Page 8 of Rush of Jealousy

We never got a dog, even after mom died two years postdiagnosis. We just couldn’t. When Dad suggested getting one months later, James begged for it not to happen. He actually broke down to the point of passing out from mental exhaustion. I’ll never forget that day. Some memories are branded into the brain forever and scar the tissue so badly that nothing can get inside to change it.

We never read from the book ever again. It was as if all that brought us joy and comfort no longer had any appeal. In fact, it had the opposite effect. Growing up as a twelve-year-old without a mother to hold the bucket as vomit erupted, or go bra shopping with, or take embarrassing amounts of pictures at graduation was pain enough without having a puppy that would eventually grow old and die too. We most definitely didn’t need a book to remind us about how life is short and how fragile the heart really is. We had our own reality as our reminder.

I stare down into the last chapter and watch as round dark spots speckle the pages. I am crying. For no other reason than for mere loneliness. I get it. I might not have gotten it as a child, but I get it now. Like animals, people, too, can die from loneliness. And I can’t help but wonder if that is what is really happening to me right now. If all of the decisions I make and all of my attempts at survival are an unnecessary waste of time. If in the end, my heart will give out from the pain of being alone.

The closest thing I have felt to feeling alive was the time I spent with Graham. He turned me inside out and gave me a reason to rekindle the passion and light that was drowned with the worry of losing everything.

But where has that really gotten me in the end? I am still living a life without love. Worrying that if I give too much of my heart, I will only be worse off when they get snuffed out of my life.

I sniffle back the tears and wipe my nose that inevitably runs as soon as my eyes water. I use my hair to shield my emotions from onlookers and refill my mug with the steamy hot beverage. I add lots of cream and a little bit of sugar.

“Feel free to take the book with you, hon.”

I stare up at an older woman, probably in her sixties. She has an apron on with the name Gayle embroidered in tiny print across the top and a wet rag in her hand. “They are donated from customers. Usually people exchange them, but I give you permission just to take it if you don’t have anything to put back in its place.”

“Oh. Ah, thanks,” I whisper-cough. I watch as she walks away and moves between the tables, wiping crumbs and spills with her rag. I stare down at the beat-up cover, pieces of the corners missing and torn. I see the resemblance between the cover and my own heart. As tears continue to cascade down my cold cheeks, I hug the classic to my chest like it’s my lifeline and the bridge linking my former life with my present one.

Making up my mind, I place the book into my bag and drop my empty mug into the plastic bin perched on top of the trash can. I return to my booth and grab a piece of pink chalk from the cup. On the board, I write the following piece of advice—Enjoy everyone you love while you can. I find another free spot and continue with—People treat you how you allow them to treat you.

Placing the chalk back in the holder, I retie my belt and exit out of the shop. I use my sleeve to dry my face and hold my head high. Despite being knocked down, life goes on. I can put my big girl panties on and choose to keep on keeping on.

My choices may have destroyed the visible path set out in front of me, but I have the power to form my own. I put one foot in front of the other and take off walking down the sidewalk. My fresh outlook makes me feel lighter and hopeful.

Deciding that I can no longer avoid people, I turn on my phone—but only long enough to order a taxi. The sounds of incoming texts and voice messages infiltrate my ears, but I choose to ignore everything that is nonessential.

It is time to reevaluate my priorities.

* * *

“Oh my God, Angie, is it true?” Claire asks in a panic, as soon as I turn the doorknob to enter our townhouse.

I slip off my shoes and coat. I am relieved it’s just us, and I can flop onto the couch without having to worry about showing too much. I undo my confining bra, fish it out through my skimpy outfit, and toss it onto the floor.

“You kicked Graham in his balls?” she clarifies.

“First off, no, but he would have deserved it. Second off, where do you even hear these things?”

Claire frowns. “I have my sources.”

“Yeah, unreliable ones,” I snicker. It feels good to be around her. I suppose rumors will start, if not already, considering Sophia witnessed some of my crazy.

“So what happened? I have been so worried about you. You haven’t been answering your phone or responding to texts.”

“I just needed some time to process what happened. To get my head on straight. I needed to think about what I am going to do next.”

“Start from the beginning, please. And speak to me as if I am five years old.”

I let out a laugh. Not because the situation is funny in any respect, but because if I didn’t laugh, I would bawl my eyes out. I am going to get dehydrated if I shed another tear for a man who was overprotective with everything but my actual heart.

“Oh no,” Claire says, eyeing me speculatively.

“What?” I ask dumbly.

“You did the sex, didn’t you?”

I narrow my eyes at her and shake my head. And then I confirm her suspicions. “Yes, I had sex with Graham.”

“Wow. I was not expecting you to lead with that.”

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