Not Looking for Love: Episode 4 (7 page)

She holds the packet out to me as I approach. "Want one?"
 

I shake my head. I'll never smoke again, not after listening to my mom choking to death with lung cancer. Longing and homesickness fill my chest, and I gaze back toward my mom's window, dark now, nothing but the terrible abyss locked behind it.

"So, how come you're home?" I ask, fighting the images of raging black waves crashing against the cliffs, bidding me come. "I thought you'd be with that married boyfriend of yours, for sure."

Kate stubs her cigarette out, sending sparks flying. "Yeah, well, that's not ever happening again."

She struts into the living room and slams the doors closed as soon as I follow.

"How come?" I ask. I know her well enough to see through the clipped, short answers she's giving me. She wants me to drag it out of her. And I'm perfectly happy dealing with someone else's problems tonight.

She gets a wine glass for me and fills it to the brim.

"Because it's all over."

Her voice is hard, but the words stick in her throat and I know there's more.

I take a sip of wine and lean back on the sofa, because maybe I don't want to know after all. Maybe my own problems are enough to bury me all on their own.

"Turns out the bastard's not even married. He's been lying to me all along," she continues anyway.
 

"I thought it was just casual between you," I say. I'm pretty sure he's been lying to her about his name too, but I can't tell her that.

She sighs and ties her long, thick hair into a bun in the back of her head. "It was. In the beginning."

"But then you fell in love," I interrupt, because I never could keep my mouth shut and listen.

"Love? I don't know, maybe," she says, finishing off her glass of wine, and pouring another. "I thought it could be. But then he revealed all his lies. His name's not even Mark, for fuck's sake."

"It's Mike," I mutter.
 

Her eyes pop out of her head as she leans forward, glaring at me. I should've stayed quiet.
 

"How do you know that?" her voice is barely a whisper, more of a hiss really.

"Scott told me."

She screws her eyebrows up. "Scott? That gardener? I didn't know you still spoke to him."

"I do. On and off. Mostly off."
 

"I thought they seemed to know each other, at that bar. What else did he tell you?"
 

I shrug, crossing my arms across my chest and sloshing wine all over my leg. "Nothing much. They're brothers."

"Really?" Kate's eyes are popping out of her head again. I really shouldn't have mentioned Scott, because the longing and homesickness are amplifying in my chest now, taking my air.

"I didn't much like Mike, on the few times I saw him. Maybe it's better it's over," I offer, realizing too late it's probably the stupidest thing I could possibly say.

"I liked him. He was a lot of fun. But all those lies. I had to break it off with him. I don't even know who he is." She leans back and eyes me over the rim of her glass, the overhead light reflecting in the red liquid. "Only if you know his brother, you can find out some things for me."

I take another swallow of my wine, the acid burning my throat.
 

"Or not," Kate says. "I'm done with him, and good riddance."

I stifle a sigh of relief. I don't even know where I stand with Scott, so I can't exactly go snooping after his brother.

"So, you managed to get somewhere with the gardener then?" Kate asks. "Tell me everything."

I nod, feeling the color rising in my cheeks. There's no way I can tell her everything.
 

"I haven't even seen him in months," she goes on. "I think Brandon fired him like right after you left for school."

I jerk forward, sending more wine sloshing. "What? He never told me you fired him."

"Not me, Brandon." She slams her hand across her mouth, her eyes wide again. "Oh, maybe he saw you with him and that's why. I didn't quite get why he would want to fire him, he never gets involved with managing the servants, but that would make perfect sense. Brandon's so into you."

I shake my head, mostly to get the memories of Brandon coming onto me all summer out of my mind. I can't believe Scott didn't tell me he lost his job. Why would he keep that a secret?

"I'm not into him," I whisper.

"Yeah, he's starting to get that, I think," Kate says, leaning back again. "But you could do a lot worse than Brandon. And then we'd be family for real."

My phone's vibrating in my pocket, but I can't answer it in front of Kate, not if it's Scott.
 

I finish off my glass of wine and set it on the table, holding my palm over it when she moves to refill it.
 

"I should go," I say. "It's been a long day."

"Already?" she whines, her lips pouted.
 

I get up and wrap my cardigan tighter around me. My phone's stopped vibrating and I have to call Scott back right now, can't wait a minute longer.
 

"We can do something tomorrow," I suggest, though I'm not sure I'll be able to.

"Sure. But we're leaving on Monday to spend Thanksgiving in Long Island," she says. "How long are you staying home for?"

"Next Sunday, I guess."
 

And then I'm jogging across the lawn, clutching my phone. I'm barely through the hole in the fence and already dialing Scott's number.

CHAPTER TEN

"Can I come over?" I breathe into the phone the second Scott picks up. All my annoyance at him melted away the moment I saw it was really him calling. It shouldn't be like that. He shouldn't be able to change my mind so fast, just by calling me. But I can't fight it.

"If you want," he says, and the annoyance is back, because his voice is soft and hollow, and there's no trace of a smile anywhere in it.
 

"You'd rather I didn't." I say it like a statement, because it's not a question.
 

He sighs and something rustles in the phone, but his voice is louder, happier, when he says, "I want you to come over, Gail."
 

I'm packed and in my car inside of ten minutes, parked in front of his house within twenty. The lock on his front door is still not fixed.

He comes down the stairs from the attic just as I'm about to knock on his door.
 

"Still haven't given away the cat, then?" I ask.

"Nope, no luck yet." He eyes me up and down as he descends the stairs. "I thought you'd be wearing something tight and slinky. But you're not even in heels, Gail."

I smack his arm as he reaches out to wrap it around my waist. His eyes are green like new spring grass, light reflecting in the dew. "I thought I'd go for something more casual today."

I'm still wearing my old cardigan, because I forgot to change in my haste to come here.
 

He pulls me toward him, the buckle of his belt digging into my stomach. But he doesn't kiss me. "You know, I think I prefer you casual. Heels and little black dresses never did a whole lot for me."

I frown, feeling my eyebrows knot together. "You're lying. It does plenty for you."

His lips curl into a smile. "Yeah, maybe. But there's a time and place for everything."

"Like this?" I stand on my toes, lean forward and kiss him. His lips are chapped, but hot like a nice, sweet latte. The chilly air in the hallway melts away, replaced by the warmth of a high summer evening on a beach, the sky purple and lilac with the setting sun. Hours pass, maybe days before we finally stop kissing and I follow him into his apartment.

He's holding me, standing by the bed, his eyes soft and blue. I want to kiss him again, but I don't want to stop looking into his eyes to do it.

"Let's just go to sleep today," he says. But I'm not tired anymore, not sleepy.
 

"I didn't actually pack any pajamas," I tell him later, as I'm digging through my bag, watching him change by the table from the corner of my eye.
 

He's pulling on a white shirt, the shadows accentuating the dips and valleys of his stomach. "That could be like the hottest thing a girl's ever said to me."

His stomach disappears under the shirt and he tosses one of his sweatshirts at me. I stumble forward trying to catch it. I can't believe he doesn't want to do anything more. But then again, not having sex tonight is like we're a couple for real.

I change while he's in the bathroom, wait by the door so I can brush my teeth too.

He's already under the covers when I come back out.

"I'm not actually all that sleepy," I say, climbing in, settling so close my whole side is pressing into him.

He hands me the remote. "You can watch some TV. I want to sleep. Haven't gotten much of that lately."

He flips over so he's facing me and wraps his arm around my stomach, burying his face in the side of my arm.

I turn on the TV, flipping through the channels. Titanic is on Showtime, the ship breaking and people screaming. My breath hitches in my throat, which is suddenly tight like an invisible hand is choking me. I'm not in Scott's apartment anymore. I'm lying beside my mom, watching a movie with her for the last time. Only I didn't know it was the last time then. But I do now, because she's buried and we'll never watch a movie together again. A sob escapes my trembling lips, I can't help it. And I can't change the channel.
 

Scott lifts his head. "What's the matter now, Gail?"

"I watched this with my mom, just before she died," I whimper, tears streaming down my cheeks.
 

He looks over at the screen, then back at me. "So change the channel, if it bothers you."

"It's that simple, is it?" I shriek. "My mom's dead. I can't just change the channel, that's not going to fix anything."

He reaches for the remote, but I snatch my hand back so he can't take it. His eyes are soft and brown, like a blanket, brimming with pity. "You don't have to do that to yourself, Gail. Watching this movie isn't going to bring her back."

I bury my face in his chest, wrapping my arms around his neck, sobbing openly now. What he's saying makes perfect sense, but my whole chest is a burning, open wound, pulsing as hot blood gushes out.
 

I cry myself to sleep, even though no amount of tears can wash away the pain raging in my chest. Only it's not so bad tonight, because Scott's arms are around me, holding me tight, and I'm not alone staring into my mom's sightless, glimmering eyes while the sky outside turns from an inky blue to the cold grey of dawn.

I wake up at ten the next morning. Scott's still sleeping and I slip off the bed, making sure not too wobble it too badly. He's actually got milk in his fridge today, and food, but most of it is the stuff I bought when I was here last and it's spoiled by now. I toss the green mold infested cheese in the trash, and spread some butter on a cracker, thinking maybe I should go down to the bakery and get some breakfast. But then I might not be able to get back inside.

The air is chilly and smells of snow. I hear Scott get up and go into the bathroom and I have two cups of coffee ready on the kitchen table by the time he comes out.

I wish he'd hold me and kiss me, but he just sits down, wrapping his fingers around the steaming cup of coffee, goosebumps rising on my legs.

"Can we turn on the heat?" I ask sitting down across from him. I have to move a pile of laundry so I can see him.

"It is on," he says and stretches, yawning loudly. "It's the windows, they need to be replaced."

I scan the apartment. Maybe there are fewer cardboard boxes than when I was last here, but he's still using his suitcase as a closet. "You need some furniture too."

"Stop being so bossy," he says and smiles at me, so I can't even get mad.

"I thought you liked that about me," I say and stand. The skin on my legs is turning blue now and I need to either put on my pants, or get back into bed. I choose the latter.

"Yeah, but there's a time and place."

The bed's still warm, and I wrap the blanket around myself. "Are you coming?"

He checks his watch and sighs. "I should leave soon."

My throat knots up at his words. Why can't we just be together? Why does there always have to be something?

He comes over anyway, like maybe he knows what I'm thinking, and climbs in beside me. I scoot over and wrap my arms around his waist pressing my legs into his for some extra warmth.

"We could go away this week, just the two of us," I say. "It's going to snow, and my family owns a cabin upstate that's empty now. We could spend the whole week there."

His arm is wrapped around my back, his palm resting against my stomach. "I don't even have a winter jacket, Gail."

It's a no, and I don't know why. A weekend upstate would be perfect, just the two of us, snowed in, warm by the fire in a cabin in the middle of nowhere.

"We can get you a winter jacket. I could get it for you like as an early birthday present." I'm speaking into his chest, my voice muffled because I'm pressing my cheek into it so hard.

He laughs, the sound loud in my ears. "It'd be more of a late present. My birthday was a couple of weeks ago."

My head shoots to the side, his arm slipping off my stomach. "It was? Why didn't you tell me?"

His eyes are a soft blue in this light. "It's November 7th. I don't usually make a big deal about it."

"And you're how old?"

"Twenty-three, you?"

"I'm twenty-two. My birthday's in July. The 14th," I say, blood rushing in my ears. There's so little we know about each other, so how can he be the only person I want to spend time with? "You should've told me it was your birthday."

He shrugs. "Sorry."

"And you should've told me you lost your job," I say. "I could've helped you get it back."

The corner of his mouth twitches up into a smile. "I think you were the reason they fired me. I sort of read that between the lines when that Brandon guy told me to go."

He's right, but I shouldn't tell him.

"I can still help you get it back," I say instead.