A Life More Complete(42)
I decide to go home and finish working from there. I change into a pair of cotton shorts and a black and white polka dot bandeau bikini top and park myself on my balcony. It’s unseasonably warm for March, ninety-three degrees and the sun makes me smile. Living in California you become spoiled by the beautiful weather, yet regardless of how long I’ve been here I still take in what it has to offer. I finish working around 4:30, as a text causes my phone to buzz on the table beside me.
Ben: I’m sorry I upset you today. I hope the rest of your day went better.
The time with Tyler allowed me to forget about the gaping hole that was left by Ben’s departure just three days ago. But with the text it returns, sinking in and deeper than before. I can feel my heart begin to hurt as it has for some time now. I hate it. I hate the pain and the ache and the mindlessness that has become my life. But I know I need to guard my heart to avoid the weakness that can take over so suddenly. The thought of isolation crosses my mind. It’s the only way, to rid Ben from my life.
Me: I’m fine, please don’t apologize. Sometimes it doesn’t last and this is one of those times. Best of luck to you.
If I’m anything, I’m pragmatic. The message is to the point and when he doesn’t reply I know I’ve definitely isolated him. I’ve isolated myself, our whole relationship. Ignore it. It will go away. At least that’s what I think until someone knocks on my door about half an hour after I sent the text. I overlook the knocking and continue flipping through the channels on my TV when my phone buzzes again. I can’t help but feel slightly annoyed at Ben’s determination. I grab my phone and scroll to the text.
Unknown: Are you gonna answer your door?
I’m taken aback. The number is not one I recognize and a slight panic rises in me. Who sends a creepy text like that? I know it’s not Ben. He’d never intentionally intimidate me or try to scare me. I set my phone down and try to ignore the text just as another one comes in.
Unknown: You said to call if I needed anything. Yet, you’re ignoring me.
I walk to the door and pull it open and there he is in a pair of jeans and an old worn in Cubs t-shirt. I step aside and he walks in.
“Stalker? How do you know where I live?”
“I called your boss, so yes, I am a stalker. I was hoping you could show me around.” He looks me up and down and I feel self-conscious, like a sixteen year old. “Like I said, too skinny.” I shake my head at him and he follows me into the living room.
“Have a seat, I’ll be right back. There’s beer in the fridge if you want one.” I move quickly toward my bedroom and pull on a bra and t-shirt and return to the living room. His feet are on my coffee table, crossed at the ankles, a beer in his hand as his eyes are trained on the SportsCenter top ten for the day. He turns and smiles at me. I’m far more nervous around him than any twenty-eight year old should ever be. He takes a long drink of his beer and then says, “You didn’t have to change just for me.”
“So, do you want to see the beach?” I ask, overlooking his comment.
“Sure. Can we walk or should we drive?”
“Drive. It’s a few miles, unless you want to walk it.”
“Let’s walk,” he says, winking at me. “We can catch up, maybe have dinner?”
“You seem to be making it a habit. Dining with me?” He laughs and says I’m great company. “There’s a really good Mexican place on the beach. The fish tacos are to die for.”
“Perfect,” he says as he stretches out his hand in an effort to get me to take it. I just look at him and he drops it to his side. “It was worth a shot.” He smiles again and it wears on me. Each smile breaks me down just a little bit.
Sitting together at a picnic table, we eat our tacos and black beans, rice, chunky guacamole, the usual. It’s the way it was before things turned ugly.
“You can still eat like I remember. A metabolism like a hummingbird,” he says watching me as I inhale the tacos as quickly as he does. He’s right. I eat like a midwestern girl, not like the girls who were born and raised on the beaches of California. I love food too much.
“Good genes,” I reply nonchalantly. “At least I got something positive from my mother.”
“Can you believe you live here?” he asks looking out at the water. The beach is quiet, waves rolling in as they pull away leaving sandy foam in their path. It’s as beautiful as it looks in the movies.
“I know. I love it here. Sometimes I feel like the people who live here take it for granted, become immune to its beauty, but not me. Never. It took far too much for me to get here.” I don’t say it but I owe Tyler a lot. He’s the reason I’m here.