By the time we were ready to pack it in for the night, it was after nine, and I was so ready to be home, I could barely stand it. When I finally checked my phone, there were a couple of texts from just after noon:
Kyle: Hey, man. Sorry about yesterday. Let’s have a drink soon. Say when.
Cam: Hope your Monday is less shitty than mine! Can’t wait to see you tonight.
I smiled and texted her back. It was the shittiest, but I’m on my way home to you now.
And with that, I slipped my phone in my pocket and left as fast as I could.
CRAZY PANTS
Cam
I GLANCED OVER MY SHOULDER to look at the fridge, contemplating its contents for the hundredth time that night. It may as well have had a bomb in it.
My phone sat on the shelf between the milk and the kimchi, where it had been since I’d walked in the door. It was for the safety of my budding relationship that I deposited it in its cold quarters, a place where it would be safe from my fingers, which itched even now to check for messages or fire off an awkward text.
I’d like to tell you I’m not this neurotic all the time, but it would be a lie. I’d been thinking about Tyler all day, but I hadn’t heard from him at all. I sent him a text, and he didn’t respond, and my brain couldn’t maintain its chill.
Now, don’t look at me like that — I knew he had a crazy day ahead of him, but like I’d told Tyler — I had an overeactive imagination, and between that and my anxiety about what was going on between us, I was basically a wreck. My thoughts through the day went something like this:
I can’t wait to hear from him.
I’m sure he’s just super busy.
He’ll text any minute now.
He’s probably dead.
No, he’s definitely in Adrienne’s office, banging her on her gigantic power desk.
Stop being crazy.
I bet he’s been thinking about you like you’ve been thinking about him.
Maybe he got in an accident and has amnesia and will never remember kissing you ever again.
So I put my phone in the fridge.
It hadn’t really helped. Neither had my book, which was sitting in my lap, ignored.
I’d like to say I had no idea why I was so twisted up about Tyler, but it would be a lie. It wasn’t like I hadn’t had boyfriends before, but I usually only dated my equals. Especially after Will. But I told myself again that Tyler was different, and by rule, I should let him in. I trusted him, I really did. But years of working against doing the very thing I found myself doing wasn’t doing me any favors.
The scale didn’t feel so even when it came to Tyler, and that anxiety I’d felt with Will was as fresh and tender as it had been that day all those years ago. Because I didn’t know if I could handle Tyler leaving me with as much grace as I had Will.
I smiled wryly at myself — I’d always prided myself on being a chill girlfriend, never needy with my man, not caring if the guy I was dating had plans, but here I found myself, having to hide my phone so I wouldn’t obsessively stare at it or worse: send him some crazy-shit message.
I sighed and sank into the couch, fiddling with Tyler’s bracelet, wishing I had someone to talk me down. My best friend was Jane, who I hadn’t seen since Christmas. She was so busy these days with two babies under three that she went hard all day and was passed out by nine every night. Mostly, I just didn’t want to bother her because I knew she had her hands full.
My next closest girlfriend was Rose, and although I knew she’d gladly tell me to stop being ridiculous, she’d already been doing that for most of the day. It had started off fine, honestly, but the longer I went without hearing from Tyler, the louder the voice in my head grew -- to the point that I was certain he was going to walk in the door and dump me.
A cold chill rolled down my back at the thought.
I took a deep breath and closed my book with a snap. There was only one thing to be done.
I walked into the kitchen, opened the cabinet under the sink, grabbed the all-purpose cleaner, and headed to the bathroom.
By the time the mirror was spotless, the sink had been detailed, the floor around the toilet was mopped, and the bathtub was nice and shiny, I felt a little better. I took the opportunity of a freshly cleaned tub to shower, sighing under the steaming hot water, letting it rinse away my worry. Or at least dull its edge a little.
I’d feel better when he was home. But I also had to find a way to stop myself from worrying. I’d always had anxiety — not enough to decide to medicate, but enough that in certain situations, like the one I was in, my thoughts would run away, dragging me behind them until I was lost. Most of the time, I could logic my way out of it. And it wasn’t all bad — that same anxiety made me a thorough worker.
But in a relationship? I’d scare him off if I wasn’t careful. He’d been so good to humor me so far, but everyone had a limit.
I had to get it together. And to get it together, I had to have faith.
Put so simply, it sounded easy. But if my behavior over the last few days was any indication, I had a long way to go to get there.
My shower ended with the squeak of the faucet and a fluffy towel against my skin. Glasses were on, and once my hair and body were patted down, I opened the door, tucking the towel tail between my breasts, thinking about my phone in the fridge.
When I looked up, Tyler stood in front of me. It took me a millisecond to realize it was him and not a rapist, and in that millisecond, I jumped about four inches and screamed at around a hundred decibels. My hand jerked — the same hand holding the end of the towel — and it dropped, landing in a pile at my feet.