quick fuck would do me some good.
Yeah, that’s what I need. That’s my problem.
I tapped my phone against my chin, trying to think of the last woman I was with. They all blended to together.
There was only one face that was clear.
Out of nowhere, something Jada once told me crossed my mind. I pulled up the search engine on my computer.
I just can’t let well enough be.
I grabbed my phone and dialed the number Google gave me.
I need to Google “therapy” while I’m at it.
A cheery voice introduced answered the phone.
“Hello.” I cleared my throat. “This is Cane Alexander. I’m not sure how to do this, but here’s what I need …”
JADA
I was on fire.
Thursday had begun with a post-crying hangover. Once the tears had started the night before, they didn’t want to stop. I knew that was going to come eventually. Even after my divorce, I didn’t cry a lot. I reasoned then that it was because I cried so much during my marriage, but apparently there were still tears inside to release.
And release they did. It was very cathartic to just let go, even if I was on the kitchen floor by myself.
I felt purified of the past with Decker, as well as the past with Cane. Decker had left scars that I knew I would carry with me forever. But Cane—I chose to believe his intentions were honorable and my pain was simply a by-product of two people trying to force something that just wasn’t meant to be.
It didn’t really matter. He walked away. There was no sense in worrying about it.
I left the house earlier than usual on Thursday morning and stopped by a little bagel shop for a coffee and a cinnamon raisin bagel with cream cheese. The girl working in the shop was sweet and we had a nice, easy conversation while I picked the raisins out of the bread and enjoyed my coffee. She told me about her love life and I offered her some advice like I knew something about the topic.
I said goodbye and made my way to my Jeep. I got in the driver’s seat before I noticed a little piece of blue paper stuck beneath the wiper. I reached out the window and grabbed it, pulling it inside.
The writing on the blue post-it note was jagged, slashed across the paper. It appeared to have been wadded up at some point or, most likely, crammed at the bottom of a book bag of a hung-over Arizona State student.
I glanced around the parking lot, but it was empty. Figuring someone got the wrong car, I wadded it into a little ball and tossed it into my cup holder.
I got to work early and dug in, catching up from my lack of enthusiasm from the days before. By two o’clock, I had skipped lunch and had nearly cleared my desk when Alice came in.
“Hey, sweetie. Do you have a minute?”
I looked up. In her hands was a large bouquet of the most beautiful orange tulips I had ever seen.
“Those are gorgeous,” I said in awe, wondering who had sent Alice flowers.
“These were delivered for you.” She peeked around the foliage and smiled smugly.
I was floored, confident I had misheard. “For me? Are you sure?” No one had ever sent me flowers in my entire life!
“Absolutely.” Alice sat them down on my desk. “I’m not sure what the dinner and flowers mean, but I hope you are happy, Jada. If anyone deserves someone to dote on them, it’s you.”
I nodded slowly as she turned and left. I stood and buried my face in the petals, inhaling the scent of the tulips; the smell and beauty instantly lifted my spirits.
I picked up the crystal vase. It was tall, slender and heavy in my hand. The vase was bursting with flowers from all angles. Excitedly, I fished through the foliage until I located the card. It was white with silver swirls in a heavier cardstock. Even it was beautiful.
Extracting it from the envelope with a shaky hand, I read it carefully.
I dropped the note, my hands still trembling. I didn’t know how to process that.
I took a deep breath and then picked up the card. I re-read it, but it didn’t make any
Yeah, that’s what I need. That’s my problem.
I tapped my phone against my chin, trying to think of the last woman I was with. They all blended to together.
There was only one face that was clear.
Out of nowhere, something Jada once told me crossed my mind. I pulled up the search engine on my computer.
I just can’t let well enough be.
I grabbed my phone and dialed the number Google gave me.
I need to Google “therapy” while I’m at it.
A cheery voice introduced answered the phone.
“Hello.” I cleared my throat. “This is Cane Alexander. I’m not sure how to do this, but here’s what I need …”
JADA
I was on fire.
Thursday had begun with a post-crying hangover. Once the tears had started the night before, they didn’t want to stop. I knew that was going to come eventually. Even after my divorce, I didn’t cry a lot. I reasoned then that it was because I cried so much during my marriage, but apparently there were still tears inside to release.
And release they did. It was very cathartic to just let go, even if I was on the kitchen floor by myself.
I felt purified of the past with Decker, as well as the past with Cane. Decker had left scars that I knew I would carry with me forever. But Cane—I chose to believe his intentions were honorable and my pain was simply a by-product of two people trying to force something that just wasn’t meant to be.
It didn’t really matter. He walked away. There was no sense in worrying about it.
I left the house earlier than usual on Thursday morning and stopped by a little bagel shop for a coffee and a cinnamon raisin bagel with cream cheese. The girl working in the shop was sweet and we had a nice, easy conversation while I picked the raisins out of the bread and enjoyed my coffee. She told me about her love life and I offered her some advice like I knew something about the topic.
I said goodbye and made my way to my Jeep. I got in the driver’s seat before I noticed a little piece of blue paper stuck beneath the wiper. I reached out the window and grabbed it, pulling it inside.
The writing on the blue post-it note was jagged, slashed across the paper. It appeared to have been wadded up at some point or, most likely, crammed at the bottom of a book bag of a hung-over Arizona State student.
I glanced around the parking lot, but it was empty. Figuring someone got the wrong car, I wadded it into a little ball and tossed it into my cup holder.
I got to work early and dug in, catching up from my lack of enthusiasm from the days before. By two o’clock, I had skipped lunch and had nearly cleared my desk when Alice came in.
“Hey, sweetie. Do you have a minute?”
I looked up. In her hands was a large bouquet of the most beautiful orange tulips I had ever seen.
“Those are gorgeous,” I said in awe, wondering who had sent Alice flowers.
“These were delivered for you.” She peeked around the foliage and smiled smugly.
I was floored, confident I had misheard. “For me? Are you sure?” No one had ever sent me flowers in my entire life!
“Absolutely.” Alice sat them down on my desk. “I’m not sure what the dinner and flowers mean, but I hope you are happy, Jada. If anyone deserves someone to dote on them, it’s you.”
I nodded slowly as she turned and left. I stood and buried my face in the petals, inhaling the scent of the tulips; the smell and beauty instantly lifted my spirits.
I picked up the crystal vase. It was tall, slender and heavy in my hand. The vase was bursting with flowers from all angles. Excitedly, I fished through the foliage until I located the card. It was white with silver swirls in a heavier cardstock. Even it was beautiful.
Extracting it from the envelope with a shaky hand, I read it carefully.
I dropped the note, my hands still trembling. I didn’t know how to process that.
I took a deep breath and then picked up the card. I re-read it, but it didn’t make any
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