When James suggested we come to a restaurant downtown, I thought he meant something casual. A cute, small place that was cozy and had a terrace or something. I wasnât expectingâ¦this.
This, meaning dressing up in a little black dress and having my makeup done after months of not touching a single eye shadow.
But Iâm not complaining.
TNB fundraiser aside, itâs been months since the last time I dressed upâfor an occasion or just because I felt like itâand it wasnât until today that I realized how much Iâd missed it. Blasting music on my headphones as I danced around my apartment, browsing my wardrobe for a cute outfit to wear, choosing pink lipstick for my makeup because I still havenât outgrown my pink-obsessed phase from when I was a kid.
Sue me, but pink rocks.
And although I wouldâve loved to complete the look with my favorite heels, letâs not tempt my good luck. A pair of ballet flats Iâve only worn once (oops) will do.
Just as I was getting ready, my phone buzzed with a text from James. Heâd told me he would pick me up from my apartment, so when I see his update, my stomach drops a little.
James: Something came up. Do you mind getting a car to the restaurant and meeting me there? Iâm really sorry. Iâll explain later.
But despite the weird feeling I get from his message, I text him back as if nothing was wrong. Like a coward.
Me: No worries. Iâll see you there ð
Smiley face and everything. Ugh.
I try not to let it bother me, I really do, but not even five minutes after my reply, Iâm already going at it.
What if he came to his senses and realized this looks a little too close to dating?
Because who takes their fuck buddy to a fancy restaurant just because?
Heâs going to cancel.
Oh, God, heâll never want to see me again.
The intrusive thoughts donât go anywhere as I get to the restaurant an hour later and thereâs no James to be seen. And then they only get worse when the waiter gives me a look full of pity and understanding as he guides me to our table. A table for two where Iâm sitting all by myself.
Yesterdayâs conversation replays in my head while I wait for him, the manic way Iâm bouncing my leg under the table giving away my anxious thoughts.
Despite how obvious it might seem, I never considered reporting my old therapist to the board until he suggested it. I guess I felt too young, too weak and insignificant to do anything about it. But he said he would help me, so maybe I should do something about it.
What he said about not being able to change my past but possibly protecting other peopleâs futures sealed the deal for me.
I donât want anybody else to go through that same thing if I can prevent it. As for meâ¦
James was right about my life not being ruined. Tainted, perhaps, but not ruined.
I canât control or change the past, but I can turn my future into something different. Into something hopeful and meaningful to me.
So thatâs why, just as another intrusive thought crawls its way into my head when I check the time on my phone and Iâm still alone at the table, I push it off a metaphorical cliff.
She doesnât control me anymore.
Iâm not some puppet of her unethical ways. Iâm not a bad daughter, a bad sister, a bad person. Fuck that.
So what if Iâve had bad luck in my family life? Had I not grown up in a loving and safe household anyway?
Sammy and Grace might not be my actual parents, but they raised me as such. They give me so much love, and support, and respect, and here I am being ungrateful for it. Just because I feel bad for making my brother pay my rent while I got my degree away from home?
Would I have felt the same way if my parents had been the ones to support me like that?
Iâm getting a headache just thinking about all the what-ifs, but this time the guilt doesnât come. Iâm not naïve enough to believe itâs gone forever, yet this small reprieve feels like the breath of fresh air Iâve been craving for too long. For now, itâs enough.
What is also enough is the time Iâve been waiting for James.
After glancing at my phone for the umpteenth time and seeing no texts, I decide to reach out to him first. Just in case.
Me: Hey, Iâve been here for 15 mins. Are you going to take much longer?
Five minutes pass with no reply. Then five, and another five more.
Heâs half an hour late.
Is heâ¦
Have I been stood up?
Think happy thoughts.
Maybe heâs stuck in traffic and canât check his phone, or maybe it died and thatâs why he canât text me back. Wait, no. That canât be it because my texts have been delivered, which means his phone is turned on and he has reception.
What if thereâs been an accident?
No. Heâs fine. Heâs coming. Heâs just late.
And thatâs what I keep telling myself for fifteen more minutes.
I keep lying to myself as the waiter asks if Iâm ready to order or if we should wait for someone else.
I keep lying to myself as an hour goes by and James doesnât show up, not bothering to send me a goddamn text apologizing, explaining himself, anything.
When I exit the restaurant with an empty stomach and an even emptier heart, I stop lying to myself.
He said he was always going to be here for me, but I shouldâve known better than to believe his false promises.
He left once, and clearly he didnât feel bad about it since he did it again.
As my car reaches my building, my phone rings.
But itâs not James.
Itâs my mother.