Page 4 of Bad at Love

He’s three blocks from my mother. I’ve spent too much time away from her to begin with, and now there isn’t much time left.

Three blocks from my mom…

I say those words at least ten times before answering him.

Gabriel, sorry about that. I’d be happy to abide by any rules you have in place, including puttingalltoilet seats down.

Hope to hear from you soon.

Best regards, Storm.

My phone alerts me that it's at 20%, so I plug it in, get comfortable on the bed, and turn on the TV.

I used to enjoy staying in hotels while traveling. I like checking out new places, plus the content gets me bonus money. But I’m not here for work—something I usually love doing. I’m here, uprooting my life, to be close to my mother because I fucked up.

I scroll through the movies and settle on Pineapple Express. I order a shit ton of room service, because why the hell not? The food comes a short time later, and I eat as much of it as I can. Steak, potatoes, chicken tenders, fries, and even applesauce because I love that shit.

When it hits nine and I’m not the slightest bit tired, I get out of bed and move to the balcony. Seattle is a beautiful place, and I wish I’d come here sooner. Or on better terms, I guess. I haven’t visited my mother once since I left at eighteen, though I always told her I would. Now I’m almost thirty-one. I was busy with work, or just having fun. Living my life and worrying about myself for once. Now it’s my biggest regret, and I find joy in practically nothing. I hate regretting things. I hate fucking up. How the fuck is it possible to live with so much guilt? Doesn’t seem like it is.

A cool breeze blows over me, rustling my hair, reminding me I need a shower. It’s been a few days. While washing up, I decideI need to get the fuck out of this room before I do lose my mind and start freaking out about toilet seats being up and other crazy shit that doesn’t matter. I pull on black jeans, a dark red t-shirt, my Vans, and throw my cap on backwards before heading out to find a bar.

Chapter Three

Gabriel

“He’s mocking me!”

I shove my phone in Marta’s face when she steps out of her SUV. She jerks back, pulling the coffee cup away from her mouth so it doesn’t spill all over her blouse. A bit of liquid drops onto the ground with a splat.

“It’s too early for this,” she warns, going in for another sip. “I have had exactly three sips of my coffee so far, and they haven’t even been good ones because it’s still too hot.”

“Read it,” I urge, handing her the phone. She rolls her eyes and takes my cell. We make our way out of the parking garage and toward the staff entrance to the hospital. She’s smirking when she hands it back.

“See! He’s mocking me about the toilet seat.”

“Can you blame him?” she asks, throwing a hand up.

“Yes! What’s so wrong about a man wanting toilet seats down in his home?”

She sighs as I pull out my badge to let us in the staff only doors. It beeps, then they slide open.

“I thought I threatened to hack your email yesterday if you didn’t offer him the room?”

I grit my teeth and yank my phone from her.

“Yeah, well…” That’s all I say. I have no excuse. No one understands the way I feel about my home, about needing my own space, and how big of a deal it is to let someone into it. Especially a stranger! It’s probably one of the reasons Tara left. I’m too much to deal with. Always have been, and probably always will be. Everyone has told me that, and I agree with them. But I’m me and I can’t change. Trust me, I’ve tried. Guess I’m just going to die alone. At least my ass will be free of toilet water.

“Look,” Marta says, stopping abruptly, to which I stop too. “I know this isn’t easy for you, but it’s necessary. It sucks when we have to do things we don’t want to do. Maybe offer him the room on a temporary basis? Let him know you can do a 90-day run to see if things work out. This way, if he’s as terrible as you think he will be, you know it isn’t forever.”

“Ninety days is a long time,” I say.

“But it’s better than a year’s lease, Gabriel.”

True. That is true.

She moves to me, cupping my cheek. Marta is tall for a woman, somewhere around five foot ten. I’m six foot, so we’re almost the same height. Which really sucks when she looks me in the eyes like this, almost like she’s looking into my soul.

“Just give it a try, Gabriel. Maybe he will surprise you.”

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