Back at my desk, I imagine what Jude would say… and how I'd respond.
“As if! Keep dreaming, Brucie.”
“It’s not him. I just don’t feel like socializing.”
“You don’t want to snog Bruce!”
“That’s none of your business. Maybe I do.”
“You don’t. You know you don’t. He licks envelopes all day. And he looks like Uncle Fester.”
“What do you know about Uncle Fester?”
“Nothing. I’ve never even heard of the bloke until you just thought of him. So you must think he looks like him.”
“Well, you’re crazy. I happen to think his bald head is sexy.”
“Ha! You’re a hair-puller. What would you do with your hands?”
“What’s it to you? Go open your mail and make yourself a pot of coffee. Wanker.”
A little later, Jude sits on the edge of my desk, distracting me while I try to fill out a purchase order.
“I wish you’d stop allowing people to believe you’re the victim in all this. ‘His loss’? I’m well aware of that! And it wasn’t my choice!”
“You had a choice when you slept with that ho-bag Leslie.”
“I was new in town. And lonely.”
“Don’t say that word to me. It’s no excuse. She’s gross. And promiscuous. Who knows what you exposed me to by sleeping with me after her!”
“I certainly didn’t have unprotected sex with her! Or you, for that matter, so keep your hair on. Or you and Bruce will be quite the couple.”
“I’m perfectly calm. I’m just telling you the biggest reason I don’t want you back.”
“You’re threatened by Leslie?”
“No! But I don’t want her sloppy seconds. And I don’t appreciate that I had to learn from her that you two were intimate before we got together.”
“Well, that takes the biscuit.”
“English, please.”
“That beats all. I can’t reclaim my virginity and wipe out all sexual partners who came—no pun intended—before you.”
“I never expected you to be a virgin. Just honest.”
“Would you have gotten serious with me if you had known about Leslie and me?”
“No. And that’s exactly why you never told me. You tricked me.”
“Well, that’s some interesting rewriting of history.”
“What would you call it then?”
“Irrelevant. What happened with Leslie and me was nothing. It wasn’t even good.”
“As comforting as that is to know…”
“Don’t get all snarky. I’d change it if I could—”
“I would hope so.”
“—but I can’t.”
“Exactly! And that’s what I told you the night before you left. But you didn’t believe me. You can’t change what happened; and it’s a deal-breaker for me. So drop it.”
Sweet silence follows, but just when I think he’s gone, he says behind me, “So, are you going to go out with Bruce?”
“You already know I won’t, so shut up.”
He laughs. “Mmm-hmm.”
“Why, because you’re such a tough act to follow?”
“Hey, you said it, not me.”
“Get over yourself.”
“Only kidding! Why won’t you give the guy a chance? It’s the paste breath, isn’t it?”
“I’m not discussing this with you.”
“Don’t mind me; pretend I’m not here.”
“You’re not here. That’s one of my biggest problems right now.”
“Aw, do you miss me?”
“You’re never going to leave me alone, are you?”
“That’s totally up to you.”
27
I’ve brought Dr. Marsh a present.
He opens the envelope and belly laughs. It’s one of the few pictures I had of Jude and me. Someone took it at the company Christmas party, the day after Thanksgiving, just a week before we broke up. But I’ve replaced Jude’s head with a picture of Dr. Marsh that I got from the clinic’s website.
“Uh, my face doesn’t match the rest of my body,” he points out.
“Skin condition?” I hypothesize helpfully. “You get gradually whiter the further down your body you go?”
He looks at the picture again and laughs. “This is great. But is that Jude under there?” Carefully, he tries to peel his face away so he can see, but I have it pasted firmly on there.
“Jude who?”
“Ah. Okay. I see. Well, thank you. I’m sure we had a wonderful time that night.”
Before he sets the picture aside on his desk, I say, “I’d like you to notice the size of the picture. It’s a nice three-by-five and would fit perfectly in there.” I point to the frame that currently holds the college graduation picture.
His shoulders slump. “You really hate that picture, don’t you?”
“‘Hate’ is a strong word, Dr. Marsh. But yes. I know it’s not right, and you have a right to have pictures of happy memories, but it’s psychologically painful for me to look at it. I would think that would be counterproductive to your goal of helping me.” I cross my legs and bob my foot up and down. I’m trying to keep it light, but I’m absolutely serious.
After staring at me for a minute, he rolls his eyes, but he rises and removes the picture from the shelf. “Fine. You win.” He opens one of his desk drawers and sets the photo gently inside. “Gone.”
“Are you going to display the picture I made for you?” I ask, batting my eyelashes at him.
“We’ll see. Now, let’s talk about you.”
“Oh, that tired topic,” I mutter, sighing.
“You’re particularly sassy today,” he declares.
“Jude used to say I was ‘saucy.’”
“And did you like that?”
I shrug and make a face. “I didn’t hate it.” Honestly, I miss it.
“How are you doing?” he asks sincerely, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “How long has he been gone now?”
I look up at the ceiling, as if I need to calculate, when really I know that it’s been exactly “Forty-six days.”
“And no contact with him whatsoever?” He jots down a note in my file.
“Hmm… That’s a tricky question.”
He studies my face. “Is it? As far as I can tell, it’s ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”
I chuckle self-deprecatingly. “Yeah, for a normal person. But… Let’s put it this way: I’ve been having conversations with Jude, unbeknownst to him.”
“Oh. So you’ve been imagining these exchanges. For how long?”
I swipe a tissue from the box, feeling the tears already. “Since about a week after he left.” My face collapses. “I just feel so alone. It was bad after we broke up, but
