Page 73 of Drilled (Dad Bod Contracting 2)
I uncork a bottle of wine. “Can we just put this on pause for a minute, Imogen?”
She stares hard at me for a long time. “Honestly, Audra, I’m at a loss. Will you tell me what’s going on? I know something happened with him, and I know you’re compensating for it by icing yourself over.”
I pour two glasses and hand her one, taking a long sip from mine. “We went to his house, and we had sex. Really, really, really intense sex. Unprotected sex. Emotional sex. We connected, Imogen. I felt it, he felt it. And then when I told him I was going to get a Plan B to cover all the bases even though I was on birth control, he freaked out. Something about the Plan B idea just freaked him out. So I went out and he told me about his parents and his ex, and why he’s the way he is about sex and relationships—suffice it to say his story is enough like mine that I totally get it. So then I told him my story, about my shitty parents and fucking scummy-ass Jared and the whole thing. And then, on a—I don’t know. A whim, maybe? Not a whim—it was…as close as I could get to putting myself out there, I guess—I asked him what we were going to do then. What now? That’s what I asked him.” I stop and swallow hard. “You know what his response was?”
She lets out a slow breath. “What?”
“And…nothing.” I make a face and shrug. “That’s exactly what he said, verbatim. So there it is. And nothing.”
“And if he’d said something else, like ‘and now we figure this out’—would you have been okay with that?”
I can only shrug. “I don’t know. He didn’t, and it seems futile to speculate.”
“Ever consider maybe he’s as unsure of what he wants and is as scared of being hurt as you?”
I think of his final question—did you want there to be something? Did you want there to be a now-what? I shrug it off, but with great difficulty.
“What’s the point of any of it, Imogen?” I ask. “I’m not you, and he’s not Jesse. It won’t work and we both know it.”
“But it could work, couldn’t it?” Imogen asks, and her words echo the words I hear whispered deep inside me.
I can’t reply. My throat is closed, knotted tightly. I don’t dare let it out—not even in front of Imogen. It’s too much, too dear, too deep.
She waits for a long time, and when it becomes clear I have nothing to say, she rubs her face with both hands, and then stands up. “I’m not going to drink this one away with you, Audra. You’re making a huge mistake in pretending there’s nothing there, that there’s no way to make it work, and no use in even trying.” She hesitates, looking sadder than I’ve seen her in a long, long time. “You’re my family, Audra. I love you with all my heart, always, no matter what, but I’m not on your side in this one. I mean, I am on your side, always, and I support you always. But you’re making a mistake, and I can’t just sit idly by and let you make it.” Her usually warm and endearing green eyes are unusually distant. “This is one time where I can’t and won’t just sit here with you, enabling you by biting my tongue and helping you drink and fake your way past it.”
God, my heart aches.
“Imogen, come on.” I stand up and follow her, feeling panicky and desperate and wrought with emotion I can’t choke down any longer. “We enable each other in everything. It’s what we do. Don’t bail on me now.”
She’s already at the door. “I’ve been enabling your refusal to get over Jared for almost twenty years, Audra. He fucked you over and hurt you and made you look stupid, and you made it a thousand times worse for yourself with that idiotic newspaper stunt you pulled—and don’t forget you didn’t consult me on that, because you know I wouldn’t have let you do it. What happened hurt, Audra, and you had every right to lash out and be angry and whatever. But you’ve been hoarding that pain and letting it rule you ever since. You’re like…you’re like Smaug from The Hobbit, and that old pain is your treasure. Just let it go.” She hugs me, holds on tight for a long time, and then pulls away, her hands on my shoulders, her eyes filled with tears, as are mine. “I’m not bailing on you, Aud. Neither of us have siblings, so we’re the sisters neither of us have ever had. But I wouldn’t be a good sister or a good friend if I didn’t finally do something. Maybe you’ll never forgive me for this, I don’t know. I hope you will. But if you’re going to keep acting like everything is fine, like you’re fine, like you’re so totally cool with being alone your whole life, like hooking up with every Tom, Dick, and Harry in metropolitan Chicago is okay, but never having anything real or meaningful or impactful with any of them is actually what you want in your life, then I can’t be part of it. I won’t be. Especially when there’s a man living less than five minutes from here who could, possibly, love you in a way you’ve never known but have always secretly and desperately wanted and needed.”
