“I’m sorry,” I said again. It was the only thing I could say. Because it was true. Sophie Lanier was my collateral damage and I felt like shit because of it.
Sophie sighed and shook her head. “It hurts, Mitch.” I cringed, expecting that. Her face hardened, her mouth setting into an uncompromising line. “But you’re not breaking my heart or anything. You’re not that important to my life. I’ll survive. What you and I had wasn’t love. It wasn’t even passion. It was convenient,” she sneered, turning on her heel, and slamming the door behind her.
What she said didn’t sting. Not even a little. It probably should have. She had meant it to. But it didn’t, because she was right.
I had driven home and gone to bed, hoping the guilt would lessen by morning.
And it had. Somewhat. I worried about what kind of man that made me that I was able to end a year long relationship and feel so fucking neutral about it all. I felt the guilt but mostly I was relieved. I finally fixed a mistake that I should never have made.
I couldn’t look behind me any longer. I could only go forward.
I made myself a cup of coffee and went through the local want ads. I wasn’t expecting to find anything that I’d be interested in. So it was with surprise that I saw an opening for a guitar tech at a custom shop in Southborough. It wasn’t the sort of job that would bring me fame and fortune, but I had had my fair share of all that stuff.
It was eight in the morning when I grabbed my keys and my wallet and left the house.
Maybe I’d land myself a job.
“Hey, Ma, how are you?” I gave my mother a hug as she let me inside.
The day had gotten cold and they were calling for snow later. I had made sure to fill my car up and stopped by the grocery store to load up on the essentials. Bread. Milk. And of course beer. And a couple packs of Twizzlers just in case I was stuck inside for a few days.
“Mitch! What are you doing here?” she asked, taking my coat and hanging it on the hook beside the kitchen door. She was cooking chili and my mouth immediately began to water.
“I knew you had to be making some sort of snow day food. I was hoping to snag some,” I said, heading to the Crock-Pot and lifting the lid.
My mother swatted my hand. “It’s not ready yet,” she scolded.
I sat down at the kitchen table as my mother fussed around making me a sandwich, and pouring me a glass of iced tea. She put a plate loaded with food in front of me and sat down across the table.
I picked up the sandwich and took a bite. I had forgotten, in my haste to leave the house, to get anything to eat. Now it was almost lunchtime and I was starving.
“This is amazing, Mom. I wish you’d come to live with me at Garrett’s so you can make my meals all the time,” I said, giving her a toothy grin that I knew she loved.
“You’re welcome here anytime and I’ll make you whatever you want,” she offered, giving me an indulgent pat on the cheek.
“I got a job today,” I said without preamble, swallowing another bite of my sandwich.
Mom frowned, looking confused. “You got a job? Doing what?”
“As a guitar tech at Bobby’s Custom Sound over in Southborough. I’d be helping out in the custom shop. It’s a fulltime position with benefits and paid time off,” I told her, sounding tentatively excited. Because I was. It was a real job with real potential.
“I don’t understand, Mitch. What about your band? Have you spoken with the label already?”
I finished my sandwich and wiped my mouth with a napkin. I got up and carried my plate to the sink, washing it, and putting it on the rack to dry.
“Mitch, what’s going on? You’ve been playing music since you were a boy. Why are you stepping away from it now?” Mom sounded worried.
“I’m not stepping away, Ma, but I can’t depend on that particular gravy train anymore. Jordan’s having a kid—”