Shit, my phone lighting up on my nightstand alerts me that I never texted Marlie that I made it home. I’m stuck with the thought of texting her and possibly waking her up.
“What do you think Tim, should I text her or not?” Obviously, he doesn’t fucking respond. “God, I’ve reverted to asking my dog for woman advice.” I slide into bed and look at the emails and other messages that have poured in, mostly from my brother Keller, a couple from my mom sending a meme and then asking if I’ll be at our family dinner tomorrow. As if I’d miss that. I’m not trying to get my ears boxed or a loaf of bread thrown at my head. Those I won’t respond to. The emails aren’t that important and can wait until I get some damn sleep. Then, after I work at the office for a few hours, I’ll see Marlie and follow it up with heading to our parents’ house, see my family, eat dinner, come home, and start the vicious cycle all over again.
“Fuck it,” I say to the empty room. Tim clearly has zero advice. What’s he going to give me, a paw as a high five? That’s highly unlikely with the way he’s snoring louder than most grown men. I scroll to Marlie’s name and type out a text.
Marlie: Made it home. Sweet dreams.
After a few minutes of no response, I put my phone on charge, turn the television on for background noise besides Tim sawing logs, and try to get some sleep myself. Hopefully, in the morning, I’ll hear back from Marlie, and if things go as planned, tomorrow’s plans will be a fuck of a lot more fun, that’s for sure.
CHAPTER NINE
marlie
“Gosh, this sucks,” I tell my spare room. It’s been three days. However many hours and minutes that comes to, I have zero idea. All I know is that for the first time in years, I was ready to put myself out there, and then bam, freaking silence. And it’s not like I could call my best friend forever and a day either because she’s on her honeymoon. Ugh, the nerve of her to leave me when it was her little scheming self that put me in this predicament. So not cool. I mean, I don’t begrudge Taylor; she deserves all the happiness in the world. That still doesn’t mean she won’t get her ear yakked off the second she and Ridge are back home. That will, in fact, happen.
I took the week off, begrudgingly, only because my hands needed it, my eyes needed it, and dear God, my creativity needed it the most. Yet, I find myself miserably bored. That would figure, too. The first time I give myself a much-needed staycation of sorts, not wanting to travel after that mess with my Oklahoma flight that still makes me shudder, dealing with delay after delay. Anyways, no amount of the beach helped ward these thoughts off. The guilt of closing my shop downtown, turning on an auto response to emails and phone calls, it’s making me climb the walls thinking I’m screwing up somehow. Not that the three days off so far have helped me in the slightest. Sunday, in the early hours of the morning, I literally took my clothes off as I walked through the house, not even bothering to take my makeup off, my hair down, or shower. Gross, by the way. I do not suggest that because all it does is leave you with even more to clean up the next day, and just your body. Anyways, I slept and slept so much so I didn’t wake until around four o’clock in the afternoon. I was confused at first, thinking it was all a dream, the handsome man I met, until I was fully awake. Then I hopped out of bed, ran to where my purse was dangling on the side of the couch, looked for my phone, and all my hopes died when there wasn’t a phone call or text from Tanner. It sucked the excitement out of my bones. I tried to just brush it off, thinking he did the same as me and passed out. That was until today. I realized maybe he’s just not that into me, maybe it wasn’t really meant to be. It also hasn’t helped my psyche at all, as in I’m royally depleted, lacking any kind of motivation except to walk on the beach until my legs are tired and order in random types of food. Grocery shopping was the last of my to-do list, still is, really. I mean, I’m doing well in the sense that my hair is brushed, but right about now, I’m just blah.
Shoot, I even thought about calling my mom for advice. That’s when I decided it was time to do something instead of sulk about every little freaking thing in my life. The first order of business was to work in my spare room. It’s an epic disaster and needs some picking up. Which is why I’m on the floor going through scraps of fabric, tossing some in one pile and some in the other. It’s monotonous work, but I figure it’s better than mourning the fact that I’ve been ghosted. Thirty-something years old, and I’m using a term that’s usually applied to the much younger generation. I guess it just wasn’t meant to be, and that really stinks. The kiss Tanner left me with had me reaching for my toys Sunday night, but even that didn’t make it any better.