My kitchen counter is small, but I hop up on it anyway and keep an eye on the oven. I’ve had this penchant for sitting on counters since I was a little kid.
I start to make a mental to-do list of all the things I want to accomplish over the next few days. I make calling, not just texting, my sister a priority. I add a visit to my parents. It’s been way too long since I stopped by to see how they’re doing. I know we don’t have the best relationship, but maybe it’s time I worked on that too.
By the time the pizza is ready, I’m actually feeling pretty good.
If only Cliff would read my messages and answer me back, things would be just about perfect.
CHAPTER 15
Rowan
Three days later, I have to face the facts. It looks like Cliff ghosted me.
Not only has he not read my messages, but he hasn’t emailed, texted, or called. I’ve tried calling him, but he didn’t answer. I left a voicemail, but he didn’t return it. I also tried emailing him. He didn’t respond to that either.
I didn’t want it to look like I’m a stalker, so after day three, I decided to face the facts. It’s hard to swallow when it seems like he used me. That’s never a good feeling, but this is so much worse because, with Cliff, it was different. I took a chance. It turns out that sometimes, not all risks are worth it. The humiliation stings, but it really hurts that he didn’t even have the courage to tell me all he wanted was sex, and that after he got it, he’d have no interest at all. If he was just honest with me and told me he wasn’t into me after all, maybe I could have handled that. It would have been brutal, but not nearly as bad as his silent rejection. It makes me feel like there’s something wrong with me, even though he’s the one who didn’t even have the courage to give me closure.
I know I’m hurt, but I’m also surprised. We talked. We opened up to each other, and I thought Cliff was different. No, I know he was different. So how could I have been so wrong? Was everything he told me just a lie to get into my pants? It didn’t feel like it, but maybe I’m just so dumb that I fell for it, and I’m even dumber now because I still feel like what happened between us was genuine.
While I’m in the mood for eating a big slice of humble pie or facing facts or more soul searching, or whatever it is I’m doing, I decide to drop by my parent’s house. It’s after six, so I thought both of them would be there, but right after my mom opens the door and breaks into a huge smile I didn’t expect, she tells me my dad is working late at a meeting that had to be set for after hours. My dad has worked at an insurance firm for nearly thirty years. He started working there long before I was even born.
Mom looks good. She’s petite, just over five feet tall. Janice and I both get our dark hair with the red highlights from her. She might be in her mid-fifties, but she’s still beautiful. She runs at least four times a week and does yoga every other day. She went back to work when I was twelve, and she’s been working at the same law firm as a paralegal for fourteen years now.
“Come into the kitchen,” Mom says way too cheerfully. “I just baked cookies.”
When I inhale the rich, sweet scent in the air, I realize she’s right. She did. How she manages to get off at four-thirty and bake cookies for just after six is beyond me. Mom has always been a bit of a mystery to me. Despite the fact that we look similar, our personalities couldn’t be more different.
“Uh, alright.” My parent’s bungalow is on the smaller size. The kitchen is at the back, and it overlooks a small, fenced-off yard.
I keep expecting Mom to turn around with a frown and ask me what I’m doing here. I know I have to tell her that I quit my job. I told Janice yesterday when I called her, and I promised I’d tell our parents before they somehow found out on their own. I know it’s going to make Mom worry, and I feel like she’s had her fair share of worry when it comes to me already, so it makes me feel even worse.
Mom stops in front of the oven. She glances at her watch; she still wears a watch, and not just for fashion purposes. “The cookies still have another five minutes or so and then another five to cool. Can I make you a cup of tea?”
I want to tell her not to worry about me, but I know it’s pretty pointless. Especially with what’s coming, so I just nod. Mom doesn’t ask me what kind. She only ever has just regular black tea, which is fine with
