Page 2 of The Wrong One

“I know what we need,” Emmy said. “I’m going to order pizza and we’re going to open that bottle of wine. Then, we are going to catch up on life in general.”

“I’m fine,” I said.

“Yes, you are.” She smiled. “But Luke is out and I want pizza and girl time. I’m so glad you’re home. I know that’s totally selfish.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate you taking pity on me.”

“It’s not pity.”

“I’m going to finish unpacking the kitchen so we have dishes,” I said and got back up.

“I don’t mind drinking straight from the bottle,” she called after me with a laugh.

I carried the box of dishes into the kitchen. Lucky for me, my asshole ex was so excited to get rid of me, he was happy to give me damn near everything in the house. I was certain it was because he was trying to clean it out and make room for his next unsuspecting victim. I knew the woman he was with knew about me. I knew she’d been to my house. I found the evidence. I believed his gaslighting when he told me the panties that were a size smaller than what I wore, were mine. The woman had been there. She saw pictures of me. My clothes. My things. She had touched my things.

“Are you okay?” Emmy asked.

I looked over my shoulder. “What?”

“You were making a weird growling sound,” she said.

I laughed. “I was just thinking about the other woman in my bed. I wonder if she touched my clothes. Did she wear my stuff? It’s so gross. It’s so gross that he put me in that position.”

“He’s an asshole,” Emmy declared. “Fuck him.”

“I am pissed at him,” I nodded. “He is an asshole, but the woman knew about me. What the fuck is that about? How do you do that to someone? She’s probably already living in the house. I really want to find her and tell her she’s going to lose him the way she got him. Karma is a bitch.”

“Maybe she’ll cheat on him,” Emmy suggested.

“I hope so,” I sneered. “I hate that I’m pissed. “That I give a shit. I wish I could just shut him off and pretend I never met him. I don’t want to think about him. I don’t want to feel mad or sad.”

“Do you feel sad?” Emmy asked gently.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Yes and no. I think the sad part is fading a little, but there are moments.”

“I think it gets easier with time,” she said. “At least that’s what I hear.”

Together, we finished unpacking the kitchen boxes. The pizza showed up and the first thing I saw when I opened the box was the olives. I looked at her. “Really?” I asked.

“What? You don’t like supreme?”

“Olives?” I asked and started to pick them off. “Gross. Olives do not go on pizza.”

“Of course, they do,” she argued and picked up my discarded olives and put them on her slice. She took a bite and groaned. “So good.”

“Liar,” I muttered. I held up the slice and made sure there were no hidden olive slices under a piece of meat.

“So, have you applied for any jobs?” Emmy asked.

I shook my head. “I’m looking. I just know what I’m looking for. I need to put a little more effort into it.”

“I think you should take as much time as you can to get your head straight,” Emmy said. “If you have the money to live without working, do it. You don’t want to start a job with your head all foggy. You’re not going to be able to give it your all.”

“I can’t really afford to sit and sulk for another month,” I said. “I’m going to start pounding the pavement. I need to work and stay busy. It will help me get over this nonsense.”

We talked a bit more before Emmy checked the time. I knew she wanted to get home to her man. I didn’t blame her. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I’m fine.” I smiled. “I’m going to organize my closet. Not that it will last, but it’s always nice to have a tidy closet for a few days.”

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