Page 6 of Ruthless Creatures
That’s fine with me. My libido vanished along with my fiancé. But I need to distract her before this conversation turns into a therapy session.
“It never would’ve worked out anyway. He thinks cats are as smart as humans.”
She looks appalled. “Good riddance.”
Knowing that would change her tune, I smile. “I’m thinking of setting him up with Marybeth.”
“Your colleague? The one who dresses like she’s Amish?”
“She’s not Amish. She’s a schoolteacher.”
“Does she teach butter churning and buggy maintenance?”
“No, science. But she is into quilting. She also has five cats.”
Shuddering, Sloane raises her glass in a toast. “It’s a match made in heaven.”
I clink my glass against hers. “May they have a long and hairball-filled future together.”
We drink. I guzzle my entire glass of wine, knowing Sloane is watching me as I do.
When I set the empty glass back on the table and motion to the waiter for another round, she sighs. She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand.
“I love you, you know.”
Knowing where this is headed, I look out the windows toward the lake. “I think all that kale you eat has warped your brain.”
“I worry.”
“You don’t have to. I’m perfectly fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re surviving. There’s a difference.”
And this is exactly why I should’ve stayed at home.
My voice quiet, I say, “It took two years before I could drive a car without thinking, ‘What if I didn’t brake for this curve? What if I ran straight into that brick wall?’ Another year after that before I stopped googling ‘painless ways to commit suicide.’ Then another before I stopped randomly bursting into tears. It’s only been the last few months that I can walk into a room without automatically scanning it for his face.
“I live with the ghost of a man I thought I’d grow old with, the suffocating weight of questions that will never be answered, and the crushing guilt of knowing the last thing I ever said to him was, ‘If you’re late, I’ll kill you.’”
I turn from the window and look at her. “So all things considered, merely surviving is a win.”
Eyes shining, Sloane murmurs, “Oh, honey.”
I swallow around the sudden lump in my throat. She squeezes my hand again, then says, “You know what we need?”
“Electroshock therapy?”
Releasing my hand, she sits back in her chair, shaking her head. “You and your dark humor. I was gonna say guacamole.”
“Are you paying? Because the guac here is ten bucks for two tablespoons, and I’ve heard I’m cheap.”
She smiles fondly at me. “It’s among your many shortcomings, but perfect people are boring.”
“Okay, but I’m warning you right now, I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
“Babe, I know you well enough to keep my hands at a safe distance when you’re eating. Remember that time we shared a bowl of popcorn while we watchedThe Notebook? I almost lost a finger.”
“I can’t wait until we’re old and you have dementia. This photographic memory of yours is the worst.”
