Page 139 of IRL: In Real Life
“What?”
“There is no secret woman.” His voice lowered then, not softer exactly, just more direct. “Not from now. Not recently. Not while I’ve been dealing with you. Candace is old noise. I never gave her no dick, never gave her no claim, and I damn sure never gave her anything that should have her feeling comfortable posting about me.”
That landed somewhere lower than my pride wanted it to.
I looked away from the phone for a second, out toward my bedroom window where the light was still pale and innocent enough to pretend women weren’t out here posting their hurt before coffee.
“Okay,” I said.
He watched me for a beat. “You don’t sound okay.”
“I’m getting there.”
That got the smallest shift out of his mouth. Not quite a smile. More like he appreciated that I wasn’t doing that thing people did when they pretended not to feel what they had plainly just felt.
“You can ask me directly when something like this comes up,” he said. “Don’t sit with it.”
That was both fair and annoyingly wise.
“I know.”
His office phone lit up on the desk beside him at the same time his laptop chimed.
He glanced over, then back at me, already irritated.
“I’ve got a meeting in two minutes,” he said. “But we’re not leaving this here.”
That part warmed me.
Even through the leftover sting.
“I know,” I said.
His eyes searched my face one more time, like he was trying to make sure I really did know and hadn’t just defaulted into politeness because the man had on a tie and a schedule.
Then he said, “She’s old news. You’re not.”
Before I could answer it properly, he looked off-screen and muttered, “Give me one minute,” to whoever had knocked.
His eyes came back to mine. “I gotta go. But I’m not done with this.”
I nodded once. “Go to your meeting.”
His face softened just a little at that.
“Calling you later.”
“Okay.”
Then the screen went black.
I sat there on the edge of my bed with the phone still in my hand and my hair still wrapped, the ugly little remains of jealousy cooling into something I could finally look at straight.
I got up and carried my phone into the kitchen, set it on the counter, and started coffee with more force than necessary. The house was quiet except for the soft hiss of the machine and the little sounds of morning gathering itself around me. My nerves still felt touched off, but not enough to drag me into foolishness if I had any say in it.
And that was when my mother’s voice came back to me.
Don’t start suffering imaginary tragedies before anything has even gone wrong. Let the thing be what it is while it’s being kind to you.
