Monkey Business

kimmy waits

Sunday, November 30, 10:07 p.m.

Why hasn’t he called?

I kissed him goodbye on Wednesday afternoon. I thought he would call the next day. Truth is, I hoped he would call Wednesday night after he landed. Or from the airport while he was waiting for his flight. That would have been amazing. But I wasn’t asking for that. No. All I was asking is that he call at some point over the weekend. Is that too much to ask? That the guy I’ve been hooking up with for the past month call me to wish me a happy Thanksgiving?

I’m lying on my bed, wearing a tank top and panties, sweating and staring at the ceiling. My flight landed two hours ago. I thought Russ would be here by now. The central heating is on full blast, so it’s boiling in here. I don’t mind the heat; I’m used to it from home. It was gorgeous in Arizona. A nice eighty-six degrees. Here it’s forty-two. My body is officially confused. And the Zoo feels like ninety degrees. I saw a guy wearing shorts and a tank top strolling through the hallways. I wonder if he’ll keep that outfit on all winter. The same weirdness occurs in Arizona. I’ll be wearing sandals and a minidress outside because it’s a hundred and thirty degrees, but I need to put on long underwear and a parka to go to the air-conditioned mall.

So far the cold in Connecticut hasn’t been so terrible. The gusts of air are refreshing. They make me feel alive. Like sex. Which it doesn’t look like I’ll be getting tonight. I left my cell phone on the entire time I was home so he could reach me. He could have gotten through while my mother was whining about how miserable her job is. Or while my father grilled me about whether I was wasting my time and money on getting an MBA. Or when I ran into Wayne and Cheryl together at the Rhythm Room and had to maintain a stupid plastic smile on my face.

It was the power-on cell in my purse that kept me sane, reminding me that, yes, there is something good in my life. The very possibility of it ringing was my reason for getting out of bed in the morning.

But now it’s Sunday night, and he still hasn’t called.

What does it mean? That he wasn’t thinking about me? That he was with Sharon the entire weekend? That he doesn’t want to see me anymore?

I feel sick and hot and nauseous. I open the window to fill my room with air so I don’t faint. Or cry. He doesn’t want me anymore. He’d rather be with Sharon.

What do I do? I need a new plan.

I pick up the phone and call him, but he doesn’t answer. What if he’s decided that he can’t live without her? That he’s going to transfer to the business school in Toronto?

The open window doesn’t seem to be helping the room temperature. What’s wrong with me? Why is my heart beating so loudly? I don’t understand why I want him so much. Yes, he’s hot and smart and serious, but so are other guys here. Why do I want the one guy who’s taken? Is it the challenge? Am I worthless if he doesn’t want me? Is it the way he plays with my secret ear spot?

I call his room again.

“Hello?” He’s back! Why hasn’t he come by if he’s home?

“Hi, it’s me. Can you come by?”

“I…um…” He’s stalling. Why is he stalling?

“Just for a few minutes, okay? See you soon.” I hang up before he can turn me down.

I open the bottle of red wine, pour two glasses, light two candles, turn off the lights and take off my clothes.

It’s all about strategy.