Page 77 of Call Me Anytime
Lovie looks toward my mom with a fond smile for a brief moment before bringing her gaze back to me. “You know, keeping it all bottled up inside you isn’t going to get you anywhere.”
“How do you know?” I retort, but I also grin. “I’m aces at compartmentalizing. I mean, most days my own mother thinks I’m a woman named Ziva fromNCIS. If that doesn’t take some coping skills, I don’t know what does.”
Lovie frowns. “You don’t always have to be so strong, Hannah Banana. It’s okay to let some of your emotions free sometimes.”
I have to look away, the power of her wise gaze too much for my already battered and confused heart to bear.
I know I don’t have to be strong all the time, but I don’t know how to be anything else. I’ve been rolling with the pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps mindset ever since my father’s tragic death triggered my mother’s brain into unleashing the beast that is Alzheimer’s.
If I’m not strong, what would I become?
If I let myself turn into the sad, pathetic girl who would give in to calling and texting Dom—so he could tell me he doesn’t have feelings for me like I do him—how in the hell would I get over it? And more than that, how would I be able to stay strong for my mom and muscle through all the shit that life keeps throwing our way?
Self-preservation is all I know. For a brief moment, I let myself think Dom would usher in a new phase of life, but I know now how silly a notion that was. I know now that I have no choice but to stand on my own two feet.
“I’ll be fine, Lovie Dovie, I promise,” I eventually answer, but her mouth turns down into the kind of frown that calls me out on my bullshit. “Seriously. I will. I think I just need to lie down for a little bit,” I add as I slide off the barstool. Then I head toward the hallway that leads to my bedroom.
I don’t know what I’m going to do in there, but right now, anything is better than being interrogated by Lovie. The woman knows too much, sees too much, and I’d rather stay secluded in my bubble of avoidance than face the devastating music of my situation—I thought something was happening between Dom and me, but clearly, I was wrong.
Once I’m inside my bedroom, I curl up beneath the comforter, completely ignoring the fact that it’s eighty degrees out today and I’ll probably start sweating my ass off in a matter of minutes.
And my mind, well, it races.
Thinking of Dom from Saturday night and Sunday morning. Confused over what it all meant to him. Knowing full well what it all meant to me. I have such deep and all-consuming feelings for him that if I attached a word to them, it would be four letters and contain anland anoand avand ane.
I’m such an idiot for thinking that Dom and I could actually be something.
The whole reason we even connected in the first place was because I was the down-and-out virgin working at a phone sex hotline and he was the handsome-as-hell detective investigating a murder case.
Clearly, that’s not the kind of story you tell your grandkids. I’m probably delusional for thinking anything substantial could have ever come of it.
Everything I’m telling myself should be a balm to my heart. Should make me open my eyes and realize that I need to move on. Hell, it shouldn’t make me feel anything except anger over the fact that I haven’t heard a peep from Dom since he left my bedroom early Sunday morning.
But it doesn’t do anything. It doesn’t change anything. And it certainly doesn’t make my feelings for him disappear.
Ugh.
I burrow deeper under my covers and shut my eyes as stupid tears threaten to slip past my lids. I feel so weak and so stupid and so vulnerable.
I feel so . . .sad.
A normal woman would reach out to Dom or try to find a way to talk to him face to face. But I’m not a normal woman. I don’t know how to date or be in a relationship.
I’m emotionally inept and stunted, and I don’t trust myself to handle this any other way but to quietly disappear back into my world of sex cubicles and reverse mortgage payments andNCISepisodes with my mother.
I shut my eyes tighter, fisting the blankets between my fingers as I cuddle them close to my chest and beg for sleep to numb me.
7:00 p.m.
I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep, but when I open my eyes, the sun is just starting to dip and the sky is fading into early evening.
My hair is matted to my face with sweat, and when I climb out of bed, I have to change my clothes—bra and underwear too—because Idecided to sleep beneath a down comforter in a room that is giving its best impression of a sauna.
Yes, I could turn the actual air-conditioning on, but I try to go AC-less for as long as I can to cut down on expenses. But we’re diving headfirst into summer weather, and unless I want to turn into a shriveled-up prune, I’m going to have to bite the bullet and pay the extra money on our energy bill.
I snag my phone off the nightstand. My heart starts pounding hard when I see a few missed calls and texts from the one man I just tried to sleep out of my mind. My finger hovers over the screen as I’m tempted to check, tempted to read what he has to say, but eventually I choose to slide out of bed and ignore whatever is inside Dom’s texts until I’m ready to face it.
Coward,my subconscious taunts, but I ignore her too.
