Stupid really is the worst feeling. It’s worse than rejection and embarrassment. Everyone gets rejected at some point in their life. Everyone has something embarrassing happen to them—even celebrities and dignitaries wind up with toilet paper stuck to the soles of their shoes.
But stupid is preventable. It’s the result of assumption. I’m the ass who assumed, and I couldn’t feel more stupid.
“Four-eight-zero-seven-three …” I give him my number as quickly as possible so I can get out of here and never return to use my store credit or free dog wash.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Anne is ready for you. How was your weekend?” Nora, my technician, asks as I stand from my desk chair and adjust the high waist of my pants.
I’ve been an optometrist in Scottsdale for three years. I’m the only doctor in my office with a small staff of four.
“Well…” I give her a gummy smile “…I had an argument with Jimmy. I think we might be breaking up.”
I am a sinner, a repeat offender, with nowhere to repent. Jimmy was my last chance to save face with … well, everyone I know. And he failed, which means I failed. It’s humiliating, and I can’t tell anyone the whole truth.
“On Saturday,” I prattle on so she doesn’t focus on the Jimmy disclosure, “I had an embarrassing encounter at Wash Your Tail with a moderate to severely sexy employee there. And yesterday my mom called to let me know Prince Harry died, and she’d really like me to fly home this weekend for the burial. How was your weekend?”
“Oh my god! Prince Harry died?” Nora’s head jerks back, mouth agape. “How … what the … your mom knows him? You know him? I thought you said you’re from Michigan.”
“Prince Harry is … was … my mom’s orange Tabby cat.”
Nora covers her mouth and snorts. “You had me. I honestly thought you had connections to royalty.”
“I do.” I check my teeth in the oval mirror on the wall. “My mom is a royal pain in my ass. She honestly thinks her cat dying warrants me spending hundreds of dollars to fly home for a backyard burial.”
Nora steps aside as I squeeze past her to head to the exam room, her smile falling into a somber expression. “Sorry to hear about you and Jimmy.”
“Thanks, it’s uh … pretty heartbreaking.”
Embarrassing. Shameful. Degrading. Disconcerting.
“Are you going to talk about your encounter with the ‘sexy’ pet store guy?”
I toss her a grin over my shoulder just before opening the door to the exam room. “You mean when I verbally vomited on the floor in front of him and rolled around in it before spilling my coffee everywhere and making the most cringe-worthy assumption that he was trying to ask me out on a date when he was only trying to enroll me in a rewards program?”
Nora grimaces.
“No. I don’t think we need to talk about it. But thanks.”
That next afternoon, I arrive home to the pungent smell of sardines in my house. “Jimmy! What did I tell you about eating sardines? Not. In. The. House.”
Cersei greets me with her whole backside wagging as I slip off my heels.
He shuts off the TV and shoves the last bite of saltine cracker and sardine into his mouth. “I’ll have you know, I talked with my mom today,” he mumbles with cracker crumbs flying out of his mouth onto my floor. “She’s doing well. Thanks for asking.”
I frown at his flippant attitude, as if I’m the bad guy.
“She said we need to take the things that are most irritating about each other and work past them. Conditioning of sorts until it no longer feels so irritating. So I’m going to eat sardines in the house until you get used to it, and I’ll try to ignore the way you baby talk to Cersei. Like … she fucking knows who’s the good girl. But if you need to keep asking her, then I’ll learn to ignore it.” He rolls his eyes before standing (more crumbs falling from his lap to my floor) and takes his plate to the kitchen.
“Jimmy…” I rub my temples “…did something happen to you? Have you had a stroke? Did you hit your head?”
He narrows his eyes. “Uh … no. Why?”
“Because you have four days left here. Four. Days. Then you’re out. We don’t need to fix what can’t be fixed. We don’t need to become more tolerant of each other. We need to get the hell away from each other.”
“My mom also said couple’s therapy is a good idea.”
“No! Gah! No! No! No! You aren’t listening to me. I don’t want to be with you. I don’t love you anymore. And it’s not because there is anything wrong with me.”
Cringe.
I might have an addiction to falling in love, and that part is on me.
“Oh …” He crosses his arms over his chest. “So you’re saying it’s me? Something is wrong with me?”