Absolute Lovers (Absolute #2) (22 page)

Julia could come home, but I discarded that possibility
immediately. This opportunity was much too important for her.

I can go to her.

Of course, I had considered this before Julia left, if I
could somehow go with her. But I had quickly come to the sad conclusion it was
impossible unless I resigned from my job at the university. I had classes this
semester and it had been much too late to cancel them by the time I found out
about Julia's scholarship. I didn't have a lot of money and couldn’t risk
losing my steady paycheck. Therefore, I had stayed behind, even though I wanted
to follow her.

I need my job. I can't just quit.

Unfortunately, this was still true. I wasn't independently
wealthy and I couldn't survive without employment.

What am I going to do?

I found myself wishing that I could act young and
irresponsibly, leave my job and hope that something else would fall into my
lap. But the sensible adult part of me knew that this was not realistic at all.
The recession meant that fewer students chose literature as their major and
instead opted for ones that would lead to financially sound careers. There was
hardly a demand for lit professors and I should consider myself lucky to have a
great job to begin with. I would hate to jeopardize that, and yet deep inside I
knew that given the choice I would quit in a heartbeat if I had to choose
between teaching and being with Julia. I couldn't lose her. Not for anything.

"Hey. Are you OK?"

I looked up and saw that she had returned to her seat in
front of the webcam, once again wearing her headset and also a much too large
beige sweater, which looked awfully familiar.

"Is that mine?" I asked, after I had turned off my
phone off and switched to Skype.

"Yeah, I sort of stole it,” she told me, hugging
herself. "It reminds me of that night I had dinner at your place. You were
wearing it."

"Our first date," I said softly. "Even if I
didn't want to admit it to myself at the time."

"I didn't either," she whispered. "But it was
more than just sex even then, wasn't it?"

I nodded. "It was never just sex. I was crazy about you
from the very first moment I met you. I was just too stupid to see it," I
admitted. "I couldn't stop talking about you—complaining about you,
actually. Matt tried to get me to see the truth, but I was too stubborn. I was
determined to believe that you were all wrong for me."

I drew a breath. "But you're not. You're everything I
want, that I could ever want, sweetheart. You are my whole world."

"Thank you," she said. "I really needed to
hear that tonight. I'm sorry I had a meltdown."

"Don't apologize. It's hard for me as well. I
understand completely." I could see that our separation had affected her
just as much as it did me. She looked pale and worn. I didn't like it one bit.

"Drink your tea," I encouraged. "Have you
eaten dinner?"

"Yeah." She nodded and took a sip. "Vindaloo.
They have great Indian food here."

"I'll learn how to cook it for you," I promised.
"Then you can have it all the time when you come home."

She smiled a little wider and it made my heart flutter. I
needed to make her smile more.

"Um, knock knock!" I blurted.

She raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?" she asked with
a small grin.

Yes, seriously? A knock-knock joke? Is that the best you
can come up with?

I searched my mind for something more sophisticated yet
humorous to tell her but quickly realized that I had nothing. I wasn’t much of
a comedian.

"Who's there?" she asked indulgently.

"To."

"To who?" she asked.

"To whom," I replied.

She stared at me.

"Uh, because it's grammatically incorrect to say 'to
who,'" I explained. "Um, that's why it's funny…in theory, at
least."

I sighed.

"Sorry, I'm not very good at telling jokes."

"That's OK," she said and leaned forward, still
smiling. "I am."

And then my lovely girlfriend proceeded to tell me jokes so
dirty that I was convinced they would have made even Matt blush. Every time I
laughed or nearly choked on my own cup of tea it made her laugh, too, so I
considered my mission a success even if I wasn't very funny at all. She was
smiling, drinking her tea, and snuggling with my sweater. She finally looked
happy and it felt almost like she was sitting across from me and not halfway
around the world. Sadly, this was not the case, as I was reminded an hour later
when her clock struck midnight while the sun was still shining outside my
window.

"I wish you were here," Julia yawned, closing her
eyes for a second. "I'm so tired and I don't sleep very well without you. The
bed feels too big."

"I don't either. But you should go to bed. It's late
and you need to get some rest," I encouraged gently.

She shook her head, stubborn as always.

"I'll stay on the line until you fall asleep," I
promised.

"You'd do that for me?"

"Anything. I'd do anything for you," I said
sincerely.

I watched as she picked up her laptop and the picture on my
screen disappeared. When it came back into focus all I could see was her
beautiful face again. She was lying on her side, looking straight at me. It was
almost like we were in bed together and I wanted so badly to take her into my
arms. But I only had words to give her right now.

"Do you want me to read to you?" I offered.

"Really?"

"Sure." I reached for the nearest book on my desk
and held it up to the web camera for her to see.

"Ugh, not that guy again," she grumbled when she
saw that I was holding a well-worn copy of Jack Kerouac's
On The Road
,
the very same novel she had openly criticized in my class, completely
dissagreeing with my assessment that it was one of the great American novels.

At the same time, she had also had made me realize that I
had played it safe all my life and never once embarked on an adventure of my
own.

Ah, memories.

"Now, now." I grinned. "I think you need to
give it another chance, Ms. Wilde."

"Fine," she sighed, moving around to get more
comfortable. "But only if you wear your sexy glasses while you read
it."

"It's a deal," I said, slipping them on before
opening the book.

"Stephen?"

"Hmm?" I looked up.

"I love you, baby."

"I love you, too, sweetheart," I said softly.

She smiled and closed her eyes and I cleared my throat
before I started reading.

"'Part one, chapter one. I first met Dean not long
after my wife and I split up’…"

After reading for quite a while I looked up from the book
and saw that Julia had fallen asleep. Her features were completely relaxed, her
lips parted, and she was breathing deeply. She was so peaceful now and it was
hard to imagine this lovely girl could ever be sad. She should be having the
time of her life. After all, she was living what I considered to be a fantastic
dream: spending a year abroad studying, a whole world of knowledge at her
fingertips. It was everything that I now wished I had been brave enough to
reach for in my youth.

I took off my glasses and placed the book back on the desk.
I remembered how Julia had asked me what great and daring things it had
inspired me to do and how I had drawn a complete blank at the time. But that
wasn't the case anymore.

Julia. I fell in love with Julia and I was brave enough
to pursue her. I dared to put my heart on the line and I succeeded.

She was my motivation. For her I could be both brave and
daring. I looked around my apartment, empty and silent without her. No sounds
of laughter or lovemaking echoed off the walls. There were no strange smells
coming from my immaculate kitchen indicating that Julia had once again tried
her hand at cooking. There were no books or articles of women's clothing strewn
around, making me both ecstatic and annoyed at the same time. It was
just…empty. This was no home. Not without her.

I hate this. What the fuck am I doing?

It seemed so simple all of a sudden: when I was with Julia I
was happy. When I was without her I was unhappy. Why was I choosing to be
unhappy? Hadn't I spent enough years of my life like that? I didn't want to
delay my happiness for another second and impulsively I grabbed my phone.

Time to call in years of favors.

I dialed and held it up to my ear. My heart leapt into my
throat as it rang and I gazed at Julia's sleeping face on the screen. There was
no place in the world I would rather be than by her side. I wanted to hold her
every night while she slept, I wanted to cook for her, I wanted to talk and
laugh and make love with her. I felt as though I had spent my entire life
waiting and now I was done. I was ready to embark on the greatest adventure of
my life and felt a surge of excitement rush through me when the phone was
answered.

"Hi Brian, it's Stephen. Listen, I really need your
help."

Julia frowned in her sleep as if she was dreaming about something
unpleasant. Her arm swept back and forth across the mattress, and I knew that
she was searching for me just as I still did for her every morning. I traced my
fingertips over the screen, caressing her features.

Hold on, sweetheart. I'm coming.

The coffee shop was crowded. The
cold weather brought lots of people inside during the late afternoon, on their
way home from work or school. The tables were crowded with university students,
laughing and talking, and I watched them, envious of their happiness. I missed
my friends. Stepping forward, I focused on the guy behind the counter, who was
exactly my type: The Clash T-shirt, tattoos, a lip piercing, and a cocky
attitude to complete the look. I’d always had a thing for bad boys. I was
stupid then.

I placed my order for a plain black coffee, hitching up my
heavy messenger bag as I searched my coat pocket for some money. I found a
five-pound note and put it on the counter, reaching for the cup.

“It’s on me,” the barista said, flashing me a grin as he held
onto the coffee. “Or, better yet, I’ll trade it for your number?”

I stared at him. A few months ago, I probably would’ve
accepted.

“Just the coffee,” I told him, pushing the bill forward.

“Oh, you’re American. New in town? I can show you around if
you’d like.”

“No.”

Confusion flashed across his face. He probably wasn’t used
to rejection.

“Aww, don’t be like that,” he coaxed. “I can cheer you up,
sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

It was hardly the first time that some random guy hit on me,
but for once I didn't have it in me to give him a smile and reject his
invitation nicely, however clichéd and overused it was. I was tired from
spending all day in class and then studying at the library afterward. I was
hungry, lonely, and in no mood for his shit.

“What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand?” I snapped. “Give
me my fucking coffee!” Grabbing the cup from him, I stomped out of the café,
cursing underneath my breath.

Outside, I sighed and rifled through my bag to find my
cigarettes, finally giving in to the urge that I had worked all day to
suppress. I was smoking way too much and I knew it. Back home, I usually only
indulged when I was out partying with Meg and Sophia, but now it had become a
regular thing. They really made it way too easy over here. There were
designated smoking areas on campus and no one gave you judgmental looks when
you lit up. Not that I cared what strangers thought of me. I had given up on
that a long time ago. Life is too short.

I knew that for a fact. One minute you're a happy little
girl without a care in the world, and the next your parents are dead, killed in
a fire caused by shoddy electrical wiring while you’re away at a sleepover. I
saw a movie once where a guy said that your childhood is over the moment you
know you're going to die. I suppose for some that's true, but not in my case. It
wasn’t realizing my own mortality, but my parents’. Being told that your mommy
and daddy have passed away when you're seven? That was the moment my childhood
ended.

I looked back at the coffee shop, wishing I’d bought
something to eat. I didn’t have a thing at home. The guy behind the counter was
leaning forward on his elbows, engaged in conversation with another female
customer, a charming smile plastered on his face.

How quickly they forget. Will
he
forget
me?

God, stop with that negative shit. He loves you. You know
he does.

I shook my head and put the cigarette back into the pack,
resisting the urge to light up, and started walking in the direction of my
apartment. I couldn't avoid going home forever.

Home. What a fucking joke.

Despite my dismal mood and the chill in the air, I couldn't
help but appreciate my surroundings as I walked through the city. I had always
loved London. Even coming here the first time with my asshole ex-boyfriend
hadn't changed that fact.

Derek and I started dating when I was fifteen and he was
seventeen. We went to the same high school and I thought the world of him. I
was so naïve it was laughable and I couldn't believe that someone older and
popular like Derek would want plain little Jules for his girlfriend. I shuddered
now at how he had treated me and especially how idiotic I had been for allowing
him to do it. I was living with Pop and he pretty much let me do whatever I
wanted as long as it made me happy and I didn't neglect my schoolwork. So he
had no objections when I told him that Derek and I were going to travel through
Europe after I finished high school. I had money, left to me by Mom and Dad,
and since I couldn't imagine going without my boyfriend who didn't have a dime
to his name, I ended up paying for everything.

It had started out OK. I was used to Derek flirting with
other girls and stupidly I believed him when he told me that I was the only one
for him. Even when I saw him kissing them at parties, he somehow managed to
make me feel immature and unreasonable when I told him that I didn't like him
doing that. It was still OK because deep down I was the one he loved, right?
Yeah, I was such a fucking idiot. I could see that now, but at the time I clung
to the familiar after having lost so much already.

Walking in on Derek screwing some girl in our hotel room—a
hotel room that
I
paid for—was the breaking point. Fuck, I hated
him. Still did, and probably always would. Hell hath no fury, indeed.

I ended up drunk in some bar later that night and that was when
I met Etienne. He was older, nice-looking, and willing to listen while I poured
my heart out to him. He made me feel wanted and sexy. Then he kissed me and I
went with him to his hotel room after the bar closed. It turned out to be a
good decision.

The next day we left Paris together and headed for his
vineyard, where I ended up staying for the rest of the summer and well into the
fall. Being with Etienne was easy. Not that we were ever really
together
in that way. We fucked plenty, and he was a good friend, but there were never
any romantic feelings between us. I was done with romance. Or at least I
thought I was. I grew up a lot over that summer and vowed that I would never
fall for a guy again. Etienne had shown me how great sex could be and that it didn't
necessarily have to include romantic feelings. It seemed perfect at the time.

When I left France I felt like a new person. Gone was the
wide-eyed naïve girl who let a guy walk all over her and was too embarrassed
and shy to enjoy sex. I emerged as a woman in control of her life and
sexuality, as hokey as that may sound. Unlike many others who had been in my
situation, I didn't hate men. I knew they weren't all bastards, but I wasn't
about to put my heart on the line one more time. Besides, I had more important
things to focus on.

Pop was diagnosed while I was still staying with Etienne and
I came home immediately after I received his call. I was devastated. Pop was my
family—my only family. He had taken care of me for years and I loved him
more than anything in the entire world. I knew what having Alzheimer's meant
and I didn't want to waste the precious time we had left while he was still my
loving, but slightly forgetful, grandfather.

Pop wanted me to keep traveling and insisted that I
shouldn't put my own plans on hold because of him. He thought I should see the
world while I was still young. I agreed and asked him to come with me. We spent
the next year traveling, always racing against the clock, trying to ignore his
memory lapses. I wanted as much time with him as possible.

Once, I lost track of him at a street market in Rio de
Janeiro, and, when he couldn't remember which hotel we were staying at, he
wandered the city for hours before the police picked him up in a very bad
neighborhood. They tracked me down and when I raced to the station to collect
him, he didn't recognize me at first. It became painfully evident that we
needed to go home. Our time was up.

I had hoped that he would improve once we returned to
familiar surroundings, but he never did. He needed more and more help to handle
simple everyday tasks, and even though I was happy to provide it, he finally
put his foot down.

"I won't be a burden to you."

"You're not!" I insisted. "You took care
of me when I needed it. Was I a burden?"

"Of course not, but it's different. You're wasting
your life here! You're nineteen years old. You should be in school. You
shouldn't be playing nursemaid to me because you feel obligated."

"I want to take care of you! It's not something I'm
doing out of obligation. You're all I have left!"

I was crying by then. Pop went to the stove, presumably to
make me some tea, but he had forgotten that I had just boiled water a few
minutes earlier and burned his hand on the piping hot kettle. I rushed to his
side to help him and for the first time in my life he yelled at me.

"Goddamn it, Fiona. I can do it myself!"

Fiona was my mother's name. At that moment I knew that
something had to change.

We moved to San Francisco. Pop went to live in a facility
that specialized in Alzheimer's patients, one of the best in the country. I
went to college, just like he wanted me to. It turned out to be the best thing
I ever did. I met Sophia and Meg, partied, studied, and lived a pretty normal
college life, with the exception of my weekly visits with Pop. Some were great;
he would be his old self and so happy to see me. Some were sad; when he mistook
me for my mom and was confused about not being in his own house. Some were
downright awful, when he would yell and throw things in frustration and anger
because his mind was jumbled and he couldn't distinguish between past and
present. I always partied after those visits. Like the night I met Stephen
outside the bar.

Stephen.

My chest felt constricted just thinking his name. I never
knew I had the capacity to love like this before he came into my life. Of
course, it hadn't started as love. Not even close. It had started as sex,
nothing more. At least on my part.

Stephen was smart and hot in that bookish, geeky kind of
way. Whenever I saw him in class I wanted to rip those outdated clothes off him
and muss up his hair. He had so much…
potential
buried underneath that
nerdy façade and it was sad to see him waste it. I wanted to…well, I wanted to
fuck him from the get-go. See what he was like in the sack. Would he be strict
like he was in class, or gentle and sweet? I wanted to know, and I knew enough
about men to get what I wanted. Stephen came into my bed easily, but I had
never expected him to come into my heart as well.

I still wasn’t entirely sure how it happened. I didn’t set
out to fall in love with him—he was nothing like my usual type—and
I know he never expected to fall for me, either. It had started out as an
equally beneficial arrangement. He learned about sex and got laid on a regular
basis. I found a fantastic distraction from the gloomier parts of my life, and got
to have amazing sex as well. I don't know how long we would have lasted if Pop
hadn't died when he did.

When Stephen showed up at the gay club, I realized that he
saw me as more than a fuck-buddy and it scared me half to death. He wasn't
supposed to feel anything for me. He was my professor and I counted on that
fact to keep him from wanting more than what we had. I didn't want to hurt him
and he would undoubtedly be hurt once he realized that I couldn't give him
more. He was a good guy, much too good for me. I was an emotional mess with my
grandfather's rapidly progressing illness and the prospect of being orphaned a
second time. Stephen didn't need that in his life. He was handsome, smart, and
a fantastic lay. He could easily find himself a woman who wasn't afraid of love
and commitment.

Even in the beginning, he had such a hold on me. I let my
guard down, I admitted that I liked him; I had even made him fucking
sandwiches, for Christ's sake! I never did stuff like that. I fucked and then I
left. But with Stephen I had come to enjoy the movie watching and talking just
as much as the sex, which was something I had never expected. I was cruel to
him that night outside the club and I tried to push him away because I was
scared—scared of myself when I was around him.

Then Pop died and everything changed. I felt so alone—even
surrounded by my best friends—and I needed something. Someone. I needed
Stephen to take the pain away for a little while and went to his place, intent on
having him fuck me silly. But he didn't do that. Instead, he gave me exactly
what I didn't know I needed: a shoulder to cry on, a bath, dinner, and a warm
and safe embrace. How could I not fall in love with him? He was the sweetest,
kindest, sexiest, and smartest man I had ever met. I was a goner the second I
invited him upstairs that first night. I didn't know it at the time and I would
have laughed if someone had suggested it when we first got together, but now
there was no doubt in my mind: Professor Stephen Worthington was the love of my
life.

I drank down my now-tepid coffee before throwing the cup in
a trashcan. I walked on and winced as I adjusted the heavy messenger bag on my
shoulder containing both my laptop and several books. I studied so much these
days. I read great works of literature. Pages filled with words that spoke of
love and passion—but they were meaningless without him. The constant ache
in my chest only let up when I talked to him on the phone, and even then it
didn't fade completely. He was on my mind constantly and I missed him more than
I could possibly put into words.

So I didn't. I didn’t tell him how miserable I was without
him. I omitted that fact whenever we talked about my life here and while I felt
bad for lying, I also wanted to protect him. Stephen loved so completely, and
the last thing I wanted was for him to suffer even more in my absence. I
believed it would be better if he thought that I was happy. I’d also had a hard
time accepting that I’d become so weak that I could only be happy with my
boyfriend around. I’d promised myself never to let a man have power over me,
and vowed to be strong and capable while I was over here on my own.