Page 42 of So Much More
I’ve been pacing the floor in my apartment all morning, my cordless phone in hand, wondering how things went with Randall and Andrea. He should have been home by nine-thirty, but it’s now almost noon, and he hasn’t called, even though I’ve left two messages on his answering machine. I’m growing almost frantic with worry.
When the phone rings, I answer it immediately. “Hello?”
“Hi. It’s me.” Randall’s voice is void of any emotion, which scares me.
“What’s wrong? What’s going on? Was Andrea terrible? Is that why you haven’t called yet?”
“No, she’s not the problem.” he says. “Can we talk? Can I come over?”
“Of course you can come over, but you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you when I get there.”
The fact that he doesn’t tell me to not worry, like one would expect in this situation, ratchets my anxiety up several notches.
“Okay,” I say. “See you soon.”
While I wait, I can’t obsess over all the scenarios of what he might tell me, because I don’t know where to start. The only thing I’m halfway sure about from the brief conversation is the problem wasn’t with my sister. So if not that, then what?
It feels like déjàvu when I buzz him up, crack the door, and take a seat in the easy chair to wait for him. But this time when he enters, he avoids my eyes and doesn’t insist I sit with him on the couch.
“I don’t know how to say this,” he begins, still not looking at me, “but I’ve completely screwed everything up.”
I can’t imagine what he might think he’s done to mess everything up in the past eighteen hours since he dropped me home after work yesterday, but something is obviously wrong.
He takes a shuddering breath. “I’m going to tell you what I did in broad terms, and then you can ask me anything, yell at me, kick me out, whatever.”
If I don’t have a stroke before he gets this off his chest, it’ll be a miracle.
“I got drunk and kissed Tammy at the pub, and then I woke up late and missed breakfast with your sister.”
My heart stops. It completely stops. I fully intend to see St. Peter any second. When I don’t, I can’t decide which of the three things Randall suggested I want to do first. I have no desire to look at him, much less have him continue to sit on my couch across from me, but I also want details. I want all the details, but I seem to have lost my voice along with my heart.
“Will you say something?” he asks.
I stare at him and finally choke out, “What do you expect me to say?”
“That you hate me and never want to see me again.”
I consider saying it, but I don’t.
“I need you to give me a few minutes.” I stand and walk to my bedroom as calmly as I can and close the door behind me. Then I sit on the edge of my bed and do my best not to hyperventilate.
DoI hate him? No. Do I ever want to see him again? Not anytime soon, honestly. If he had a halfway decent explanation for anything he did, he would have tried to explain. But he didn’t. While I do want to hear exactly what happened both last night and this morning, I’m not prepared to hear it yet. Considering my insecurities, I’m afraid I’ll either forgive him too quickly or completely overreact. I’d rather imagine the worst for now, and then hopefully when he tells me the details, I’ll be less disappointed in the truth.
Even though I’m ready to tell him to leave, I wait a few more minutes to do so, simply because I want to leave him in suspense a little longer. I know it’s petty and childish, but all my mature-adult energy is currently channeled toward holding myself together.
Randall is sitting with his head in his hands when I walk back out of my room.
“I want you to go,” I say numbly. “I’m not ready to hear your explanations.”
He nods, stands, and heads to the door without looking in my direction. In fact, he hasn’t looked at me since he got here. He also hasn’t apologized, though I’m not going to point that out to him.
When he reaches the door, he finally turns and looks at me with anguish-filled eyes. “I’m sorry, Wendy. And I’ll be sorry until the day I die for hurting you, for disappointing you, forbetrayingyou. I didn’t mean for any of it to happen, and I’ll understand if you never forgive me.” And then he’s gone.
I slowly sit down on the kitchen floor and hug my knees. For some reason, I can’t cry. I can’t wrap my mind around what happened, yet it’s whirling with wild thoughts and visions of Randall kissing another woman.
There’s no point in getting up. There’s no one I can call. Leslie is out with Ash and her family all day. Ryan has a baseball tournament this weekend, so Mom and Dad aren’t home. I don’t have anyone else in my life I could call even if I knew what to say to them.
