Coco and Nick returned from their honeymoon in Hawaii with tans and new tattoos and happy smiles on their faces. I felt bitter every time I saw them, and then horribly guilty for it. They deserved their happiness and had fought hard for it. It wasn’t that I begrudged them their happily-ever-after—I just wasn’t in the mood to see it that much. So when they invited people over to their house for New Year’s Eve, I faked a stomach bug and stayed home alone, eating ice cream, drinking the whiskey I’d bought for Charlie, and nursing my broken heart. I watched five episodes of Breaking Bad, nodding and crying like an idiot when Pinkman went to rehab and learned who he really was—the bad guy.
“See? Why can’t you face it and admit it?” I gestured wildly with my big spoon at the TV, although I was talking to Charlie. “Pinkman can face it. How can you let Pinkman be a bigger man than you are?”
But I guessed Charlie identified more with Walt, who was still in denial about who he was. He thought he could do horrible things and still be a good person. But he couldn’t, could he? I started to feel sick. I put the ice cream back in the freezer, poured another glass of whiskey and switched to Sex and the City. I needed something light and fluffy.
But halfway through the first episode, my phone pinged with a text. Hating myself for hoping it was Charlie, I snatched it off the coffee table and read it.
It was from Mia. Happy New Year!! We miss you so much tonight. Here’s a big hug and kiss, hope you are feeling better! XOXO
Was it midnight already? Another day had gone by without hearing from him—that made thirteen. I sniffed, imagining my friends and their husbands at a party, kissing and laughing and toasting their infernal happiness. For the millionth time, I wondered what Charlie was doing tonight. Working? Home with his daughter? Out with friends? Out with a date? My stomach heaved. Would he go home with someone tonight because he was lonely, like I was? Did he miss me? I hoped he did. My only consolation was imagining that he was just as miserable without me as I was without him.
I wrapped myself up in the blanket on my couch, missing his warm body next to me even more, and finished the rest of the episode. When it was over, I was drowsy and figured I might as well go to bed when I saw headlights out my front window. Was that a car slowing down in front of my house? Ever since the burglary, I’d been a little jumpy whenever that happened. Relax, it’s probably just someone driving slowly because they’ve been drinking. But just in case, I darted into the kitchen and double checked that I’d locked the door and set the alarm. I checked the front too. Everything was secure.
But the headlights remained in front of my house. Nervous, I turned off all the lights and peeked out. It was Charlie’s car.
My phone pinged.
Biting my lip, I walked slowly toward it. Picked it up.
Are you awake?
Should I answer him? Part of me figured he’d just gotten off work and was lonely too, which was an even better reason to ignore him than the fight we’d had. If I saw him tonight, I wasn’t sure I’d have the willpower to stop myself from sleeping with him.
No. Don’t do it. Don’t let him get to you—he’s just looking for someone to make his pain go away for an hour.
But another part of me thought maybe he’d had time to think it over and wanted to talk again. Was I ready to listen? Now that my temper had cooled somewhat, I had so many questions. How old was she? What was her name? Why hadn’t he told me? Who was her mother? Where did they live? Did he have custody? My phone pinged again.
I miss you so much. And I’m sorry.
My throat squeezed. I missed him too. So much that I was willing to give him the chance to provide some answers. I’d go crazy if I didn’t learn the whole truth. But the headlights began moving slowly down the street and turned the corner.
He was gone.
#
I don’t think I slept all night. I lay awake, phone in my hand, typing and deleting a thousand messages.
I miss you too.
Delete.
I’m sorry too.
Delete.
I’m still awake. Come back.
Delete.
Crap, this was harder than I thought. I wanted him to let him know I was willing to talk but also convey that I wasn’t completely over what he’d done.
In the end, I settled for direct.
Let’s talk.
We agreed to meet for coffee at Starbucks on the second. Neutral space. I thought it best to avoid my house, where I might be tempted to A) drink or B) get naked.
When I pulled into the parking lot, the sight of Charlie’s car set a mass of butterflies loose in my belly. But it was nothing compared to what the sight of him standing near the door waiting for me did to my heart. It stopped, cranked out a few erratic beats, then settled into a patter like hummingbird wings. I parked my car and walked toward him on unsteady legs.
“Hi.” He moved toward me as if he were about to kiss my cheek but aborted the mission.
Oh, God. We were back to awkward.
“Hi.”
He opened the door for me, and we waited in line silently before ordering drinks and choosing a table in the back. At two in the afternoon, the place wasn’t that crowded—just a few people with laptops and a few pairs of friends.
“How have you been?” he asked quietly. No sign of the teasing, cocky Charlie I met last fall, nor was he the cold, defensive Charlie he’d been the night we fought. Today he just looked sad.
Miserable without you. “OK.”
“How was your Christmas and New Year’s?”