parting?"
"Mostly."
"So, you're still friends?"
"Sometimes."
"Sometimes? What does that mean?"
I didn't want her to know that I was still sleeping with you, Lace. That the first thing I thought of when she tossed that picture in my lap was angry-fucking you for planting it there. I didn't want Charley to see me for what I really was. What I really am: an asshole. If she knew, I'd most definitely be in her "bastard" camp of men. A guy who used a woman for what he could, and then discarded her. I was like that because of you, Lace. How could I connect with any woman in any real way when I was sleeping with you? Charley couldn’t see me like that. I liked that she liked me and thought I was decent; honest. I wanted her to imagine I was in a committed relationship instead of having casual sex with someone I, for the most part, couldn’t stand to be around. At least in the situation of the former I was, to her, a decent guy. Maybe even a chivalrous gentleman. I didn't want to be exposed an asshole. Not yet. I couldn't lose her yet.
"It means sometimes! Jesus, let it go."
"Okay fine,” she huffed and lifted her burger to her lips. I loved watching her take a bite so I inclined my head to look at her. Just before she did she stopped. “Just one more, what's her name?"
"Lacey. Lacey Cramer."
*****
There are a lot of things I wish I'd have done before you died, Lace. Least of all was stay together. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I could be the good guy, be the hero and make everyone happy by giving everyone what they wanted and denying myself what I wanted. In the end, the exact opposite turned out to be true. I know it’s irrational, but because I took it upon myself to be the arbiter of everyone’s happiness I now blame myself for everyone’s misery.
I don’t want to say I hate you because I was taught not to speak ill of the dead, but I really wish I’d have told you that to your face when you were alive. When we were kids, I liked the cat and mouse game with you, but it got boring and then, when I learned the truth about love and about you, I stopped caring. Cared even less when I knew you were sleeping with someone else, I actually, for a minute, felt bad for whatever poor miserable bastard had ended up with you.
I remember our last conversation so vividly. There are so many things I wish I’d said to you before you died, Lace. I don’t know why I didn’t. I read somewhere that love and hate are two sides of the same coin, so maybe somewhere down deep I loved you. I don’t really know. If I’d known that they were going to be my last words to you maybe they would’ve been more profound. Maybe I would’ve told you the truth of how I felt. It was 10:30 on a Thursday.
"Yello?"
"Teddy, it's Lacey."
"I know, Lace. What is it?"
"I just wanted you to know I'll be heading out of town for a bit.”
“And I care because…?”
“Ugh, stop being an ass. You know I can’t tell anyone else and I need you to look after the place while I’m gone.”
"Oh? Why can’t you have Rosalita do it?
"If you must know it’s because I don’t trust that wetback with my things when I’m not there. She does not have a key, and she will certainly not be going through my mail”.
"Well aren’t you sweet.” I hoped she could hear my eyes roll through the phone. “So, are you going for business or pleasure?"
"Mostly."
"So, you're still friends?"
"Sometimes."
"Sometimes? What does that mean?"
I didn't want her to know that I was still sleeping with you, Lace. That the first thing I thought of when she tossed that picture in my lap was angry-fucking you for planting it there. I didn't want Charley to see me for what I really was. What I really am: an asshole. If she knew, I'd most definitely be in her "bastard" camp of men. A guy who used a woman for what he could, and then discarded her. I was like that because of you, Lace. How could I connect with any woman in any real way when I was sleeping with you? Charley couldn’t see me like that. I liked that she liked me and thought I was decent; honest. I wanted her to imagine I was in a committed relationship instead of having casual sex with someone I, for the most part, couldn’t stand to be around. At least in the situation of the former I was, to her, a decent guy. Maybe even a chivalrous gentleman. I didn't want to be exposed an asshole. Not yet. I couldn't lose her yet.
"It means sometimes! Jesus, let it go."
"Okay fine,” she huffed and lifted her burger to her lips. I loved watching her take a bite so I inclined my head to look at her. Just before she did she stopped. “Just one more, what's her name?"
"Lacey. Lacey Cramer."
*****
There are a lot of things I wish I'd have done before you died, Lace. Least of all was stay together. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I could be the good guy, be the hero and make everyone happy by giving everyone what they wanted and denying myself what I wanted. In the end, the exact opposite turned out to be true. I know it’s irrational, but because I took it upon myself to be the arbiter of everyone’s happiness I now blame myself for everyone’s misery.
I don’t want to say I hate you because I was taught not to speak ill of the dead, but I really wish I’d have told you that to your face when you were alive. When we were kids, I liked the cat and mouse game with you, but it got boring and then, when I learned the truth about love and about you, I stopped caring. Cared even less when I knew you were sleeping with someone else, I actually, for a minute, felt bad for whatever poor miserable bastard had ended up with you.
I remember our last conversation so vividly. There are so many things I wish I’d said to you before you died, Lace. I don’t know why I didn’t. I read somewhere that love and hate are two sides of the same coin, so maybe somewhere down deep I loved you. I don’t really know. If I’d known that they were going to be my last words to you maybe they would’ve been more profound. Maybe I would’ve told you the truth of how I felt. It was 10:30 on a Thursday.
"Yello?"
"Teddy, it's Lacey."
"I know, Lace. What is it?"
"I just wanted you to know I'll be heading out of town for a bit.”
“And I care because…?”
“Ugh, stop being an ass. You know I can’t tell anyone else and I need you to look after the place while I’m gone.”
"Oh? Why can’t you have Rosalita do it?
"If you must know it’s because I don’t trust that wetback with my things when I’m not there. She does not have a key, and she will certainly not be going through my mail”.
"Well aren’t you sweet.” I hoped she could hear my eyes roll through the phone. “So, are you going for business or pleasure?"
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