Two Months Later
Mia
“You know what you should do?” comes the slur from my drunken best friend, Riley, who’s sprawled on my sofa with a bottle of wine in her hand. Yes, not glass, but a bottle. She’s one classy gal. “You should go on a date. I know the perfect guy.”
My eyes bug out at her suggestion. “I don’t even know where the hell my marriage is going. I’m definitely not ready to start dating other people.”
“No.” She waves before pressing the bottle to her lips. She takes a healthy chug. “A test date—you know, to see if you’re finally ready to move on.”
I shake my head. “That’s ridiculous.”
“No, no, it’s not ridiculous at all. You’ve spent the past half hour telling me how much you miss Tyler yet how you don’t know if being with him is what you want. Test-dating might be the push you need to go in the right direction. I love you, Mia, but, fuck, this mopey version of you is getting on my last nerve.”
Well, they always say the people closest to you are the most blunt.
I do agree with her though. The mopey version of me is getting on my last nerve as well. I thought the space and time apart from Tyler would give me the clarity that I needed, but instead, it’s left me feeling even more confused. If he had disappeared off the face of the earth like last time, I’m sure the clarity would have come to me quite quickly, but even though he’s given me the physical space I asked for, he’s still embedded his way into my everyday life.
He texts me every day.
One in the morning that usually greets me with a, Good morning, beautiful. I hope you have a wonderful day. I love you.
And one at night before I go to bed, telling me one thing he loves the most about me. There’s a different response every night.
One thing I love most about you: your smile.
One thing I love most about you: your kindness.
One thing I love most about you: your strength.
And my favorite and the one I received most recently.
One thing I love most about you: everything.
I don’t reply to a single text message, but he religiously sends them every single day, twice a day. He knows I receive them, as I have the Read Receipts activated on my phone, but the lack of responses don’t deter him. I’m so glad it doesn’t because my day wouldn’t be complete without his text messages.
He’s also sent me four packages over the past weeks—mementos of our relationship, stuff I had no idea he’d kept until just recently.
The first package was the red eye mask that accompanied The Flash outfit I had worn the first time I met him before we traded outfits.
The second package I received was of the concert tickets from the Maroon 5 concert he had taken me to on our third date.
The third package was the ring box that held the ring he’d proposed to me with along with the single rose he’d bought me from this cute little Asian woman for two dollars the very same night, pressed into a photo frame.
And the forth was a miniature mason jar filled with white sand from our honeymoon in the Maldives.
I cried uncontrollably each time I opened a package, each one a reminder of our history together.
Even when I have him at arm’s length, he’s still fighting for us, and I love him for it.
God, I don’t deserve him.
I wish it were enough for me to make a decision on what my future holds. Two months might have passed since I told Tyler I needed more space, but I still don’t know if I’m ready to move forward with him. Yes, he’s sending me reminders of the best bits of our relationship, but it’s hard to focus on those bits when the bad reminders still hover over me like a haunted ghost.
My mental health is improving. I’ve been seeing a therapist now for four months, and we’re definitely making progress, but something is stopping me from one hundred percent moving on. I just can’t pinpoint what that is.
What’s frustrating is that I’ve never been an indecisive person. I’ve always gone with my gut instinct, followed my heart wherever it led me, but now, I can’t make a decision to save my life. At least, not the decisions that really matter.
Maybe Riley is onto something with her dating idea, but I’m hesitant to make such a bold move.
“Doesn’t it seem a bit…you know, extreme?” I reach over to the coffee table to take a sip of my ice water.
Yes, I’ve gone teetotal. Not forever, but definitely until I’m well enough emotionally. In order to change my mental health, my therapist recommended a change in my diet. Alcohol, in particular, is a central nervous system depressant, and it can impair the brain’s decision process and significantly worsen your mental state by lowering your inhibitions, causing you to make impulsive decisions that you wouldn’t normally make.
My therapist said, “Without pumping your body full of alcohol, fatty foods, and high-sugar counts, you can focus on eating more proteins and vegetables, and it can really make a difference in your recovery of such a big loss.”
And she’s right. I’m feeling better than I have in a long time. I no longer feel the heavy weight I bore on my shoulders for so long, and I can finally rationalize my thoughts without anger being my first point of call. The pain still hurts, but it’s a lot more manageable.
“No, not at all. It’s just an experiment to see if you’re ready to move on—with or without Tyler. If not, you’re going to drive yourself insane.”
I sit back on the sofa and mull over the possibility of pushing myself into dating to see if I’m ready to move on. My stomach flips with horror. I hate the idea of being with anyone other than Tyler. I honestly thought my dating days were behind me. The thought of having to make the effort makes my skin crawl. I feel too old.
“Even if I were ready to date, I don’t think I would even want to.”
Riley gapes at me. “Okay, Grandma, should I put the deposit down on your casket now or once I’ve bought you a walking stick?”
I meet her humor with a glare.
“Seriously, you’re thirty years old. You’re talking like you’ve hit your peak already.”
I shake my head, feeling my blood bubble under the surface, quickly losing my cool with her.
So much for anger not being my first point of call.
But then again, she wouldn’t be my best friend if I didn’t hate on her at least for some part of the day.
“How can I expect you to understand? You’ve never been in a serious relationship in your life. Your life is dating. It’s all you know. That life ended for me once I met Tyler, and I have no desire to do it again. I hated it back then, and I sure as hell would hate it now.”
“As a matter of fact, I have been in a serious relationship. I was with your brother-in-law for almost a year!”
I stifle the giggle while rolling my eyes. “You were in high school, Riley. No relationship in high school is ever serious. Oh, and while we’re on the subject of Ashton, I still can’t believe you tried to hit on him the night before my wedding. Of all the messed up things you’ve done, that takes the cake! How Ava didn’t take a swing at you while we were getting ready the morning of my wedding, I have no idea.”
She looks a little sheepish.
I probably shouldn’t have brought it up, but whenever she pisses me off, it’s the first thing I throw back in her face. Childish, yes, but we’ve been best friends since my family moved next door to hers when I was eight and she was twelve. She took me under her wing. We’re like sisters. Antagonizing each other is just what we do. It’s funny that she used to date Tyler’s brother when she was a junior and Ashton was a senior, but I didn’t connect the dots until Tyler and I were discussing siblings during our second date. I was still in middle school when she dated Ashton, so it’s not as if we hung out with the same crowd. I only knew Ashton by glance when he used to pick Riley up from her house.
“Jesus, am I ever going to live that down? I made a mistake. Fucking sue me.”
“A mistake would mean you hadn’t meant to almost break up their relationship, but I’m pretty sure you didn’t give a shit if you did,” I point out. “I’m just glad you didn’t succeed, but then again, if it wasn’t for you and your floozy ways, Ashton wouldn’t have had to fight for his woman, and we wouldn’t have had the most amazing joint wedding, so maybe we should be thanking you. It’s because of you I’ll be able to tell the grandkids one hell of a wedding story.”
I instantly realize my mistake, and I find it hard to breathe, feeling as if my lungs and heart are no longer cooperating with one another.
I won’t get to tell my grandchildren that story because I’ll never have any more children.
Riley’s too tanked up to notice my sudden change in emotion or the tears I’m desperately trying to push away, but they fall nevertheless.
“Right. I get it. You don’t have to be such a bitch.” She pouts before throwing back her wine.
I barely register her, as all I can focus on is how I won’t have grandchildren. I’ve already come to terms that my life is now destined to be without children, but it’s just hit me that I’ll never have grandchildren. I’ll never be a grandmother.
Shit, is it insane to think like that?
Yep. I’ve gone insane.
Riley keeps babbling away to herself, but I find myself locked inside my own head, searching forty years into the future, trying to see what it holds. Slowly, like I’m in my own personal version of Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol, I see an older version of myself sitting in a rocking chair, reading a book, with an older but still very attractive Tyler yelling at the TV screen, watching the Cowboys, while a Bernese mountain dog puppy rests in his lap. We look happy. There are no children or grandchildren surrounding us, but we seem content.
Can that be possible? Is it possible to live a happy life, just the two of us?
And, because I don’t torment myself enough, like the disappearing photograph in the film Back to the Future, Tyler begins to fade away until I’m left on my own, and like a flick of a switch, I become a different person. I no longer look happy. Instead, I look sad, older, ragged. I’m lonely, and the regret is clear in my eyes. I’m a ghost of the person I once knew, but this woman looks broken beyond repair. She’s almost unrecognizable. An unwelcome chill erupts along my spine as I take in the make-believe image haunting my mind, and seeing a life without Tyler in it cripples me more than a life without children. My heart slams against my chest, and my lungs burn against my uneven breaths.
“Earth to Mia.” Riley’s voice shakes me out of my reverie, and that’s when she sees my tears. “Are you crying?” she asks with a quizzical stare.
I shake my head before standing up, and I discreetly wipe away my tears. All of a sudden, I feel trapped in the confines of my own living room, and with one too many people in this room, I need a minute to myself.
“I’ll be right back. All this water I’ve been having is flushing right through me,” I say in a lighthearted tone, but even to my own ears, it sounds too forced.
Once I lock myself in the bathroom, I head toward the sink and splash some cold water on my face in order to calm my anxiety.
Just breathe in. Breathe out.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
God, I was doing so well, and then one measly sentence had me spiraling out of control.
I brace my arms against the basin and raise my head to look at my own reflection in the mirror. Even though I’m starting to recognize the woman looking back at me more each passing day, my heart and soul are of a woman I’m still struggling to connect with because I know deep down that I’m not that girl. I don’t let anxiety rule my life, I don’t let life kick me when I’m down, I don’t let depression take root in the deepest parts of me, but for the past four months, they’ve taken control of every aspect of my life.
I know I’m getting better. I’m less emotional, but there are still times, just like now, where one single word, sentence, or memory can undo all of my hard work. I hate how weak it makes me feel. I want the old me back, and I think it’s about time I take full control of my life back. Perhaps the reason I haven’t been able to take full control is because I’ve completely shut Tyler out.
Maybe that’s what’s stopping me from moving on.
Maybe the answer to all my problems is Tyler.
I just don’t know if I’m ready to tackle my marriage when I’m still in such a mental state, if I can even give Tyler what he wants or if I ever can.
I miss him though.
I miss him so fucking much.
I reach for the towel on the rail and gently pat my face dry. The refreshing water has somehow cooled me down, and I feel my breathing slowly return to normal. The phone in my pocket vibrates, and my heart lurches with anticipation when I take it out and see I have my second text of the day from Tyler.
Tyler: One thing I love most about you: your ability to put a smile on my face, even when I’m having a crappy day.
My fingers hover over the keys and itch to reply, but nothing I say can compare to his beautiful words. I do, however, think two months is long enough silence from me, so I reply with a red love heart. It’s not much, but it’s a start.
I go to click off the screen when I notice the three little dots moving across the bottom. I eagerly wait for his reply by taking a seat on the toilet. A few seconds later, a new message bubble pops up.
Tyler: That love heart is the best thing I’ve seen all day.
I stare at his words, rereading them at least five times over, allowing them to sink in. The urge to tell him I miss him takes over, to the extent that I even begin to type out the message, but I chicken out at the last minute and click my phone off. However, seconds later, I’m back on the message.
Me: I miss you.
I decide to throw caution to the wind and press Send.
He’s my husband. I shouldn’t feel afraid to open up to him.
The message I receive a minute later is why I do what I do next because I can’t imagine my life without him.
Tyler: I miss you, too.
I return to the living room to see that Riley has now made herself comfortable in front of the television with a pint of my Ben & Jerry’s Salted Caramel Core that I was saving for tomorrow.
Bitch.
Yes, I’m on a healthy kick diet, but it doesn’t mean I can’t splurge on my favorite ice cream now and again.
I sit beside her and take the spoon from her grasp. I heap out a spoonful of ice cream before bringing it to my mouth, sighing as the caramel melts on my tongue. I hand her back the spoon where she scoops another spoonful out and plops it in her mouth. We take turns for a minute, our eyes fixed on the television. Once my tongue feels too numb to eat any more, I turn to Riley.
“Okay, I will go on a date.” I hate hearing the words come out of my mouth. It feels as if I’m cheating on Tyler, but I need to do this. Not just for me, but for Tyler and my sanity, too. “But I would just like to add, I still think this is a really bad idea.”
“Oh, relax,” she says, waving the spoon in the air. “You’re not even going on a real date. You’ll just have to spend a couple of hours with a person of the opposite sex, and the guy I have in mind is a delight and hot as fuck, so you’ll have a great time while trying to figure out where your head is. It’s a win-win to me.”
A win-win?
Nothing about this is a win-win. I wish I didn’t have to go to these extremes, but I’ll try anything if it means I can get my life back on track.
“So, what would you like to do on your date?”
“I don’t care but nothing that involves partying, sex, or anything dangerous. Also, he’d better not be a rapist, murderer, or pedophile.”
“Now, you’re just taking all the fun out of it,” she deadpans before tapping my nose with the spoon. “I have the perfect date planned. Trust me.”
Yes, that’s just what I’m worried about because, the last time she told me to trust her, I found myself sitting in a chair with a Magic Mike lookalike thrusting his magic cock in my face at my bachelorette party.
Son of a bitch.
I knew this was a bad idea.
My date is fifteen minutes late, and I’m sitting here, nursing a glass of water, while onlookers keep glancing over at my table with pity in their eyes. To make matters worse, I’m in the same restaurant where I not only had my first date with Tyler, but where he proposed to me, too.
Talk about a sick joke.
Perhaps I should have had more to say on where this date was going to take place. I should have known Riley would pull something like this. Nothing can ever be straightforward with her. I should have never let her talk me into this.
Well, the joke’s on her, as I’m leaving.
I go to stand when a guy dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt approaches the table.
“Mia?” He sounds a little out of breath, as if he’s been running.
I look up, and I blink with a pleasant surprise as I take in the dark, handsome stranger.
Okay, so maybe the next few hours won’t be so bad.
“Yeah, I’m Mia.”
“Hi, I’m Doug. Wow,” he says, seemingly taken aback. “Riley said her friend was pretty, but she didn’t tell me you were smoking hot!” he exclaims while taking a seat in front of me.
My eyes widen at his so-called compliment, and it feels as if I’ve jumped back five years when guys thought it was cool to grope your ass and tell you how much they would love to screw your lights out.
It was such a romantic time.
I then register his name, and I struggle to contain the laugh.
Doug?
All I can think about is the cartoon I used to watch religiously as a kid. At least he’s not wearing a green pullover, but if he eats a pork chop for dinner, I won’t be able to control myself.
I go to speak when he cuts me off as he grabs hold of the menu, “I. Am. Starving.” He accentuates this with a growl. “I could eat the north end of a skunk moving south.”
Snort.
What a lovely visual.
“I don’t think they have skunk on the menu.” I chuckle, finding my joke rather amusing, but the empty stare he gives me tells me my humor isn’t appreciated.
All I can think is how Tyler would have found my comment funny.
Tyler.
My stomach sinks at the mere thought of him, and I feel nauseated with guilt at being here with another man.
It’s not a real date; you’re just here to test your boundaries.
It’s a good thing this is not a real date because this guy’s first impression sucks.
“So…” I begin racking my brain with a topic to talk about. “How do you know my friend Riley?”
He blinks with confusion, and with his hesitation, I wish I’d asked Riley more about the guy she was setting me up with.
Jesus, I could do with a drink right about now.
“Oh, Riley,” he says a second later, recognition in his voice.
How could he forget her name? He just said it, like, two minutes ago.
“We go way back,” is all he says before burying his nose in the menu.
I try to keep the momentum of the conversation going because that’s not even an answer.
“I’ve never heard her mention you before. I’m just a little curious.”
He peeps over the menu. “We’re old friends.”
Translation: They’ve slept together. Perfect.
I should have known, the only men she knows are the ones she’s slept with. He resumes gazing at his menu, as if he’s reading the world’s best-kept secrets. I pick my phone up from the table, and while he goes over what skunk he wants to eat, I shoot Riley a quick text.
Me: I’m going to kill you.
Her reply is almost instant, and it’s as if she was waiting for my text.
Riley: Why? What could I have possibly done? Have fun.
I slam my phone down with irritation and take a sip of my water, desperately wishing it were vodka instead. A few minutes later, a waiter approaches.
“Sir, signora, are you ready to order?” he asks in a thick Italian accent.
God, yes.
I’ve looked at the menu so many times while waiting for Doug—snigger—that I know it back to front. I nod, and the waiter looks to me first.
“Yes, please. I’ll have the—”
“We will both have the crispy calamari and shrimp and the pan-seared scallops. Also, can we have a bottle of red wine? The best you have, two glasses.”
I blink. Then, I blink again.
Did this dude, whom I’ve only known for five minutes, just order for me?
No. Not just ordered for me, but also ordered something I’m actually fucking allergic to.
What a dick.
“Actually,” I begin with gritted teeth, looking from the douche bag in front of me to the waiter, “I’m allergic to shellfish. So, I will have a side salad and the bucatini arrabiata.” And, if you wouldn’t mind spitting in this dickhead’s food, that would be much appreciated. “Also, you only need to bring one glass out for the wine. I’m happy with water.”
I don’t miss the way Doug frowns at my declaration of no alcohol, and as much as a drink right now sounds perfect, in order to keep this date continuing, I need to have my wits about me. The waiter leaves, and awkward silence surrounds us. I find myself feeling more regretful for even putting on clean underwear tonight, let alone getting dressed.
A few more seconds pass, and surprisingly, he’s the first one to speak, “So, tell me, Nina—”
“It’s Mia,” I point out, inwardly rolling my eyes.
Seriously, who is this guy?
“Right, yeah. Sorry,” he brushes off, not sounding the least bit sincere.
Asshole.
“What do you do for a living?”
“I’m an interior designer. I work—”
“That’s great,” he cuts me off.
I feel my blood pressure begin to rise, irritation swarming through my veins.
“I’m an investment banker.”
The douche bag has a douche-bag job. Go figure.
“But I do a little modeling on the side.” He gives an arrogant grin.
If I were single, the arrogance would be a huge turn-off. In fact, it is a huge turn-off.
Already, even after ten minutes of being in his presence, I’m getting the impression he thinks he’s God’s gift to women.
Really, he’s not.
“Oh, that’s pretty cool. What kind of modeling?” I ask, not really giving a shit. But, in order to hurry this date along, I need to make it seem like I’m interested. If not, I’ll constantly be checking the time on my phone.
“Just this and that, but mostly nude stuff.”
Whoa.
Of course, he said this as I was taking a sip of my ice water, and I end up choking it down with shock. My eyes water as I cough against the sudden intrusion of the water going down the wrong pipe.
“I have some pictures if you want to see.”
He goes to grab his phone from out of his pocket, but I immediately stop him.
“No!” I huskily exclaim through my coughing fit. “That’s okay. Really.”
Yes, really. As much as he probably looks like a Greek god under his clothes, I don’t particularly want to see his dick.
Oh, dear God. What is happening?
My coughing subsides, and I take a few more gentle sips to soothe my throat.
“Yeah, you’re right. It’s not really appropriate in the restaurant. I’ll show you later.” He winks.
Later? What the fuck does he think is going to happen later?
Thankfully, I’m able to hide my look of dread that is no doubt adorning my face as the waiter returns with Doug’s expensive red wine and a bread basket.
One glass poured later, this disaster of a date continues, and I learn a lot—too much in fact—about Doug. After that question he asked earlier about my job, he never asks me another question. The conversation is steered only in his direction, and after a while, I find I’m not even listening to a single word leaving his mouth. I’m simply counting down the seconds until I can leave the restaurant, go home, and pretend this evening never happened.
Our food arrives, and I’m thankful to have something else to focus on other than Doug. He still continues talking away—eating with his mouth wide open, might I add, which is another turn-off—and I nod in all the right places, but it’s been a while since I’ve spoken more than three words.
“This food is amazing. You ever been here before?” he asks on another mouthful of food.
I go to answer, but it seems his question was a rhetorical one, as he just continues speed-talking.
“Here, you’ve got to try some of this.”
He shoves the fork in my face, and I’m terrified to even breathe in its direction just in case I swell up like a blowfish.
I give out a forced smile and shake my head. “No, thanks. As much as I would love to, I don’t particularly want a trip to the emergency room tonight.”
It takes him a few seconds to follow before the light switch goes off. “Oh, yeah, you’re allergic to shellfish. Sorry, my bad.” He removes his fork from in front of my face before shoveling it into his mouth and moaning so loudly that he’d give porn stars a run for their money. “Such a shame. It’s so good.”
Movement in the corner of my eye steals my attention, and I turn to the table next to us to see a man kneeling on one knee, currently proposing to his girlfriend. The breath catches at the back of my throat, and I struggle to contain my emotion as I watch everything unfold in front of my eyes. My mind automatically goes to Tyler, and my world tilts on its axis as I remember, clear as day, the moment he proposed to me. I looked much like the woman does now, shocked but ecstatically happy, and I remember the explosion of love that filled my veins from head to toe when Tyler got down on his knee and asked me the four words that would change my life forever.
Tears are falling down the woman’s face, and she’s smiling as if she’d won the lottery. “Yes,” she whispers quietly before going in for the kill. “Yes, I will marry you!”
She leaps off her chair, and in one fluid motion, she throws herself into his arms while he stands. He lifts and spins her around in a circle as their lips lock together. I put down my knife and fork and clap along with everyone else, unable to peel my eyes off of them.
Suddenly, this date, this meal, this restaurant is all too much, and I quickly come to the realization that I don’t need to go on a date to figure out what I want because there is nothing to figure out.
Tyler is it for me. There’s no question about it.
I guess all I needed was a reminder.
Then, it quickly dawns on me that the woman who was my maid of honor must have set me up. The bad date and the choice of restaurant must have been a farce in order to make me come to my senses.
I don’t know whether to kiss her or strangle her.
Probably both.
Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if Riley planned the proposal. Although, with how happy the couple looks, her gazing down at her engagement ring with utter awe while he gazes at her with the same reverence, it has to be a coincidence.
Some coincidence, huh?
Forgetting that I’m even with company, I find myself unable to tear my eyes from them, their happiness emanating from them like a ray of light. It’s contagious, to say the least, and I find myself smiling with them.
They sit back down, and my eyes lock on to something else in the distance. Or I should say someone.
My stomach drops.
I don’t know if it’s an illusion, but sitting on the other side of the room, looking directly at me, is Tyler.
Shit.
Then, I see the stern expression on his face, looking between me and the douche bag with an air of pure murder in his eyes, and I know it’s not an illusion.
He’s really here, and I get the feeling that, in approximately twenty seconds, my disastrous evening is going to take a turn for the worse.
Fuck.