“Trust me, I’m aware. I’m sorry, babe.”
“Whatever. It’s just Damon being Damon. You think I would be used to it by now, right?”
“He’s an idiot.”
“An idiot who’s now shitting where we eat. Not cool.”
“Damn right it’s not,” I agree. “So if he ends up with a tainted burrito on his plate due to his whoring, that’s on him.”
“Thanks for reminding me why I keep forgiving you. Miss you.”
Her reply has me coming to a quick conclusion.
I’m now that girl.
The one who’s neglecting her friends and family due to a new relationship. A nasty habit I swore I would never participate in after my last breakup. Though I have managed to keep most of my dinner dates with my parents. Maybe it’s paranoia, but I swear I’ve felt their lingering gazes on me more than once when I do show. Every time I pull out of their driveway, the guilt becomes a little bit harder to shoulder. With Rosie’s observation this morning, it’s clear the people I’m so purposely deceiving are starting to catch on.
Even though I chastised Easton for saying so a few minutes ago, this is starting to feel like a charade.
“This coming Wednesday, I’ll be there,” I declare in a promise I refuse to break. “I’ll buy all the margaritas you can consume. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“Then we’ll ditch Damon and make it a girls’ night. No distractions, just us.”
A headache begins to build as blood furiously pumps at my temples. Despite wanting to comfort Holly, all my racing thoughts begin to collide as I make a quick excuse. “Hey, babe, Dad is flagging me down. Can I call you back after lunch?”
“Sure,” she utters. The blatant disbelief in her tone only aids in my conclusion that along with being an unworthy daughter, I’m becoming a shitty friend.
“I will call you back. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
For the next few minutes, I palm my desk and practice breathing techniques while gathering my wits and what’s left of my sanity. Flipping my cell phone face up on my desk, I prepare to properly bitch Easton out for being so careless. But as I read his texts, my anger quickly disperses.
EC: Answer the phone. I need to hear your voice.
EC: Fuck. Answer the phone, Beauty.
EC: I can feel your anger from Wyoming. That was reckless and fucking stupid. I won’t call your office again. Please don’t be mad. I’m sorry.
Kicking back in my seat, I read his texts again as my heart swells. He’s just being a boyfriend, or trying to. We’ve fallen into a surprisingly easy rhythm—even in hiding—and despite our hectic schedules. This week has been an exception with his back-to-back shows. While he’s missing me, I’m aching everywhere for him.
Though I wouldn’t trade the last two months with Easton for anything, the juggling act is starting to wear on me. Glancing over into my father’s office, I feel the sting due to the purposeful distance I’ve been putting between us. I miss being candid with him about every aspect of my life, including my relationships. I miss having beers with him after work, an invitation I’ve been turning down more frequently as of late. I briefly wonder if Easton could be right—if I am making too much of a deal about our parents’ history. I’ve never been afraid of my father, no matter how badly I screwed up. Maybe the solution is just a matter of walking into his office, confessing, apologizing, and explaining myself.
Being with Easton no longer feels like a decision to hurt him but a choice that makes me happy. Deliriously happy. The past eight weeks have undoubtedly been the best granted to me personally, and Dad has made it clear throughout my life that my every happiness is his. Intent on coming clean sooner than later, I begin to type out a text to Easton, knowing I’ve gone too long without a reply. Especially since he thinks I’m angry with him.
I compose a quick response, the same text I’ve typed a dozen times in the past week.
I love you.
I backspace those three words because delivering them via text is not how I want to admit my feelings for him, but right now, it’s the only reply I genuinely want to give. Instead, I dole out the raw honesty he’s made so easy for me to relay back to him in our time together.
I miss you, too. So much. I needed to hear your voice, too.
I hit send and immediately start typing again.
I don’t want to hide anymore. If that means being reckless and stupid, then I’ll be reckless and stupid with you. Being with you makes me happy. Everyone close to me can see a difference in me, and I want to tell them why. I want to tell them who you are and what you mean to me. Who I belong to and with. I’m not mad, I swear, and I’ll relay that to your cock myself, which by the way, isn’t broken, but only answers to its new owner. Drive Safe. XX
I shoot out the second text without an ounce of hesitation before I start to spell-check my article. Ten minutes pass without a response, and I deflate, knowing he’s driving.
Making good on my promise to Holly, I call her back during lunch at the three-hour mark, chatting as if I don’t have a boulder growing in the pit of my stomach with every minute my text goes unanswered.
Pissed I only have my fucking horse to vent to over my emotional vomit-induced texts, I read them repeatedly, worrying I might have revealed too much. When five hours pass by without a reply, and I am certain he’s already parked the van in Salt Lake, panic sets in. I didn’t say anything out of the ordinary for us. He’s expressed far more about his growing feelings for me than I have thus far, and never once has he led me to believe this relationship isn’t serious. If anything, he’s catapulted us in this direction, and I’ve flown fearlessly with the ease in which he lavishes me his affection.
My fear only increases as I check my phone throughout the duration of my workday until the office slowly starts to empty because, for the rest of the day, my texts are unanswered.
Wild Horses
The Sundays
Natalie
Feeling glum on the drive home, I do my best to bury my growing insecurity away. Did he turn off his phone to avoid a fight? I reconsider that train of thought because that’s not Easton.
I teased him about being whipped, but he must know it was said in jest, and I’m equally as enamored. He said I wouldn’t win in that standoff, but would he purposely not reply to prove that point?
“Stop it,” I scold myself as my seatbelt alarm dings, a ding I now associate with my boyfriend’s constant harping. Buckling up, I slow at a stoplight behind a row of cars and glance out of my window, pausing when I see Emo’s, an Austin venue the Dead Sergeants often played when they started out. This detail I remember well because, in the movie, it’s where Stella caught Reid singing in memory of her. I conjure the scene clearly—the actress who played Stella crying hysterically at the foot of the stage as Ben pointed out she was there. Reid had leaped from behind his drums and collided with her. For me, it’s the most memorable scene of the film. A substantial part of Reid and Stella’s history lines these streets, especially Sixth, the one I’m currently on. Briefly, I imagine a younger Stella roaming downtown Austin, daydreaming of making a name for herself in journalism while tirelessly working toward her future. An image of Reid behind his drums, fighting similarly for his own dream, skitters in as a horn blares behind me.
Jarred back into the present, I press the gas, my eyes lingering briefly on the well-known club.
Thoughts drifting back to Easton, stomach continually churning, Lexi and her past with Ben pushes into the forefront of my mind. This same type of insecurity caused Lexi to sabotage her relationship with Ben. Something else Easton warned me about. It’s then a decision quickly forms.