Page 57 of I Love My Mistake
Chapter Twenty Six
Saturday
Sunlight shining on my face wakes me hours later. I roll out of the way of a particularly nasty beam, and try to fall back to sleep, clutching my pillow. But then I remember that Michael was here last night, and the racing thoughts begin. He followed me. Has he followed me before? The idea that Michael has been tortured enough by my absence to stalk me is so bizarre and distracting a concept that I find myself more alert than if I’d had ten espressos.
Oh no! What time is it? I bolt upright and search the room for my phone, but it’s nowhere in sight. The covers get thrown as I spring out of bed and run into the bathroom to find my phone where I left it sitting on the side of the bathtub, obscured by a towel crumbled over it. When I see that it’s 12:46 p.m. I drop the phone onto the floor causing a loud CRACK as the screen breaks into thin spider-web lines.
“NOOOOO!!!!!” I grab and rub at them. Of course there’s nothing I can do. The damage is permanent. “Dammit!”
There’s no time to mourn, he’s going to be here in a forty-five minutes.
How am I going to do this? I should cancel. I don’t want to go. How can I face this man knowing that I still have feelings for Michael? But don’t I have feelings for him, too? This is such a mess! What am I going to do? Oh no! I don’t even have his phone number. I can’t cancel!!
With the toothbrush sticking out of my mouth and me frothing like I’ve got rabies – which I might as well have– I change into five different pairs of jeans, throwing each on the bed as they fail to impress me, until I settle on one. Then eight shirts – yes, eight –bounce on and off my body until I settle on a striped sweater that’s super soft. The mint begins to burn my tongue off, so I run for the sink and spit hard, coughing. Because I waited too long and some got in my throat, gag reflex ensues and I am in hell.
I look at my reflection, eyes watering, and think, I need help.
Running, I search for my phone. I dial Amber’s number as quick as I can, saying as it rings, “Come on. Come on. Come on.”
“Hello?”
“Amber!”
“Yes! What’s wrong?!”
“Mark is on the way over and Michael followed us home last night and he came in and kissed me and then I bit him and he ran off like he always does! What do I do?!”
“Wait! Let me get this straight!”
“Okay.”
“You and Mark hit it off?”
“Yes. Totally. He’s amazing.”
“That’s so great!”
“Amber! Focus!”
“Right. Okay, Michael followed you. What a bastard! How was the kiss?”
“Amber!”
“Shit. Sorry! Okay, did Mark see Michael?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so. God, I hope not.”
“Did Michael see Mark?”
“Yes! That’s what I’m trying to tell you!”
“No – you’re trying to tell me that you’re about to throw away a date with a good man because a married man – MARRIED MAN – came to your house and kissed you.”
I stop pacing and think on this. “I see your point.”
“Slap your face for me, would you please?” I give my face a loud slap. “Good. Now go on the date and forget all about the married man for ONE DAY. If you hate Mark after, you can pick your misery back up, right where you left it.”
A little puff of air that wishes it were a laugh, escapes from my lips. “You’re incredible.”