Missing You Again

Trumped

Zacky was noticeably absent from my house when I woke up the following morning. Which was both a relief and a disappointment.

When we'd arrived back at my place the night before I'd had a sudden burst of strength and had managed to wrestle a semi-conscious and incoherent Zacky through my front door and on to the sofa. As much as I'd have loved to curl up beside him in the bed that Cathy Cathcart had left luxuriously made up in eleventy billion thread count linens it would have been a. impossible for me to drag him up the stairs and b. one of the worst ideas in the history of bad ideas and let's face it by this stage I was becoming something of an expert in bad ideas.

The blanket I'd tossed over him before I'd slunk up to bed was folded carefully on the end of the sofa and a note with my name scrawled across it, surely written on a piece of paper plucked from the handily located writing station, sat propped against the coffee machine. It was amazing how well Cathy's organisation of my house had facilitated an unexpected sleepover. The thought popped into my brain that if I peeked in the nightstand or a bathroom drawer I may well find a stash of condoms. I promised myself that I'd test that theory later.

Picking up the note I opened it and read it.

Thank-you. I'm sorry. I won't let it happen again.

So few words and so many ways to interpret them. Was he sorry for crashing on my sofa? Sorry for his crack about his 'friend in San Francisco' although I highly doubted he'd even remember that one or was he sorry for everything that happened between us to change our friendship? Was he sorry things had 'gotten weird'? I hoped it wasn't that because strange as it may sound I wasn't sorry for what we'd done. Not a bit. Oh I was sorry that it was a moment of madness when he was torn up about the end of his marriage and a career setback but I wasn't sorry that the lurking attraction between us had finally played out. I was very sorry that he hadn't been totally free and clear of his broken marriage. I was very, very sorry that I had to stuff all my emotions down and keep yet another secret but I wasn't sorry that for a brief moment in time I felt like I could really love Zacky if I was given the chance.

I shrugged off my reflective mood and took the opportunity to inspect my house - because damn! – Cathy Cathcart wasn't just a design whizz she was an organisational genius. I tried to dredge up memories of her from my teen years when her family had visited Steph's. My dad had grown up in the same street as Steph's dad so he knew Aaron's younger sister, Cathy's mother, well. All I could remember of Cathy from that time was what I'd assumed was the stereotypical cheerleader type. Not that I knew what that was but I'd had a working television and DVD player so I let teen movies be my guide.

Cathy had forgotten nothing from the collection of takeout menus tucked in the writing station, I could order Uber Eats like a boss but the menu collection was a nice touch, to the still and sparkling mineral water in the fridge; she'd anticipated everything I could possibly need. Even the condoms – of course I checked for them - tucked discreetly into all three bedrooms came in multiple varieties. She'd even stocked the pantry with assorted ingredients. As much as I appreciated what was clearly a luxury brand of pasta nestled against tins of imported San Marzano tomatoes there was no chance that I was going to be firing up the impressive range and preparing a gourmet feast. I might, if pushed, utilise the toaster and brown up some bread but that was it. Caitlin had gotten the cooking skill, I'd been well and truly over supplied with the burning skill. I was the girl who quite literally could burn water – the stench of a pan of water that had boiled dry was not easily forgotten. In fact the last time I'd made an attempt at cooking my neighbours had begged most politely, they were English and I lived in a very nice part of London, that I kindly refrain from ever trying again. In that they were seconded by Sean who'd once suffered through what he claimed was a near terminal case of food poisoning at my hands.