Going South: Sick of It

I pull into Chili’s Restaurant and find a place to park. I need Tania to keep me sane, talk me down, find a reasonable explanation for all this. Ten minutes later, she joins me, the first time in years she’s not ‘late.’

“What’s going on?” she says before she even makes it across the parking lot.

“Nothing,” I say without thinking then shake my head. “Well, something. I just don’t know what.”

We head inside and choose the bar over waiting for a booth. The place is packed. We squeeze through the tall tables and settle into the only two empty stools. The noise and commotion drown my thoughts for a moment. Then I’m distracted by the drink menu and the smell of frying tortilla.

“So?” she says, eyes on me, ignoring the bartender as he slides our drinks to us. “Speak.”

I sigh and twist my martini glass by the stem, trying to think where to begin and what will be ‘ok’ to tell her.

“What?! Come on,” she says, my time apparently up.

“Alright. Bosley has been acting weird …”

“I know. You already said that this morning.”

“Just let me finish.”

She sits back in her stool and sighs. Patience is not her strong point.

“I told you Bosley was …. in a mood. Well Damian showed up at our house this afternoon.” I pause to consider mentioning the kiss and decide against it. “After I got back from the library, he and Bosley were going at it, yelling.”

“Really? Bosley?”

Chips are served and I take one to nibble on even though the salt will kill me.

“Yes, Bosley. I asked what was going on and he wouldn’t tell me.”

“Well that’s no surprise.” She scoops a chip through the salsa and inhales it.

 “I know. But there’s more.” I hesitate, knowing she will distort what I say. “He shouted at me too, told me to stay out of it.” I can’t look at her, knowing she’s about to blow it out of proportion.

Leaning towards me, she says in a lower voice, “Did he hit you?”

“No! God, no. He just yelled.” Was I stupid to think something was wrong? I hear myself speak and it sounds so lame. He yelled.

“Well, if he hits you, I swear to God I’ll kill him.” She sips her margarita.

“Shhh.” I glance around to see if anyone heard.

“What? I will.” Leaning on her elbows, drink propped up in one hand, chip in the other, she tosses the idea around like it’s nothing.

“Stop. It’s not like that.” I have second thoughts about getting Tania involved. “Look, I think Damian was about to tell me what’s been going on but Bosley told him to shut his mouth before he could.”

“Really? He really said that to Damian?”

 “Yes.”

“Damian has always been ‘in charge.’ I can’t believe Damian would let Bosley speak to him like that. I wouldn’t be surprised if Damian punched him.”

“Well he didn’t. He shut up. And he wouldn’t look at me straight after.”

“Are you serious?” She stops mid- salsa dip to think. Finally she continues. “And you have no idea what it could be?”

“No. I thought at first it was the whole swinging thing like you said because…” Crud. I didn’t want to mention that.

“Because what?”

“Because… I was alone when Damian showed up.”

The waitress comes to take our order and I pray Tania will forget what I just mentioned. Instead, she’s on the edge of her stool, waiting for the good part.

“Why were you alone? Where was Bosley?”

“He went to work.”

“On a Saturday?”

“Yes. Something with inventory. But anyway, I really don’t think Bosley would agree to swing. It’s just not like him. So it must be something else.”

“Yelling is not like him either.”

She’s right. “But swinging? And he told me to stay out of it,” I am glad to remember.

“Oh right. Yes that would be hard to do. Maybe you should just ask Damian.”

The thought hadn’t occurred to me. Ask Damian? Like… call him? He’d just love that.

We are unable to come with any better idea. We stay late, I drink more than I ever have and find Bosley asleep when I get home. I crawl into bed next to him, wanting to cuddle into him but too irritated to make the effort.

I wake up late Sunday morning, my mouth dry, head throbbing. I can’t believe it’s after 11. My body is like dead weight as I roll out of bed and head for the bathroom. My eyes are puffy and dark. I can hardly open them to the light over the mirror. I close them and stand there for a moment then realize the house is quiet. Do I even care where Bosley is? No, I don’t think I do.

While sitting at the kitchen table, nibbling on toast, I spot Bosley in the back yard, picking through the garden. It’s way too early for gardening. I put the toast down and watch him for a minute. He rips out dead plants, loosens up the soil and straightens the stakes. I realize hours later, when he’s still at it, that he’s avoiding me.

Fine. Avoid me. See if I care.

…but I do. It breaks my heart that Bosley is pulling away. What could possibly be so important …and why won’t he tell me? My stomach turns at the thought of it. The remainder of the day is spent apart even when we’re together.

I head to work on Monday feeling defeated. Not a word from Bosley since Saturday afternoon. I greet George and Roseanne with a smile even if I don’t feel it. Roseanne, my work mom, throws her arms around me for a hug I have come to expect. She’s wearing the usual polyester pants and matching cardigan/v-neck.

The work on my desk stares back at me while I try to get my head together.

“Coffee, dear?” Roseanne asks on her way to the kitchenette.

“That would be great.”

She returns, placing my mug on my desk.

“Thanks, hun. You’re a sweetheart,” I say, shifting papers around to appear busy.

She takes her seat at the desk across from me and watches, glasses tipped down.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I look up and smile. “How are you?”

“You look …tired,” she says, avoiding my attempt at diversion.

“Yes. I am. So what do we have today?” I try again.

She hesitates. “The Millers’ payment arrived so send them their package. The tickets and hotel information are in their file. We haven’t heard from Demby in over a week so you need to call him to see if he still wants the cruise.” She goes on with the list which I only half hear. My mind is on Bosley.

By noon I have managed to accomplish two of the long list of things to be done. I just want to sleep. My stomach is unsettled and my hands are shaky.

“You want lunch first today or shall I go?” Roseanne says from her desk across from me.

“Go ahead and eat. I don’t feel much like eating.”

“You didn’t eat breakfast either. What’s wrong?”

“Not sure. My stomach’s bothering me.”

“Well, maybe you should go home then.”

I hadn’t thought of that. But then, I’m not really sick. Getting the afternoon off would be great. …or would it? Sitting home thinking about Bosley could be torturous. But trying to concentrate on work seems just as bad. Maybe I should go home and think about calling Damian.

     

~~ Should Ana go home ‘sick?’ ~~

NEW: Vote by the poll. The official tally will be taken from the poll which closes midnight Thursday (EST).

In addition, leave comments below if you’d like to expand on your vote. Click on the word ‘comments’ below to open the comments form. Watch next Tuesday for the following episode based on your votes.

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Going South: Notions

 

I lay my hand over Bosley’s as it rests on the stick shift. Even without touching his palm, I feel his clamminess. I hold my breath. Something is definitely up.

“What’s wrong,” I say, the sound of my own voice unsettling as it breaks the silence.

He stares straight ahead, downshifts unnecessarily and says, “Nothing.”

I retract my hand and lay it in my lap, watching him through the dark as he watches the road.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

I look straight ahead as I try to decide whether or not to push it. Sometimes it only irritates him more. Sometimes I don’t care. I want to know.

“It doesn’t seem like nothing,” I say. “You’re upset. Why won’t you tell me?”

“I’m not upset,” he says in a tone that confirms he is upset, the same tone that begs me to drop it.

“Does it have anything to do with Damian?” Even as I ask, my heart races, afraid he will turn this conversation on me.

His eyes leave the road and burn into me.

“I said it’s nothing.”

Okay. Fine. I let it go... for now.

It’s the usual routine when we get home; slide our shoes off at the door, change into our comfies, settle in front of the TV. I want to talk. I want Bosley to talk. Instead, we watch Stewie attempt world domination. Usually we laugh. Not tonight. 

“I’ve got brunch with the girls tomorrow,” I say just because I feel the need to say something to lighten the mood.

“Oh.” His eyes are glued to Stewie.

I reach over and lay my hand on his forearm. It’s warm. It always is. And I’m always cold. The simple touch makes me want his arms around me but I let it go and bring my hand back to my side.

When the episode ends, I head to bed. “I’ll try to be quiet in the morning so you can sleep in,” I say, though I know he sleeps like the dead.

“Okay. Have fun.”

~~~

I wake up early Saturday morning, my night restless as usual lately. The sun is shining and it’s the first day over fifty degrees in months. The kitchen table is strewn with Bosley’s evening leftovers; his laptop, a mug and a plate with crumbs. The newspaper is separated and strewn about. The coupons have been stacked neatly for me at one end of the table. I grab the dishes and quietly put them in the dishwasher before heading out the door.

London is waiting at a table when I arrive at the restaurant. I dismiss the hostess who is more than pleased to greet me and a tad disappointed when she realizes I’ve already got a seat. I shuffle through the maze of family breakfasters as I head towards London. Even from behind, I know her perfect soft brown curls and size 2 waist. She looks especially chipper as I pull out the chair next to her. I plaster on my biggest smile just so I don’t look out of place next to her.

“Tania just texted,” London says. “She’ll be here in 10.”

I roll my eyes. Big surprise. It’s the natural order of things. London early. Me on time. Tania late.

“So how was your night at Damian’s?” London says with a grin.

“It’s not Damian’s. It’s Damian and Myra’s. …and don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

I cock my head to the side and raise a brow just as Tania joins us. She’s got ten years on me but you’d never know – she’ll outlast even the Energizer.

“Sorry I’m late. Oh good!” she says as the waitress stops at our table. “Coffee.”

I love London for being early …and knowing we want coffee. Conversation waits for us to prepare our drug; warmth, comfort, caffeine.

“Enough small talk,” Tania says although she hasn’t made any small talk yet. “How was dinner last night?”

I keep my eyes lowered to my coffee as I drop in sweetness and stir much longer than necessary. “The usual,” I lie and feel my face heat up.

“What happened?” London says, placing her hand on my arm as if to ensure an answer from me.

“Nothing.” Crud. They know me too well. I still can’t look up. When I finally do, both are holding their breath, wide-eyed, curious as George. “Nothing.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” Tania says. “It’s something good, isn’t it? Something juicy.”

“No.” I keep up the lie and search for a diversion. “Bosley was in a mood. That’s all.”

“Oh right. You’re red as a rocket and you expect us to believe that?”

Crud, crud and triple crud. “It’s true! He was.”

London flips the menu open and browses the options. “Fine, if you’re not going to tell us. But honestly, hun, we don’t care about Bosley’s mood.” She gets engrossed in the menu now. Not Tania. She narrows her eyes at me while she plays with one earring.

I sit up and lean forward on the table as I retrace the evening in my mind. “Here’s the weird thing though,” I say. “I think Damian is up to something.”

“What?” they both say, menus pressed back down to the table.

“I don’t know. But I walked in on him and Bosley …” I pause, enjoying the fact that they are hanging on my every word and I am not blushing. “Bosley looked upset, like I said. He told Damian not to ask.”

“Not to ask what?” Tania says, scowling.

“I don’t know. That’s all I heard. ‘Don’t ask.’ ”

We slip into deep thought for a moment, menus forgotten, until the waitress returns to take our order. As soon as she leaves, Tania is back at it.

“Was Damian his usual self?” she says. We all know what she means – did he flirt with me?

“Yeah. Pretty much.” There are no more distractions so I look out the window.

Tania grins. “What do you mean pretty much? I knew something happened.”

She is way too excited although I don’t know why. Damian flirts with everyone. And he might be hot but he’s entirely too into himself for my taste.

“Ooooh you’re blushing again,” London says in a tone I don’t appreciate.

“No. Nothing happened.” What would I tell them? He almost kissed me… I think.

“He kissed you, didn’t he?” Tania says as if she read my mind.

“Not exactly. But… I think he might have tried.” My voice rises as I confide and brace myself for their response.

“What?”

“Almost?”

“What do you mean?”

“Tell us!”

“It was dark…” I begin.

“Dark? Why the heck was it dark?” Tania interrupts.

“Because he hadn’t turned the light on yet.” The twisted expressions on their faces stop me dead. What did I say? They look at each other then back at me. “What?”

Both are silent. All I get are shrugs.

“Anyway… so I thought he was leaning in towards me but I’m not sure so I slipped away.”

Tania’s eyes are narrow again. London rests her chin on her hand and curls her fingers up over her lips.

“He wants to swing,” Tania finally says.

“What?”

“Swing. That’s what he asked Bosley, I bet.” Tania is proud of herself for demystifying the situation. She leans back in her chair and scans the restaurant.

“No,” I say, deeper than my voice has reached in ages. I won’t believe it.

“Yes,” London confirms. “I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s so like him.”

I don’t know what to say. How can I defend myself? Why do I feel the need to defend myself? I’ve done nothing. I hadn’t even thought of doing something. What if they’re right? That would definitely set Bosley in a mood for sure.

Though conversation moves on, my thoughts are plagued with the girls’ theory. I keep thinking thank God Bosley said no. Then I realize Bosley never said no. He said don’t ask, which is kind of like no but not exactly. It could’ve meant don’t ask Ana, or don’t ask yet, or you don’t even have to ask.

What am I thinking? Of course Bosley said no. …if that was even the question.

Bosley is still asleep when I get home past 10:30. Like I said, he sleeps like the dead. I’m feeling anxious so I wipe down the counters. Still uneasy so I unload the dishwasher. My stomach churns so I grab the broom and sweep under the table where Bosley dropped crumbs.

A bling from Bosley’s laptop startles me and I jump, dropping the crumbs I just swept into the dustpan. That’s when I notice the Messenger chat window open and Damian’s picture smiling at me. My heart jumps out of my chest. Suddenly I feel like he can see me. I look around as if to locate a camera. It blings again. My hand presses to my heart as I lean forward and begin to read the waiting messages.

10:42 Damian says...  hey u there?

For a minute, I think he means me. But why would he? It’s Bosley’s laptop.

10:47 Damian says...  don’t ignore me man

Yes, Bosley.

10:48 Damian says...  you owe me

He owes him? What the …?

~~ Should Ana pretend to be Bosley and chat with Damian? ~~

Voting has now closed.

NEW: Vote by the poll. The official tally will be taken from the poll which closes midnight Friday (EST).

In addition, leave comments below if you’d like to expand on your vote. In the event of a tie, the decision will be mine but your comments may persuade me to go one way or another. If the comments form is not visible below, click on the word ‘comments’ to open it. Watch next Wednesday for the next episode based on your votes.

Note: Don’t vote according to what you think I want for the story. Vote as if you were Ana or Ana were your friend. What would you do?