The Honey - Don't List

But maybe I don’t need more cues. Right now the silence feels pretty definitive.

Her words barely make it through the line: “I had a really nice time, though, James. I mean it. It was the best sex I’ve ever had. God, that sounds stupid.”

“It doesn’t sound stupid. I was thinking the same thing this morning.”

She doesn’t say anything else.

“So,” I say quietly, getting it. “That’s it?”

“I think so.”

One perfect night, and with a nearly silent exhale, we’re done.

She clears her throat. “But, it’s just the reality. Things are nuts right now, and—”

“You don’t have to explain it to me, Carey.” I turn and lean into the side of a building. “You know I understand the situation.”

“I know you do.”

The ease with which we’ve both let this go ignites something in me, just a spark, but it’s big enough to trip the rest of the realization. Carey is so good at taking care of everyone else, but she is beyond shitty at taking care of herself. I know there’s a stronger backbone in there—she showed it to me yesterday. I’m not willing to let her bury it just to avoid conflict.

“Actually, wait.” I turn against the wind. “No, I don’t.”

I can practically hear the way this takes her aback. “What?”

“I don’t understand. We don’t have to pursue this between us if it doesn’t feel right to you, but Melissa’s opinion, stress levels, or demands shouldn’t have anything to do with it.”

“James.” She says this single syllable as if she’s exhausted—which I’m sure she is. But the fire has been lit, and I think it needs to be lit in her, too.

“I know that she pays you well,” I say. “I know that you’re critical for the designs and worry you won’t be able to replicate that somewhere else. I know that you have a long history with them, and I even know that health insurance is a really important consideration for you. But Melissa is—and I’m just being honest here—she is abusive.”

“She’s not—”

“You said yourself that you can’t even be honest with your own therapist. What would she tell you if you could?” I pause. “You know she would say the same thing.”

When she doesn’t respond to this, I press on. “You can find another job,” I say. “One that doesn’t demand you have absolutely no life. One that gives you credit for your work, and pays you well, and has health insurance.”

She still doesn’t say anything, but I know she’s listening, so I continue. “What does your life look like five years from now? Even if it’s not me, do you have someone? Where are you living? You’re making good money, Carey, and you don’t even have an apartment to yourself, let alone own your own home—why would you? You’d never be there.”

“This is shitty, James! I’m only twenty-six! I’m still figuring things out.”

“I’m not trying to be shitty!” I turn in a circle, growing frustrated. “But how long can you use your age as a buffer against making a grown-up decision? I care about you. Not just because we had sex, but because I like you, and we’re in this fucked-up situation together. A lot of people are making a shit-ton of money from the Tripps, but this situation isn’t the best thing for any of us.”

She exhales slowly, but doesn’t say anything.

“Carey. Say something.”

“I do want my own house, okay? I want a house with land where I can have a dog and chickens and go for walks outside and get lost like I used to. And I want to actually be there, to have time to make it my own and not somebody else’s.”

I stop pacing, surprised by this kind of honesty. “These are all good things to want.”

We sit in silence for five, ten seconds. “Carey?”

“I’m thinking.”

Another moment of silence passes through the line. The wind picks up; a horn honks somewhere in the distance.

“And I do want a relationship.”

I don’t know what to say to this. The moment feels too delicate for me to try to make a pitch for this, for us.

“But it’s good for you if they stay together,” she says, finally, and I want to hit myself now for not trying to sway her to give me a chance. “You need this job.” She doesn’t say it with an edge or bitterness; she’s just using my résumé woes to argue her case for the status quo.

“Even if that’s true, is it worth both of us being miserable? I’m not sure. I want you to have those things, Carey, and I think we’re both resourceful enough to find something else. For you, something that gives you credit for all of your work. For me, something that helps me build my résumé back up.”

Before she has a chance to respond to this, my phone vibrates against my ear. I pull it back to see the name on the screen.