Page 101 of Made for You
Instantly I regret playing tit for tat. Because I honestly do believe what he and Cam have is innocent. Even though they did sleep together in the Fantasy Suite. Even though Josh lied about that. I got the truth from Cam, and I understood Josh needed to save his own dignity. He needed to believe he was the guy who didn’t sleep with two women, back-to-back. The question is, why was I so eager to allow him to lie? What happened to my demand for honesty? When did we start pretending so much with each other? Or...is that all we’ve ever done?
“Okay, this is some expert gaslighting, Julia,” says Josh in that superior, snappish tone I despise. “Are you sleeping with Andy or not?”
“No, I am not sleeping with Andy! He—I—It’s not like that!”
Josh grabs my phone off the counter.
“What are you doing?”
“Litmus test. I’m deleting Andy’s fucking number. If there’s nothing between you, you won’t care.”
“Give that back!” I grab for the phone, but Josh steps out of reach.
I lunge. There’s a ridiculous struggle as I grab Josh’s wrist and tug and he tugs back, and I’m saying give it back as he says get off me and then something is exploding in my face and I’m reeling back, holding my nose, which is gushing blood.
Time slows to a halt, like my shock has created a bubble, where I float in some wordless agony so profound it nearly feels like peace. Josh is cramming paper towels into my hands, but I’m far away, deep in the universe of my own head.
How did we get here?
What signs did I miss? Was it my fault I missed them?
I feel myself sinking, but I can’t let myself drown. I have to fix this. I have a baby to think of.
Look at the ceiling. Pinch the bridge of your nose, Josh is instructing, but it sounds like his voice is coming from very, very far away.
Two times is not ten times, I think. It sounds so...logical. When I put it like that.
Two times can still be a mistake, never to be made again.
That sounds real. Like something I can believe.
As Josh cries and I cry and we play out the horrible aftermath of tonight, I cling to this.
NOW
I’ve never been to Andy’s condo before, but when the voice on my GPS says, “Turn right, into Kensington Golf Club Estates,” I find myself floating through the split stone wall with the wrought iron sign. The letters are so curlicued they don’t even look like letters, but little animals. Round. Not poky, not chickens. But wouldn’t Annaleigh have been cute, feeding the chickens?
There’s a crunch. A bush. I just drove over a bush.
“Shit!” I say out loud, and then I shout, “Focus!” because it feels like I’m not the one driving the car, but whoever is driving really needs to do a better job.
The fever is so hot in my skin. Consciousness is a slippery fish, shimmering away as I try to trap it between my hands. I think I am very sick. It would be smart to pull over. I move to hit the brake, but my foot can’t seem to find it.
“Ooooh,” I groan. Shit. I’m blinking awake just in time to yank the wheel and avoid driving into some kind of...pond. The shapes up ahead are condo buildings, but they’re all the same... What number am I looking for?
“Turn left. You have arrived at your destination.”
I turn; the images shift. I’m at the mouth of the underground parking. The car slides down the ramp. Miraculously, I manage not to crash into a long row of cars. They slip past like a slick river...
There. The old beater Andy drives in Indiana. I hit the brake.
Andy. Oh God, what a relief, I can’t wait to see him. He’ll know what to do...he always knows...
No! I’m here to see Eden.
With a shaking hand, I get out my phone to text her. My fingers feel huge.
I’m here. So is Andy’s car.