“I don’t know. Both I guess.” I sniffle. It’s rather pathetic.
She lets go and takes my face between her hands. Her smile is sad. “He’s an idiot not to want you.”
“He wants me, just not the way I want him.” I try to stifle one of those horrible snot-sobs. I’m unsuccessful.
“You’re sure about that?” she asks softly.
“He made it clear from the beginning it was only ever going to be casual.”
“Feelings can change, Lily.”
“His haven’t.” I think about that phone call, the one about the girl at the bar who looked like me. In a matter of hours he’d been looking to replace me. “He said he’d fuck me over, eventually.”
My mom sighs. “Sometimes when people are scared of what they’re feeling, they push people away.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. He hasn’t tried to call me lately, or text. I think it’s just done.”
She gives me another bony squeeze. “I won’t tell you there are plenty of fish in the sea, even though there are. And you’ll find the one who’s right for you, at the right time.”
It doesn’t feel like I’m going to find another fish right now. I sniffle. “You probably shouldn’t since you turned forty and the verdict’s still out on Tim-Tom.”
“It’s Tim, honey, and he’s good for me.”
“Tim-Tom has a nice ring to it, though.”
My mom laughs, and then grows serious. “I know I made a lot of mistakes along the way, and a lot of bad choices, but I want you to know I have no regrets when it comes to you. Well, that’s not true. I wish I could’ve given you more. You deserved so much more than you got, but I did the best I could—”
She chokes on the rest of the words. Which is probably a good thing. My mom and me, we don’t have these deep, heartfelt conversations, likely because we both end up ugly-crying.
I pat her back. “You did great, Mom.”
“I’m sorry about the hockey boy.”
“His name is Randy, and me, too. The sex was really great.”
“I definitely didn’t need to know that.”
“I’ve seen Tim-Tom’s woody.”
“I think we should have a drink.”
I follow her out to the kitchen where she pours me a glass of wine, and we watch the hockey game. Toronto is playing Chicago. Randy’s beard is beautiful. He looks fantastic. And he scores a goal. My phone buzzes about half an hour after the game ends. I won’t lie; my entire being wants it to be Randy—from my hair follicles to my Vagina Emporium.
It’s not.
It’s Benji. I dropped his stuff off a few days ago. It went slightly better than I’d expected. He tried to convince me I was making a mistake by moving to Chicago, and that we should get back together. I pointed out that it definitely wouldn’t work with me moving. He got mad and then cried. It could’ve been way worse. But in my haste to leave, I forgot my box.
I groan and check the message. He’s letting me know Benny is stopping by in the morning with my stuff.
There’s some relief in not having to deal with him directly again. We have a lot of history, and I’m a little sad that this is how it’s ending, but I’m also aware that I’ll be back, and sometimes time and distance makes it easier to be friends. Who knows if that will ever happen with us.
I go to sleep with my suitcase taking up half my bed, and I wake up to my phone going off. It’s Benny. I forgot to set an alarm.
“I’ll be right down,” I tell him.
I pull a hoodie on over my tank top and shove my feet into my slippers. They’re huge and cumbersome, but at least they’re warm. Sunny got them for me for Christmas. I don’t bother checking my reflection in the mirror before I go down. Frankly, I don’t give a shit what I look like.
I close my eyes for the ride in the elevator. I have a headache. I only had one glass of wine, but it was a big one.
Benny’s car is parked in front of my building. I pad across the snowy sidewalk in my moose slippers. I’ll need to set them on a vent to dry, but I don’t want Benny to offer to bring my stuff up.
He gets out of the car. He’s got a beard going on. It’s neater than Benji’s, but when they both have one, they could pass for twins. He raises a brow at my outfit. “Looks like I woke you. I could’ve met you at the door.”
“It’s fine. I needed to get up anyway. Lots of packing to do.” I don’t have much left, but it’s something to say.
“So you’re moving to Chicago, eh?”
I shove my hands in the pouch of my hoodie. “Yeah.”
He nods. “Getting out of Guelph will be good for you.”
“I think so. How’s Benji?” I don’t ask because it feels obligatory; I’m honestly concerned, especially since he’s sent Benny in his place.
Benny shrugs. “You know how he is. He needs to start figuring out his life. You moving on might actually end up being a good thing for him, too.”
We leave the rest unsaid. Benji needs to do some growing up. “I hope so.”