Page 86 of A Crazy Kind of Love
I spent three months with Micah. I thought we were having fun, but one day, he told me to stop calling. He never gave me an explanation.
All of the women were attractive. In a couple, Andy had found pictures of them with Micah. He stood smiling next to every quote. Every damning quote.
At the very bottom, I was horrified to find the picture of Victoria Sedgwick I’d taken a little over a week ago. My name ran sideways along the edge, adding a cruel irony to the entire situation. Victoria’s statement knocked the wind out of me.I thought we had something special. I really thought I loved him. I thought maybe he loved me, too.
I remembered shooting that picture of her. I thought she’d glared at me with envy when she saw Micah with me. What had her expression really meant? Was she nursing a broken heart?
Andy was right to pity me. I was just another one of Micah’s girls. My statement at the top of the article made me seem like a naïve fool—or a calculating snake. And that picture of Micah, draped in his crimson blanket. He looked like a king on his divan, waiting for his harem to come feed him his grapes.
I turned and threw up all over the floor.
Zion closed my laptop and took it out of the dock. He slid it into the computer bag and started gathering my other things.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking you home.”
I looked at the mess on the floor. “Oh, God. I have to clean this up.”
“No, you don’t. The custodial staff has been called. Come with me.”
We walked out front, and he hailed a cab. As soon as we got in, he started talking.
“What are you thinking, Jo?” His voice sounded like cotton. Cotton from miles away—from the land of cotton. I started to giggle hysterically.
“Josie.” Zion turned my face toward his. He seemed so far away. In slow motion. Blurry. Dim. I stared out the window and watched the buildings pass. In the distance, my phone rang. And rang.
When we got home, he led me to the sofa and plumped a pillow behind me. He grabbed my glucose meter and pricked my finger. I watched him, but it was like it was happening to someone else.
“Did you eat any lunch, Jo?”
He found my bag and pulled out a glucose tab. “Take this. Now, Josie.”
I put it in my mouth and swallowed it. He brought me a juice box, and I drank that, too. He could have handed me a plate of chocolate cake and a pint of beer. I would have eaten it all. I didn’t care.
After about fifteen minutes, the world rushed back at me. “Zion?”
He came out of his room. “Oh, thank God. How are you feeling?”
“What am I going to do?”
“Right now, you’re going to rest. And I’m going to make you some lunch. Then we’re going to talk about it.”
I closed my eyes and focused on breathing, in and out. The pain I felt after less than two weeks only proved that there was no amount of happiness that could lessen the blow of losing it all. Was it as recently as that morning I thought I’d be content with being happy for now? How could I be happy for now if it meant one day I’d be living unhappily-ever-after?
Earlier that morning, I was ready to fall into a feeling. Worse, I’d nearly excused my mom’s heartbreak due to her decade of romantic fulfillment. I was furious with myself for betraying her for a fleeting emotion. I strengthened my resolve to fight that feeling. Snack boxes. How’d I allow myself to confuse food with love?
As I calmed enough to drift off for a bit, Zion handed me a plate and sat next to me. “You ready to talk?”
He’d made some kind of burrito. It wasn’t as fancy as pear-ginger buckwheat pancakes, but he hadn’t paid anyone to make it for me. And he didn’t make a big deal out of it. He just did it because he truly loved me.
“Zion. Have I ever told you I love you?”
“Aw. I love you, too. I hate to break it to you, though. You’re not my type.”
I guffawed. “That’s a pity. Life would have been so much easier if I were.”
“Yeah? You want to get with all this?” He struck a ridiculous pose, shoulder dropped, cheeks sucked in, eyes batting in exaggeration.
