Anywhere With You (4 page)

Amelie

‘The Puritan City’ turned out to be anything but.

Some conversations you let happen. Others you force. Like with Jack and the old man, for instance. Jack was a mess. He wasn’t going to admit it, of course, because, well—that’s Jack.

But I knew it from the moment I saw him. Hidden behind that tall, dark, and handsome facade was a man who was tapped out. He likes to think I can’t see right through him—but I can. Jack needs me right now every bit as much as I need him. If not more. And I’m not one of those women who need to be needed either. In fact, I abhor feeling needed. It makes me feel clammy and nauseous—and most importantly—it makes me want to run. But I’ll deal with that later. For now, I’m happy. In fact, I’m over the moon.

“I’ve never cared for Boston,” Jack remarked as we stepped out of the airport and into the night. The cold air hit hard, the bitter wind whipping my hair into my face. Of course, I’d forgotten to pack a coat. As though he read my mind, Jack shoved his suit jacket my way and demanded that I put it on. For one reason or another, he was in one of his odd moods yet again. Just as soon as we stepped off of that plane, all of a sudden, he turned pushy—all take and no give. Except for the jacket that is. Which I took, because it was cold and because he offered, and there’s no sense in being cold, just to prove a point. I slipped it on and I thanked him, but after that, I did my best to ignore him, which worked for the entirety of the three minutes and forty-five seconds it took us to hail a cab.

He gave the cabbie the address and then turned to me. “You’re sure you’ve told what’s-his-name I’m coming with you?”

“It’s Ian, Jack. His name is Ian.”

“Right,” he said as I watched his hands rub at his chin, and for the briefest of moments, I wanted to reach over and touch his face, too. “What kind of man doesn’t take issue with his girlfriend bringing another man home for Thanksgiving?” And just like that, any inkling I had of putting my hands anywhere other than around his neck was instantly cured.

I rolled my eyes. “A secure man, that’s what kind.”

“Well, I’m a secure man. And I’d be finding myself a new girlfriend if I were in what’s-his-name’s shoes.”

I threw up my hands. “IAN. His name is IAN!”

He mouthed Ian’s name as he rolled his eyes, silently mocking me.

I let out a loud sigh, hesitated for a second, and then told the truth. “Also, I told him you were gay.”

His eyes grew large and his jaw twitched. Still, I could tell that it hit him out of left field. “You are fucking kidding me.”

I cocked my head and offered my best ‘what do you think’ face.

Jack shook his head and then shifted his body further away from mine. He didn’t say anything for a long while. So I took out my phone and shot off a few emails. Eventually, when I looked over at him, I saw a small grin playing across his face. He noticed me looking and cleared his throat. I watched the grin fade as he looked over and nudged my arm, harder than I’d expected. “Guess what’s-his-name isn’t that secure after all, is he?”

I hit him. “Fuck you, Jack.”

He laughed. “It’d probably make you happier, that’s for sure.”

As we made our way through the lobby of the crowded hotel, it struck me that I’d forgotten how beautiful this time of year was in Boston. The holiday decorations had already gone up and everyone seemed to be milling about humming as though in a trance-like state, glowing with the expectation of all that was yet to come. I could feel the buzz in the air, and it was the kind of thing that gave me goose bumps. The whole world seemed happy, and suddenly, knowing it made me perhaps the happiest of them all. Something shifted for me on that airplane and it had all started with a dream. I’d dreamt of my father—something I hadn’t done in a very long time.

Jack seemed happier now, too. At check-in, he requested a separate room—a move for which I was grateful. Until, of course, we were informed that the hotel was full, and I realized we would be forced to share. A detail in which Jack didn’t seem nearly as surprised or irritated about as I was. “It’s not like we haven’t done it before.” He offered with a shrug.

“That’s the problem,” I said my mouth forming a hard line.

I adjusted my bag in my hand and shifted my weight from foot to foot. “Let’s go up and get settled,” I finally relented as I ushered him in my direction. For good measure, just so he didn’t get the wrong idea, I added, “Then I’ll text Ian and let him know we’ve arrived. I’m sure he’ll want to meet us for a drink.” I had only barely finished the sentence when my phone rang. Jack stopped in his tracks, looked down at the phone in my hand, and then up at me. He didn’t have to say anything. His expression gave him away. He gently placed his hand on mine as he spoke. A peace offering. “Say you’re tired. Tell him you’ll see him tomorrow.”

The ringing only seemed to grow louder. “I—I can’t do that, Jack. He’s expecting to see me.”

He removed his hand, looked at the phone once more and shrugged. Then he turned and walked away. I pressed the button, silencing my phone and caught up with him at the elevator doors. Once inside, I watched as he deftly pressed the number for the fourteenth floor and then ran his fingers through his hair. “Why are you staying in this hotel anyway?” He frowned. “It’s not your style...”

I watched his reflection in the mirrored walls. “What do you mean?”

“I mean who booked the room?”

I furrowed my brow. “Ian did. Why?”

He nodded and the shook his head slightly. “No reason. I was just curious.”

I watched the numbers light up as the elevator rose and wondered why he had to be such an ass. But as we stepped out of the elevator, I did my best to let it go. He’d made the trip to Boston for me, and the least I could do was cut him some slack.

Jack found our room as I fumbled around in search of the room key. Exasperated, I looked up only to find him dangling it in front of me. “I don’t know what you’d do without me,” he chided.

I grabbed the key card from his hand and slid it into the slot in the door. How I do it without him. Seriously? My patience was running thin. “Somehow I manage,” I assured him, stepping inside. Jack followed.

Immediately, I slung my bags to the floor and plopped down on the bed closest to the windows and text Ian.

AMELIE: Jet-lagged. Super tired. Going to bed. Call you in the morning. Early. Love you.

Seconds later, I received a response.

IAN: Really? Are you sure? I’ve been waiting up… I miss you.

I chewed on my bottom lip as I rattled off a response. Short and sweet, just the way he liked it:

AMELIE: I’m sure. I’ve missed you too. Can’t wait to see you. But must sleep now. I’d be lousy company anyhow. Call you mañana. XO

IAN: All right then. Rest up. Can’t wait to see you. We have a big week ahead of us. Sweet dreams. I love you.

I read his text, clicked my phone off, and tossed it onto the bed. Then I turned to Jack, who’d clearly been watching me. He raised his brow. “Everything ok?”

I smiled and then crawled to the edge of the bed. “Let’s do something crazy!”

“I thought you were ‘going to bed’?”

I offered up the most serious go-to-hell look I could muster. “Why would you say that?”

“Just an educated guess.”

I hopped off the bed, put my hands on my hips and waited. “Well?

Jack sighed. “Can I shower first?”

“Have at it,” I said, I motioning toward the bathroom.

I watched as he strode across the room like he’d just won the lottery. Jack always had liked winning. It was the fact that he couldn’t stop playing the game that was the issue. Jack’s problem was that he’d never learned how to count his blessings, quit while he was ahead, and call it a day. And because I knew Jack, I knew he probably never would.

He closed the bathroom door only to open it again a few seconds later. Shirtless, of course. “Hey, kid?” he called.

“No, Jack,” I told him even though I wanted to say yes. Yes, I’ll shower with you. I wanted to say yes. But thankfully, at least one of us knew how to quit while we were ahead.

He looked genuinely confused. “No? What?”

I shook my head. “Never mind.”

“I was just going to say…for what it’s worth—that if it were me
—I
would have put you up in a better hotel. One with history… the kind you like.”

I didn’t respond. At least not with words. Because even if I’d had the right ones, I wouldn’t have been able to force the lump that had formed in my throat out of the way.

Jack

We really messed up.

She said she wanted to do something crazy. Which pretty much turned out to be code for ‘let’s fuck everything up.’ It always had. And for the most part, I played right into it.

‘Operation let’s fuck everything up’ first began when we arrived at a little hole in the wall, dive bar, where Amelie insisted that I take a shot with her. “Just one.” She pleaded all doe-eyed, innocently beckoning my demise.

Did I mention that I hate bars? Well, this place, I’m pretty sure is the worst of them all. It was dank and musty and dimly lit. Not to mention, crowded and loud—all of the things I abhor. Out of all the nicer more upscale places we could’ve chosen along the way, she picked this one. Only God knows why.

“I heard the music was good here.” Amelie leaned in close to say as though she’d read my mind. “Come on, one shot—maybe two for me and then we’ll go…” She begged as she yanked on my hand.

“What are we, twenty-two again?

“Twenty-two, thirty-two? Who cares! Let’s have fun, Jacky!””

I hate it when she calls me that. And she knows it too, which is why she only does it after she’s had one too many. “Jack.” I correct her. “And you may be thirty-two, but I’m not.”

“Oh yeah… you’re soooo old.” She told me slurring her words as she spoke, having already cleaned out the mini-bar back at the hotel.

I watched as she ordered two shots. When the bartender placed them on the bar, she picked one up and shoved it in my direction. I tilted my head and considered her for a moment. “You know I don’t drink.”

She waved me off. “You always say that! But I’ve seen you have one or two here and there. So—you can’t exactly call yourself a teetotal,” she told me as she clinked my glass with hers and eyed me expectantly. She looked so enthusiastic that I thought ‘ah, what the hell’ and I slammed the shot back. I didn’t use a chaser and neither did she. I didn’t drink it solely because she insists. There were eyes on us and I sensed them watching curiously. And while I had never been one to conform or to cave to the pressure of the crowd, I drank it because I knew one drink wouldn’t kill me. Still, there was the fact Amelie had always had this way of making me do what she wanted. It was what I both loved and hated about her.

It turned out, however, that my assumption about one not killing me turned out to be almost wrong. One led to another as it usually does. Three shots in, and not only do I probably look like a lightweight, but I also felt like one, too. It hit me then that I hadn’t eaten dinner, and when you combine a lack of adequate food consumption with not being a drinker to begin with, the combination equals an easy drunk.

Amelie watched me for a moment and then she shimmied up close and whispered in my ear. “Let go, Jack. Just let go a little.” And her voice was so smooth and she smelled so good that I forgot there was ever any other choice.

It was cold out and all I could think about was going back to the hotel because if there was anything I didn’t like, it was the feeling I had lost control. My head was swimming, my stomach churning and yet we’d just arrived at our second bar of the night where, once again, Amelie had demanded we order drinks. I told her I was good. By this point, I was certain I’d said this a few times. But it didn’t stop her. She left me standing there and then returned holding two beers, wearing a huge grin on her face. This bar was different from the last place—it was a little more modern, only with crappier music and more expensive, over-priced drinks.

As I was considering my exit strategy, she took my hand, and I realized I’d forgotten how well we fit together. All of a sudden, I looked up and she was leading me to the edge of the dance floor. I studied her profile as she propped herself against a metal beam and eyed the crowd. I think some old Madonna song was playing, but I couldn’t be sure because whatever it was, it wasn’t my taste. She watched the people and I watched her. She had on skinny jeans, thigh-high high-heeled boots, and a tiny little sweater that showed her midriff whenever she raised her arms. Looking at her standing there like that made me think of other women I had dated—but mostly it just made me want to do very bad things to her. Then I remembered it was Amelie—not one of those other women, and suddenly, I longed to lean in and kiss her. But I didn’t. I knew she wasn’t ready for more, and aside from that, she’d very clearly had too much to drink. It wasn’t my style.

I stared at her lower back and was considering the way it ever so slightly touched the beam when she turned, caught my eye, and leaned forward. “I wanna dance, Jack. I think we should dance!” she screamed in my ear, even though there wasn’t reason to.

“I don’t,” I said, shaking my head and her gaze burned into mine.

Seconds later, she shoved her beer into my chest. Already, I knew where this was going—and I didn’t like it. “Fine. Hold this,” she demanded and I watched as she skipped out onto the dance floor.

She wasn’t out there for more than thirty seconds or so when the music changed to some crap hip-hop stuff, and true to form, Amelie went all in. I studied the way she moved her body as though no one was watching—when so many people obviously were. As I watched, I found her moves amusing even though I was perturbed that she’d just left me standing there holding her drink. She doesn’t look my way even though I know she knows I’m watching.

Unfortunately, however, for the both of us, I wasn’t the only one. I watched as two former frat boys sidled up to her, and I knew instantly what was about to go down. Immediately, they got too close for my liking and Amelie moved away. Apparently, they didn’t take the hint. Boys like them never do. And all of a sudden—I didn’t know if it was the alcohol—or my irritation over the fact that a girl can’t even enjoy a dance without two assholes manhandling her—but in two strides I was on the floor. Maybe I said something threatening, maybe I didn’t. I don’t even remember, honestly. But the next thing I know people were being shoved. There’s a scuffle, and suddenly, I was being led out of the club by two former semi-pro wrestler looking guys, and I was reminded once again why I hate shit-hole places like this.

“Well, you didn’t have to go and get us kicked out, Jack,” Amelie said dramatically when she found me waiting outside by the curb. “I just wanted to dance!”

“That’s the problem,” I told her, no longer in the mood to deal with her drunkenness. It’s funny how quickly one could sober up at the prospect of having to defend yourself against former frat boys double-teaming you. “You know I hate places like this.”

She moves in closer. “Then why’d you come?” she shouted for no good reason. I was well within earshot.

“To protect you from exactly the kind of thing that just happened,” I shot back louder than I’d intended. By this point, we had onlookers.

‘“Did it ever occur to you that I’m just fine on my own?”

“You don’t look just fine. You look drunk.”

“And you look like an asshole.”

“Haven’t we had this conversation before?” I asked. “Because this certainly feels like déjà vu to me.”

She shook her head, threw her hands up, and stormed off in the opposite direction. “I thought you were my friend,” she called back over her shoulder. “Now you’re just being mean.” Her face fell. “I’m not sure we should be friends anymore,” she told me, most of her rationale gone by way of her soberness.

I don’t respond because this is drunk Amelie talking. She always reverted back to that eight-year-old girl I remember from camp whenever she drinks. I smiled even though I wanted to kill her. And I follow, of course.

Yet I stood back just a little as she tried with no luck to hail a cab.

After witnessing several painful attempts, I showed off my whistling skills and helped her out—even though what I really wanted was for her to have to work for it. Only, it was cold out and there was no point in being cold just to prove a point.

She shot me a defiant look as I held the door of the cab open for her. It’s her best attempt to convey that she would have been fine on her own. But she wouldn’t have.

“I need food,” she said looking out the window and her voice sounded about as childish as she’d been acting.

Once I’d instructed the cabbie to take us to a decent diner, I patted her knee and told her we would get her all fixed up. It’s a statement, which only seems to irritate her further, and so I leave it at that.

Thirty minutes later, we were seated across from each other in annoyed silence. She ordered enough food to feed the both of us and maybe a few others. Finally, it was me who broke the ice. “I thought you weren’t supposed to be drinking with your medication.” I mumble the words, and I know it’s only going to piss her off—yet I can’t help myself.

She paused mid-bite and then looked up. “I don’t take medication.”

“What do you mean?” I asked even though it’s pretty clear what she meant.

She shrugged. “I just decided to stop taking it one day several years back. And I’ve been fine.” She took a sip of her water and swallowed. “Better than fine.”

I tread carefully, but not too carefully. “You don’t seem fine.”

“Well, I am,” she told me and she let me know she was serious by the way her eyes bugged out as she said it.

The waitress came to check on us then and Amelie ordered pie even though she’d eaten most of the food she had ordered. She really didn’t need it. I was afraid she was going to be sick. But I didn’t say so. “When’s the last time you ate?”

She wasn’t thrilled with my finesse. “Why do you ask so many questions?”

I smiled. “I’m a curious person.”

Amelie shook her head and then rolled her eyes. “I don’t know…maybe lunchtime yesterday.”

I nod even though I’d figured as much, and then I eye the few remnants of her triple pancake, triple egg, and bacon meal. “Well, it’s a good thing you ordered the pie because, personally, I think you need to eat a little more. You can’t possibly be full.”

She followed my gaze and we both smiled. She knew I was full of shit, but also that I knew her better than she’d like to believe.

And just like that, we’re friends again.

Back at the hotel, I showered once again while Amelie climbed straight into bed. By the time I came out, she was fast asleep, sprawled out fully clothed. She wasn’t sick as I figured she would be given the amount of alcohol and food she had consumed and this worried me. She must do this kind of thing more often than I’d hoped. I wanted to wake her, but I didn’t. I unzipped her boots, slipped them off, and pulled the duvet back. I wanted to slip her out of her clothes, but I didn’t. I simply arranged the covers, pulled them up, and turned off the light. Then I climbed into the opposite bed. Only I didn’t sleep. I listened to her inhale and then exhale, and I counted the time between her breaths for several minutes. Then I dimmed the screen on my phone, just in case, even though I knew she was out cold. I did a little work. At some point, I dozed off because the next thing I knew, Amelie was crawling in bed next to me. Half asleep, I scooted over to make room even though I knew it was a bad idea.

“I had a bad dream,” she told me and her breath reeked of syrup and alcohol.

“I’m not sleeping with you, Amelie.”

She lifted her head, and I could tell by her tone that she had sobered up some. “That’s very presumptuous of you,” she told me, her voice low.

“I don’t sleep with drunk women.”

She sighed and then cuddled up next to me. She reached for my arm and placed it just below her rib cage. I felt the warmth of her body and I wanted to fuck her, I really did. But luckily, I have major self-restraint. I knew when to play my cards and when to hold ‘em.