Page 63 of Your Pace Or Mine

Same, but it still sucks.

Poor kid. It makes my chest ache to imagine her disappointment, even if she doesn’t want to show it.

I need to talk to Ashley. Maybe texting with her will lessen the desire to punch something. We haven’t been in touch much lately; she’s figuring stuff out with Jared. She’s been cagey about how things are other than he’s been sick, so I’ve focused on dating women from the app instead, going out most evenings. It’s to generate content and have some fun, not because I need a distraction from Ashley being busy.

I shouldn’t bug her, but she’s the one person I can be honest with about my Dad. I have to be strong for Sarah, and Penny and my mom feel sorry for me—I can’t deal with that level of commiseration. Ashley just gets it.

My dad’s not coming after all. He bailed. New girlfriend wants to go to California.

Ashley:

Fuck him.

I lean my head back and laugh, my mood immediately lighter.

Tell me how you really feel.

Seriously, fuck him. His loss. He doesn’t deserve you.

Thanks Ash.

I don’t know how I’m disappointed after all these years. Fool me once and all that.

Because he’s your dad and he’s supposed to be there for you. You aren’t supposed to have to guard yourself against your own parents.

Yeah, well…

What do you need right now?

What I want is to beg her to come over, to drink a bottle of whiskey with me or go for a run so fast and hard that our lungs hurt. Or fall into bed with me until I can’t think any more. But Jared is in the picture now. Even if they aren’t serious, I can’t ask that of her. She’s not supposed to be my emotional crutch.

Want me to come over after work?

I should tell her to go back to Jared and have a happy, healthy, boring relationship. But I don’t.

Fuck yes.

While I’m waiting for Ashley, I hit the condo gym, letting out my frustration and disappointment and anger on the rowing machine and some weights. I do too many reps, but it has the desired effect. The pain that comes from pushing myself a little too close to my limit drowns out the voices in my head.

Ashley arrives after I’ve showered and put some chicken breasts in the oven. She didn’t say if she was eating beforehand, but I’ve been doing too much take out recently and it felt calming somehow to pull together a marinade and whip up an easy salad dressing. She shows up with a bottle of red wine and raises an eyebrow while giving me a once-over.

“I thought I’d find you eating cookie dough and ordering trash, but here you are cooking. You’re even wearing real pants!”

I’m in jeans. Nothing fancy, but I wanted to look presentable. “What can I say? When I wallow, I wallow in style.”

She stares at me, shaking her head. “Sebastian, you’ve lost your touch.”

“Why?”

“I thought you’d say you didn’t plan on wearing them for long or something to that effect.”

I tilt my head back, laughter running through me and taking me away from this crappy day. “Listen, if you want me to strip down in the kitchen, you’re going to have to say so yourself. I won’t make assumptions.”

She smirks at me, her face offering a challenge. “Stay dressed, at least for now. Naked cooking is a bad idea, but the night is young.”

We skip the wine and stick with carbonated water at first, then relax on the couch until the chicken is done. With Ashley here, the sting of my father’s dismissal doesn’t feel as sharp. We talk shop for a while, look over some analytics that Seth pulled, and discuss what’s been working on the platform. It’s nice to have a friend who enjoys this stuff. I like watching her brain work when she looks at views and shares and hashtags, pulling numbers and data together like a giant puzzle. Most women see me the way I want them to—carefree, flirty, not too serious. I keep the business side mostly boxed up. But Ashley has been around long enough to see all the parts of me and how they fit together.

We don’t discuss dating, especially not this Jared guy. I’m sure he’s a nice person. Boyfriend material, a catch who is apparently not afraid of commitment in this day and age. I don’t want to know any more. If they were serious, she wouldn’t be here.