“So, she’s dropped some weight,” Butch said while chewing his buffalo wing. “Still looks hot in my opinion.”
He didn’t understand. Pharis had the perfect body. She ate, she drank, enjoying both, but she worked out, busted her ass to maintain it. Seeing her so thin scared the shit out of me.
Her collarbones were visible on TV, so I could only imagine how they looked in person.
It wasn’t enough that I missed her, fucking craved her, now I worried about her health too.
Cooking for her, feeding her, brought me more joy than she could ever know, and likely didn’t know since I never told her. Every time I checked on her she was thinner than the time before.
I hated it. I hated being without her. What I hated most of all was being responsible for all of it.
Throwing whatever I could find in her refrigerator and pantry into her wok, I conjured up a decent stir-fry and was pleased with the result so far. But Pharis watching in silence me was putting me on edge.
From day one, I loved cooking for her, feeding her, providing for her. Fucking missed grocery shopping and surprising her with unique meals I found on Pinterest.
Fucking Pinterest.
And yes, I even had my own account.
My screen name was Edible Eddie.
And now I was in her kitchen. She didn’t own the space, we didn’t own the space.
It was rented, borrowed, temporary.
A reminder that she was leaving.
I had so much to say with no clue on how to say it, where to start, or even if I should.
How do you tell the woman you need more than life itself that you still needed her even though you gave her no choice but to divorce you? That you had your reasons and that every one of them were for her. How do I even start that conversation? Fuck. How will she handle hearing it?
Filling our bowls, we both sit at her table with me adding rice to her dish and Pharis allowing it.
Waiting on her to take the initial bite, something I always did because my woman ate first. When she stared at her bowl with a little frown, I asked, “Something wrong with dinner?”
“I don’t have much of an appetite.”
“You’re too thin,” I said gently. “You need to eat, superstar. Take better care of yourself.”
“I’m not hungry,” she actually growled. “And stop fucking calling me that.”
“Why aren’t you hungry?”
“Divorce diet.” She shrugged, and just like that I lost my own appetite.
“Divorce diet?”
“Yeah, where women drop weight without trying, and men,” She waves me her hands at me. “Double their body mass at the gym.”
Pleased she’s noticed my body, I continued, “You didn’t have weight to lose. And I loved your body the way—”
Slamming her fist down, she said, “You liked my body the way it was.”
“Loved,” I clarified.
“Good for you, but maybe I didn’t.”
“You didn’t?”
“And as for whether or not you approve of it now, I don’t much give a fuck.”
“Christ, I just meant...”
But she wasn’t having it.
As evidenced by her abrupt departure.
While I stared at the food neither of us was eating, she stormed back into the kitchen. Her red blotchy face worried me. My wife didn’t get worked up like this.
But apparently, my ex-wife, did.
“Having you here hurts.”
“Pharis...” I trailed off.
“I haven’t seen you since you thanked the judge for our quickie divorce and took off eager to start your new life. And you know what? I’m sick of hurting. I’m sick of hurting because of you. Because I wasn’t enough for you.”
“Listen—”
“You listen, Eddie! You don’t get to hurt me anymore. I grieved you, I grieved us, and it took a lot for me to try and date, and you just had to make that hurt too. You win okay! You win. Please just...leave. Leave me.”
“Can I talk now?”
With tears in her eyes and defeat in her posture, she mumbled, “Fine.”
Pushing out of my chair, I come to stand before her, attempting to pull her to me only to have her back away. Pharis was leery, unsure of me or herself and that's when I knew I was in for the fight of my life.
But I wouldn’t fail, not now.
Not again.