Chasing the Tide
Page 35

Wrapping my robe around me, I opened the curtains in the living room and looked out. The sky was grey and overcast and looked like snow.
It was only a little after six. Flynn wouldn’t be up for a while yet.
I wish that I could crawl back into bed and cuddle with him. I wasn’t the cuddling sort, never had been. But knowing that Flynn wouldn’t allow it made me almost desperate for it.
I turned up the heat almost defiantly. I knew Flynn would be unhappy but my teeth had started to chatter. Wanting something to do, I sat down at the desk and fired up the laptop.
I opened my email and found a message from Nadine. There were three pictures attached. One was of her tiny apartment. There obviously wasn’t room for much beyond a small kitchen table and a couch. She hadn’t been lying when she said it was small.
But the next two pictures negated any potential annoyance from living in a closet. One was of a bridge in Central Park and the last was of the shops and restaurants in Chinatown. Nadine’s goofy smile appeared just at the bottom of each as she tried to angle her phone to take the best shot.
When are you coming to visit? You’ll love it here and never want to leave!
Jealousy, raw and deep pierced me in the gut. Nadine was living it up in NYC and here I was in the middle of fucking nowhere twiddling my goddamned thumbs.
I quickly opened a new tab, refusing to look at her email any longer. I wished that I could smile and be selflessly happy for her. But how could I when a small, though loud part of me, wanted to be there with her?
I logged into my bank account and promptly felt even worse.
I was officially living on fumes. If I didn’t find a job soon I would have to resort to blowing truckers at the gas station off the interstate.
I was broke as a joke and it wasn’t funny.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
There was only so many times I could harass the places I had put in applications before they got a restraining order. And I would be damned if I took money from my boyfriend to buy fucking tampons.
I remembered Jeb’s offer a few weeks ago. Given the heightened level of I’m Screwed, I was beginning to think it wasn’t such a bad idea. Sure it wasn’t ideal, but I wasn’t too proud to swallow a large helping of humble pie if I had to.
Maybe I’d go to see him later today about getting on the schedule. I reminded myself that it didn’t have to be forever. It would be temporary. Just until I found something else. Something that didn’t make me feel like a grade A loser.
What was the point of going to school if I’m back here to the same ol’ town and working the same ol’ job? You’ve come so far, Ellie McCallum. My inner voice was a raging asshole.
I slammed the laptop closed and dug the heels of my hands into my eyes. I had only been up for less than an hour and I was already feeling the beginnings of a stress-induced headache.
“What are you doing up already?” I glanced up to see Flynn and Murphy walk out into the living room.
“I didn’t wake you up, did I? I was trying to be quiet,” I said, getting to my feet. I reached out to hug him but he moved away. Flynn wasn’t a morning person. I could empathize. I used to make a habit to not be up before the Price as Right came on at eleven. So I got that he didn’t want to be loved on the second his feet hit the ground. But his evasion bugged me.
I was officially driving myself crazy.
This is Flynn. Stop expecting him to be someone he’s not! I berated myself. Clearly my inner Ellie needed a good bitch slap.
“No, my alarm clock just went off. It’s seven. It’s what time I always get up,” Flynn said, his voice gruff from sleep. He walked into the kitchen, and I followed him, Murphy and me dogging his steps as though waiting for a crumb of affection. I looked down at the hairy mutt and rolled my eyes.
Flynn went about his morning, not speaking. He turned on the coffee machine and then opened the back door to let the dog out.
I watched him as he filled Murphy’s bowl with food, measuring exactly one cup of kibble. He carefully folded the bag closed and put it back on the shelf before grabbing the bread from the counter and putting two slices in the toaster. Every action was methodical. By rote after years of never altering his routine.
This was Flynn’s life.
He went about the steps of his day, never deviating. And he was happy with that. He needed the consistency and the monotony. He only thrived in the predictable.
The very things I had run away from.
“Can I come by and have lunch with you today?” I asked suddenly.
Flynn frowned, not looking up from the magazine he had left open on the kitchen table the night before and was now reading. “I take my lunch with me. I eat it in my classroom,” he said as though that should explain everything.
Murphy started scratching at the back door, and I went to let him in but Flynn beat me to it. He all but pushed me aside as he let the dog in and meticulously wiped his paws.
I sighed. “I know you take your lunch with you. But why don’t I bring you something today?” I suggested, trying to smile.
“What would you bring me? I always eat a chicken salad sandwich. I made it last night. It’s all ready,” Flynn said. Of course I knew he ate a chicken salad sandwich for lunch. He had been eating a chicken salad sandwich for lunch as long as I had known him.
“Why don’t you try something different today,” I said, reaching for two mugs and pouring coffee into them.
“No milk. Two sugars,” Flynn instructed, and I had to bite my lip so I wouldn’t say something sarcastic that he’d never understand anyway.