’re right.”
"Wait, how am I right?”
“I should go over to his apartment. Now.”
“What about movie night? I was going to order Ethiopian food.” She trailed after me to the door.
“I’ll pick up dinner and take it to his place, then he can’t turn me away. You can’t turn away someone if they’ve bought you dinner. At least that’s what all my dates have said.”
“Oh my God, Alice. No. Your dates were wrong. You can most definitely turn someone away if they’ve bought you dinner. You haven’t been letting these guys treat you badly, have you?”
“No. I’ve been splitting the cost of dinner so I can turn them away. Do you think Milo would want Ethiopian? Or tacos?”
She caught my hand just as I pulled my purse strap to my shoulder. “Stop for a moment. This is a bad idea.”
"No. It’s a good idea.” I peeled her hand away after giving it a squeeze. “I'm not going to profess my love or anything. No, that business is all behind me."
"But you’re letting him manipulate you.”
“What? No. I’m worried about a friend. My best friend. I’m checking on him because I love him, as a friend.” Maybe if I said it enough I’d believe it.
“You're going to fall back into bad habits."
"Nope. None of our habits were bad. I'm reclaiming a friendship that made me feel valued and good about myself. I've accepted he and I will always be friends and just friends, and I am honestly okay with that because I'd rather have a friendship with Milo than a romantic shit show with anyone else. And that’s all that’s out there. Shit shows."
Jackie winced, like my words pained her. "Alice, I’m so sorry. I feel like I need to apologize. When I told you to see people, to put yourself out there, I didn’t mean for you to get hurt."
"Nah. I’m not hurt.” I gave my sister a reassuring smile as I opened the door to her apartment. “It was a good lesson to learn. I'm glad I did it. Truly.”
So I’d never have to do it again.
I picked up tacos.
First, they were faster. Second, serendipity put a taco food truck in my path, just two blocks from Jackie’s apartment. Clearly, it was a sign. A taco sign.
Carrying my paper bag, I speed-walked to Milo’s place, praying he’d be there and making a plan for the likely scenario that he was gone on a trip. Or on a date. Or has a woman over.
Ugh. The thought hurt, but I would get over it. He’d never introduced me to anyone, and I’d never seen him with a woman, not even at my wedding. Which was why it was so easy for me to believe he never dated. But Jackie was right all those months ago. Milo must’ve dated over the last fifteen years, or at least had hookups. I would be naïve to think otherwise.
And, honestly, it was none of my business. His love life was not my concern. If he didn’t want to share details with me, fine. Part of me was grateful he’d kept our friendship separate from his hookups, especially after the divorce as my feelings had grown and swelled and matured.
Marching up the stairs to his building, I smiled at the doorman—who I recognized—and lifted up the bag. “Taco night.”
“Oh, lucky guy.” Frank winked, opening the door. “Great timing, he just got back.”
I stopped just before the doorway. “He just got back?”
“You know, from his run?” Frank’s eyes widened.
“Oh! Yes. From his run.” I grinned, nodding. “Right. Sorry. Thanks, Frank!” Continuing into the building, I made a beeline for the stairs and ended up taking them two at a time, working off a bit of my nervous energy.