The Other Woman

“Fuuuuck” I mutter, a shade of brown now decorating my white blouse.

I place my mug of mint herbal tea atop my desk, wheedling the tainted fabric around my fingers to examine the stain. The heat had already penetrated through my skin, leaving a shade of soft red onto my skin.

A cold shower would do me well.

A few pamphlets of the devious Martha Stewart stood in front of me on the desk with an array of floor tiles and matching kitchen tiles for decorating a country style kitchen. To some, this kind of work proved boring and useless, to me, it proved to be creative, and yes, a tad bit useless.

“Do you have a pair of scissors I could borrow?” asks Jim, as he stands outside my office, head peeping out from around the door.
“I think,” I answer, “give me a sec.” Bending my head, I open one of the drawers in my wooden desk and shove around a bit for the desired object, barely noticing Jim as he enters the room.

“This your husband?” he asks.
“Husband?” I quirk, letting my fingers wrap around the cool metal of the sharp scissors. I observe him as he carefully lifts a picture frame from off my desk, the rectangular frame that contained a photo of Tre and I.

“He’s my boyfriend, not my husband” I grin, showing him my right hand whose ring finger was void of any wedding band.

“Ah, he looks familiar…” the gentleman ponders aloud.
“He’s in a small band, you probably heard them at a local radio station or something. And here’s the scissors, please return them,”

Jim, smiles faintly as he places the frame back atop my desk and gathers the sharp tool in his palm.
“I will, and thanks,” he mumbles with a wink as he leaves and shuts the door.

Discussing Tre and his occupation was a tiresome task, and frankly it was getting old. Besides, it allowed my mind to drift onto him, which didn’t help my current predicament. Since our argument on the phone three weeks ago, we hadn’t spoken.

At all.

Apparently, I was in the wrong, and apparently, both of us were stubborn shits. Neither party was willing to make the first move, or rather, the first phone call. I knew that I was at total fault. It wasn’t Tre’s fault about the unlawful situation, it wasn’t his fault that I hadn’t answered my phone, and it certainly wasn’t his fault that his career involved him being constantly absent. Feelings of guilt and regret had surged threw me these past weeks. But there was always that thing…

Pride

I didn’t want to admit my faults and error to Tre, didn’t want to hear the ‘You were wrong, I was right’ lecture from Tre.

“So you’re just going to not call him at all?”
“That’s the plan,” I sigh, still trying to catch my breath as Jasper, the adorable kitten, playfully paws at my toes.

“That’s the dumbest shit you’ve pulled Seny. You’re the one in the wrong, just call and apologize. It’s not that big a deal,” Mark replies.

Mark and I were currently sitting opposite one another on my couch, with Jasper at my feet. After tuning into a strange film on Court TV, I had brought up the lonely subject of Tre, and how our relationship had declined in the past month, mostly because of me.

“It is Mark! It’s a huge hit to my pride, and you know I hate apologizing,” I ramble, yanking at my hair in clear and present frustration.

“So you’re going to kill your relationship because of your friggin pride? You’re gonna mess up my favorite client because of your pride?!” he wails exasperatedly. Mark then, digs into his pocket, tossing a small bag of cat treats into his palms.
“It’s not worth it Seny, and its not even as a serious as you’re telling yourself,” he adds, the crinkling of the bag resounding in my ear.

“I know,” I mumble. “But he hasn’t called me either, I think he’s really upset with me. I don’t wanna call and be ignored or be yelled at,”

Jasper, with fumbling legs, jumps onto Mark’s side of the couch, and immediately sulks into his lap. His fuzzy purring is heard and Mark lays two brown treats onto the cushions, followed by Jasper’s tongue instantly sweeping them up.

“You sound like a teenage girl. And furthermore, I better be a fuckin’ therapist talking about this crap with you,” he chuckles, fingers scratching Jasper’s triangle like ears.
“Heh, maybe it’s a profession you should look into” I grin.

Alone: separate, apart, or isolated from others… My inner feelings at the moment.

“Thanks for coming out to lunch,” Jim smiles
“No problem, thanks for inviting me,”
Here we were, Jim, Scot, Blaze, and jolly Serenity, having lunch at Sweet Tomatoes. After a hectic morning at Design Inc., the crew had decided to go out to lunch today for a celebration. The new home of a newly bloomed celebrity had finally been completed after months of continuous trial and error bugs.

The sun is shining directly in my right eye, the mediocre red umbrella top above our table serving no use at all.

“You don’t like the food here?” Blaze asks me, eyes darting out and motioning towards my nearly filled plate. The plate that had barely been touched.

“The food’s fine, I’m just not that hungry,” I reply with a forced smile, sweeping a few strands of onyx hair behind my ear in slight embarrassment.

“Got the blues?” Scot inquires with a sympathetic grin, pinching his fork into my arm in a friendly gesture.

“Sort of, it’s no big deal.” Is my pert reply. My problems were no one’s business.

Blaze forks up a fresh cut of dressed lettuce and shoves the vegetable into her mouth. A napkin on her mouth later she says, “Is it boy troubles? Cuz I got a few of those too,”

I faintly smile, “It’s nothing, really.” My mind is burning to get off the subject, I didn’t need anymore reminders about Tre or how I had messed up.
“So, did Maggie like the house?”

“Mhhmmm,” nods Blaze. “But its too bad that it couldn’t be Jake Gyllenhaal’s house instead.”
I giggle, “True. I would have taken extra time sprucing up his bedroom,”

“Maggie’s pretty hot, right?” Scot asks, turning his head towards his fellow male, Jim.
“Kinda, like an old classy kinda hot, sort of” he responds with a whimsical countenance.

At that very moment, a buzzing sensation treaded onto the skin of my hip. Without a second thought, I dig into my pant pocket and hastily retrieve the device.

Please be Tre…Please be Tre…

Jen calling.

So it wasn’t Tre, but Jennifer’s call would suffice. We hadn’t spoken since our little ordeal at home either. We had avoided one another in the house for that long, her even opting to spend a few nights at a co-worker’s house on varying occasions.

“I gotta take this call,” I nearly whisper, already removing myself from the seat,

The others nod as I place the phone to myear, heels already walking towards a void table at the restaurant.
“Hello?” I say unsurely

“Seny?”
“Yea?”
“Um, where are you right now?”
“I’m at work Jen, on my lunch break,” I reply neutrally

“Oh gosh! I’m not a beat around the bush type of person. So I’m sorry, o.k? Sorry for being a jerk these few weeks, sorry for the name-calling, the accusations, and the other horseshit. O.K.?” she blurts out in a rambling mess of idioms.

I almost laugh, “Nice apology, very Jen-like,” I grin.

“Well,” she sighs exaggeratingly, “I do try,”

We burst into happy fits of giggles. Happy that we had made up so to speak. It felt like I was back in the dirty walls of high school in a way. That cliché fight with one of your best friends, that entire week of complete, almost ghostly silence towards one another, the rolling of the eyes as you passed each other in a crowded and narrow hall…

“I guess I should apologize as well, for disliking Jack so much, and not being more supportive,” I state pointedly.
“Whatever, it’s the past, all is forgiven. But I just wanted to know what you wanted for dinner, because I got off early today. And make it cheap, I only got twenty bucks to spare.”

“Lets go out to eat tonight,” I smile. Yeah, I needed the break off my mind, plus a little girl talk. “My treat, I just need some good food and conversation,” I add more firmly.

“Music to my ears.”
“See ya,”
“Bye.”

“I thought you didn’t like hard liquor,” Jennifer questions me with quirking and not to mention curious eyebrows.
“I don’t, but desperate times call for desperate measures,” I reply, immediately downing a shot of whiskey in front of my plate.

Opting on eating at Romano’s Macaroni & Grill, we had placed a small table and ordered food. While we both usually got wine or beer, I took the untraditional route of ordering wine, about five or six shots, can’t really remember, and a tall, cold, glass of Brandy.

“You and Mr. Cool still not speaking?” she inquires after forking a particularly tender slice of steak, and swirling it about through her mouth.

“How did you know about that? I don’t remember telling y—“
“Mark told me,” she answers briskly.

We eat from our respective plates for a few silent minutes, before my hunger truly kicks in. The hunger to talk about Tre, that is.

“I’m such a retard. I don’t know why I don’t call him,” I murmur through saddened eyes.

“So call him, your depression is annoying,” she titters, grinning as she sips from her glass of white wine.
“Its not that easy. And its been so long, so I think he’s actually upset with me,”

”Three weeks, right?” she asks
I nod defeatedly.

And while spooning around my pasta with fork and spoon, I notice her fingers wiping themselves on a napkin, before she shakes her curly head and digs into her skirt pocket.

Narrowing my eyes, I glare “Don’t you dare…”

“Why not?” she mutters matter-o-factly, “It’ll be like that time when you told him you loved him and l—“
I hunch over the table and snatch the device from her grasping paws, her mouth fully agape, and with a small grin, since some of my tomato sauce is now decorating my blouse.

“I’m serious, don’t do that. It’d be too awkward. We need to call each other on our own accord,” I ramble.
“So you’re basically going to let your relationship plummet because of a silly fight?”

“No, I jus, I’m just too proud I guess.” I mutter, “which I need to get over,”

“Look,” Jen whispers as if we’re in a some sort of covert negotiation, and then she lifts on palm up. “It’s a balance, either Tre weighs more, or your pride, it’s your pick,” she states, simultaneously raising and dropping her two palms in unison.

“It’s not just pride, Jen” I whisper, ashamed of what’s coming next. “It’s him too, Billie. I feel like I just, oh, I don’t know. But I feel like Tre knows, and maybe that’s why he hasn’t called or something. I’m scared, if he ever found out that’d be the end of me”

That night, lying in bed with my cell launched in my hand, Tre’s number highlighted, I hesitated. Did he know? Were we through?

Who knew, because I never called.