Page 130 of Look, Don't Touch

When it does, I’ll have to face the facts head-on.

It’s not his fault. It’s mine.

I am broken. I cannot be in a relationship because of all the what-ifs.

Plink jumps onto my lap and nuzzles my face. I don’t realize I’m sobbing until his wet fur hits my cheek.

I grab him up and hold him close.

I’ll come to terms with it myself. But not today.

For the first time since I started my business, I canceled my whole week of appointments. I even scheduled off for the week of Christmas. And I scheduled two weeks of vacation for next year and another week for next Christmas.

“It’s not much by European standards,” Astor reminds me.

“But we don’t live in Europe.”

“No, we don’t.” She gives me a smile and sets her notebook on her desk.

We’ve met for three sessions this week. Two for me, since I’m in crisis. One for her.

As she stands, I feel a lot less in crisis than I did at the beginning of the week.

“Oh, I forgot to ask. How’s your meditation going?”

I’d gotten off the wagon in the past couple of months and decided to make it a priority again.

“Besides the strange looks?” I smile. Something I’ve done more and more as the week goes, but nothing compared to…nothing compared to how much I smiled around Arlo.

Somehow, the pain of his absence has gotten deeper, sharper, more intense.

“Rightly so. Who meditates in a cemetery?” Astor grabs the file for her next client.

“I do.” I stand, smooth down my skirt, and then—very unladylike—adjust the bodysuit, threatening to rip me in half, vulva first.

“I know those things are in right now, but I haven’t been brave enough to give it a try.” Astor winces.

“It’s an at-your-own-risk adventure.” I wink. “You should wear one with fishnets to your final selection meeting at Crave.”

“I’d die before they took my coat.” Astor checks her phone. “Asshole,” she mutters.

“You’re number one?” I slip on my coat.

Astoroid Belt looks over her shoulder at me. “You could take him if you need a new adventure.”

“No more adventures for me. Just healing.” I kiss her cheek and head for the door.

“Why the cemetery?”

Her question comes when my hand hits the knob. I grab it tight for an anchor. “It’s a good reminder that life is worth living.”

“Are you living it?”

Those four words suck the air from my lungs. I whip around on my friend with an anger I haven’t felt in a long time.

“I’m trying,” I snap.

“Are you?” Her hands are folded neatly over her belly. Her voice is kind. Her words are not. “Or are you making excuses?”

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