Repeat(13)

“Still there. A little sore, but nothing too bad.”

“Did you take the pain meds?”

“Yeah, earlier.” And it’s not a lie. I’m a few hours overdue for the latest dose of Tylenol, but she doesn’t need to know. The idea of popping pills all the time doesn’t sit well with me. Life is full of so many crutches. Props to hold us up and help define who we are. Shit to lean on to get us through the day. My attempt at growth, or at least understanding, has me stripping all of the detritus away in a bid to get to the heart of matters. To gain some understanding of myself. It might not be possible, but I’m going to try.

“Since you’re here, feel like going on a shopping trip?” I ask.

A line appears between her brows for a moment. Then she smiles. “After a purge like that, you’re probably going to need it.”

I smile back at her.

“Are you sure you’re up to going out?”

“Absolutely.”



*



Ed: How you doing?

Clem: Fine. It’s Friday night. Shouldn’t you be busy with friends?

Ed: I’m out. Just waiting on someone. Thought I’d check on you. No more seizures? Falls?

Clem: Someone—not plural? Are you on a date?

Clem: Sorry. None of my business. Thank you for checking on me. Bruising is pretty spectacular but head is otherwise intact.

Clem: Would I be able to visit Gordon sometime? Take him for a walk, maybe?

Ed: He’d like that. Sunday afternoon? Say around five?

Clem: See you then.



*



“I didn’t bring your shirt,” I say, climbing out of the Uber outside his building. And it’s not a lie. If I’d said I’d forgotten to bring his shirt, then my immortal soul would be in trouble.

“Another time.”

“Sorry.” Okay. Maybe that one’s a lie.

Ed stands on the sidewalk, one hand stuffed in his jeans pocket and the other holding Gordon’s leash. At the sight of me, the dog just kind of vibrates with excitement. I’m happy to see him too. Ed’s in his usual T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. All of it looks good. Too good. Because it’s like my hands have some phantom itch. The urge to touch his skin, trace my fingers over the muscles in his arms, the line of his jaw. My body’s attraction to him is distracting, to say the least.

Meanwhile, I’m trying out one of my new navy V-neck distressed T-shirts, boyfriend jeans, and sandals. Simpler and less girly than my previous style. I place my copy of Pride and Prejudice in the cotton sack I found in Frances’s kitchen cupboard. It contains my bank card, thirty dollars in bills, my cell, mace spray, and lip balm. All of the basics.

Now for the important stuff. I go down on one knee, giving Gordon lots of scratches and pats. “Hello, beautiful boy. How are you? Did you have a good week?”

“He can’t actually speak,” says Ed.

“Ha-ha.”

“You cut your hair.”

I shove my hand through the shorter threads self-consciously. “Yes, I did it myself. What do you think?”

“Very punk rock.”

“Is that code for crap?”

“No. It’s just different.”

“I can live with that.”

The dour expression seems embedded on his face. Gaze slightly pained and/or uncomfortable, forehead a little lined. Still handsome as fuck. Being around him would be easier if my heart didn’t beat faster at the sight of him. Perhaps my body really does still remember the feel of his hands, what it was like to have his mouth on me.

Being someone’s ex is strange, all of the history such a title involves. It’s hard to be the villain of the story when I don’t even remember why I left him and apparently broke both our hearts. If he did mess around on me, his behavior now makes no sense. At least, not to me.

“Not sure green and yellow really suit you, though,” he says, inspecting my face.

“Me neither. I’ll be glad when the bruising fades and the weird looks stop. Pretty sure the Uber driver wanted to stage an intervention, bless her.”

“Here you go.” He hands me the leash, nodding in a northwesterly direction. “Park is a couple of blocks that way. Do you know where you’re going?”

“No. Guess I’ll figure it out.”

“Are you even supposed to be wandering around on your own?”

I frown. “Now you sound like Frances.”

“That’s just harsh.” He almost smiles. It’s a close thing. “Mind some company?”

“It’s fine, but don’t feel that you have to. I’m not a child.”

“Aware of that.” He slips sunglasses over his eyes and starts walking. “Still worried about being indebted to me?”

“Mostly I think I’m waiting for you to decide I’m too much trouble and you’re better off dropping back out of my life.”

He lifts his chin, saying nothing for a moment. “This about me not responding when you gave me shit for going on a date?”

“It’s about everything, really.” So he was on a date after all. Not sure how I feel about that. Nothing good, I don’t think. On the other hand, the man might have been on a date, but he’d been thinking about me. How interesting. “And I wasn’t giving you shit. I was just . . .”