Not Looking for Love: Episode 6 (A New Adult Contemporary Romance Novel) (12 page)

Dad’s phone call wakes me on Tuesday morning. My heart's racing as I search for the phone, my eyesight still fuzzy from sleep. Why's he calling this early? Something has to be wrong. The room's spinning by the time I finally pick up.

"Gail, did I wake you?" Dad asks, and I actually sigh in relief. It can't be that bad if he's asking me this.
 

"Yes," I mutter.

"Well, sorry, but it is seven already," he says briskly. "Listen, I will be leaving this Friday. I want to see you before I go."

"Leaving?" I ask a split second before the knowledge pops into my head. "Already? It's only April."

"My posting got pushed up a bit," Dad says and the briskness is gone. Any second now he'll ask if I want him to stay.

"I'm free every night this week," I say to forestall it. He needs to get on with his life, and so do I.

"Tomorrow night, then?" he asks. "I could come by your apartment first, see where you're living."

I wince as I bite down on my lip too hard. He doesn't know Scott's not in my life anymore or that I've moved back in with Phillipa.

"About that, Dad," I start, getting up off the floor and walking to the kitchen. "I'm back at my old house, living with Phillipa again."

"Oh?" he says and leaves it at that. And I'm glad for it. If he said any more than that, shown any kind of approval about me and Scott breaking up, I'd probably start yelling at him.

"Yes," I mutter, thinking I'm answering the unasked part of his question.

"And Scott, he's living there too?" he asks, sounding like he's holding his breath.

"No," I manage, cursing myself for starting this conversation before I at least had some coffee. A headache is starting behind my eyes. I was up until four in the morning, finishing a paper, and I still have so much to do today, a headache is the last thing I need. "He's…we're not…dating anymore."

It takes me too long to say it, but I do manage it, so that's got to count for something.

"OK then, I'll pick you up at seven tomorrow night," Dad says, and clears his throat. I love him so much right now for knowing when to end this painful conversation.

The next two days pass in a whirlwind haze of school, research and typing. Even yoga's not relaxing me anymore. Tears well in my eyes as soon as I slip into Dad's car at precisely seven on Wednesday night. I've forced myself not to think about his move to Geneva since he told me, and now he'll be gone for real tomorrow.

"Do you already have an apartment there?" I ask, struggling not to unravel. I'm a grown woman. I don't need my daddy here to hold my hand.

"Yes, my predecessor’s," he says, and pulls away from the curb. "But it sounds like it might be too big just for me."

"You can find something more suitable," I murmur.

"We'll look for something together, when you come visit in the summer," he says and smiles at me, squeezing my hand briefly.
 

I nod. "I'll come in July, right after the exams finish."

I'm already planning it in my head now. I can visit Paris while I'm there, maybe even London, or Rome. My heart skips a beat at the last one though. Rome was the last place my mom and me visited together. I don't know if I could face it on my own this time.

"We should make the plans," Dad says, as he parks in front of the Italian restaurant we usually go to when he visits. "I'm going to Syria for a few weeks in May."

"What?" I breathe. "But that's too dangerous right now."

He lays his hand on my lower back and guides me to the restaurant, because I'm just standing there, staring at him, my mouth hanging open.

"I'll be in no danger, Gail. Don't worry."

But I am worried. There's a war on, bombings every day. There's no way he could be safe there. My heart's racing so fast the room actually tilts sideways as we enter.

I concentrate on just putting one foot in front of the other until I finally take a seat at the table. He can't know how much I'm freaking out about this, else he might just cancel the whole thing. He will be as safe as he possibly can there. And there are dangers everywhere.
 

"It will only be for a week or so," Dad says, "and I'll only be in the non-conflict areas."

I clear my throat and drape the napkin across my lap. The waiter comes over and dad orders a bottle of wine. I can't wait to drink that first glass. Maybe that'll finally still my racing heart.

"I know, it's just with the war, and …" I mutter, not able to finish the sentence. I was going to say "and Mom gone" but stopped myself just in time. No need to drag the grief to the surface.
 

"I'll be fine, Gail. This is my job," Dad says, looking at me with watery brown eyes, his cheek twitching slightly.
 

"I know," I whisper, taking a long drink as soon as the waiter pours my wine.
 

I almost order a seafood risotto, but the sharp pain stabbing at my heart from the memory of that night Scott and me made it won't let me. I get spaghetti carbonara instead, because it's the first thing that pops into my mind.
 

"I'm sorry it didn't work out between you and Scott," Dad says after the waiter leaves.

"Are you?" I ask, a little too sharply because the pain in my heart won't subside.
 

"Well, it's no secret that I didn't think he was right for you," Dad says. "But he made you happy. And in the end, I think that's the most important thing."

I swallow hard against the tears rising in my throat. It's a nice thing to say, sure, but completely wrong too. Because Scott and me are finished, and he did make me happy.

"I'm sorry, I mean—" Dad starts, but is interrupted by a jovial "Gail! It is you!" spoken in a thick Italian accent.

Leo is standing by my side now, grinning down at me. I manage a hello, and then introduce him to my dad, adding that Leo's doing his doctorate here at Yale.
 

I don't like the happy way my dad's eyes pass from mine to Leo, and back. I can almost hear what he's thinking, that Leo is a great choice for me, and it irks.

Dad asks him a few questions about the field of his study, and before I know it, he's inviting Leo to eat with us, and is eagerly answering all his questions.

I bite my lip to keep from telling him about all the nasty things Leo was saying about his work not a week ago. But that would be crazy, and I'm not insane Gail anymore.

I join in their conversation after awhile, and somehow the burning wish that Scott was actually sitting next to me at this dinner, not Leo, fades into the background.

"You will be visiting your father in the summer?" Leo asks, after Dad tells him about this plan. "I will be staying with my family in Milano. It's just a few hours away. We can see each other."

I look down at the tablecloth so I won’t have to see the glimmering excitement in his eyes. Or maybe so he won't see the disinterest in mine.

"Shopping is great in Milano," he adds and my Dad laughs, so I join in.

"Yes, we can make plans," I manage, since I'm expected to speak, I think.

"Leo sounds like a very interesting guy," Dad says once we're outside again, watching Leo turn the corner on his way home. "He's very knowledgeable."

"Oh, just say it, Dad," I snap.
 

"What?"

He asks it so innocently, my anger rises in a destructive wave. "That I should be dating him."

Dad laughs and unlocks the car. I get in right away and slam my door shut.

"I would actually prefer you to never date anyone," Dad says after he gets in too and starts the car. "But Leo seems like a good choice, if you must."

I don't like the light way he's speaking. But it's probably because he's drunk, I suddenly realize and all my anger flees with the worry that he won't get home safely tonight.
 

"We're just friends," I mutter, and roll down the window, hoping the cold air might sober him up a little.
 

"That's good too," he says, more seriously this time.
 

"Are you sure you're OK to drive back?" I ask as he pulls into my driveway.
 

He nods and smiles. "Don't worry so much about me, Gail."

I smile back. His eyes are clear, and his voice very steady. And we did only share that one bottle of wine between the three of us.
 

"Call me when you get in," I say anyway as I get out of the car. He agrees and does call about an hour later, so maybe I really shouldn't worry so much about him anymore. But Syria? The thought of my dad going to that war zone still chokes me, so it's easier to let it go.
 

Future pain is something I am incapable of worrying about anymore. There's too much present pain for me to deal with.

"I want to take you to the airport tomorrow," I tell Dad when I call him on Thursday night. The weight of him leaving, moving halfway across the world, has been laying over my chest since our dinner, growing heavier, all-consuming. I can hardly concentrate on anything else.
 

"I already have a car coming…" he says, quickly adding, "but I can cancel, if you want."

"Yes, do," I say. "What time do you have to be there?"

"My flight leaves at nine PM," he answers. "It would be nice to spend some more time together."

"Settled then. I'll pick you up at four," I say, some of the weight lifting now that I'll at least get to hug him goodbye, before he leaves.
 

And I do manage to go to the first class of the day on Friday, but I'm too nervous, too fidgety and I give up after two periods. I haven't missed a single day since Scott left, so I can take one day off.
 

Only, now I have hours left to ponder all that stuff, and I can't sit still, can't stand still and it's only just past eleven. I'd go home and clean the house, but I did that two days ago, so thoroughly I think Phillipa was a little worried about me.
 

I could go visit my mom's grave, collect the bracelet. I haven't been since the day I left it there. My mom's not really in the cemetery anyway, she's in my heart, and sometimes when the pain gets too bad, I can feel her just beyond the edge of my sight, hear her as she tells me all will be alright. Right now there's also a nagging voice inside my head saying I just want to go because maybe Scott will be there.
 

A liquid, pleasant feeling spreads through the pit of my stomach at the thought. I know it for what it is—love—because I've felt the exact same thing every time we kissed, made love, fell asleep in each other's arms. And I can't let it spread, because then I'll cry again. The loss of hope that I’ll ever do any of that with Scott again chills worse than a vicious winter storm. It's a silly thought anyway. No way that would happen twice in the same way. And even I were to meet him there, what would I say?

No, I'm going to get the bracelet, so I can have a piece of Mom with me when I say goodbye to Dad tonight.

I'm in my car and driving to the cemetery, without another thought. I keep the music too loud and sing along all the way, because that always works at keeping me focused. And today I don't even care that all the people at cars stopped next to mine think I'm insane. Because I'm not. Not anymore. Now I'm just sad.

The wind is blowing in cold gusts when I park at the cemetery gates, finding every open space in my trench coat. I should've worn a heavier jacket, but it was sunny when I left Connecticut. And now the sky's a mass of grey and white clouds, and I'm pretty sure it will start raining at any moment.
 

There are only two other cars parked near the cemetery gates, and neither of them is Scott's. Not that I know what he's driving these days, but one is a red Honda and the other a sky blue station wagon, and neither of those seem like his type of car.

My heart is racing in my throat as I walk down the path to Mom's grave. I'm seeing her funeral all over again, the long procession of people winding to the hole in the black earth, myself holding onto Dad's arm as we wait until they all gather, the smell of my aunts sweet perfume forcing itself into my nose. The vision doesn't cease until I'm already standing at her grave, staring at her name carved into the stone, a bouquet of dried brown roses laying next to it. I should've brought flowers, I suddenly realize, the shame that I didn't think of it bringing tears to my eyes.