I spend the rest of my Sunday doing the mundane. Since I can now walk on the kitchen floor, I make a quick trip to the grocery store for some food, beer and more wine, and make myself a late lunch as soon as I return. Part of me was hoping to run into David while I was out, but then I recalled his note saying that he had plans for the day. When I finish washing my lunch dishes, my phone buzzes. It’s him.
Hi.
Hi back.
What r u doing?
Getting my shit together.
Shit?
Unpacking and grocery store. Going to hang pictures now.
Need my tool belt?
He is flirting again. I want to be coy, but...
U left it here yesterday. I’m wearing it right now.
Is that so?
Yep. And it looks damn fine on me, too.
I’ll bet it does.
Where r u?
Boating with the boys.
Any girls?
Do I really want to know the answer to that?
None wearing a tool belt.
So what r they wearing then?
Nothing that matters to me.
What the hell does that mean? That he isn’t looking at what they are wearing because he doesn’t give a damn, or that they aren’t wearing anything at all?
Define nothing.
It means that it doesn’t matter what they r wearing, or not wearing, as the case may b.
Because...?
Because whatever it is, it isn’t u in those blue panties.
U aren’t going to let any of those girls sit on your lap r u?
No, Emma. I am not.
Because I will kick your fucking ass if u do.
I know.
I slide my phone closed and put it back in my pocket. I can’t believe it, but the thought of David on some boat with a bunch of barely dressed women makes my skin sear. Why? I don’t understand how I can be so jealous when we only spent one night together. And shit, it wasn’t even a night. It was barely an hour. But then I remember our conversation about me meeting his friends. He was jealous, too, wasn’t he? Possessive, even. I’m beginning to wonder where this is all going.
I spend the rest of the afternoon clumsily hanging pictures on the walls, ironing my work clothes for the week, and mapping out the bus route for my morning commute. I am excited and nervous about starting my new job tomorrow. As the evening rolls in, I check my cell phone occasionally to see if David texted. There is nothing, and I am highly disappointed in myself for caring so much. I feel like a damn stooge every time I look at my phone.
I make myself some pasta for dinner and finish the employment paperwork that’s due at the office tomorrow. I hate myself for it, but I’ve been listening for noise on the stairs the entire evening. What the fuck is he doing? He can’t still be on a boat; it’s pitch-dark outside. I don’t want to care about where the hell he is, and honestly, it’s none of my damn business. But I do care...and it’s driving me fucking crazy.
I walk back to my bedroom and pull my pepper spray out of my purse. I carry it back to the living room and put it on top of his tool box. Then I get a piece of paper and place the following message under the spray canister:
David—
Next time you are going to be out late with a bunch of half-naked whores, please take this with you. Feel free to use it liberally. I know where to get more.
Emma
PS. Please tell me I don’t have to kick your fucking ass...
It’s midnight now, and I go to bed.
Chapter Nine
I am up and out of the apartment by 7:05 because I suspect it will take me a good forty five minutes to get to work. I’ll have to make at least one bus transfer, and until I know the route better, I want to give myself plenty of time. Turns out it takes me a little over fifty minutes to get downtown, and by the time I walk into the office building, I only have a few minutes to spare. I like to be early, though, so I decide to be out the door by 6:50 from here on out.
My new office is just as excellent as I suspected it would be. I’m not overly enthused about sitting in a cubicle all day, but the work I’ll be doing is precisely what I was hoping for. Everyone else working here seems to be very nice—and very normal. I discovered in college that engineering is full of quiet, thoughtful men, which means that I don’t exactly fit in, but their ordinary and orderly nature always felt right to me. Plus, the logicality of the work is therapeutic. Even when I was working on a project in my college