Cheating on Myself (21 page)

“I want you there,” Laurel said, her voice as smooth as honey. “We all know Cat can’t cook, and I expect you to be there for me. I need you, Stella. You’re family.”

I looked desperately at Cat, who didn’t seem to be taking her mother’s insult all that harshly. “I’m really busy,” I lied. “I’m sure they don’t want to work around my schedule.”

“Cat tells us you’ve been downgraded at work?” Laurel smiled at me mournfully, full of pity and judgment. “Hours cut back a bit?”

“Yep,” I shot a look at Cat.
Traitor
. “I’m really enjoying the extra time off, but it’s amazing how quickly the hours get filled right up again.”

“What are you doing with all that extra time?” Laurel’s napkin was pressed to her slice of pizza, dabbing at the grease that had pooled on top of the cheese. “You must have plenty of time alone these days—aren’t you bored?” She seemed to have forgotten about the cooking show momentarily, and had moved on to general criticism. If she thought picking on me would make me run back into her arms, she was sorely mistaken. “Don’t you get lonely?”

“Nope, not at all.” Her judgment no longer bothered me. I was not going to let her get to me. She was only a tiny little sliver of my life now. “I um, have some new hobbies.”
What new hobbies?

“What new hobbies?” Erik asked. He looked amused, as though he could sense I was lying and wanted to watch me weasel out from under his mother’s thumb.

“I’m learning the guitar,” I said, realizing I should ask Joe for some lessons. It would be fun to play the guitar. Maybe. “And I’ve decided to take an entrepreneurship class.”

Cat looked up. Since I’d made both of these things up on the spot, no one had heard anything about any of these plans. Myself included. Couldn’t I have chosen something more appealing and exciting as my fake hobbies, like, say, “Also pole dancing.”

Erik coughed into his napkin, and Laurel’s face turned red. “Pardon?” she asked primly.

“Pole dancing.” Nothing about water aerobics compared to pole dancing, but I had to fake my way through it now that I’d said it. It sounded fun, and surely would be unexpected. “It’s a great workout.”

“What’s pole dancing?” Pippa asked. Cat shushed her.

“How’s your back?” Erik asked, giving me a look that suggested I stop talking.

“My back’s better. The pole dancing helps.”

“Are you in any kind of therapy?” Erik adjusted his expression so it was more of a command to stop talking than simply a suggestion. Laurel was squirming in her seat, and he probably assumed I cared that she was uncomfortable. She’d have to get used to the new me.

“I’ve been on some really bad dates, which is, I suppose, a kind of therapy.” Now Cat’s expression mirrored Erik’s. I was being provocative, and I knew it. I could take the high road, and pretend I was the same old Stella, plodding along in a plain old life. Or I could make up a fabulous new existence, and then rise up to meet my lies head-on. I could live the life I was creating right now. Okay, it made me a liar, but there were much worse things I could do. Such as,
sleep with my ex
. “I feel really good these days, actually. Things are going well, thanks for asking.”

Erik simmered quietly in his seat. I could feel the frustration rolling off of him, and everyone around the table was silent. I was irritated that I was being subjected to this family dinner full of judgment and expectation. I guess it was my fault for not asking more questions before accepting the invitation, and I really shouldn’t have fooled around with Erik again. That, ultimately, was the problem. It was kind of hard to move on when I kept stepping backward.

Suddenly, I could feel the pressure of the bathroom sex, Laurel’s expression, the taste of the olives, and Cat’s disappointment all crushing down on me.

“I’m sorry,” I said, pushing my chair back from the table. “But I feel like I’m going to be sick. I hate to eat and run, but… well, I think I better go.” I threw out a quick “thank you” into the ether and fled Cat’s house.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“
Why don’t you date?” I blurted this out the next morning while Anders and I sat together on the couch, munching on apricot scones from the bakery. I hadn’t told him anything about the dinner at Cat’s the night before, afraid I’d inadvertently let some information about my little rendezvous with Erik slip. I knew Anders would make me feel worse about it than I already did.

Anders looked up from his tea, some sort of earthy mint blend that made the house smell like Christmas. He cleared his throat and blinked. “I date.”

“You never date anyone worth dating. It’s like you don’t
want
to find love.” I tucked my legs under the blanket we were sharing on the couch. I’d come to realize Anders really was just like a gay best friend—always there, always honest, always comfortable, always a little bit tempting. Also, he was hot. But there was something so inherently wrong about wanting Anders like
that
, since he also felt like my brother, so I’d never considered him as a possible boyfriend. “You always flirt and act like some sort of Cassanova. Before we lived together, I thought you were kind of a man slut, but you’re actually quite celibate. So, nice guy, why don’t you ever date nice girls?”

“You thought I was a Cassanova, huh? Is that the vibe I’m giving off?”

“Actually, you sometimes give a bit of a gay vibe, but I’m sure you know that.”

Anders laughed heartily. “There’s nothing wrong with flirting with both sides.”

“No, there isn’t. But you’re leaving a pile of disappointed men in your wake. It’s not fair, you know.”

“There’s nothing fair in love. I’m not gay, in case you’re still curious—I’m just sensitive and snarky and intimidatingly handsome, which makes you think I’m that gay best friend every woman feels sure she needs. Is that how you all see me?” He curled his hands around his big mug.

“Maybe.” I giggled, thinking about all the times Cat and Lily and I had wondered, guiltily, if Anders was hiding some big, secret love life from us. A love life with hot, strapping male models—the kind of guys who grace the covers of romance novels and bachelorette party stripper ads. (We didn’t give him a lot of credit for good taste.)

“Well, I’ll have to do more to keep you guessing. It’s fun to think I have a reputation. I like intrigue.” He chewed at his thumbnail. “So… now that we live together, you must have noticed the girls I date are all very nice,” he said, grinning. “It’s just that they’re also all a little stupid. The kind of girls I don’t actually want to bring home.”

“Don’t you want to find your one true love? Haven’t you ever thought about settling down, marrying, having kids? Is it just me who has that fantasy?”

“Don’t you watch TV, Stella? According to CBS, Lifetime, and that channel that only plays bad romantic comedies, that’s everyone’s fantasy.”

“Not yours.”

“How do you know it’s not mine?” Anders sipped at his tea. When he saw me looking at his mug, he offered to make me a cup. I wondered again how he wasn’t taken. “Just because I’m not married to my college sweetheart doesn’t mean I don’t wish that had been my destiny.”

“You wish you could have married your college sweetheart?” I asked. “Who was your college sweetheart?” I don’t remember Anders ever talking about a college sweetheart.

“Lily, of course.” I stared, and Anders laughed. “I’m kidding. I didn’t have a college sweetheart. I’m just saying, if there had been one, I would have probably been pretty satisfied had I married her and fertilized her with two adoring children.”

“Why aren’t you doing more to get that?”

“I’m keeping you company,” he said, avoiding the question.

“But I’ve only been single for a few months. You’ve been single for as long as I’ve known you.” I considered this fact, and realized Anders had never introduced anyone as his girlfriend—date, maybe. But never girlfriend.

“I’m holding out hope that things will work out according to my master plan,” he said, rubbing his fingers together. “Honestly, I just haven’t really found the right person.”

“That’s impossible.” I shook my head. “You flirt enough that surely there’s been someone who meets enough of your criteria to warrant an extended amount of time in your charming presence. Do you have commitment issues or something?”

Anders laughed. “I told you, I’m just picky. And I’m hoping things will work out, someday. Where is this going, anyway? You’re not thinking about Erik again, are you?”

“No,” I lied, and a flush crept up my cheeks. “Why? Would that be so terrible?”

Anders threw a pillow at my head. “Oh, Stella, we’ve been through this. He’s never going to change. You’re like a different person since you guys broke up—I don’t want to see you fall back into old habits and regress.”

“What if he has changed?” I asked desperately. “What if we can find that fire again?”

“Like suddenly your sex life would be sublime, he’d treat you like a princess capable of making her own choices, and he’d tell his mom to fuck off?”

“Something like that,” I said, and the flush snaked across my entire torso, thinking about the sex and almost-sex I’d had with Erik since we’d broken up. That had to be indicative of something. And the flowers. Clearly, he was changing. He’d admitted he’d taken me for granted. He’d admitted he hadn’t seen me at my full potential. And I couldn’t help but wonder if guys like Joe were just looking for a fling and a fuck. Is that what was waiting for me out in the wild? If so, I wasn’t so eager to be out guy-shopping. I didn’t say it out loud, but I really wanted to ask, “What if what Erik and I had all these years wasn’t all that bad after all?”

Instead, I said, “Maybe Erik and I could make it work again. Like you said, I’m different now, so maybe I could convince him to reestablish our relationship on my terms?”

“Nuh-uh. Did you hear yourself?
Maybe you could convince him?
That’s not right, Stella. You shouldn’t have to convince your boyfriend of anything.”

“I just keep thinking, maybe I’m being really selfish to insist on marriage. Isn’t a solid relationship about compromise? I’m not even looking at things from Erik’s perspective.”

“And vice-versa, he’s not looking at things from yours. You believe in marriage, you believe in having fun, and you deserve to believe in you. I don’t want to get all Oprah on you, but I really, truly believe you’d be giving up on yourself if you stayed with Erik. He has this weird power over you, something that’s kept you from wishing for anything beyond the most elementary things for yourself. Figure out what you want as an adult, and then figure out if Erik fits into that.”

“You’re smart for a straight guy.”

“Exceedingly good looking, too.” He winked.

“Nice. You’re a winker, huh? That’s a thing that really gets a girl.”

“Did you give Erik this kind of snark? Because I find it hard to believe you talked to him like this and still he treated you like such a dimwit.”

“I’m evolving.”

“Well, evolve further on your date with Joe this afternoon. You need to get laid by someone other than Erik. It’s the only thing that’s going to get you to move on.”

I stood up quickly to throw a handful of crumbs in the garbage, hoping Anders wouldn’t see my flushed face. If only he knew what I’d done. Was he right? Had I slept with the wrong guy? The fact that I hadn’t told anyone about Erik made me thing the answer to that was a big, fat, resounding yes. But then why had it felt so good?

* * *

There were about fifteen people milling around in a small parking lot next to the grocery store where the hash was slated to start that afternoon. I’d spent most of the morning fretting over what to wear, and had forgotten to dwell on the more daunting aspect of this date: the run itself. The people in the parking lot all looked fit, healthy, and spry—and I was feeling old, fat, and guilty.

Old since there were six or seven people in the group who were clearly in their mid- to late-twenties.

Fat because the people who were over the age of thirty appeared to be slim and muscled, that rugged Minnesota urban athlete look (I’d always wondered where all of these people were come State Fair season).

Guilty because I was on a date with an adorable new man, and I could still feel Erik’s hands on me from the night before. Clearly, I wasn’t wired for the casual dating life, since the idea of two different sets of lips on me within the same weekend made me squirm. Anyway, I suspected I’d be so sweaty and stinky by the end of the run that Joe wouldn’t exactly be trying to get in my pants. And he hadn’t made any kind of move yet, anyway, so I hadn’t quite figured out where things were going with us. I was interested, sure, but I was still a little curious about why he wanted to go out with me again when he had his pick of the mom squad.

“You ready?” Joe adjusted his stocking cap, and looked over at me from the driver’s seat.

I glanced at him and murmured, “Maybe we should just get brunch instead?”

He laughed, and reached over to touch my knee. He gave it three swift pats, nothing sexy or flirty, and opened his door to the cold, unwelcoming air. The temperature was hovering around freezing, and I wasn’t sure why anyone would choose to exercise outdoors in this kind of weather. “Come on,” he said, leaning back into the car. “You’re gonna love it.”

“I should’ve picked pole dancing,” I grumbled as I climbed out of the car.

Joe lifted his eyebrows. “You really should have.
That
I would love to see.”

The other people who had come for the hash gathered around someone’s car, jiggling their legs and jumping up and down. Up close, I realized I’d underestimated most peoples’ ages, and greatly underestimated weights and fitness levels. It was a pretty normal looking crew, if a little edgier-looking than the average floor full of people at Centrex would be. The guy wearing a pair of Spiderman briefs over shiny blue leggings ratcheted up the quirk factor. Joe introduced me to a few people, then jogged back to his car for beer. He was the Beer Whore that week, he’d explained. I’d lifted my eyebrows at the terminology.