The Red Thread (12 page)

The doorbell rings.

“The girls are here.”

Tommy is the
only
guy I know who would throw a party in the early afternoon and get drunk. A pair of
beautiful
women walk into the living room. Well, they are beautiful by magazine standards. They are too skinny with fake blonde hair and orange skin. I’d much rather have an average-looking woman—if I was into women.

Tommy breaks out the alcohol, and he is drunk within an hour. The girls drink, and they apparently both lack personality. Tommy is trying so hard to get with both of them that I honestly believe he thinks he has a chance of having a threesome. Although they might be trashy enough to go through with it. Their skirts are so short I can almost see their uteruses.

The day goes on, and the alcohol is going fast. I ask Tommy what about his father noticing, and Tommy just says to “fuck it.” I don’t ask again. I take my seat on the couch and watch everyone have their fun. Even Alex seems to loosen up. One of the girls, I think it’s Tammy, seems to take a liking to him, and Alex seems to enjoy the attention. The last girl he dated was Nikki. He loved her. I couldn’t stand her. I liked the girlfriend before her, Annabel. She was this cute, spunky tomboy with a dark brown pixie cut. There was no bad blood in the end, though. It was a mutual breakup as neither of them felt it was working. It’s not like Alex broke up with her for Nikki. Annabel and him still talk from time to time. She didn’t like Nikki either. She and I both agreed there was something fake about her. Before Annabel, Alex dated Mitchell. Mitchell was a nice guy, and oddly enough he and Annabel hit it off really well and became friends.

When I look back on Alex’s relationship with Nikki, I wonder if it could be that he was just fooled by the lust of liking someone. Some people are so desperate to be liked or to like someone else that I wonder if that clouds people’s judgment.

I look around at the small, inebriated crowd, and I feel irrevocably alone. Even when one of them tries to talk to me or tries to include me in their reindeer games, I just feel alone. I feel like a person in the movie theater watching what is going on before him. I watch, but I don’t participate. I don’t know what is worse: actually being alone, or being alone in a crowd. When you’re alone, you’re just alone. There is no one to ignore you and no one to disappoint you. But when you’re with others and you feel alone, it is like a part of you is screaming and crying out for help, but no one notices… or cares.

“I’m going to go,” I tell Alex.

“You okay?” Alex asks.

“Fine,” I say, and I’m out the door. Please don’t let this be the beginning of the darkness coming back. I really don’t want to deal with it. Everything was so perfect last night, and now I’m feeling completely alone.

I walk into my house and am met by Clara, who is making coffee at the stove.

“Hey, where have you been today? I tried texting you earlier.”

I run my hands over my pockets, realizing my phone is still plugged in upstairs on my nightstand.

“Sorry, I was with Tommy and Alex.”

“Oh….” I see the look on her face. She knows that something is going on inside of my head.

“Are you having a…,” she begins, but she obviously doesn’t want to finish. She’s scared. I can see it on her face. “Dark day?”

“No, I’m just feeling… weird. I don’t know.”

“Just please, don’t leave me okay?”

I nod. She is afraid I’m going to try to kill myself again. It’s not that I always want to die, but some days I just don’t want to live.

“I’m going to lay down,” I notify her in a monotone voice, and I find myself upstairs in my bed. I close my eyes and just take in the warmth of my blanket. No one realizes how much it sucks to be lonely.

I need to get out. I need to walk around or something. I grab my bag and jacket and tell Clara I’ll be back later. I also make sure to grab my phone, with a text showing from Adam.

Hey, Sweetie. How are you?

His text brings a small smile to my face.
Sweetie.
No guy has ever called me that before, and it feels nice, but I don’t want to subject him to the way I am now. It wouldn’t be fair. He is such a good guy, and he already probably knows too much about the way I am. I pocket my phone, deciding to text him back later. I just want to be alone for now. I button up my peacoat and walk along the sidewalks. I keep my eyes focused on the ground, so I can ignore the stares. I just want to be in my own world and pretend not a soul lives here.

“Oh, Jesse Holbrooke.”

Well, there goes that plan. I look up to see Mr. Samuels with a large smile on his face. I never see him without a smile. I have a theory he might be a robot, because no one in the world can be that happy, except for maybe a game-show host. The world is a messed-up place, so where does he find all this good? I want to know his secret for being so happy all the time.

“Hey, Mr. Samuels.”

“How are you today?”

“I’m fine. And you?”

“I’m doing well. Would you like to come over for tea? I also have scones.”

“Um, I don’t know. I might have to….”

I stop as I see his huge smile. Well, I guess one cup of tea won’t hurt.

“Sure,” I answer.

“Oh lovely. I have really good tea and scones.”

He rambles on, but I don’t catch most of it. His senile babble tends to go over my head a lot of the times, so I just follow him until we’re outside his house, which is small and somehow perfect for him. It almost looks like a storybook cottage, with the brightly painted yellow outside and bright blue shutters.

Inside the house is very neat, maybe a bit too neat. It’s almost disconcerting. He sets up a kettle on the stove, and he tells me to sit at the kitchen table. I see pictures of a woman all over the kitchen. She also seems to be in every room. Some of them are of a beautiful young woman with bright red hair, while others are of an older woman with curly gray hair.

Mr. Samuels bring the tea to the table and pours it into a pair of teacups.

“Thank you.”

He sits down, and I close my eyes as I take a sip from my tea. It’s burning hot, but it feels good. Mr. Samuels starts to talk about his day and how he was looking for the birds because he loves the birds. For as long as I’ve known him he’s been obsessed with birds. As a kid I used to find him bird watching on his front lawn. He had a large pair of binoculars around his neck and would wear these brightly colored shirts. He became a town joke.

“So how is Claire?” he asks. I don’t correct him.

“She’s good. She’s enjoying being home from school.”

I sip my tea.

“She’s a good girl.”

“So who is the woman in the photos?” I ask him.

The smile slowly disappears, but it comes back after a moment. “That is my wife, Claire.”

“I didn’t know you were married?”

“Oh yes, very happily so. But she died over twenty years ago.”

He’s been alone all this time? But why?

“She was the love of my life. She still is. Claire is the most beautiful person I know. Your sister reminds me so much of her. So pretty and smart and sweet. Claire used to help out at the homeless shelter, and she made the best tea. She put up with my mind, and she gave me nothing but love. She died in a car accident sadly.”

I almost drop my tea. I never knew any of this. My eyes widen, and I can’t find the words to say, except for “I’m sorry.” I look away, not wanting to face his eyes.

“It was so long ago, but she’s still here. She’s here all the time. She’s here when I look for the birds. She used to love the birds, my Claire. She wanted a pet bird so badly.”

He looks at his watch, “Oh God. I have to get going. I have to go to the park. There is a bird I’m hoping to find. I know it’s out there. I just want a photograph of it, to show my Claire. I’ll make you a scone next time.”

I nod, and as I walk out of the door, I turn around to see Mr. Samuels looking at a photograph of Claire.

“Please don’t think of me as a senile man, Jess.”

“I won’t, Mr. Samuels,” I promise him. He’s not senile; he’s heartbroken. But why does he smile so much?

“Please call me Richard. Will you come around again… soon? I’m so lonely in this house.”

“Yes.”

His smile brightens a bit, but all I feel is guilt as I lie to him. I won’t be coming around anytime soon. I don’t plan to come around at all.

I DON’T
see Adam for a couple days, but those hours without him are filled with countless texts and lots of smiling from my end. I’m on my way now to the coffee shop where he works. Through the window sits Adam at the table. He’s wearing a black apron over a tight polo shirt, which shows off his muscular arms.

I enter the shop, and Adam smiles at the sight of me walking into his place of work. Adam stands up and meets me at the register. He orders a coffee for him and a tea for me, using his discount.

“Coffee today?”

He happily nods. “Y-yeah. I p-p-prefer coffee.”

“I’m not a fan.”

He almost drops the coffee mug. His jaw falls open.

“What? I, I c-c-cannot believe y-you don’t l-like coffee. It’s h-heaven in a c-c-cup.”

I laugh. “No, sorry, but that is tea. Coffee is okay, but it tastes weird to me. Tea tastes wonderful, and it’s also healthier too,” I respond.

“T-tea reminds me of s-s-s-something B-British.”

“Fun fact: I started drinking tea when I was little because I secretly wanted to be British. I was the biggest anglophile. I think a part of me still desires to be British. I even used to fake a British accent. It was so awful, but my family never stopped me. They enjoyed my fake Britishness,” I admit, feeling the fire rising up to my cheeks.

“Tha-that is s-s-s-s-s-so adorable,” he says with a big goofy grin.

“It’s dumb,” I respond.

“No. It’s a-a-a-adorable. I’m r-right.” Adam brings the mug of coffee to his lips, and he jumps as it touches his tongue. One would think he was just bitten by a snake, from the way he jumps out of his seat.

“That is fucking hot.”

I giggle at the sight of him holding his mouth in pain, staring daggers at the coffee. I have never heard him curse before, and it sounds so weird coming out of his mouth. I feel he shouldn’t speak like that. His mind should be all unicorns and rainbows or something.

“S-s-seriously, that was like l-lava.”

I continue to laugh at his childish antics. Every time I have doubts, he just makes me smile. He reaches his hand over the table and takes mine in his. His soft hand feels just as good in mine as it did before. I am overcome by a sense of warmth, like I’m being wrapped in a thick quilt. The warmth reaches every area of my body and even seems to blanket the darkness, so it can’t be seen.

“
D-D-Doctor Who
is B-B-British.”

Ever since the last date he has sent me so many texts about the show, trying to get me to watch it. Science fiction isn’t really my thing. When it comes to movies, horror is more what I lean toward. Science fiction just gets a bit too confusing, and a lot of it goes over my head. It honestly makes me feel quite dumb a lot of the time. I don’t want Adam to see me as dumb, so I’ve been putting off watching
Doctor Who
with him. I know it’s silly, but sometimes I don’t know how my mind works.

“I’ll watch it with you soon.”

“Maybe W-W-Wednesday night, after th-th-therapy? I, I, I can pick you u-up and d-d-drive you, um, back to my p-place?”

Tempting. So tempting.

“Maybe. I don’t know. I’m always so exhausted after my sessions.”

“P-please. For m-me?” He looks at me with those big gray-blue eyes that make me melt, and his smile is so big. I love that lopsided smile of his.

“Fine, yes. It’s a date.”

“Oh y-yes, a, a d-d-date,” he says, dancing around in his seat. He just happens to get cuter and cuter every time I see him.

I laugh and grip his hand a bit tighter. I look at my… what is he exactly? Is he my boyfriend? Or are we not there yet? Are we just dating?

Why must dating be so complicated? Is it bad etiquette to just ask?

“Adam,” I mumble.

“Yes?”

“Are… are we, um, boyfriends?” Why must I sound so dumb asking that? I sound like a damn child.

“I, I don’t know. W-would you like, like th-that?”

Would I? Yes. I would. I know I would. But should I subject him to my life and my mind? He’s so good and sweet, and there’s me. Fucked-up Jess Holbrooke. He’s never seen me on one of my dark days. What would he do when he sees how I really am? Would he sit there and help, or would he run away?

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. It’s time for me to be brave.

“Yes. I would a lot.”

I open them to see his big smile, and I smile right back.

“Me t-too. S-s-s-s-s-so let’s m-make it official. J-Jess, w-w-w-will you b-b-be my b-boyfriend?”

“Ummm… sure, why not?” He pouts as I laugh. “Of course, yes.”

Adam Foster. My boyfriend. I smile at the thought, feeling the hope swell up inside. Hope, that’s a new feeling and one I like.

We go on to talk about his love of children and how someday he’d love to have a family. He wants to have two children, with plans to adopt them. He wants lots of dogs, and he wants a nice house big enough for everyone, and a backyard is necessary. He also tells me how he is still waiting to hear back from grad schools. He has a degree in elementary education, and he wants to put it to good use. I tell him how I studied English at the college in town, but I didn’t actually know what I wanted to do with my degree. I still don’t really know what I want to do with my life. Right now I’m working on getting it back on track.

He looks at his watch, and with a frown, he tells me, “B-b-back t-to work I g-g-g-go.”

He gets up, and we walk outside the shop, standing by the door. I look up at his towering body, and I watch as he shivers in the winter air in his short sleeves.

“Good n-n-night, b-boyfriend.”

I smile up at him, “Good night, boyfriend. Thank you for making time for me during your work schedule.”

He pulls me into a kiss, this one longer than our first one, and as I back away, I almost feel like my knees are about to give out. I hold on to the doorknob to keep me steady. So that is what a kiss feels like. I mean, a real kiss. Wow. I’ve had kisses before, but never any like the ones from Adam. His kisses make me feel lightheaded.