Page 46 of Screwed (Dad Bod Contracting 4)
James nods. “Good. You shouldn’t be ashamed or feel guilty.”
“I guess with you having only ever been with one woman—”
James cuts me off. “That was a choice I made for myself. I found the woman I loved early on in life, and I was damned lucky to have her in my life for thirty years, married to her for twenty of them. But just because I chose her and only her doesn’t mean I pass judgment on others for making different decisions.”
“I appreciate that,” I say. I finish my shake and rinse out the tumbler, leave it in the sink with James’s. “So, anyway, once I realized my little experimental, casual sex phase was over, I realized I’d only put off the real work of dealing with things.”
James chuckles. “Boy, do I identify with that. Grieving is one thing, but really healing and moving on? That’s a lot fucking harder.”
“No kidding.” I pause, meeting his eyes. “After that, I…closed up shop, you might say.”
James blinks. “Totally?”
I nod. “Totally and completely.”
“For how long?”
“A long, long time,” I say.
“How long?” James repeats.
I frown. “Three years. Or, almost.“ I sigh. “I went about…two years right after the experimental phase, and then I met a guy when I first got the job in the hospital here, a nurse in the palliative care ward. I liked him, and I thought I could…I don’t know. I thought I could work past things.”
James rests his forearms on the island between us, leaning closer to me. “Not so much, I take it.”
I shake my head. “Nope. We went on a few dates, and I only just barely fought off panic attacks on each one. I had to get tipsy to get to the point where I could even kiss him, much less anything else.” I groan. “We got to the point where things were…it was either full speed ahead, or a full stop.”
James winces. “Let me guess. Full stop?”
I nod. “I kept thinking of Craig. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help it. I tried and tried to get past it, and the guy was honestly super sweet and understanding about it, but eventually I ended things with him because it wasn’t fair to him. We’d get close, and then I’d freeze and not be able to go any further, because Craig kept popping back up in my head. And after I broke up with Vince, I just…I didn’t see a point in trying anymore. So I didn’t, and I haven’t.”
James sighs. “Until me.”
“Until you.”
“And you did get past it—with me. And then I said Renée’s name instead of yours at the critical moment.”
I nod. “Yeah.” I drop my head again. “And I’m not gonna lie, it fucking hurt, James. A lot. I felt like I was finally making progress…like maybe, with you, things would be different. I was able to shut down the Craig-comparison-guilt loop and focus on you.” I look up at him, and I hate the pain and guilt I see in him. “And then…yeah. You said her name. And please, please, believe me when I say I understand, and that I don’t hold it against you.”
James is silent awhile, and I let the silence stand.
After nearly two full minutes of dead silence, James straightens, walks away to stand at the door looking out over the backyard.
“You and Renée couldn’t be more different, honestly. You’re tall, super strong, athletic, with long hair…and you’re, um…” I can hear the blush in his hesitation, the hunt for a word or phrase. “You’re well-endowed.”
I sniff a half-hearted laugh, unsure how else to respond to that.
“Renée was…none of that. She was short, five-five. Hated working out. Had one of those ridiculous metabolisms where she could eat whatever she wanted and never exercise and she was just always relatively fit. Short hair, pixie short, like Audra’s, only the same color as Jesse’s. She had blond highlights for a while…” He shakes his head. “Anyway. She was short and skinny, a fact which she bitched about constantly.” He laughs. “One time, she spent literally three full weeks eating junk food and burgers and milkshakes and just crap. She said she was trying to, and I quote, eat her way to bigger tits.”
I cackle. “Oh my god, no! Really?”
He nods, laughing. “For real. Eventually she started feeling sick and gave up, and then actually spent, like, four full months working out somewhat regularly because she did gain weight from it, but it all went to her belly and thighs, and not her butt or boobs. That really pissed her off.”
“I bet,” I say and can’t help another laugh. “It doesn’t work like that.”
“So she discovered.” He sighs. “She was wildly outgoing. Like, Audra and Ryder rolled into one—a tiny, foul-mouthed pixie with a wicked sense of humor and no filter. She and Audra would have either hated each other or be best friends, I think. She had a T-shirt made for herself, once. It said ‘Itty Bitty Titty Committee’ across the top, with arrows pointing to each of her boobs, labeled ‘chair’ and co-chair.’” He shook his head, laughing. “She did crap like that all the time, made fun of herself.”
