Good Time(53)

“The annulment paperwork. I was served this morning, on my way to work.”

“Fuck.” This is muttered straight into the receiver, but I get the impression he’s saying it to himself as opposed to me. “Payton, about that.” He sounds harassed, and I hate it. Vince never sounds hurried. He never sounds like he’s anything less than one hundred percent in control and I hate that I’m his speed bump, an interruption to his day. To his life. I’ve put him in this position, saddled with a pretend wife he didn’t ask for. I’m a husband predator. Targeting unsuspecting men for drunken shenanigans that end in vows of forever. That’s what I did, right? I saw him in the lobby at work, fell instantly in lust with him and then decided fate, my libido, and my love for instant marriage reality shows meant we had a shot at being together forever.

Thinking I could circumvent failure with random luck and lust. Thinking statistically we had as good a chance as anyone. Thinking I could use alcohol as my scapegoat.

Stupid.

I’m embarrassed. So embarrassed that he doesn’t feel the way I feel, because that’s what it boils down to, doesn’t it? Saturday night I told him I was falling in love with him and not only did he not say it back, he questioned my pledge of love. What did he say? Are you? Do you? It didn’t bother me in the moment. It didn’t feel awkward when he simply smiled and fucked me into multiple orgasms as a response.

“It’s fine,” I interrupt him before he has a chance for a lengthy explanation. He’s not breaking up with me. At least, I don’t think he is. He can’t possibly be, we just had phone sex twelve hours ago. I think he’s just slowing us down. He’s busy and I’m a handful on the best of days.

Today is not my best of days. But still, I dig deep into my small vat of reasonableness.

“What do you mean it’s fine?” he asks and now his tone seems annoyed—with me. The word ‘fine’ is enunciated with more edge than I’m used to from Vince. Unless I’m imagining things. I do tend to run wild with my imagination and my reasonableness vat is closer to the size of a coffee cup at this moment. Could last night have been goodbye phone sex? God, that cannot be a thing can it? No one does that.

Then I hear him speaking to someone he’s with, the phone pulled just far enough away that it increases the background noise and lowers the volume of Vince’s voice, but I can still hear every word. “Are you still on the phone with Gwen? Have her hold. I need to talk to her when I’m done with this call,” is what he says.

Gwen? It takes me zero point zero two seconds to locate that name in my brain. Gwen is the name of his ex. How many women living in the Las Vegas area could possibly be named Gwen? It’s not that common. Or popular, Gwen. I hate you and your dumb name because my math-ing tells me that it’s likely this Gwen and his ex Gwen are the same person. This all just became so much ickier because why does he need to talk to Gwen about anything? Why does he even talk to Gwen at all?

“What did you mean by it’s fine, Payton?” Vince prompts because I’ve still not replied, having been thrown by his tone and my wayward thoughts.

“I meant that it’s fine, Vince. I meant that I get it. We did a drunk crazy thing, I know it’s not forever. We’re having a good time though, right?”

“A good time,” he repeats into the receiver and I can’t tell by his voice if it’s a statement, a question or an accusation.

“A great time?” I offer because I’m feeling him out, because I’m feeling confused by the events of the last couple of hours, by his tone, by everything. Because I’m at work and I’m trying to keep my voice low and this is all so weird. This vibe right now is throwing me for a loop because I’m not used to it. Things between us were so normal. Minus the impromptu wedding, me running out the next morning, the annulment paperwork that he brought over, then took back and never brought up again. Besides all that, super normal. So I’m not sure how to deal with this, with him, in this moment. “It’s okay, is all I meant. It’s fine. I understand.”

“What the hell is it that you think you understand, Payton?”

God. I don’t know! I don’t know what I think I understand anymore. And perfect timing, now my boss is standing next to my cube looking from the cell phone in my hand to her watch and back again. She points a thumb in the direction of the conference room. Right, I forgot we have a team meeting in… one minute.

“Don’t worry about it,” I tell Vince. “We can talk about it when you get back.”

There’s a silence so long I’d wonder if he hung up except I can still hear the background noise on his end. He snaps, “Tell her to hold,” at someone in his vicinity.

“You are a whirlwind of chaos, Payton. You’re a goddamn tornado of pandemonium and disarray and I—” He cuts himself off with a harsh inhale. Then he blows it out on a long exhale and I imagine he’s rubbing two fingers across his forehead and shaking his head at my obnoxiousness. “We’ll talk when I get back. I’ve got to go.”

I know you do, Vince. Gwen is holding, after all. Gwen is Holding would make a great band name. A punky angsty band, specializing in teenage breakup songs.

“Try not to do anything impetuous or reckless today, if you can manage it,” he says by way of goodbye.

“Like marry a stranger?” I respond a bit sulkily because I am sulky. I’m on guard and confused and feeling every word that means the opposite of reasonable.