Love Expectations (Season 1 of Nata and Phillip's Romance) ✔️

10. 'My first and my last mistake'

Natalia

I walk-run into the nearest restroom. Find my favorite stall, and slide the lock into place. Using the toilet as a seat, I lean forward and bury my face in my hands, because I can no longer control this particular crisis.

The tears I staved off all week-end, the ones I didn't cry on Kate's couch, the ones I crammed back into my tear-ducts in the refrigeration room-multiply.

My palms are a puddle within seconds. I'm snorkeling in the shallow waters of my tears, until my nose can no longer escape through the gap between my hands and leaks, starving me for air. Even crying isn't working today. Whoever cursed me must have a great sense of humor, because I snort my tears back, choke on them, and get into a fit that generates more tears. They haven't invented a Heimlich maneuver for this version of choking.

The door into the restroom slams opens, and I try to stifle my spasms, which at this point sound like wet heaves, into my elbow covered by my white lab-coat. Hopefully, whoever came in isn't staying for longer than a pee. The burning sensation in my chest grows with every cramped breath. My attempt at stuffing whatever is trying to escape my lungs back in mostly succeeds at muffling my noises.

"Natalia. You in here?" Kate's voice calls out.Kate. She was looking for me. It better not be about that damn gamma counter. If I take my elbow away from my mouth, I'll be making sounds I can not currently vouch for. I slide the lock on the flimsy stall door and let it squeak open.

Kate hurries over. Her eyes turn into two giant pools of glistening blue. "What did that asshole do? You should've come to get me to referee."

I shake my head and my elbow.

"Can you stand?" Kate puts her arms around my torso and lifts my heap of a body off the toilet. The automatic flush washes away any remains of my dignity.

She walks me over to the row of sinks. The mirror that spans the wall reflects my smudged mascara and my devastation. So much devastation in my eyes, I don't recognize myself.

This is not me.

I look more like Mom than I ever did. I'm crying over a guy. I'm everything I've never wanted to be. I hate this version of myself and I don't ever want to see it. The thought of turning into my mother is powerful enough to shut the flow of tears and liquid snot. I remove the elbow from my face and inhale a shuddering breath.

Kate tears a square of paper towel, dampens it, and runs it under my eyes. "I have my make up bag in my office. We'll make you look so good, Fiona will have to compliment you even more." She gives me another piece to blow my nose. "All of this is fixable."

My face-maybe. But my life? It'll take a lot more than Kate's makeup skills to fix the train wreck I find myself in.

Kate brings me a handful of paper towels and turns on the faucet. "Wash. I'll be right back."

I run the warm, non-salty water into the pond of my palms and wash off the mascara, the smeared lipstick, and the emotions that Samson was so scared of. I rub the pathetic version of weeping baby Nata that hasn't shown itself in years off my skin. My plan is all I have left. Relying on Samson was my first and my last mistake. I don't need anyone to make my life what I want it to be. I'm a smart, independent woman. I will find a way.

The phone in my pocket buzzes.

I can't deal with Samson. If I don't see him at all this week, I'll be happy. I unlock the screen to put the phone to do not disturb. The text is from Phillip.

Whoville: If you're busy, I get it. But just making sure I have the correct number.

I was going to send him a polite "no thank you" from the car this morning, but Kate has a way to chat me into oblivion.