After I text her, I drag myself out of bed and into the kitchen to mix up some Gatorade. My phone chimes with Candace’s incoming text.
Heading to the studio. Everything ok?
Yeah, just want to spend time with you.
See you in a few hours?
Sounds good.
Knowing that she’ll be coming over, I force myself to pull it together. If she saw me like this, she’d worry too much, and I don’t want her to worry. So I decide that tonight will be like any other night for the two of us. We’ll hang out, cook, and just relax . . . God, I need to find a way to relax.
I decide to forego the self-loathing and hit the pavement for a much-needed run and try to do some productive thinking for a change. I toss back my Gatorade, chugging it before throwing on some clothes and heading out.
I run around Fremont before drifting into the surrounding neighborhoods. Pushing myself, my mind starts to drift again, but this time, I try and focus my thoughts on how to make this right. What I did to Mark was wrong, no question about it. But if I’m ever going to get to a place where I can stop living a lie and face the truth that deep down I know is me, I need to do something. I am so damn torn up about Mark. Why did I have to be such an idiot?
I think about what my parents would say if they knew. What would they do? Pounding my feet against the ground, I take long strides as the thought of baring myself to my parents sends chills through my ragged body while sweat trails down my back.
Fuck that. It will never happen. I just need to get away—get out of Seattle for a while and get some space away from this mess. As much as I don’t want to, I do need to go back home. Check in with my parents. It’s been almost eight months since I went back. We haven’t spoken in a couple of months, so just the phone call alone will be uncomfortable. I know they’ll leave me alone for the most part, and that’s really what I need right now. Space. Get out in the ocean and do some surfing, maybe hang out with some of my old buddies.
Calling my mom was awkward, as predicted since we go long spans of time without speaking. She was a little surprised when I asked if I could come home for a visit. When they said it would be fine, and that they would be there, we decided I would leave at the end of this week and spend a few days with them.
Once that conversation was over, I ran down to the market on the ground floor of my apartment building. I decided to cook fajitas for Candace tonight. Cooking has always been my thing; I love it and find myself cooking for her a lot, since she is normally a bottomless pit. She’s a dance major at UW and spends hours in the studio nearly seven days a week, so she always has an appetite when I cook for her since her idea of cooking is grabbing an apple from her fridge.
As I’m slicing the peppers, I hear a knock on my door.
“It’s open,” I holler.
Her hair is still in a bun when she opens the door and walks in.
“Hey, you mind if I take a quick shower? I came straight from the studio.”
“Go ahead. Dinner will be ready soon.”
Walking into the kitchen, she kisses my cheek and says, “That smells so good. I’m starving.”
“Hurry up then.”
“Okay, give me ten minutes,” she says as she rushes off to the bathroom.
While she showers, I finish chopping the peppers and onions, and toss the sirloin into the skillet of hot oil. When I take the last heated tortilla from one of the skillets, I place it in the oven and look up to see Candace walking in, wearing a pair of my boxers and a t-shirt.
“What are you making?”
Turning off the stove, I pull out two plates as I say, “Fajitas. I made a lot, so you better be hungry.”
She laughs and picks out a bottle of wine for us. Once we have our plates made and drinks in hand, we make ourselves comfortable on the couch.
“So what’s bothering you?” Candace asks, catching me off guard.
“What are you talking about?”
“I see it in your face. I know you well enough to know when something is weighing on your mind,” she says and then takes a bite of her food.
What’s weighing on my mind the most is Mark, but I appease her with saying, “I called my mom today.”
“Really?” She’s surprised. She knows we don’t talk and barely even have a relationship. “What did you guys talk about?”
“Nothing really, but I’m going back home for a quick visit at the end of this week.”
Setting her tortilla down, she gives me a curious look and asks, “Why?”
“I haven’t seen my parents since last Christmas. We just thought it was time for a visit.”
“Are you worried at all . . . I mean, being back home when you guys are so distant with each other?”
Taking a sip of my wine, I say, “It’s not like it’ll be different than any other trip back home.”
“True. I just worry, that’s all.”
“I know you do, but it’s just a short visit to catch up.” I don’t tell her the real reason why I’m going because I’m not sure I’m ready to admit all of my insecurities to her just yet. I don’t even want to admit them to myself, but I hate keeping secrets from her; she’s my best friend.
“When do you leave?”
“I booked my flight for Wednesday.”
“You want me to drive you to the airport?”
“No, I’m just gonna leave my car there. Who knows if I’ll come home early or not, but if I do, I want to have my car.”