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"You think about her a lot, don't you?" Natalie says wiping the remnants of whatever she was cooking on her apron. Monk wrinkles his nose at this. She rolls her eyes, makes a big production of removing the apron and folding it on the counter. As if he'll just forget the stain in the first place, as if his hands aren't itching to pick it up and scrub at it with all his might and bleach that piece of cloth to oblivion.

"Trudy? Of course," He sighs, but the way she is looking at him now he knows they aren't talking about his wife. "I think about her every single moment." And this is mostly true but sometimes, sometimes he just can't help but see another woman's face where it shouldn't be. He feels guilty, betraying Trudy like that, not lingering on her image as much as he used to, and reaching out to feel somebody else's blonde hair in a dream that never seems to go away. Waking up with a different name on his lips. It's painful, makes him want to thrust his arm into his chest and rip out whatever is left of his heart.

"Mr. Monk, I was talking about Sharona," She says softly and he pretends to act surprised but fails miserably. "Look, you shouldn't feel ashamed about your feelings, they are perfectly normal." As if he's some child who has to learn about the birds and the bees from their parents. An excruciating moment in his life where at seventeen years of age he spent hours locked in his room, crying after his mother explained to him how babies were made. He shakes his head, tries to knock loose this memory and send it floating back to wherever it came from.

"I don't know what you're talking about," He murmurs, running his palms across his shirt.

"Fine," She says, holding up her hands. "You don't want to talk about it, okay by me. I'm just saying, I know how you feel and if you ever want to,"

"Drop it." He mutters and she does. She turns back to her cooking and he organizes the magazines on her table for the hundredth time and they don't look at each other because each one wants to say something but is afraid of the other's reaction.

"Anyway, she called." His eyes immediately rise at this and she's smiling like she has won something. "You were in the shower. Wrote down the phone number," She hands it to him on a small, yellow post-it note and his fingers start to tremble. He hasn't spoken to her in a month and the excitement and fear at hearing her voice again is powerful. He doesn't even care that Natalie is staring at him with a big grin on her face because she knows and he knows that this isn't simply a "just friends" situation.

He stands up, about to pick up the phone, heart beating so fast he can barely breathe.

"Go get 'em slugger." Natalie jokes and he tries to fix her with an angry look, but even he has to smile. Because maybe, just maybe, when he picks up the phone, Sharona will want to come back. He goes through different scenarios in his head, reasons why she called, and his adrenaline is racing. This could be good. This could be real good.

"Hello?" She answers on the third ring.

"It's Adrian. Monk. Adrian Monk." He stammers.

"Adrian! I'm so glad you called," She sounds genuinely happy. "Natalie seems very nice; I talked to her this morning."

"Yes, we are getting along well…" He looks to Natalie who raises the butcher knife next to her and makes stabbing motions, frowns. "Very well."

"I'm so proud of you Adrian, you know that?" He doesn't want her to be proud of him; he wants her to love him.

"I miss you," Silence.

"I miss you too. Of course. Of course, I miss you," His heart drops with a thud because he realizes that she doesn't miss him nearly as much as he misses her and she isn't calling because she's desperate to get out. She isn't unable to handle being away from him. She's fine. Jesus. She's FINE. He wished she had not said it at all, rather she had just absorbed his words and let them soak and not reply because it's better than hearing her repeat it out of kindness. There's nothing in her voice, it just slides out like a script she should follow.

"Disher…um…is dating this girl. She's, uh…"

"A scuba instructor? I know, we talked this morning." Talked this morning. That shouldn't bother him at all but it does. He grits his teeth and feels his palms begin to sweat, tightens his grip on the phone. Wishes he could tighten his grip on everything around him, keep it under control. Sometimes things just seem to be flying apart. Natalie tugs his suit at the elbow; he turns to look at her.

"You okay?" She mouths. He nods, gives a thumbs-up sign. Inside he prays she'll grab the phone, smash it down on the receiver, rip it out of his hands and stop this conversation right in its tracks before it veers dangerously off course. She just stares back at him with a concerned gaze. He feels disappointed by her.

"So, Benjy…"

"Is doing well, he loves being with his Dad. And he's even got a crush on a girl at school!"

"Moo-oomm," He hears Benjy groan in the background, laughing despite his embarassment. Adrian's throat closes tight with pain and he swallows. The kid, even the kid is happy.

"Look, um…" He searches for a way to close it but is left with vast space. "Randy…he was fine when you talked to him?"

"Seemed great, why?"

"It's just; I know he's been having a hard time. He had feelings for you and," Natalie stares at him, bewildered as these words tumble from his mouth, and he wants to tell her to stop him, stop him now because nothing good can come from this. Sharona is silent, her breath lingering faintly on the other end of the phone. "He cares for you still."

"Adrian,"

"I mean, it wasn't really fair, to leave him like that, without a proper goodbye." He isn't talking about Disher. He knows that, she knows that. It makes him feel better though, just a tiny bit.

"He didn't say anything." She says coldly.

"Well, of course not." He scoffs, as if that's proof of something.

"Are you angry with me?" She asks softly. He's angry, but more than that, he's just terribly, terribly sad. He strokes the countertop, clears his throat.

"I bought a new lamp today,"

"Really? How long did it take you to choose?"

"Only three hours, Natalie was in a hurry. I might return it though,"

"Why?" He looks at the lamp still in its box. Either it has changed, which is impossible, or something in him has changed because suddenly he despises it.

"Some things just don't work out the way you thought they would,"

"Oh," Sharona murmurs. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" He asks.

"I had to do this Adrian, you'll understand. One day I think you will." He'll never understand, never.

"Maybe,"

"I have to go, talk to you soon." But she won't be calling for a long time, he understands that very well.

As soon as he hangs up the phone Natalie rubs his back, doesn't say anything, which he is extremely thankful for. He studies the lamp, recalls exactly what he thought when he first saw it:

Sharona would like that.

Doesn't mean anything at this point, she'll never see it. She's never coming back. He realizes, now, finally, she is lost to him forever.

"So, the lamp, are we returning it?" Natalie asks during dinner. "Cause you know I look forward to every second I can spend shopping with you."

"No," He says, minutes later, after rolling the question through his mind a few times. He's still holding on for something, can't give up yet. "I'll give it a chance."

"Ok," She replies, smiling. He returns the smile, briefly, and then concentrates on separating carrots from peas.