Pictures of You (13 page)

             
“This is going to be a long night,” he joked, sighing theatrically.

             
I played along. “It really is. We could leave now, before we bring each other down with our depressing tales of celibacy.”

             
“Tempting. But I’m dying to know: Why did you agree to go out with me? Do you have a thing for guys with a death wish?”

             
“Just
cute
guys with a death wish.”

             
He smiled, but he didn’t look amused. He leaned forward, resting elbows on the table, his face serious. “No more kidding around. Why are you really here, September?”

             
I felt like a little mouse caught stealing cheese. Should I tell him the truth? A version of the truth? A flat-out lie? I opened my mouth to begin, then closed it. I tried again. “You want the truth?”

             
“Yes, I do. And you’d better not say you’re here to get me to change my mind. I’ve made up my mind and neither you nor anyone else can stop me.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

             
“Okay. Then I’ll be completely honest with you. I’m here for
two
reasons. The first is obvious. I
do
want to stop you. I—”

             
“Then you’re wasting your time.” He set his jaw.

             
“Maybe. Maybe not,” I said, losing my confidence.

             
“And the other reason?”

             
I wrung my napkin some more. “The other reason is…” I hesitated, knowing it would sound incredibly selfish. “I was still hoping I could somehow get you to go to my parents’ party.”

             
He shook his head and growled in frustration. “I already told you—”

             
“I know, I know. Look. Adrien…Never mind.” I threw my napkin down in defeat. The meal arrived just in time.

             
The next half an hour was consumed by polite small talk. I kept a forced smile on my lips, but my eyes occasionally gave away my true feelings. I was sad, frustrated. Annihilated. I didn’t want to like him. I didn’t want to become emotionally invested. I wished him to be boring, uninteresting. But as the night wore on, he became increasingly fascinating. I liked his nervous ticks, the way he raked his hand through his hair and twisted the silver ring on his left index finger. Nervous energy he was unable to channel. He seemed confident, but vulnerable. Cocky and sarcastic one minute, then humble and embarrassed the next. If Adrien was a book, he’d be a page turner, a mystery that kept a person up until three in the morning.

             
We swapped a few high school stories. He graduated two years before me. We spoke of our jobs. I told him I was an aspiring artist, a photographer, specifically. I photographed people, found them intriguing—and cleaned restrooms to pay the rent. He told me that in addition to writing, he sold used cars on the side.

             
Surprised, I said, “Really? A used car salesman? One of the more honorable professions of our day.”

             
“I didn’t really
want
to be a car salesman. I just needed a job and it was there.” I snickered. “What?” he said, shoving a forkful of chicken tikka masala into his mouth.

             
“I’m picturing you in a brown polyester suit. With tacky white shoes,” I said, nibbling on a piece of bread.

             
“Very funny.”

             
“Are you a shady salesman? Would you sell me a clunker? Overcharge me?”

             
“You’d have to find out for yourself. Are you looking for a car?”

             
“You don’t seem like the used car salesman type.”

             
He gave me a sloppy grin. “I’m not the used car salesman type. Not at all. How do you like the aloo gobi?”

             
“It’s divine,” I said, closing my eyes for a moment, savoring it.

             
“Good. Sometimes taking risks pays off.”

             
“Sometimes it does,” I said around a mouth full of cauliflower.

             
“I’m usually not this bold, but I wanted to tell you from the first moment I saw you at that art store that, well, I thought you were really cute. Beautiful even,” he said, clearing his throat, fidgeting with his fork.

             
“You’re lying,” I said, stunned. How could someone that handsome think I was beautiful? He was totally out of my league.

             
“I mean it,” he whispered, touching my hand for a second.

             
“Thank you.” I didn’t know what else to say.

             
I studied him thoughtfully. For a moment he looked completely happy. Free from cares. His eyes even sparkled. Seeing this side of him made me sad. It was such a waste, watching a guy as likable as Adrien self-destruct. I wanted to say something, but I didn’t want to fight again. I hated confrontation. But this was his life at stake—I had to do
something
. I opened my mouth and before I knew it, the words fell out. “Adrien, don’t get mad, but…you’re a really cool guy. I don’t want you to hurt yourself. I really think you should talk to someone.” My hands were shaking now. He frowned, set his fork down. I pulled Rose’s card from my purse and slid it across the table. “My friend is a shrink. I told her about you. She’d really like to meet you. She’s willing to see you free of charge.”

             
“I’m sorry, September, but I didn’t come here for this.” He stood, his napkin falling to the floor. He threw a fifty onto the table.

             
“Adrien, wait—”

             
“I gotta go.” Like a bug caught in floodlight, he fled the room. I called after him, but he never looked back.

13

              My body quaked like a rusty carnival ride as I washed the makeup from my face and brushed my teeth. Tears escaped my eyes as I slipped into my monkey pajamas and slid into my tightly made bed, rubbing my feet on the flannel sheets. I inhaled the scent of my pillow. I took comfort in it, its scent always smoothed things over, righted the wrongs in the world.

             
It was only nine o’clock, but I went to bed early, too spent and distracted to accomplish anything. The reruns on TV failed to put me into a stupor. I closed my eyes but slumber was nowhere near the neighborhood. I wanted to hang out with Mary, she’d help me get my mind off things, but she was at work. It was funny I practically hated her at one time and now I found her presence oddly comforting. She never failed to make me laugh with her unusual sense of humor and her random, inappropriate comments. I was finally understanding what Abby had seen in her.

             
My thoughts kept wandering back to Adrien and the crazy way our evening ended. Adrien was going to kill himself and I couldn’t stop him. Each time I tried to reach out, to help, he pushed me away. I’d known him for two days—not even full days—and already I felt strangely drawn to him. His haunted green eyes were compelling. His laugh infectious. I wanted to know his story. What had turned him into a tortured soul, ready to take his own life? What caused him so much grief?

             
As stupid as this sounded, I could see myself falling for the guy. The suicidal part aside, Adrien seemed to be the complete package. Sweet, smart, funny and a little eccentric—just the way I like them. And he definitely wasn’t lacking in the looks department. But loving him would be like taking a trip to nowhere. Juliet falling for Romeo, after reading the end of the story first. Maybe that was the appeal. No commitment required. No long-term investment necessary. I could love him for two weeks and move on.

             
I sat up abruptly. It dawned on me that I didn’t have Adrien’s phone number, let alone his address. Did he even have a phone? I realized then that I’d never seen him with one. Had he joined any social networks online? Would I ever see him again? A lightning jolt of panic shot through me. I had to see him again. I had to stop him from hurting himself. I couldn’t give up so easily. But how would I find him?

             
I crawled out of bed. Grabbed a glass of tap water. I tried the phonebook first. There were four Adrien Gray’s listed. I glanced at the clock on the microwave. 9:07. Not too late to call. I called all four numbers. I got two machines. One man sounded elderly, the other had a thick English accent. One guy answered with a tired hello. His voice was much lower than the Adrien I had spent the evening with. The last number was disconnected.

             
Online I scanned a number of social sites. I found twenty-two Adrien Gray’s, some with variations in spelling. None of them bore a resemblance to my Adrien. I spent forty minutes searching Google and came up empty handed. My breath quickened as something relevant surfaced: Adrien was a used car salesmen. I glanced at the time in the bottom right side of my computer screen. 10:58 PM. I’d start calling used car dealerships first thing tomorrow morning.

***

              A familiar ringing noise pushed me out of a pleasant dream. The phone.

             
I reached for it, falling out of bed. “Hello?”

             
“Are you okay?” I recognized the voice immediately. It was Chris. He seemed genuinely worried.

             
“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I be okay?” I rubbed my aching hip.

             
He sounded impatient. “You never called me last night. To tell me about your date.”

             
I let out a big, squeaky-toy yawn. “Oh. I didn’t know I was supposed to.”

             
“Of course you were supposed to. Isn’t that what best friends do?”

             
I smiled. He’d never actually referred to me as his best friend before. The words warmed me like wool blanket in the Alaska wilderness. But then I found myself frowning. Chris
was
becoming a best friend. Sort of. Or something like a best friend. Was I cheating on Abby? “I guess you’re right.”

             
“So how did it go? Do you like him? Are you going out again? Was he a gentleman? He didn’t try anything, did he?”

             
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down. One question at a time.” Chris was like that. Like a protective older brother. Only not quite a year older and not even distantly related to me.

             
“Do you like him?”

             
I sighed. How much should I tell him? Nothing, I decided. I didn’t want to reveal the crazy secret, after all, I had my reputation to protect. Plus I was enjoying the sudden attention Chris slathered on me since I told him about Adrien. “It went…good. And yes, I think I like him.”

             
“What do you mean by good? Will you be going out again?” Did I hear a pinch of panic in his voice? His reaction surprised me. What was
his
deal? I paused, once again weighing my options. Should I tell him? I felt bad for lying, but I didn’t exactly feel like showing Chris how pathetic I was. He knew I hadn’t been out with a guy since John dumped me. He knew about my traumatic childhood. That I felt completely misunderstood by my own family. That I sometimes even wondered if I was adopted. He knew about the accident and how screwed up I’d become as a result. That I was a control freak and naively idealistic. That I had grandiose dreams of becoming a hot-shot photographer. That was enough. He didn’t need to know I was lame enough to start liking a nut job.

             
“It’s possible…but he has plans for October second, so it looks like I’m going to have to show up to my parents’ party alone.”

             
“Ah, September, that’s too bad. I know how hard this is for you. I really wish I could go with you. But you know Megan.”

             
“It’s okay. I understand. I know you’d be there for me in a heartbeat if you could.” I did understand. Although it was disappointing—terrifying actually—to face my family
and
my ex alone, without a date. To endure April’s gloating and John’s worried, sympathetic looks. But I admired Chris for being so faithful to his girlfriend. It was a trait I wished John had.

             
I heard a soft voice in the background. It was Megan. “Who’re you talking to Chris?”

             
“Got to go,” he whispered. He hung up before I could respond.