CHAPTER 1
LEXI
I’ve been sitting in a fancy restaurant on a Wednesday night in downtown San Francisco for exactly fifty three minutes now in navy blue dress pants, a cream blouse, and matching heels. Not comfortable.
It’s 7:48 p.m.
Not that I’ve been checking the time in every two minutes.
Our reservation were for 7 p.m. I was here on time of course, or a few minutes early. Like always. Punctuality is important.
Date nights are hard to come by these days. Always some work emergency, always a client, a meeting, a distant friend’s dog, or the weather
Sarcastic, I know. Exaggeration? Not really.
This night we agreed on having date night. A real one. We haven’t had one in weeks. It’s not an anniversary or anything, no big event, nothing. Just a random Wednesday where I thought we could spend some quality time together.
This restaurant is new and fancy. It has a dress code, and the menu is in French, which I don’t understand. Not that I cared. It was his idea to come here. He reserved this very table three weeks in advance. And now, he is nowhere to be found. Great. Fucking perfect.
To be honest, this is getting ridiculous on my part. I always believe him.
Always another chance.
Always some excuse for him.
Always me who should be okay with this.
I genuinely believed, that today he’d have time for me, maybe today he’d want to make time for me. Or at least he would have the decency to call me if he can’t make it.
He didn’t. Obviously.
I’m sitting here, by this table, alone. Okay, with my third gin and tonics, and maybe five mozzarella sticks. Waiting for who knows what. Another five minutes, another gin and tonic, another awkward smile from the waiter who is now on his way to my table. Again.
“Can I get you anything else?”
“No, thank you. I think I’ll wait for another five minutes.” – I say, but I don’t know why. For myself mostly.
I wait for five more minutes but for what? Zeke is clearly not coming and he probably forgot about the whole night.
But still, that’s who I am. I wait for people, I shrink myself for others. I smile when I could cry and I push even when I should already let go and give up.
It’s a crazy concept, but if I promise something, I do it. And if I can’t, I fucking call. That’s the bare minimum. Maybe I’m not worth the bare minimum. Maybe I’m not good enough. Maybe.
The restaurant is packed, there is some birthday party at the back with a cake and singing, a business meeting two tables over with expensive wine and too much testosterone, and a girls’ night happening near the bar, which reminds me that Lila and I should do that soon.
They are all looking perfectly happy, having fun in a beautiful establishment while I’m sitting alone in my sad little table, sipping my drink and somehow not in the mood for the mozzarella sticks.
My phone is buzzing on the table. For one blissful moment I think it’s him. I still believe he just ran late, something came up, one big client, who knows, but he’s coming.
It’s not him.
It’s one of my clients who already threw a temper tantrum because of missing receipts like an angry three-year-old. Now he found them. Miracle. I told him earlier today he never gave them to me, but he insisted. Loudly.
I’m not that stupid, at least.
It’s heartwarming thinking about this uptight jackass, who after screaming at me in my office for an hour, is now writing me an e-mail like we are buddies. We are not.
Thank god my extraordinary boss came to my rescue because this jerk wouldn’t understand I never got those documents. He didn’t believe me. Of course. But he did believe Kelly, my boss. Of course he did. Pathetic.
And now he found them. Nice job, Brad.
That’s it, I’m done.
It’s time for me to go home.
This day is getting worse by the minute.
Thankfully, the waiter – who was looking at me earlier like I’m an abandoned puppy on the side of the road – is coming by right now.
“Excuse me, can I get the check, please?” – I ask him, but I don’t even try to smile anymore. I get a nod and a sympathetic smile from him.
“Would you like me to pack your appetizers?” – he asks, politely.
“No, thank you. I’m not really hungry.”
He nods again and leaves.
Five minutes later I’m outside on the street. The city is buzzing, people everywhere, somewhere in the distance someone playing on a guitar, a kid is screaming across the street, friend groups are crossing the streets, laughing.
Normal. Completely normal.
Except it’s not, not really. The realization hits me. All at once. I can see it now.
The pattern.
The excuses.
My birthday two months ago.
Taco dates what he invented at the beginning of our relationship.
Our six month anniversary.
Always the same explanation.
Work.
Clients.
Money.
As if all through these months, I wasn’t important enough, I simply wasn’t enough.
It hurts but if I think about it, it’s not surprising I just didn’t want to see it until now.
The May weather was nice today but now it’s getting chilly. Of course I haven’t brought a jacket and I definitely can’t walk in these shoes. I need a cab.
But I need air first.
To breathe.
To think for a few uninterrupted minutes without judging or pitiful eyes around me.
Fortunately there is a park nearby. I walk in my absolutely uncomfortable heels. I won’t wear them again, I guess. The park is mostly empty. I sit on a bench, looking at the little pond in the middle. I should be angry, I should call him, I should react.
But I don’t.
And that is scarier. Because it means deep down my heart and my mind already knows, there is no turning back from here.
Not after me sitting alone in a restaurant for an hour, without even a text.
That’s too much, even for me.
I need my best friend.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, searching for Lila’s contact then hit call. She’s picking up after a second ring.
“What did he do now?” – she asks.
“Hello, to you too.” – I roll my eyes.
“Don’t hello me, Lexi. Tell me what he did now.”
“He didn’t show up.”
Silence. Which is weird from Lila, who is usually louder than an elementary school’s playground.
“He did what?”
“Didn’t show, didn’t text, didn’t call. I was sitting there, by myself. It was humiliating, Lila.”
“I will kill him.”
“He’s not worth it, Li” – and this time, this statement feels true.
“I don’t care, I will seriously harm him. He deserves it.”
“He would. But it’s pointless and you know it.”
“Are you okay?” – Lila’s voice drops lower, almost a whisper.
“I don’t know. I will be.”
“I’m here if you need anything.”
“I know. I’m going home now, I need a long and hot shower and I really need to take these shoes off. I can’t believe I dressed up for this. Today was the worst.” – I sigh.
“You are going to be okay, Lex. I love you. Call me if you need anything. Anytime. I mean it.”
“I know, love you too, Li.”
I take a deep breath, walk out of the park, my feet hurt like hell. Dressing up is stupid. Heels are stupid. Dates are stupid. Men are stupid. And I’m stupid.
Enough, that’s just enough.
Fortunately a cab turns around the corner, I hail it, and a minute later I’m on my way to my cozy apartment to take a long and hot shower. Wash away even the memory of this day. My apartment is nothing fancy – nothing like Zeke’s giant penthouse downtown – but it’s perfect for me.
The ride is only fifteen minutes but it gives me the time to just look out of the window and watch the city moving, buzzing, living without me in it. The lights from downtown, the laughs I can hear at a red light through the driver’s rolled down window, the low music from some bar by the sidewalk.
Normal, completely normal.
The city doesn’t care about me, and my mess of a love life. My non–existent love life to be precise.
As we drive by the fancy neighborhood Zeke lives. I can see that spotless, out of a magazine, practically useless space that could never feel like home. It’s nice when you’re looking at it on a Pinterest board but when you live in a place like that? That’s depressing after a day or two.
My apartment on the other hand is tiny, sometimes messy but there are a lot of throw pillows, plants – which I’m constantly trying not to kill –, mismatched mugs, chipped plates. It’s so far away from perfect yet it is to me.
Zeke’s place feels like a museum, I was afraid to sit down on the expensive couch or drink from a crystal glass.
I get in my apartment, kick my awful heels off, already stripping out of my clothes, my first destination is my bathroom. I set the water to scalding hot. I step in and let the hot water wash away everything today had been.
I stand there for twenty minutes, trying to clear my head without any success. I get out of the shower and find the coziest sweatshirt I own, some leggings and crawl up on the couch with a fluffy blanket around me.
I should go to bed. This day is a mess, from the moment I got into the office to the minute I passed the threshold of my front door.
Yet, my brain wouldn’t shut up.
It’s still trying to understand what did I do wrong.
How should I have done it instead?
How could I have avoided this?
Why am I not enough?
Why am I too difficult?
Why am I too much?
Why can’t he love me enough to at least call me if he can’t make it?
One rogue teardrop is rolling down on my face without my consent. I shouldn’t be crying because of this, because of him.
But I am.
It’s pathetic, really. I have done everything he wanted me to do, I was there when he needed me at office parties, to show me off. That’s what was important to him. The appearance.
I haven’t seen it that way. I thought we were a team and I’m helping him move forward the way I could. But if I think about it, he never helped me when I needed him. I haven’t realized it although Lila was trying to say it for months now.
She saw it from the outside.
The way he was using me.
I don’t think Zeke Williams is a bad person. He is not. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have gone out with him in the first place.
He is handsome, charming, funny if he wants to be, but usually way too serious. He likes fancy stuff – country clubs, spas and vineyards. I’m not saying any of those things are bad, just not for me. Not really.
At the beginning of our relationship, he went above and beyond. He was more carefree. He took me on dates. He was creative. Dinners by the ocean, walks under the stars, movie nights with just the two of us and way too much ice cream.
Easy. Cozy. Perfect for me.
I think all of those things are still in him somewhere. Maybe everyday life, the pressure from work, and the fact that I was always by his side, made him less enthusiastic about it.
After a while he didn’t have to work so hard. He took me for granted. The girl who would always be there when he needed her.
I have to admit now, he is definitely not my person. I can see that we want completely different things from life.
That’s okay. That part.
The using part? That’s not okay.
Not that he did any of this on purpose, I’m sure he didn’t. Maybe in his mind the meaning of a relationship is different from mine. And that’s okay too. But I’m not going to cry about this anymore. Yes, maybe it’s been a year and yes, there were good times, nice moments, lovely dates and thoughtful gestures but he’s just not my person.
It doesn’t make it easier. Not one bit. It feels like I’ve been living in some kind of haze in these last twelve months.
I wanted it to work, I was working for it.
It wasn’t enough.
It’s never going to be enough.
Not for him, not for me.
I need to go to bed. I need to sleep but I probably won’t. Not because this is too hard but because I’ve spent twelve months trying to believe I could make this happen, I can make something out of this.
I failed.
Not because I didn’t try hard enough.
Because I was doing it all alone.
I get up from the couch, head to the bedroom, when my phone starts buzzing in my hand.
It’s him.
It’s 10:30.
It’s too late. Literally, and figuratively too.
I don’t pick up, and I don’t pick up the next five times he calls.
I place my phone face down on my nightstand and crawl under the blankets.
Maybe tomorrow will be easier.
