Page 46 of King of Players

I couldn’t admit to her that the news surprised me. Oscar? Engaged? So, it wasn’t his lack of desire for marriage. Once again, I was the problem. “I just don’t make a habit of following my exes’ news. It’s unhealthy and counterintuitive.”

“Well, from what I heard—”

“Natalie, I’m sorry. I’m gonna have to stop you right there. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said that my day had been painfully long. I have a headache that’s possessing my entire skull, and if I don’t take something for it and go to bed right now, I’m afraid it’s gonna drag on until tomorrow.”

“Right. Well. Too bad you’re not going to make it tonight. Rest up, darling. Feel better.”

“Have a good night.”

“You too, darling. Bye.”

When I hung up, I realized that I had stopped drying my hair, and that it was now dripping all over me, creating a little pool at my feet. What was it with me and revelations these days? Why was the universe lobbying epiphanies into my lap like I had nothing better to do?

Pulling the towel from around my neck, I swiftly knelt down, using it to dry the puddle before the water left a stain on the hardwood floor. Oscar wanted to get married, just not to me. Probably to some Swiss blonde who shared his passion for words and indifference to sex.

But then again, why did I make such an assumption? Perhaps the whole reason behind his claim not to be the marrying kind was because of our subpar sex life. Maybe he didn’t want to hurt my feelings or break my heart. Would I have felt like less of a woman if he had faced me with a confession like that? Could I have saved our relationship by exploring new directions or seeking counseling?

When I realized that the floor had already been dry and squeaky clean, and that my incessant scrubbing was no longer called for, I stopped. But I didn’t feel like getting up.

It wasn’t fair to think that way, was it? The burden of salvaging an entire relationship with a man who was ten years my senior should have never fallen on my shoulders alone.

Marvin was right; sometimes, I was too hard on myself.

Brushing off all thoughts of Oscar and his newfound desire for nuptial bliss, I pushed myself up and headed for the drawers, pulling out a pair of panties and a clean shirt to wear.

Stepping back in front of the mirror, I grabbed my hairbrush and proceeded to untangle my locks. I wished there was a brush for minds and souls to help us through trying times.

But I shouldn’t be ungrateful—I had a house I could call my own; work that I enjoyed, which also fulfilled me; a solid social circle that afforded me security and peace of mind. It was more than I could say for most people.

And so what if Chad and I couldn’t be a thing? There was never an unspoken promise of such nonsense, anyway. And so what if Oscar didn’t want to marry me? Marriage wasn’t a goal, nor was my life incomplete without it.

Getting into bed, I picked up a book and started reading it. It was a romance novel that a friend had given me as a Christmas present last year. The story began from the viewpoint of a male protagonist—Adam—who seemed to enjoy the age-old pastime with women without a care in the world.

Suddenly, Adam had a face.

Adamant on not letting Chad ruin every little detail for me, I carried on reading. Chad (Adam) met a woman at the DMV. Chad (Adam) couldn’t stop thinking about the way her fingers curled around her rolled up file. Chad (Adam) started spending sleepless nights thinking of the beautiful stranger.

Before I knew it, I was back to square one…

Lying awake in bed, fantasizing about Chad lying awake in bed, fantasizing about me.

eighteen

Disillusioned

Chad

Seeing a woman with whom I had lost a connection in everyday contexts wasn’t unusual for me. However, my weekly board meetings at the foundation remained as a constant reminder that my connection with Kaira wasn’t completely absent—at least not for me.

Kaira remained radiant in her own way, maintaining her dignified poise and unwavering smile every time. For six months, our exchanges remained formal, professional, and brief. She would shake my hand while looking me in the eye, steady and without as much as a hint of awkwardness. I had to give it to her. She was either steadfastly professional, or a great actress herself.

After wrapping up our last meeting, Kaira stood up and grabbed her laptop as usual. When her phone rang, I watched her face change as if she saw a name she didn’t want to see, or a number she hadn’t recognized. Heading for the door, she answered.

“Hello? Yes, who is this?” As she stepped out, she giggled. “Oh my God, Oscar! How are you?”

I couldn’t hear the rest, since she had walked away. Even though I had no proof of that Oscar being anyone of significance, I couldn’t help but resent the sheer enthusiasm she conveyed while saying his name.

Jealousy was never a friend of mine, but I caught myself quickly grabbing my phone to check if she had an ‘Oscar’ on her connections list on some professional social network.

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