Getting Her Back

I should’ve asked for his picture at the very least. Just to make sure. But I don’t want him to think I’m too eager now that I’ve made it clear where I stand.

Another day passes, and another, and suddenly it’s been five days since I’ve heard from him. Maybe he was lying when he said it was fine. Maybe I scared him off by not wanting to get to know him better. Should I keep looking for somebody else? I’m not exactly sure of the etiquette in these situations, how long are you supposed to wait for an anonymous sperm donor to get back to you? Is it the protocol to only be involved with one of these men at a time?

I think I might be going a little crazy. Ellen tells me to stay the course, that he’ll get back to me, but I tell myself if it goes a full week without hearing from him I have to move on. I can’t string all my hopes on a man who can’t be bothered to follow through. I’ve had enough of men who can’t follow through.

“You okay?” I hear a voice from behind me. It’s Julia, one of my better friends from work.

“Yeah,” I say. “Why?”

She laughs. “You’re staring a hole in your screen and I think you’re about to murder your poor nail.”

I look down at my hand, and she’s right. Shit. I’m chewing my nails again, I haven’t done that in a while. Back when I was with Christian, he used to make up funny ways to help me stop the chewing. He’d fine me by taking away my M&Ms, or taking my hands in his and not letting them go until I kissed him. Eventually, it worked. I was so distracted by all the things that he would do that I stopped chewing my nails entirely. Now I really only slip into it when I’m stressed or anxious. This situation has me both.

And there he is again. Christian. I can’t seem to get him out of my head lately. Probably in no small part due to our last night. I don’t want to think about it. I can’t. And yet I can’t help it. That moment in time is the reason why I’m here. If things had been different, I might already have a child, and we might still be together. But he made his choice, and this isn’t about him, it’s about me.

I realize that Julia is still staring at me. “I’m okay,” I say. “Just a lot going on that’s…not here.”

“I get that. Let me know if you need to talk it out over lunch.”

“Will do,” I say as she heads to her own cubicle.

After she leaves, I have to consciously force myself to stop chewing. It’s not going to help anything, and it’s certainly not helping me get any work done.

I try to focus on the document in front of me but I find the words just swim in front of my eyes. This grant application is due at the end of next week and it’s nowhere near in the shape it needs to be. I have a call tomorrow with the client to chat about how the application’s going, and I need to be further along than this. But my mind simply will not cooperate, running and rerunning through the list of possible reasons why mystery man hasn’t reached out. I don’t even know his name.

In my head I think that somebody with a body that jaw-droppingly sexy has to have an equally sexy name. But that’s not necessarily true.

His name could be Chet. Or Brian. Or Doug.

But I’m blocked in now; I’m not going to message him again unless he messages me first. That’s probably unnecessarily stubborn, but that’s the way it is.

With newfound resolve, I put down my phone and try to focus on the grant application in front of me. I’m preparing this application for an artist, specifically one who doesn’t have the means to provide for herself while she works on her art. She is a young woman whose paintings are absolutely exquisite. She deserves to have my attention entirely focused on her application and not on my personal problems.

I won’t look at my phone again for the rest of the workday. I won’t. I won’t think about mystery man. I won’t think about Christian. I won’t.

Who am I kidding?

4

Three years ago

The timer in the kitchen goes off just as I finish adjusting the setting on the table. Everything is perfect. I’ve spread candles around our small dining room—which is basically our living room with a table in it—and I’ve made sure that the dinner is cooked to perfection. Christian’s favorites. I want to have a conversation with him, and I want to show him how much I love him while I do it.