Chapter 2

The day after I buried my dad, I sat in the grass in front of his grave for a good two hours. The conversation we had before his body quit on him, running back and forth inside my head like a broken water hose.

My brain wouldn't shut up.

My brain wouldn't stop reminding me of the promise, the promise that I made in a desperate attempt to give him peace, the promise I made to my daddy while he was dying.

I was content with my job. I was content in my relationship, but after those two hours; I realized my daddy was right. I was bored. I wasn't having fun, not the kind of fun he meant.

Board games on date nights are not fun.

Sex once a week on Sunday nights at the usual time of eight pm wasn't fun.

Going through paperwork, day after day wasn't very much fun either.

Coming home to my boyfriend every day and having the same conversations about our day wasn't fun.

My daddy was right.

I was in a rut.

I was stuck.

And I didn't know how to get out of it.

I'm not roaring through life, I'm simply living. I'm not having fun. I'm not making mistakes. I'm not having any adventures that I could tell my grandkids about that would make them say they had a fun grandma.

When I first made that promise, I didn't really have any intention to actually follow through. I had just wanted to make sure my daddy died, not worrying about me.

Who wanted to change everything in their life? Not someone like me who plans everything, not someone like me who has never done a non-careful thing her entire life.

Change is difficult.

Change is different.

Change is scary.

The longer I sat, the more my mind wouldn't stop. Memories of riding with my daddy on his motorcycle, feeling free, the only time I allowed myself to have fun, real fun. It wasn't the motorcycle that made it fun; it was the promise of adventure.

We never knew where the bike would take us. I had to let my control go when I got on the back of his bike, and it was the most freeing thing I ever felt.

The longer I sat, the more I thought about the relationship that I didn't even feel like a woman in. I felt more like a housemate, a maid, a cook and sometimes a one night stand.

Paul wasn't the romantic type. Paul wasn't the touchy type. The only time he touched me was on Sundays at eight pm, and the sex wasn't even that good. Most of those Sundays I went to sleep without cumming, annoyed and a little dissatisfied.

He wouldn't kiss me, he wouldn't touch my boobs, he didn't even attempt to make sure I was wet. He would basically ram bam, thank you ma'am me before passing out and snoring.

Okay, a lot of dissatisfied.

The longer I sat, the more I realized how much I hated, how much I loathed my job. I went in at seven am every morning, did the same thing all day and left at five pm.

Nothing changed. It was paperwork, paperwork and more freaking paperwork. I was stuck in my office for hours, looking at freaking paperwork and not to mention I had to deal with an overly flirty boss, who didn't take a hint when he was crossing the line, and he always felt the need to touch my desk.

I hate smudgy fingerprints on my desk.

My life was boring.

My daddy was right.

I drove down the same street everyday going to work. Ate at the same restaurants every time because Paul was too nervous to try anything new, and I was content with eating whatever he wanted, even if it meant eating Mexican food all the time.

I wasn't lively.

I wasn't experiencing life.

I was just existing.

My mind was made up. I needed a change, and that change started with the promise I made to my daddy. I was going to find fun; I was going to make mistakes, and I was going on an adventure and I didn't even know where I was even going to start.

It was exciting.

It was thrilling.

With my mind now set, I stood up, kissed the top of my daddies headstone and whispered. “You were right, daddy. I'm bored. I'm tired. I'm exhausted with my life. I hate my job. I'm not happy with my relationship. I'm going to look for fun. I'm going to make mistakes, and I'm going to start enjoying life. I been sleepwalking through life. I love you. Thank you for waking me up.”

I went to the pharmacy I worked at and told them I quit. My boss asked for my reason, asked was it because of the pay, was it because of a coworker. The only answer my boss got out of me was that I was bored before I walked towards the door and then just as my hand touched the door knob, I turned around looked him right in the eyes, and decided that the fun I was looking for started right now.

“Let me give you some good business advice. Don't flirt with your employees. Don't make them uncomfortable. When they give you formal hints about you, you need to hear them. You have been hitting on me for a year, and I was never interested. You might want to be careful because the next employee you put through all that bullshit, all that work sexual harassment might, just might, inform your pregnant wife, you're a dog." I snarled before adding. “And stop leaving your greasy fingerprints on people's desk. Nobody wants pizza grease on their desk.” I snapped before hiking my purse over my shoulder, holding the box I had stuffed all my belongings into, and walked out the door with a satisfied smile on my face.

I drove straight home knowing Paul would be home, waiting for me to start dinner and what he didn't know was I wasn't cooking dinner tonight. I didn't even take the same road back home. I took a detour and that detour added another ten minutes to my drive, and I enjoyed every minute.

I sat in my car for several moments after I parked. What I was fixing to do was going to be much harder than quitting my job. It's going to require actual answers to the questions he is bound to ask. Paul is a decant man, a good man, and the perfect man for a woman, that woman just wasn't me, not anymore.

And being that Paul was indeed a decent man, I had to talk this over with him before heading out.

Yes, heading out tonight.

I decided that after my conversation with Paul; I was leaving. I'm going to hand over my house keys, write Paul a check that should help cover the mortgage for a few months, and leave my old life and even this town behind.

I have been with Paul since graduating from college. He was a nice guy; he was a sweet guy, but he was also a boring guy. I felt a little guilty about what I was going to do, but it was something I needed to do.

For me.

He wasn't spontaneous; he didn't come home, pull me into his arms and kiss me, telling me how much he missed me while he was away.

He didn't cuddle me while watching movies on the couch. He didn't look at me with lust in his eyes when I walked out of the shower naked.

He didn't throw me on the kitchen counter on a whim to have sex with me while I was cooking.

Paul was just Paul, and he didn't excite me. My heart didn't feel like it was beating out of my chest when he looked at me, I didn't blush because of the things he said to me, and I didn't have to squeeze my thighs together because just the look of him turned me on.

Like I said, I felt like a housemate, a roommate. I desired more than that in my relationship, and I realized deep down Paul wasn't capable of giving me what I now felt I needed and wanted.

Taking a sharp breath, preparing myself for the conversation. I open my car door, climb out, close it and then head towards the front door. As I'm walking up, I take a moment to look at the house I had called home.

It, too, was boring.

Mud colored window shields.

Basic white front door.

The house has absolutely no personality, and that was my fault. I wasn't happy in life and it clearly showed through the non-decorated home.

I raise my hand, kind of feeling nervous, and wrap it around the doorknob. I don't want to hurt Paul, that is not my intention and I hope he understands that our relationship isn't a healthy one, at least for me. I twisted the knob and opened the front door.

I knew Paul was going to be sitting at the kitchen table, on his phone, going over work emails, so I headed towards the kitchen and when I walked through the archway, I also realized just how routine our lives were. I was right. He was sitting down on his phone.

“Paul, we need to talk.” I said, laid my purse on the table and turned to face him.

“Can it wait? I have emails to go over,” he murmured, not taking his eyes off his phone.

That's always the answer I get.

Can it wait?

No Paul.

It can't wait this time.

“Actually, no, it can't,” I informed him and sat in the chair across from him, not giving him an option but to have this conversation with me.

“Very well. What is it?” he asked, sighing like this conversation was inconvenient, and set his phone down in front of him.

Another reason I need to do this. Every time I tried to talk to him about something else apart from our usual boring discussion, he made it seem like it was a hindrance.

“I have been doing a lot of thinking, and I'm not happy anymore,” I informed him. “I'm not happy with my job, and I'm not happy in our relationship. It has nothing to do with you, Paul. It's me. I need a change.”

“What are you not pleased with Riley?” he demanded to know, left eyebrow raising as he waited for my answer.

And yet another reason for me to do this. He has always just called me Riley, sometimes Ry, on the rare occasion. He has never given me a sweet nickname.

No baby, no babe.

Nothing.

I didn't want to lay it all out there, I didn't want to hurt his feelings, but I told myself that it was only right to answer his questions honestly.

“I'm not happy with having sex once a week. I don't like being on a sex schedule. I don't like you not even kissing me while we are having sex. I don't like coming home and not cuddling with my boyfriend. I don't like that you don't give me cute nicknames. I don't enjoy eating at the same restaurants over and over. I don't like that on the occasions that I'm feeling good about myself, dress up, put makeup on, do my hair, you don't even notice,” I informed him and laid it all out there. It's better this way.

“Riley, you knew the type of man I was when you started dating me and now all of a sudden, it's a problem for you. Why? Are you cheating on me?” he asked, sounding a mad instead of sad.

Cheating?

He actually thinks I have been cheating?

“Paul, my life has been the same every single day. No, I have not been cheating. Like I said, this has nothing to do with you and all to do with me. The things I now realize I need,” I sighed, praying that he understands. “You don't tell me you love me. You don't call me while I'm at work to tell me you miss me. We have been just living together and not enjoying life. I don't want that.”

“It didn't bother you before,” he snapped, picked up his phone and started going over emails again.

I guess the conversation is over.

“Here are the house keys and a check to help with the house mortgage for a few months,” I told him and slid them over across the table and towards him. He didn't even look up from his phone. “I'm sorry if I hurt you. I didn't want to do that, but I owe it to the both of us to move on. You don't deserve to be with a woman that's not deeply in love with you, and I don't deserve to be with a man that makes me feel like I'm less than a woman, that doesn't make me feel like I'm the only woman alive for him,” I said softly, stood up from the chair, and headed out towards the bedroom to pack a few things.

“Take care Paul. I wish you nothing but happiness,” I whispered before walking out of the kitchen.

He said nothing back.

He didn't try to keep me with him.

And all that only added more to the list of reasons why doing this was the right thing for me and no not a checklist, I don't plan on making those anymore.