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I go to the bathroom and wash up. As I do, I make the same prayer I’ve made many times since I moved my bedroom down here: please let him show more attention to his six-pack of beer then to me. I don’t want to be bothered with him now or for the next few days.
I sigh. He couldn’t even be happy for me when I told him I got the job yesterday. All he could say was, “Great. So what are they paying you in? Candy bars?”
The less I have to deal with him, the better. It means more mental and emotional space to focus on my job. Focus on doing a good job for Ms. Vanacore, who actually pays me in money, not insults.
Chapter Twenty-One
Melissa
Surprise, no surprise!
At the end of the week, on Friday morning, Dennis doesn’t bother to call. I’m online for two hours before work, and he doesn’t show. And when I text him right as I’m stepping out the door, demanding to know why and how he could forget our date at the end of the week, after promising to make it up to me, I get no reply. No acknowledgment of any kind.
On the way to work, I try to tell myself to be gentler with him. To be more understanding, that he’s probably inundated with some project or other, but I can’t do that. I can’t just write off this behavior like I did before. After that voicemail he accidentally left on my phone, I can’t just brush it off.
I keep thinking about that other voice. That other woman I heard talking to him.
And yes, I know it’s a woman. There’s no question in my mind that it is. A man wouldn’t use that tone of voice with him. Another man, no matter how high-pitched or soft his voice, doesn’t sound like that. He wouldn’t flirt like that with Dennis either. Most men can immediately tell who bats for the other team, and so keep their conversations professional.
That wasn’t professional in the least. Not unless that woman is a professional escort. She’s a flirt, a bit of flash. Which is all I’m pretty sure she is.
With this thought, I’m inundated with angry, fearful tears. They get going enough that I have a bit of trouble seeing where I’m going. They get to the point where I actually have to wipe them away to turn into the correct lane to avoid hitting anyone like pedestrians or other drivers.
But my tears quickly evaporate under righteous, indignant self-talk. “So, that’s it? That’s all I’m worth, after committing to you for a year of long-distance? That’s what you repay me with? Ditching our date, messing around with some other girl, and not caring to be honest about it?” As I yell at him in traffic, I know those words are coming back to me. They spear me a little as well, as I haven’t been exactly innocent myself. But at least I’m not actually messing around with anyone. I’m not actively cheating, which he seems more than happy to do. Along with completely blowing me off, after feeding me the sweetest, most disgusting lie on a voicemail.
I turn violently into the parking lot, not caring when I run over a bit of the curb. I jump a bit of the parking space guard as well, also not caring. I pull the car keys out of the ignition and sit there for a moment. My heart is pounding so rapidly and loudly, it’s in my head like hot, living cotton. Like spiderwebs made out of blood veins.
I take a breath out, one calm, one before I’m inundated with tears again. These ones are sad and sorry, not as angry. Just scared and hurt. I put my hands over my eyes, letting out a pained, quiet breath. “How could he treat me this way? How could he care so little about our relationship that he just up and forgets that we’re even supposed to talk today? And last time too? How could he care so little that he’s late and then acts so disinterested?” After this, I don’t bother to talk anymore. I just cry, thinking back on all the kind and loving things he used to do for me. How much he used to act like he cared for me and my dreams.
“I’m going to make him answer me. Answer to all this. Including who that other woman is and what his relationship is with her.” With this vow, I get out of my car. I wipe the tears from my face and throw them off me. Like mud. Like garbage.
I then straighten myself up, walk into the office with my head held high. Dennis isn’t worth crying over. Not when this woman right here is the one responsible for getting a bunch of mean people from the legal aid floor fired and moved out of this awesome, deserves-to-be-growing company, so they can’t spoil it with their backward, foul beliefs.
