Just Breathe by Tamara Mataya Read Free Book Online

vacillate and lead us to the living room. Clay’s cute in a generic warm-eyed puppy dog way. He’s not a bad guy, but I’d never want to date a dealer. Granted Clay only sells weed, it’s not like he runs illegal firearms and dabbles in heroin, but it’s all relative.
    Not to mention the temptation of having pounds and pounds of weed around me all the time, begging me to smoke myself into oblivion.
    “It’s so weird you don’t smoke anymore. What do you think of that weed?” He points to the second bag.
    I could have chosen the weed right away, but I really just don’t want to be alone right now.
    “This second kind is called what again?”
    “Durban Poison.”
    “We have a winner. Give me a quarter ounce of it then.” I hand over the folded bills from my back pocket. He hands me a pre-measured bag-o-fun. “I’m about to order some food. Want to hang out for a bit?”
    “Can’t, duty calls.”
    Damn. Really? Ditched by my former dealer as well. “Alrighty.” We walk to the door, and he puts his sneakers back on.
    “Remember, that weed sneaks up on you, so smoke a bit less than you think you’ll need,” he warns.
    “It’s not for me.”
    He smacks his head. “I keep forgetting. You’re breaking my heart, Elle. You’re my best customer!”
    Wow.
    His phone rings. “Later, Elle!” He opens the door, answers his phone, and is gone. I lock the door behind him and head to my room to listen to some music, Deva Premal. She’s kind of a niche artist, her partner plays and she sings Sanskrit incantations or mantras; I can’t remember, but it’s truly beautiful. I’m not really into new-age stuff as a rule, but her music is like lying on a raft, floating gently on an ocean of small warm waves. I feel warm, and lulled, and safe when I listen to her music. The wine helps too—everything feels blurred around the edges in a calming, fuzzy way.
    I wonder what Jason is doing right now. It’s a lazy thought that lacks twenty percent of the emotional intensity it had last week. It’s strange being left by a man who treated me like I was something precious and infinitely desirable. He used to talk about what our children would look like. His friends had crushes on me which I think only increased my value in his competitive male eyes. He made me feel beautiful, wanted, and loved.
    And so, so broken.
    Did he move so he’d be farther away from me? Did I do something wrong? I know he’s a terrible facsimile of a human being for doing what he did, but I can’t help but wonder if I did something to drive him to it.
    Because he really wasn’t a bad guy until the end. That’s what makes it hard to fully hate him; he was perfect until he moved to another city without telling me. My life has a depressingly country music vibe to it lately.
    Jason used to do some incredibly sweet things. The morning after the first time we had sex, he dropped me off at home early because I had to work at noon. He said he’d pick me up after work. After showering, and getting dressed, and basically floating around the apartment for a couple of hours, I went to the library. Mary-Margaret and Jan pounced on me as soon as I walked in.
    “Did you and your boyfriend have a fight?” Jan had asked. I replied with a confused expression and a, “No.”
    “Well, he came in earlier and left this for you.” She handed me a perfect long-stemmed pink rose. As my cheeks flushed the same hue as the rose, I felt myself soften inside, and fell in love with Jason a little more.
    “No, we didn’t fight,” I said quietly.
    “Did he do something?” Mary-Margaret the cynic asked.
    “No.” I’d smiled and smelled the delicate scent of the flower. “Everything is fine.” The girls smiled then, cautiously happy for me though I wasn’t sure how it could be anything but positive. How could a flower be a bad thing? I guess when you’re older and have been married for a couple of decades, flowers turn into an apology instead of an expression of