Not Looking for Love: Episode 6 (A New Adult Contemporary Romance Novel) (3 page)

Her eyes leave the suitcase and find mine. She seems to have aged at least ten years since I last saw her. There are more grey streaks in her hair than blonde now, and the edges of her eyes are lined in red.

"That's my business," I mutter and sit down on the bed, because I suddenly have no energy left to continue standing. Good. Maybe the fever will come back and I can spend the rest of the week in bed. Maybe the rest of my life.

"I wanted to call you, Scott, tell you not to do anything you didn't want to," she says, looking down and wringing her hands.
 

"Maybe you should have," I say, before I can stop myself. There was a time, not so very long ago when I would've been very grateful to have someone on my side. But it's well too late for that now.

"It's just that I was very angry with you over the way you persuaded Janine to just up and leave," she says, her voice sterner now.
 

"It was Janine's choice," I mutter before thinking. It stings to have her accuse me of this now, on top of everything else.

"Janine always did what you did," she says.
 

"She wanted to leave too," I say. "Else she wouldn't. And she's never done anything just because I told her to do it."

How am I always responsible for everyone else? Who the fuck is responsible for me? Why don't they ever save me from any of this shit that keeps hitting me?

The room's wobbling again, and I'm all sweaty.
 

"Lie down, Scott. You're not well," she says, moving to pick up the blanket off the floor. "I'm sorry I brought this up now. I'll come back and bring you something to eat."

"You don't have to," I mutter, but lie down anyway, let her pull the blanket over me. She's done it hundreds of times, took care of me when I was sick after my mom died. So I can let her.

"Now, now," she mutters, but I don't know if she knows she's actually speaking.
 

She leaves and comes back sometime later, bringing food and medicine. I stay in bed while she heats up the soup in the kitchen until it's scalding hot. She makes me eat it and take the pills, won't leave until I do it all. Promises she'll be back in the morning, even though maybe I'd prefer it if she didn’t come again. I just hope she doesn't tell dad I'm here.

"I found good homes for those kittens of yours," she tells me while I eat. "And my cousin took the mother."

Some good news at last, but it hardly touches me. I feel a lot better after she finally leaves, wonder if it's too late to puke up the pills so I can go back to feeling like shit.
 

All I want to do is call Gail back, just to hear her voice. But I'd be messing with her if I do, so I can't. Not until Mike calls me back. Only he's not doing that. And I don't know how much longer I can keep from calling him.

I spent the rest of the week scrubbing the apartment, going to class, and studying. I barely slept for more than four hours a night. Scott hasn't called me back yet. He clearly has no intention of doing it.
 

He could just say, ‘Sorry, let's talk’. And I would have forgiven him, probably, eventually. Would've taken him back.
 

It's Saturday morning now, and I'm up way too early. It's shaping up to be one of those sad, heavy cold days, when winter makes a sudden reappearance in spring, and I wish I could sleep it away. But I won't be able to, I know that. I still can't sleep in the bed me and Scott shared. And I can't sleep in the guest room either because that's where I put all of Scott's stuff, so it smells like he just walked in.

But he's not coming back.

My phone rings just as I think it, and half my coffee ends up all over the kitchen counter as I run to get it. But it's Dad. I haven't told him yet, haven't told anyone.

"Good morning, Gail," he says, sounding uncharacteristically fresh. Though I don't think he's drinking quite so much anymore. He's found his peace in work, managed to forget Mom that way. The thought hurts.

"Maybe we could have dinner tonight," he says. "I could be there at eight."

"No," I say and he gasps, so I quickly continue, "I'll come see you. I haven't even seen your new apartment yet."

"That would be nice," he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "Do you have the address?"

He gives it to me and then we say goodbye. I spend the rest of the day studying and doing laundry, and end up going into the city four hours early just to get out of the apartment.
 

The last time I came to New York City was when Scott and me went to the ballet almost two months ago. And the memory of that night is a jumbled mess of pain, hurt, fear and guilt. I couldn't stop thinking about Mom for almost the entire performance, and then Scott reminded me of that terrible night with Mike. Did he already agree to help Mike then? How long was he keeping that a secret from me? How could he think I wouldn't understand?

Anger finally comes, washes away all else. I spend way too much on a few new dresses for spring, two new pairs of shoes and a purse. But I feel marginally better as I pull into the garage of Dad's apartment building.

His new place is a two-bedroom on the fifty-third floor in a building a few blocks from the UN. The East River is a rippling black mass outside the windows, and cars on the FDR are a snake of white, red and yellow lights. He wanted me to help pick out an apartment for him, but it was too hard for me then. He was abandoning my childhood home, the place where he spent almost thirty years living with Mom. I have to admit he picked very well on his own though. But now that I'm here, I can't help picturing our house all dark and cold, empty and dusty, and I just want to leave again.

"So, what do you feel like eating?" he asks.
 

I shrug. "Whatever." I'm suddenly very tired, I don't want to go far.

"Have you been sleeping?" he asks in the elevator. I stare at my face in the mirror. The yellowish light casts dark shadows over my face, and the blue circles under my eyes are even larger than I remember them from this morning. I didn't put enough concealer on. I look like some haggard cleaning lady going home after a full day's work. Which is what I've actually been doing. Cleaning. Like that could erase the weeks we spent living in our apartment together.

"I had a lot of studying to do," I mutter, and meet Dad's eyes in the mirror. He doesn't look that much better than me. His dark circles are actually black bags, and I suppose that's how mine will look too in a few years. Because I'll probably never sleep well again.

"Work always helps," he sighs just as the elevator stops and chimes for us to get out. The surge of anger in my heart is all for Dad this time. How can he just bury the memory of Mom under a pile of work? She should not be so easily forgotten. But I don't say it, because as messed up and tired as I am, I know it's not true, and not anything I should say aloud.

 
He leads the way to an Indian restaurant not far from his apartment. The wind is picking up, wrapping me in a chilly cocoon.

"Scott didn't want to join us?" Dad asks as we sit down. My breath catches in my throat.

All I can do is shake my head. I can't say it, can't tell Dad I'm no longer seeing him, can't face the happiness in his eyes over the news that I know will be there.

"I have something to tell you, Gail," Dad says, and I actually jerk. My thoughts are still with Scott, wondering where he is right now and who with, so my first thought is that Dad's found another woman.

I clear my throat and busy myself with draping the napkin across my lap. "Yes?"

The waiter forestalls his answer. I order a coke, and Dad gets a bottle of wine, which I'll probably end up sharing.
 

"I was offered a job in Geneva," Dad says as soon as the waiter turns his back. "I'm leaving in May."

I'm just staring at him, my eyes open so wide it stings. He's all the family I have left and now he's moving halfway across the world.
 

"Is it a good job?" I manage to ask. Because I should be happy for him. And I'm not a little girl anymore. I am happy for him.

"Yes, it's with the Human Security Network, a promotion…" His voice trails off, probably since I'm still wearing the shocked expression. So I relax my face and smile, because really he deserves to feel good again. We both do.

"That's great," I say, but I can't help adding, "For how long is the posting?"

"Four years, initially, then we'll see."

I shudder, hope he doesn't notice, and smile wider. "I'll visit you all the time."

Our food and drinks arrive, but he doesn't start eating, won't take his eyes off me. "I'll stay if you want me to."

I shake my head and break off a piece of naan. "No, I'm fine, Dad. I'm an adult."

And part orphan. But I don't add that. Because I'm too old to be babied.

After that he starts eating too. I ask him to explain his new job, and we just talk work and policy for the rest of the meal. Because we really are that much alike. We can both lose ourselves in study and work, bury all our problems and sorrows under a huge pile of it.

It's Sunday night and all that's left of my cold is an annoying scratching in my throat. Ava's feeding me everyday, doing my laundry, bringing me fresh bread and milk. She even bought me a toothbrush. Janine's called a few times but I haven't called her back. She probably knows what happened by now, but I'm not ready to hear her ‘I told you so’. Mike hasn't called at all. And I hate him more with each minute that passes.

All the movies on TV tonight are ones I've seen a million times, and I really wish I'd packed the Xbox. The thought sends a sharp jolt right through my heart. Because it means I've accepted leaving Gail. Which I haven't. At all. I'm going right back as soon as Mike takes his sick threat back. Which he will, I'll make him, as soon as he calls.

Ava has straightened up the boxes of my old shit, so they're sitting in a neat row against one wall. I might as well go through them now, decide what to keep and what to take up to the attic.
 

Then I'm sifting through the drawings I did in prison, that suffocating feeling of not being free to go wherever I wanted gripping my chest. It's why they're all landscapes, and not very good at that. The proportions and angles are all wrong, no one can ever get close enough to look at it all this close. If I don't see Gail soon, I'll probably start drawing pictures of her, with her face way too big for her body.

My phone rings just as I'm stuffing the drawings into a box that's going to the trash tomorrow.

"Finally," I bark into the phone.

"You've been expecting my call, I see," Mike muses, like this is somehow funny.

"I'll do what you want, Mike, whatever it is, just leave Gail out of it," I say, fast because I've been practicing.
 

"No time to get into this now," he says. "Pick me up at eleven tomorrow. At the ward."

"What? They're letting you go?" my voice actually cracks. I hadn't expected him to get out this soon.

Mike chuckles. "Yes, my friends work fast."

"Have your friends pick you up then," I say before I realize I was even thinking it.