Every Wrong Reason(31)

Was it a date?

Oh, god. I thought I would be sick from the sudden, acrid burst of jealousy inside me.

He turned back around to wash his dish and so I went back to emptying my lunch bag into the trash, trying not to plot murder in the first degree for the unknown female. I heard him fiddling with the faucet but refused to turn around. I couldn’t stare at him the entire time he was here. Maybe if I ignored him, he’d get the hint and go away.

“This is leaking,” he announced gruffly.

Immediately I felt defensive. “I didn’t break it.”

His chuckle surprised me so I whirled back around. “I didn’t say you did.”

“Well, you don’t live here anymore. I figured the accusation was implied.”

Something dark flashed in his eyes and I had to look away. Suddenly, my heart was in my throat and I forgot how to breathe.

“I’m not blaming you, Kate. A leaky sink is hardly a sin anyway.”

I nodded, still unable to look at him. God, what was with this guilt? When had I started worrying about his feelings or how I hurt them?

The silence between us became stilted and uncomfortable. I had just gathered up enough courage to ask him to leave so he could go on his stupid unconfirmed date, when he shocked the hell out of me by asking, “Do you want me to fix it? Most of my tools are still in the garage.”

“If you don’t fix it, will it like… break the house?”

His lips twitched and I noticed he had to look away from me too. But not because he felt bad. He was trying not to laugh. “It’s better if I fix it,” he said.

“That would be great. Thank you.”

He pushed his sleeves up higher and then bent down so he could look under the sink. I hovered uncertainly. What was I supposed to do now? Should I keep him company? Did I need to watch him so he didn’t try to steal the dog?

Did I have time to steal his phone and figure out who the other woman was? The one he planned to marry tonight and have ten babies with by tomorrow?

Should I check myself into a mental health facility because clearly I’d lost my damn mind?

“Go do whatever it is you need to do,” he called out from under the sink, his voice slightly muffled with his head in the cabinet. “Don’t worry about me.”

I leaned over the island so I could see him better. “Are you sure? Can I get you something?”

“Go, Katie. I know you want to get out of those clothes.”

I looked down at my outfit, wondering how he knew that. Er, how he remembered that. Obviously we’d lived together for seven years so he did know some of my habits.

My gaze traveled over his toned back and the nice shirt that hugged his runner’s body. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him about his date or the nice clothes he was wearing, but I changed my mind at the last minute. If he wanted to change, he would. Surely there was something in his closet he could dig out.

Instead of bothering him anymore, I escaped upstairs. I stared at my closet for longer than I should, debating what to wear.

My natural inclination was to throw on yoga pants and a sweatshirt, but there was part of me that wondered if I should look nicer while Nick was here. It wasn’t that I wanted him to be attracted to me or anything; I just didn’t want him to think I was a slob.

Not that he didn’t know me better.

Not that he hadn’t seen me in yoga pants and a sweatshirt a million times.

But I couldn’t help wanting to show off a little bit for him. I wanted him to notice me like I noticed him. I wanted him to look at me and think, have I ever really seen this girl before? Do I realize what I lost?

Because maybe it was just me or maybe I was crazy, but those were the thoughts tumbling through my head.

Had I lost the best thing in my life? Had I lost the best I could do? The only man that would put up with me and love me for me?

Even if we had problems?

I swallowed down my remorse and changed into my black yoga pants and an old sweatshirt. I had cut the neck off of it in college, so it hung off my shoulder in a way that maximized comfort and cuteness.

Or at least I thought so.

I took my time upstairs, fiddling with my long dark hair. It was naturally curly, not like Kara’s wild hair, but there were some definite volume issues I had to work out on a daily basis. I usually wore it down to work or partially back, but nothing felt better than at the end of the day when I could throw it up on top of my head in a messy bun.

I was pretty sure that would be what heaven felt like. Like a thousand years of messy buns.

I stared at myself in the mirror for long minutes after that. I looked at my dark brown eyes and the light smattering of freckles that dotted my nose and cheeks. I tried to rub away the barely there crow’s feet that had started to crease next to my eyes and the smile lines I knew would only worsen.

Thirty.

I would be thirty-one soon.

And this was the moment in my life I had finally realized I was getting old. If not old, then older.

I thought back to when I first met Nick and how I had imagined my life at thirty.

This was not it.

I had not planned on getting divorced.

I had not planned to live in a tiny house on the edge of the city.

I had not planned to feel this much stress or this much emptiness.

Once upon a time, thirty had felt like I would finally have made it.