Page 82 of Caught A Vibe

And for what? An article? She’s right. I wrote the story as it came to me, pressed against a deadline. I never even second-guessed if it was a good idea to quote her. Quotes give articles more gravitas, more authority. They also put a public name on unpopular ideas.

I’m clearly not cut out to be a feature writer any more than I am to be a boyfriend. I don’t come with the right filters installed. I just wanted to get her story out and shed light on a troubling topic. I thought it would help. I also rushed to finish the damn article so I could spend time with her, and didn’t manage that either.

When I write reviews about video games, it’s expected that a few feelings might get hurt in the name of an honest review. I’ve certainly never single-handedly tanked anyone’s company that I know of. Taking this new job was a horrible decision.

Add another career failure to my list of sins. Make it two this time.

Is she really going to lose her business over one article? I know she’s struggling, but surely she can’t be that close to the edge. Her launch numbers were so strong…

But the guilt sits heavy on my heart, because I know all of my protestations are simply my id trying to soothe my ego. In reality, I know exactly how close to the margins some companies run, especially while getting off the ground. The pandemic has done a real number on everyone. She likely isn’t exaggerating how dire the situation is, which makes me a proper asshole.

Part of me wants to wait for her, argue, fight for us, beg her for another chance. But there’s another, stronger part of me that says that’s selfish and I should give her what she needs.

She deserves better than a thoughtless, messy, distracted boyfriend who can’t get out of his own way.

How long have I been spacing out here on her bed? I have lost all track of time. If me gone is what she needs, me gone is what she’ll get. It’s the literal least I can do.

I stand to leave and realize not only I am still dressed in a towel and have left a wet spot that she’ll probably be upset about, I’ve also frayed the edge of her towel with my nervous picking. Damn it. I put on actual clothes in a daze. I open my suitcases and put them on the bed so I can fill them.

Callie claims half of one and voices her concern over my actions. I pet her behind the ear the way she likes, but I can’t let her distract me from my mission. She runs off disgruntled when I begin tossing clothes from the drawers and hangers that Penny had cleared for me into the cases willy-nilly. My books, comic book collection, linens and gaming gear all go into the cardboard boxes I’d folded up in the back of her closet, anticipating this day. Three of my boxes never even got unpacked.

Ten boxes stacked by the front door. Two suitcases bulge at my feet. The sum total of my life still fits in the back of my car.

Why do they feel heavier going down than carrying them up?

I fill the trunk and back seat of my car, and make one last pass through Penny’s apartment. Callie circles my ankles, tripping me up until I pick her up for a cuddle. She butts her head against my chin and my throat clinches tight.

“Goodbye, sweetheart. You need to stay here with your mama. She’ll remember to feed you.”

Setting the cat on her favorite perch on the top of the couch, I finish the rounds. I will give Penny this one last gift, the gift of a clean parting.

I pull the laundry out of the dryer and put it back in the wash, and cycle the other load in to dry. I start the dishwasher and wipe down the table. A pass of the living room reveals stray papers, pens, wrappers, and cords, all of which I shove into my backpack, before I fix the throw pillows how I’ve seen her do it.

In the bedroom, my efficiency falters. I can smell her. That scent that’s uniquely her fills my head and triggers every sensory memory I’ve been hoarding all at once, overwhelming me with joy and passion and a warmth I dare not name. And hot licks of shame over fucking up yet again. I’m a selfish bastard, because even knowing I will continue to disappoint her, I still want to stay.

I make the bed, smoothing the covers, remembering how she looked naked draped on top of it. I fluff the pillows and think of how her hair tickled my nose when she curled into my chest in the night. I think about stripping the sheets, but that would mean waiting for another laundry cycle, and I am determined to at least give her this one thing she’s asked for.

I will be gone before she returns.

I can’t be the man she needs in her life, but I can be the one who gets out of it when asked. I can listen to her boundaries and respect them.

In the bathroom, my gaze snags on my toothbrush still in the cup next to hers and tears well in my eyes. Hers, so neat and tidy, barely bent as she replaces it every three months. Mine, mangled and missing bristles, chewed and ready for the trash. If that isn’t an accurate metaphor…

I snatch up the offending toothbrush and drop it in the garbage bin, tears spilling over. I have to go. I don’t want her to see me like this. I refuse to add one more emotional burden to her load. The negative talk in my head is spiraling, and I need to get gone before it paralyzes me again.

I lock the door and slide the key under the mat, shouldering my backpack and running down the stairs, too impatient to wait for the elevator.

I don’t glance around as I climb into my car. If she’s lingering nearby, I don’t want to see it. She is absolutely going to be better off without me. I just need to get somewhere I can fall apart.

But my problem remains. I don’t have anywhere safe to go. I toss my backpack on the passenger seat and start to sweat as I pull into traffic. I really only have one option, and it’s the last one I would have chosen. I am dreading the next five minutes of my life. Gathering myself and wiping my cheeks, I dial.

The phone connection in my car surrounds me with a voice that lives rent-free inside my head, but that I haven’t actually heard in over a year.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mom.”

Penny

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