Page 3 of Playing the Player

After the breakup, I moved in with Olivia, but now that she’s having a baby, I’ve needed to give her some space.

So now I’m on my own. And the loneliness is louder than any roommate. It’s shit.

Then, just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, Max has just posted on his socials that he’s engaged. To her. He’s getting married to the same girl he cheated on me with.

“What the fuck is wrong with him?” My voice cracks. “After everything he put me through, why is he the one who gets to be happy?” I cry, soaking Olivia’s shirt. “Why can’t I be happy too?”

“Oh, Sash.” She rubs slow circles over my back. “I’m so sorry.” I don’t know how, but those three simple words make me cry harder. “What if you tried dating?” She asks gently after a few beats of silence. “Nothing serious. Just dinner, coffee. Even if it’s just a distraction. You never know, you might actually find someone you wanna be with.”

A watery laugh escapes me. “I can’t, Liv.”

“You can.”

“I don’t even know how.” I shake my head. “I’ve never done the dating thing before. Max is all I’ve ever known.”

Olivia blinks down at me, her eyes softening. “I know it’s terrifying. Trust me.” A small wince crosses her face as she places a firm hand at the top of her stomach.

“Is she trying to escape again?”

Olivia groans, “I swear, this child thinks my ribs are a trampoline.” I chuckle, softly. Olivia will complain at least one hundred times a day that her baby girl won’t ‘get out’ of her ribs. She’s thirty-eight weeks pregnant, bigger than a truck, and can be a raging, hormonal bitch. I still love her though, more than life itself.

And I’m sure if the roles were reversed, Liv would be considered mild in comparison to the monster I would become.

We’re quiet for a moment, Olivia letting me process without saying too much. She knows that's what I need right now. Quiet. “If it makes you feel any better, she’s really not that pretty.”

“You’re right.” I mumble in response, “She’s actually pretty ugly.”

“Exactly.” We’re quiet again, so many unspoken thoughts swirling in the air between us.

“Except she’s not ugly at all.” I cry harder onto Olivia’s shoulder, her pink shirt now several shades darker from my tears. “She’s gorgeous.”

“Don’t cry, babe.” She says, somehow pulling me closer against her. I’m practically on top of her at this point. “She’s got nothing on you though. You are one thousand times better than she is.”

“You’re just saying that because we’re friends.” I reply, my words broken from the force of my sobs.

“Best friends.” She corrects, “And no, I’m not.” She pulls back to look at my face. “Sash, you are the strongest, kindest, beautifulest and most loyal person I know.” Liv takes the damp tissue out of my hand, throwing it on the side table before picking up a fresh one and lightly dabs under my eyes, wiping away the stray tears.

“Thanks, Livvy.” We sit in a comfortable silence again for a few moments, my head resting against her shoulder again. My sobs have died down and all that’s left is a few lonely tears rolling down my sticky cheeks. “I don’t think beautifulest is a word.”

“Oh, hush. It is now.”

“You can’t just make up words.”

“I’m pregnant. I can do whatever I want.” That earns her a genuine laugh. “There she is,” she’s smiling now too, looking down at me with admiration in her baby blue eyes, “I’ve been waiting to hear that laugh again.”

I don’t know how long we stay like this, just holding each other, but I’m starting to think Olivia fell asleep. That is until she speaks up once again. “I love you, Sash.”

“I love you too.”

She kisses the top of my head. “One day, some man is going to look at you the way you deserve to be looked at. He’s going to treat you the way you deserve to be treated.”

“Thanks, Liv.” Warmth settles somewhere deep inside my chest. I only wish I believed her.

I hate Mondays with a passion. Actually, I hate every weekday with a passion. Every day follows the same exact script: alarm at 6:30am, gym, shower, breakfast, work, home, bed. Repeat until death. It’s an endless, mind-numbing, soul draining cycle, made even worse by the fact that I have the dullest job imaginable.

I’m a receptionist.

If you had told me when I started college, studying English and Literature, that in ten years time I would be answering phone calls and booking appointments, I would have laughed in your face.