Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
“It’s okay. We all do that sometimes.” Does he look relieved? What the heck did he just ask me, and how could I not have heard a word? “I said maybe I’ll travel or find something else in life to be passionate about other than business, but it doesn’t mean we can’t go for crab legs every now and then. As friends. If you’d like.”
“Heck no.” His face closes off fast. I’ve never seen anything so swift. He’s shutting down the hurt and the potential rejection, which we all tend to do. Believe me, I understand what it’s like to be the one who’s not wanted. “Not just for crab legs, I mean. If we go back there, we have to try the crabanana split. It’s one of those once-in-a-lifetime challenges. We can cross it off our bucket lists. It’s probably the only item we’ll ever have in common anyway.”
His face softens, the stress lines vanish, and my legs soften to jelly as a response. “I don’t know about that,” he mumbles warily.
I should get out of here before my face starts doing something I can’t control. My chest is already getting there, and the rest of my body is getting out of line just as quickly. Leaving. He’s going to leave. He’s going to leave to learn what he wants. To make himself happy and to discover life and stuff. That’s good. That’s self-realization. That’s a journey we should all be on. There are no more fake girlfriend or fake fiancée expectations. The pressure is off, and my job is safe. He’s going to leave, and everything will be like it was before, but way better. He dealt with his family stuff, and we ate good crab. It’s a win for both of us.
So why do I feel so bereft right now?
“If you’re leaving,” I blurt, unable to stop myself, and oooh boy is my smile big and fake and hiding all the nonsense I can’t even understand why I feel right now. “Then we should go for one last crab hurrah. You could meet the real Genevieve. She could come with us too.”
He looks doubtful, and for a second, I think how humiliating it will be to hear him say no, but then he pushes back from his desk and gets up like he’s shaking off that heavy funk. Like he’s getting on with it. I’ll be getting on with it too. This is going to be a great thing for both of us. Personal growth. Yup, it for sure is.
“I can bring a good friend too. Maybe they’ll unexpectedly hit it off, and they’ll have us and all that’s happened and crab to thank for it.”
Well, if that just doesn’t produce the world’s largest, irrational stab of jealousy.
“Okay.”
Mont is like a bee trapped in my hair, buzzing and annoying, and when I can finally set that bee free and be done with it, then I won’t have to worry about fake dates, mothers to please, lying to my family about it, risking my job, or getting stung in other ways. The end is looming, and everything will go back to the way it was before Gen begged me to go on that fateful fake date.
I should be happy and relieved that this has all turned out for the best.
“Friday night?”
“I can’t wait to lose my crab and ice cream virginity.” I don’t know why I just said that. That is not work-appropriate talk, and since we’re no longer fake dating and we’re not friends, that makes us just co-workers. It makes him my boss. “I…uh…I’ll just go now. And do work.”
“Savory pudding is a good idea. Maybe not crab, but let’s pursue that path.”
Agreeing to that is easy. I could talk about this job for hours. Just not alone. In this man’s office. With him.
He’s okay. We’re both okay. We’re just going in different directions, and that’s all good.
He might be leaving, but at least he told me to my face that he would be doing that. He gave good, legitimate reasons. He doesn’t owe me anything. We were never attached in any form, barely even in fake form.
Down the hallway, while walking back to my desk, I feel like we’ve changed places, and I’m the one who feels like the tired old mop. The bane of my existence won’t be doing any more bane-ing, and I’ll be free. Mont the bane will be gone, gone, gone. My vagina is the one who’s not happy, but she doesn’t get a say.
I’m just getting my hormones confused.
They’ll straighten out in no time, though.
We’ll all bounce back.
I have experience with this. I’ve come back from far worse. Everything will be A-freaking-OK. If it takes time, then it takes time. I have neverending amounts of time and neverending ideas about pudding. I have a job, and this company, thanks to the fake date fiasco that kicked it all off, is even better now. I’m on a great path. Mont’s leaving isn’t going to change that. It’s only going to put him on a better path, too, and seeing as we never meant anything to each other at all other than vaguely as sort of friends, I’m happy for him.