“I trust you,” he insisted. And then he completely negated the statement, in her opinion, by adding, “Would it make any difference if I said I would register for classes next semester?”
He still didn’t get it. He still thought he had to prove something to her in order to impress her. He was still selling himself short, and in the process he was doing the same to her.
“I hope you do register for classes, if that’s what you want to do. I h
ope you will pursue your dreams, whatever they are. For your sake, not for anyone else’s, including mine. But, no, it doesn’t make any difference as far as we are concerned.”
She had never cared from the start whether he had a degree. She had fallen for the man he was, not for what he could become. But he still thought she was no different from that woman who had hurt his feelings at his high school reunion. The one who thought herself too good to date a maintenance man.
How could she and Mike ever have a relationship of any sort when he didn’t even know her?
He still hadn’t looked at her. Maybe he couldn’t. He turned the doorknob. “Take care of yourself, Catherine.”
“You, too,” she choked out.
Norman meowed. Mike hesitated only a moment before letting himself out.
There was no anger in the tears Catherine shed this time. Only deep, painful grief.
Christmas came and went quietly, and somehow Catherine survived the holidays, despite her disinclination to celebrate that year. She hoped she did a credible job of disguising her pain, though she doubted that she fooled Karen or Julia. At least Julia had the compassion not to say I told you so.
Mike quit his job at the apartment complex. The first Catherine knew of it was when she stopped by the office to pay her rent for January and Lucille mentioned it in passing.
“It was a real shame, too,” the apartment manager said regretfully. “He was the best we ever had here. Not that I really expected him to stay, a young, good-looking guy like that.”
“Does he, um, still live here in the complex?” Catherine had asked, struggling to hide her feelings.
“No. He moved out last weekend. Darn shame,” Lucille said again.
After that, Catherine threw herself into her work with a vengeance, spending even longer hours than usual in the lab and in her office. She found herself slipping into her old routines, wearing her same old clothes, coming home to sit with Norman and read her science papers in the evenings.
She couldn’t say she never thought of Mike, but she took some pride in reducing those thoughts to no more than once or twice an hour. She had spent a lot of time replaying their time together, asking herself what had gone wrong. She had come to the conclusion that both she and Mike had been at fault.
She had blamed him at first for having such a defeatist attitude toward their relationship, but now she could see that she had done the same thing. She had simply assumed from the start that what they had couldn’t last.
It had been a self-fulfilling prediction, she realized now. One a scientist should know better than to make without compelling evidence. But the experiment had failed, for whatever reason, and she still wasn’t sure exactly what she had learned as a result.
She wished she knew what he was doing now. Where he was working. Whether he was happy. And she wondered if she would ever stop missing him.
She was pushing a grocery cart out of a local supermarket on a sunny afternoon in February when she heard a familiar voice speak her name. “Hey, Catherine.”
Turning, she saw Bob Sharp pushing a delivery cart toward the store entrance, dressed in a blue work uniform, his bright red hair flowing from beneath a blue cap emblazoned with his company’s name. A pang went through her at the reminder of Mike. The two months that had passed since she had last seen him had not lessened the ache that accompanied every thought of him.
“Hello, Bob. How are you?” she asked as she moved her cart out of the way of patrons on their way in and out of the supermarket.
“If I was any better, I wouldn’t be able to stand myself.”
His cocky answer made her smile. “I’m glad to hear that. It’s really good to see you again.”
He winked at her. “You, too, Dr. Gorgeous. How’s that hot, single lawyer friend of yours? Did you ever tell her about the fantastic, fun guy you found for her?”
She shook her head, her chin brushing against the warm green cashmere scarf she wore with a quilted ski jacket to protect her from the winter chill. “The truth is, she just doesn’t deserve you, Bob.”
He heaved a sigh. “Though that could go either way, I’ll take it as a compliment.”
“You should. It was meant as one.”
He reached out to chuck her chin with his knuckles. “Thanks, Doc. So, how’ve you been? Still seeing that cardiologist?”