Kayla Perrin - Obsession

“I’m here for you,” Marnie said. “We’ll go shopping, clubbing, whatever you need to take your mind off this.”

I nodded. “I know.” I’d done the same for her. “I mean, I know it’ll be hard. I loved Andrew. I still do. But I can’t let this ruin my life.”

Marnie nodded, sipped her coffee. “Did he tell you anything about her?”

“Not much. But it sounds like she wasn’t a one-night stand.” I took a bite of my whole-wheat toast.

“What an asshole,” Marnie muttered. “Sorry, but—”

“Don’t apologize. You’re absolutely right. And I can’t believe he told me this, expecting I’d just forgive him.”

“Word of advice here—and I know it’s early, and I’m not trying to tell you what to do—but you forgive a guy when he cheats, and there’s nothing to say he won’t do it again. In fact, it’s almost like they see your forgiveness as a sign to do it again. Trust me, I learned the hard way with Keith.”

Would Andrew be that way? I couldn’t imagine. Then again, I never imagined he’d ever cheat. He’d seemed too grounded, too controlled, too stable—opposite of spontaneous—to do something like that.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I admitted. “Part of me hates him, part of me loves him.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Marnie said. “But you don’t have to do it today. How about we hit the mall for some retail therapy. And we can take in a matinée. That new film with Will Smith. Two hours of shameless ogling.” Her face lit up. “What do you say?”

“Will Smith? How can I argue with that?”

The retail therapy was fun, netting me a new pair of shoes and a slinky black dress I promised to wear out to a club with Marnie on the weekend. But Will Smith was like two painkillers, easing my heartache for the two hours he appeared on screen. Marnie had cheered loudly when he took it all off in a shower scene, and while I hadn’t been as vocal, I’d certainly enjoyed his delicious body.

We pulled into my driveway shortly after five. I collected the bags with my purchases and got out of Marnie’s black Nissan Sentra.

“I’m serious,” Marnie said. “Call me if you need me, no matter the time.”

“You spent the whole day babysitting me,” I protested.

“And I’ll come right back if you realize that being in the house alone is too much for you to deal with.”

“The moment I’m tempted to curl into a ball on the bed, I’ll call you,” I assured her.

“But if you don’t get me at home, call me on my cell.” Marnie wiggled her eyebrows, and I knew instantly that something was going on.

I poked my head into the driver-side window before she could leave. “I know that tone, Marnie Kincaid. What’s going on tonight that you won’t be at home?”

“Well…” Marnie’s eyes lit up as she bit down on her bottom lip. “I didn’t want to mention it until later—after I knew how it worked out—but I’ve got a date tonight.”

“What?” Iexclaimed. “And you kept this news to yourself all day?”

“I didn’t think I should say anything. Not with what’s going on with you and Andrew.”

“You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me. If you’ve got good news, I want to hear it.”

“It’s not really a date,” Marnie explained. “More of a let’s-see-if- we-like-each-other meeting. You remember I told you I signed up with a couple online dating sites?”

“Yes, but I didn’t think you were serious. You’re the one who said you prefer the old-fashioned way of meeting people.”

“I know, I know. Which is why I put off TRULYACUTIE’s requests to meet me before we went on our trip.”

“TRULYACUTIE?” I asked, laughing.

“Yeah, that’s the name he gave himself online. It piqued my interest.” Marnie paused for a moment. “Hey, if Soriano lived in Orlando, I’d be all over him. But if there’s one thing my affair with him taught me, it’s that I’m ready to move on. And let’s face it, I’m not getting any younger. So I e-mailed TRULYACUTIE and said I’d like to meet him.”

“Wow.”

“Of course, this is just a first date to make sure the guy’s not a creep, and we’ll go from there. But if his picture is for real, then his screen name is quite fitting.”

“Where are you two going?” I asked. I knew a lot of people were finding love via the Internet, but still, I couldn’t help feeling concerned for my friend.

“The Cheesecake Factory. Very public, very busy. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

“And you’re driving your car there, right? He’s not picking you up, is he?”

Marnie shot me a look as if to say I had to know she wasn’t that naïve. “Absolutely, I’m driving my own car there. You know me better than that. And he only knows my screen name and vice versa. This way, if we don’t like each other, we can disappear from each other’s lives easily. It’s perfect.”

“All right.” I straightened. I was going to stop the mother hen act. Marnie was thirty, a few months older than me, and capable of taking care of herself. “You’re wasting gas. I’ll let you go.”

“Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” I said. “Have fun.”

Marnie backed out of the driveway and drove off. Waving, I watched her until she made a left onto a nearby street.

Whether I was depressed or not, I would call her later. Just to make sure TRULYACUTIE wasn’t a nutcase pretending to be a nice guy.

For the first hour or so after Marnie left, I was perfectly fine. I was able to put my hurt on the back burner and cook a simple meal of grilled chicken and pasta. I ate at the kitchen table with the sounds of hip-hop blaring from my stereo. I didn’t want to play anything soft and mellow, because alone with my thoughts, soft and mellow would remind me of the pain I was managing to keep under control.

Peaches sat beside my chair on the floor, looking up at me with dark, pleading eyes. I didn’t normally feed her from the table so as not to spoil her, but I dropped her a piece of chicken nonetheless. What the heck—I was in no mood to obey the rules when my husband had broken the most important one.

Every so often as I ate, I glanced at the phone. The red light was flashing, meaning there was at least one message.

Andrew?

I waited until I’d finished my food and had washed the dishes before I finally placed the phone to my ear and punched in the code to retrieve the messages. And when I did, my heart faltered at the sound of Andrew’s voice.

“Sophie, it’s me. I’m checking in on you, hoping you’re okay. Call me, please. Let me know.”

I erased the message and hung up the phone. The food I’d just eaten turned in my stomach. Did Andrew think I’d spend one night crying, wake up refreshed, and be ready to forgive him?

“Don’t think about him,” I told myself. And I certainly wasn’t going to call back.

I found myself walking to the spare bedroom and digging my easel and art supplies out of the closet. It was a hobby that gave me comfort, but one I didn’t indulge in all that much anymore. Definitely not in the past few months. Whenever I decided to create a picture, Andrew complained that the smell of the paint bothered him. As I stared at the dusty easel and paint-covered sheets, I had to admit to myself that I painted far less these days because it bothered Andrew, not because I didn’t care for my longtime hobby.

Well, Andrew wasn’t here anymore.

I set to work. Two hours later, I had an abstract painting with angry strokes of red and black in the center and muted yellows, browns and oranges around the edges. I’d used a large piece of paper rather than a cloth canvas, but I smiled as I stared at the painting as though I’d created a masterpiece.