“I think I’ve got it under control, but you’re welcome to come and talk to me,” I call back.
I really don’t hate her. I just hate what she’s been doing.
Melissa comes in the room and she sits at the counter silently for a while. “Do you have anyone?” she asks.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you have anyone on the side — a girlfriend, a what-if?”
“What do you mean ‘a what-if?’” I ask return.
“You know, somebody who you’re attracted to, but you haven’t made a move because you were in a relationship,” she says. “Do you have anyone like that?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “I haven’t really been looking.”
Now, I’m lying. I’ve never really thought of Grace as my “what-if,” but being around her has been the most fun and the most frustration that I’ve endured in a long time. Call me a masochist, but that’s always been my favorite combination.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “I think so.”
“What’s she like?” Melissa asks.
“Nothing’s happened.”
“I’m not saying that. I really want to know.”
I know I’m the one who offered to make her breakfast, but this has gotten to be pretty surreal.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she says. “Although, if you’ve been fucking her behind my back, I think you and I are going to have to have some words.”
“I told you, nothing’s happened,” I answer, but Melissa just titters.
“I’m fucking with you,” she says. “I’m glad you have someone. I hope it works out.”
“Things were good for a while with the two of us, weren’t they?” I ask. “I mean, we are where we are now, and that’s the way it’s got to b
e, but we used to be happy together, didn’t we?”
“I don’t know. I’ve actually been asking myself that question over the last couple of days. I know that I do feel sorry for hurting you, but when I look back, all I can think is that we spent so much time trying to make each other happy or trying to stay out of each other’s way that we kind of lost sight of ourselves. That’s how I feel, anyway.”
“I know what you mean,” I tell her, cracking an egg into a bowl.
“That’s not to say that we haven’t had our good times,” she continues. “I just think that we were never really meant to be with each other that way. I think we made better friends than we did significant others.”
“You’re right,” I agree. “I remember when we first started hanging out, back when you were with one of those morons from that business frat.”
“He wasn’t a moron!” she protests. “I will have you know that Charles Vincent Dunmore III was a very intelligent man.”
“I’d forgotten how ridiculous his name was,” I laugh. “Still, even though I was always envious of him and those other guys you dated before we got together, we really were at our best when we were with different people.”
“I think that was our problem,” she says. “We spent so much time idealizing each other because our own relationships sucked so much that we forgot to think about whether we’d actually work as a couple.”
“I’m glad we’re doing this,” I tell her.
“What, that you’re kicking me out because I’ve been screwing my boss?” she asks, and I can’t believe we’re both laughing about it.
“No, I’m glad that we’re not splitting up by screaming at each other.”
“It’s kind of weird.”