Page 69 of The Girl He Loves
Why am I kidding myself? Of course I know what he sees in her. She’s stunning, larger than life, full of energy and confidence. When she walks into a room, heads turn. Who wouldn’t want to stand next to that? And I bet she’s a firecracker in bed.
I smile at the sight of Samantha laying naked on a dining table, her body covered in sushi.
Claudia laughs. “She’s so hilarious.”
Yes, the crazy things Samantha does for sex. I bet Renee is wild in bed too. What kind of games does she play with Joel? I bet she’s into the whole role play and handcuffs too. I wonder if he’s dominant in bed — he doesn’t seem the type. I shake my head. Why am I thinking about them again?
I hate it. I have no free will when it comes to the thoughts whirling around in my head. That’s the case for most people, but it’s a lot worse for sufferers of OCD. I close my eyes and breathe deeply, and remember Dr. Russell’s words.Relabel. Reattribute. Refocus and Revalue.
“This scene breaks my heart,” Gretchen says, full of emotion. It breaks mine too.
“I knew you would do this. I knew it,” Carrie screams at Big, throwing her bouquet of flowers at his head. “I am humiliated.”
The expression on Charlotte’s face kills me; when she holds her friend in her arms, and screams “No” at Big, a warning not to come closer. Carrie’s heart is shattered, but thankfully she has her friends. A lot of people might say this movie is just about sex, but it’s really a film about friendship.
My gaze darts across the room as I study my wonderful friends. Why am I obsessing about almost-strangers, when I have these amazing girls around me?
I grab a small pack of M&Ms and tell myself to stop being such an idiot. I focus on the TV, laugh at the on-screen shenanigans, and finally enjoy the movie and the wonderful ending.
When I leave Abigail’s, my belly is full of popcorn, candy and alcohol. I feel a little woozy and thoughts of Big and Carrie and those lovely silky blue Manolo Blahnik pumps fill my mind.
I’m blissful when I finally crawl into bed, next to my warm husband.
* * *
It’sMonday afternoon and I’m in the middle of folding frozen blueberries into my muffin mix. The boys love blueberry muffins and I try to make them at least once a month. I’ve been the perfect wife and mother these past few days. I’ve been acting very sane, minding my own business. Laundry, cooking, baking, work… that’s what I’ve decided to focus on. No more obsessing over Joel, Renee and Ava.
When my phone rings, I’m annoyed. I hate being interrupted when I’m smack in the middle of something. I huff as I drop the bowl on the counter and reach for my phone. I’m surprised when I see Joel’s name and face — I’ve taken the liberty of adding his photo to my contact info, a pic I stole from his Facebook profile.
“Hello,” I say casually, as if I don’t know it’s him, as if I couldn’t care less.
“Hey, Mischa… it’s Joel.”
I know.
“Hi, Joel,” I say cheerfully. “What’s up?”
“I need to talk to you, Mischa.” He doesn’t quite sound like himself. “Can we meet?”
“Sure,” I say, eager to know what’s bothering him. “Our usual place?”
“Actually, I’m at the salon,” he tells me.
“Oh… aren’t you closed on Mondays?” I ask, confused.
“Yes, we are… I’m just cleaning up,” he explains. “You think you could come by? I’d love to talk.”
Wild horses couldn’t drag me away.
“Uh… sure.” It means that I’ll have to abandon my blueberry muffins and take the bus, but curiosity is always a great motivator.
“Great,” he says. “When will I see you?”
“In an hour?”
“Great.”
Did I need to wear heels and that pretty blue flower dress, the one that brings out the color of my eyes? No, I did not. As I stare out the bus window, I wonder why I did. I suppose I still want him to think I’m pretty, even if I have no intention of ever taking our friendship beyond what it is. I suppose I want to feel desirable, a perfectly normal emotion and completely expected behavior for a woman my age.
