What Lovers Do

“And I bought that desk and computer.” I point to his “office” in the corner of my living room. “Take them. Go. We’ll call it even.”

“Who? Who have you been screwing behind my back?”

“Jimmy!” I clap my hands together in front of me several times—the adult in the room, trying to capture a child’s attention.

“We.”

Clap.

“Are.”

Clap.

“Not.”

Clap.

“Together!”

Clap.

“So if I were screwing someone, it wouldn’t be behind your back. It wouldn’t be cheating. It just simply wouldn’t be any of your business.”

“If … you said if. You’re not really screwing anyone else. Are you?”

“Yes. That’s where I was last weekend. I was in Sedona with a guy I met. And we screwed. And it was amazing because he’s not a squatter.” Okay, he’s not a squatter at my house, but Jimmy doesn’t need the finer details. Shep could be one missed paycheck away from being a squatter at his parents’ house. I have no idea.

“Informal settler.” He frowns. “Squatter is so belittling.”

“If you feel belittled, may I suggest you move out so I no longer offend you?”

“You’re not pregnant.” He ignores my suggestion. “You wouldn’t know this early if you were pregnant.”

That’s his takeaway? I confess to sleeping with another guy, and all he cares about is the possibility that I’m not pregnant? No self-esteem. No standards. He’s belittling himself. It’s time to consider the real possibility that this is not Jimmy, but rather an imposter. Maybe there was an alien situation and this extraterrestrial person, who has taken over Jimmy’s body, doesn’t fully understand how human relationships work. That would explain so much—everything really.

“You’re right. It would be too early to know, but it’s not too early for you to move out. What do I owe your mom for the new driveway? Will she take a check? Do I need to get her cash?”

Then, as if a switch flips (again lending credence to the alien hypothesis) Jimmy narrows his eyes. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Well, I’m not ready to move. I have equity in this house now. So you and your new boyfriend can just deal with me until I’m good and fucking ready to move.”

This is progress. It probably wouldn’t seem like progress to anyone else, but Jimmy just took a big step. He acknowledged we’re over by getting angry. He’s gone from an asshole in denial to a vengeful—well, still an asshole—with the realization that he’s no longer welcome here. I’m reminded of why Shep has to be a friend. Only a friend. It’s nearly impossible for lovers to end and still be friends. Casually falling out of love is as likely as finding a unicorn at a petting zoo.

“I’m evicting your ass, so your days are numbered. It didn’t have to be like this.” I whistle and jerk my head toward the bedroom for Cersei to follow me.

“What does it say about you that you can’t handle the rough times, huh? I lose my job and we’re over? I lose my job and you jump into some other guy’s bed? Really, Sophie? I thought you had more depth than that.”

Great. Letting a jobless guy live with me, who showers twice a week, and uses my credit card without my permission is the new “deep?” And here I figured it was the classic doormat scenario. The answer to my problems is to purge all men from my life and focus on the little pea in my uterus. Maybe going through the stages of pregnancy and giving birth will change me in a way that allows me to see men differently.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

To my disappointment, and no one’s fault but my own, I don’t hear from Shep for days … and more days. Maybe it’s for the best. I can’t stop this train that’s already left the pregnancy station. Still … I miss him.

I miss my friend and our world.

Jimmy makes me miss Shep even more. Maybe Shep doesn’t own one damn thing, and maybe he’s as penniless as Jimmy, but he’s not Jimmy. God … I hope he’s not Jimmy. What if the reason he hasn’t called is because he’s pissed off at me, just like Jimmy?

After work, I pop into the pet store before they close. No big deal. Cersei needs more treats.

Okay. She doesn’t really.

A couple exit with their dog just before I step into the refreshingly crisp air. I straighten my white pencil skirt and smooth the front of my floral ruffle-sleeved blouse.

Pink wedges.

Pink glasses.

Hair straightened and in a sophisticated ponytail, as sophisticated as a one-inch-long ponytail can be.

“Hi.” Shep glances up from the register, the store empty besides us. He’s unfairly handsome. I instantly notice he’s had a haircut since I’ve last seen him, but it’s still a little wavy, and he’s clean shaven. It’s the first time I’ve seen him without any facial hair. I have mixed feelings about it because I like the memories of his stubble rubbing along my skin.