Four Letter Word

Turning my thinking cap around. Things just got serious.

Whatever works. Mind if I ask you a question while you get serious?

I flipped onto my stomach, propped myself up on my elbows, and bent my knees, swinging my legs alternatively.

Shoot.

You married?

My legs stopped swinging.

Now, this was usually not a question I had difficulty answering. Up until two days ago I wouldn’t have needed time to think before giving my automated response over the past six years, that being yes, but now I was having difficulty answering one of the simplest questions to answer, no matter who you were.

One was either married, or you weren’t, right?

I didn’t want to say I was married, because I didn’t feel like I was anymore, but I didn’t want to say I wasn’t because that felt final. Conclusive.

So I gave the only answer I felt comfortable giving.

Separated. As of two days ago.

Shit.

I wasn’t sure what he meant by that response, if he was disappointed or felt sorry for me, but I didn’t have much time to think on it as his next message came rapidly through.

Sorry to hear that. How you doing with it? You hanging in?

Hanging in.

Was I? Is that what I was doing?

Well, I cussed out a stranger two days ago right after my husband told me he wanted out, and today I dyed my hair red.

Red?

It’s my natural color. I was blond. I needed to do something radical.

Something Wild, I thought.

Red is definitely radical. Pictured you with dark hair.

He pictured me, what I looked like.

The flip and twist happened again.

It’s a dark red.

I bit my lip and started swinging my legs again, thinking it was weird I felt inclined to inform Brian what he was picturing wasn’t far off from what I actually looked like, then pushing that weirdness aside and focusing instead on the lingering sensation warming my belly.

It was a really nice feeling, and one I wanted to focus on.

Is it ok I’m talking to you like this?

I knew what he was asking. Our topics of discussion ranged from me wanting to chop off his penis to how either of us felt about dildos. Not exactly topics a woman recently separated, very recently separated, should be engaging in with a man who wasn’t her estranged husband, especially if there was any hope for reconciliation and I honestly wasn’t sure there was but I hadn’t ruled that out, though estranged or not, I’m not sure I’d ever felt the desire to chop off Marcus’s penis before and expressed that to him.

Actually, no, that was a lie. Two days ago I’m sure I could’ve expressed that to him.

Still, I didn’t think this was wrong. It didn’t feel wrong.

I was smiling. And that could never be a wrong thing. I was sure of it.

It’s ok.

If I called, you’d answer?

Yes.

Good to know.

Can I ask why you want to talk to me?

This was something I had been curious about yesterday when Brian texted me after my interview with Nate.

I knew how I felt about it, but I had no idea why he wanted anything to do with me after everything I’d said to him. I clearly had baggage, plus my life was a bit of a mess. I didn’t think I had anything to offer.

Brian made me smile when I really needed it. But what was I giving him?

Honest?

Absolutely.

My phone rang, startling me and sending my heart racing a mile a minute.

I pushed up onto my knees and answered it on a breathless, “Hello?”

“Started typing and realized I didn’t feel like typing all that shit out, so I’m just gonna say it real quick then let you go, okay?”

His voice was low and husky, with a rough edge to it that made the hairs on my neck stand up.

Every. Single. One.

“Um …okay. Sure,” I replied, reaching up and grabbing on to a lock of my hair and twisting it.

He then proceeded to give me all his shit, as he so put it.

“Not a lot in my life right now that’s good. Hardly ever laugh like I did that night you told me to eat my own dick. Might’ve been the funniest shit I’ve ever heard. You were straight up defending your friend and I felt that shit. Felt what you told me yesterday, too. You seem cool and sweet. Definitely don’t have sweet in my life and not sure I deserve it, but I’m not gonna think about that ’cause this feels better. Not thinking. If you end up at any point not wanting to continue speaking to me, I’m cool with that. If you end up being unseparated and can’t continue speaking to me, I’m cool with that, too. You say the words and I’ll disappear, but if you don’t mind giving me more of what you’ve already shared, I’ll take it, Syd. I like talking to you. I liked it enough to reach out yesterday and enough to do it again today.”

“You texted me about a crossword puzzle,” I pointed out, suddenly wondering if maybe he tricked me into more conversation, because I didn’t know men who did crossword puzzles and who weren’t also eating off the senior citizen’s menu.

“You didn’t need to do that,” I elaborated. “You could’ve just sent me a ‘Hey, what’s up?’—you know? I would’ve answered.”

“I could’ve if I wasn’t currently stuck on a clue I thought maybe you could help me out with.”

“You’re really doing a crossword puzzle.”

I still didn’t believe him.

He sounded hot. Hot men didn’t do crosswords. I was sure of it.