Page 92 of Both Sides Now

What a bunch of bullshit. When someone cuts you, you bleed—simple and scientific fact. The wound Calli gifted me that day throbs, and there’s no end in sight for the pain.

She wasn’t the only heartbroken person on that ride home.

Sadly, my feelings didn’t factor into her decision. My feelings, my heart, didn’t count.

At first, I was furious. My ego and soul were crushed. That anger gave way to frustration and then to sadness.

After a week, I was numb and throwing myself into work to hold the loneliness at bay.

When my mother called, I fully intended to play off the breakup like it was nothing, but it was a fool’s errand. She sawthrough my facade and I broke, filling her in on the weekend and our short-lived relationship.

My mother listened, and then asked me to keep the faith. She had dated after my father left, and she too had feelings of guilt back up on her. By the time she got her head on straight, the man in question wanted nothing more to do with dating her.

She begged me to give Callista the space she needed, certain she would return.

And that’s what I’m trying to do. Keep busy and keep my chin up.

Deep down, I want to believe Calli loves me. Hell, she told me several times, and the emotion in her face when she spoke the words seemed authentic.

But who knows anymore?

I’m glad for one thing.

When we made that love that night, I was so entranced that I would have given Callista anything she wanted. Marriage, kids, the whole nine yards. If she had asked for those things in that moment, there would have been no question.

And I camethisclose to saying it aloud because I knew what it meant to her.

I wanted her to want those things with me.

But I held my tongue and let the moment slip by.

Good thing I did, since she threw that love in my face not twelve hours later, and walked out of my life.

Now, that emotional barricade I erected all those years ago around my heart is back—with reinforcements. I know Callista didn’t intend to hurt me, but she did, regardless.

Does it even matter now?

I may never hear from her again.

After two drinks in the hotel bar, I bore of the conversation and excuse myself, claiming a headache.

My colleagues will understand. Or they won’t. Either way, it doesn’t matter to me.

I toss my jacket down on the bed, and my phone slips out, flashing with several missed calls.

It’s likely the office. Alice, despite being brilliant in her role as my office manager, has a hard time exerting authority. When I’m gone, I leave her in charge, but she still calls me about every situation to ensure we’re on the same page.

But it isn’t Alice. Or the office. It’s Calli, and she’s called no less than ten times.

Fearing the worst, I dial her number, all while pacing the rug and trying to calm my racing heart.

“I figured if I barraged you with enough phone calls that you would have to answer, eventually.”

Usually, I find her wit endearing, but I’m too emotionally spent from these last weeks to laugh. “Is everything okay, Callista?”

She manages a small chuckle, but it lacks mirth. “All business and use of my full name. I really mucked things up, didn’t I?”

I squeeze my eyes against the banging in my brain. So much for claiming a headache. Now I have one for real. “I’m not entirely sure I know what you mean.”

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