Page 53 of Starting Over in Starshine Cove
I’m not at all sure what Dolly would do. It’s pretty hard to imagine a man dumping Dolly in the first place, never mind how she’d react to it. I drink some more wine, and think it over.
I might not know what Dolly would do, I decide – but I do know she wouldn’t sit around feeling sorry for herself. And neither will I.
FIFTEEN
I call Zack as soon as Ella leaves. I have had wine, and I have had a pep talk, and I have definitely had enough of my pity party. If I’m so keen to point out that I’m a grown woman, why aren’t I acting like one? Zack has hurt me. He has behaved badly. I am still suffering because of it, and that’s not fair. Ella is right, I would feel better if I had an explanation – and it’s up to me to get one. I deserve that much at least.
This is all rather fabulous motivation, but doesn’t help at all when there is no answer. I’m so geared up to talk to him that when I hear his voicemail message instead, I immediately crumble and hang up. Then I fret about the fact that I’ve hung up, and call straight back and simply say: “It’s Connie. Please call me.”
He doesn’t call me, and I can live with that – it’s late, and he might already be asleep. Or, of course, he might be out living it up at a glittering showbusiness party, or on a date with a retired supermodel who now runs her own successful eco-friendly pet portrait business. This is the kind of woman I fully expect Zack to be with, and the fact that he seemed interested in me at all could very well have been a glitch that he now regrets. But if itis, why not just be honest? Why run like that? Why leave me hanging?
It’s all very difficult to figure out, and when he still hasn’t returned my call by lunchtime the next day, I feel exhausted by it. I make loads of mistakes at the café, to the extent that Sam is giving me some seriously concerned side-eye, and as soon as it’s quiet I close up.
“Are you all right, boss-lady?” he asks as we finish cleaning. He’s a baby, but I seem to have reverted to being a teenager, so maybe I should get his view on it all.
“I’m not sure, Sam. How would you react if you met someone, really liked him, he seemed to really like you, things got steamy, and then he just left without speaking to you? And then never called you, and didn’t return your calls either?”
“Ouch,” he says, hands on hips and eyes narrowed. “You’ve been ghosted?”
“Not necessarily. I could be asking for a friend.”
“Of course you could. Well, I suppose the obvious answer is to say, ‘Screw him, his loss’ and draw a line under it. Give the whole situation the emotional finger. But personally I think it depends on a few things, things they should consider before they just throw it all away. Like how much your friend likes this person – because if he, she or they really like him, then it’s worth the extra effort isn’t it? It’s worth a bit of angst to get to the bottom of it? Could there be a good reason he’s ghosting you? Has he previously seemed like the kind of person who would treat you like that?”
“You mean my friend? And no. He hadn’t seemed like that kind of person. And I suppose there could be a good reason, but the silence is overwhelming, and doesn’t help to explain anything. Maybe he’s just not that into my friend.”
Sam, who is very tall, leans all the way down to give me a little kiss on the cheek.
“I’d say he’s an idiot then, because your friend ishot. And also super cool. Don’t let it get you down, okay? Don’t let somebody else’s bad behaviour affect the way you see yourself.”
“Wow. That’s excellent advice. I shall pass that on.”
He winks at me and saunters out onto the green. I make myself a hot chocolate with all the extras, and take it out onto the terrace at the back of the café. The spectacular view down to the bay works its magic, and the squirty cream and marshmallows help too.
I gaze at the infinity of beauty before me, and let the sound of the waves rolling onto the sand soothe my soul. Maybe Sam’s right, and this whole thing is worth some angst. I am questioning my own judgement now, going over and over events and replaying the things that were said, the things that were done. The things that were felt. It’s like I have a rewind button in my brain and can’t stop using it.
I veer between feeling sure that what we had was real, and feeling like I’m the world’s biggest idiot for even considering that option. It’s like I’m hitching a ride on a giant emotional yo-yo, and I absolutely hate it.
I pick up my phone, and shockingly see that there are no calls. The little bars that show how much signal you have are pretty non-existent out here, so I go back inside and use the good old-fashioned landline. His number rings out, and then my heart leaps as it’s actually answered – just as I have my message ready for voicemail. Damn. I’ll never get the hang of this.
“Hello?” he says, in that uncertain tone we all use when answering a call from an unknown number. He obviously doesn’t have the landline saved in his contacts, and maybe that’s the only reason he picked up – he didn’t know it was me.
“Zack, it’s Connie – surprise!”
I am greeted with silence apart from background noise – the sound of other people talking, of a TV in the background, arandom beeping noise I can’t quite identify. All kinds of sounds, none of them the sound of Zack’s voice. He finally speaks.
“Connie. Um… I can’t really talk right now. Could I call you back?”
“No. Because you won’t, will you? Look, Zack, I don’t want to be some kind of bunny-boiler here, but I think I deserve a bit more than your note, don’t you? I get that you changed your mind. I get that you didn’t want to take things any further between us. All of that is fine, but the way you left it? That’s not fine.”
I hear someone shouting a name in the background, and realise he’s in some kind of waiting room. Maybe he’s getting his nails done. I also realise that I am crying as I talk. They’re those tears that come when you’re not just sad, but angry as well. The kind that seem to curse women of all ages, turning us from articulate and intelligent creatures into soggy disaster zones that nobody can take seriously.
“I’m sorry,” he says simply, sounding deeply uncomfortable. “And it’s not that I didn’t want to take things any further… I just didn’t think it was a good idea, for you.”
“For me? What do you mean? And since when did you turn into my dad and get to make my decisions for me?”
“Look, it’s complicated, okay, and you’ll have to take my word for it – you don’t want anything to do with me. I’ve got to go now.”
And just like that, he hangs up. I stare at the phone for a few moments, listening to the humming noise that tells me the line is dead, and swipe at my face. I’m annoyed that I’m crying. I’m annoyed at myself, I’m annoyed at him, I’m annoyed at the universe.
