NYC Artists 1 - In a Heartbeat

by Decker, Ally

  She grimaced right after. Of course Fiona knew. She'd been working her ass off almost as hard as Ed, trying to save Lion's Den.

  "Listen, I don't have much experience with having an actual relationship, but from what I can tell, there's never a good time for that kind of talk when no one wants to split up," Fiona told her. "Waiting for it pushed you into too-late territory for sure, but all you can do right now is to have the conversation as soon as possible. You can still hope you'd stay in New York, but then you can both hope. And you both know where you stand."

  "I'm afraid he's going to get mad and leave," Naomi admitted quietly. It hurt just to get the words out.

  Fiona's hand covered hers, where Naomi was gripping the stress ball they usually kept on the coffee table.

  "So what, you're just going to wait until you're the one who leaves?" Fiona asked gently.

  Yes was Naomi's first thought, an answer based on instinct before she even fully comprehended the question. Then she froze.

  The one who leaves. That was usually how it went, wasn't it? She left, she moved town, she moved states. As a kid, it hadn't been her decision, but every time after that… That was who she was. She moved on when she wanted to, when she thought it was time.

  The thing was, she didn't feel like it was time now, yet.

  But waiting… Waiting was dangerous. Her current situation was the perfect example of that. She'd waited too long to come clear and now everything was messed up. The clock was ticking in the back of her head, and she was still dragging it out.

  Naomi didn't believe in miracles, but right now, she desperately needed one.

  Then, a second later, her phone started ringing with her mother's default song.

  "Sorry, I have to take this," she said, pulling herself up and off the couch. Her head was a mess and she didn't want to keep talking with Fiona, so she took the phone call as an excuse. "See you tomorrow? And… thanks," she added, because her friend deserved that.

  "Sure thing," Fiona said with a sad smile and a nod.

  Naomi gave her a small wave, leaving the room.

  "Hi, Mom," she said, picking up probably right before the call would go to voicemail. She grabbed her bag on her way to the door and left the parlor.

  She heard the jingle of the door shutting behind her right as she registered her mother was crying on the other end of the call.

  Naomi's heart started going twice as fast as just a moment before. "What is it, Mom? What's wrong?"

  "Your father…" her mother said in a weak voice. "He left."

  This, Naomi told herself as she leaned hard against the building. This is what you get when you hope for a miracle.

  ***

  She shuffled into her apartment and tossed her bag to the side before she closed the door, resting her weight against it. For a moment, both the couch and the bed seemed too far away as she felt the weight of every muscle and bone in her body pulling her down.

  She wished she could just cry and not feel like she was about to choke, but she also knew not to wish for anything today anymore.

  And tomorrow, and the next week. She was all out.

  Once she finally moved, she didn't care about anything but getting into bed. She undressed on her way, only stumbling a little, until she was just in her panties. She'd left the T-shirt she slept in on the bed this morning, so she slipped into it and got under the covers, tugging one of the pillows to her chest as she played back the entire conversation with her mother in her head.

  Apparently, "the talks" about her father's possible new post were more than just talks. But that part, Naomi had predicted, because she'd been through this song and dance too many times to count, first as a kid who had to uproot her life every year or two, then as an adult, watching from a distance as her parents continued on the same path. Three years ago, it had seemed like perhaps it would end and they'd make San Diego their permanent home. But as it turned out, it had been just another stop yet again, although a slightly longer one.

  For her father, at least.

  Because the biggest kicker of her mother's news wasn't another post Naomi's father took.

  "He told me it was better for me to stay here," her mother had said between the tears. "'There's no reason for you to have to move that far', he said. No reason!" Her voice had cracked at the end there. "I've been doing it for thirty years and now suddenly there's no reason."

  And Naomi hadn't known what to say. Because this was something that even she hadn't been expecting, for all that she always thought that she was the realist to her mother's optimist. Naomi had wished for years that her mother would stand up for herself—and for Naomi as well, back then. She'd wished her mother would say no to the constant travel, constant moving, constant change. For a long time now, Naomi's father was high enough in the chain of command that he didn't have to take on the posts the higher-ups suggested if he didn't want to. But her mother had never put her foot down. She'd just packed up and moved, and started all over again.

  Maybe she'd been afraid her husband would never pick his family over his career.

  She would be right, Naomi thought now, hugging her pillow to her chest. She always knew where her father's priorities lay, but she'd never thought he would one day leave his wife behind. And now, after decades of following her husband and refusing to stand up for herself even if that might mean leaving him, Naomi's mother ended up being alone anyway.

  And during that phone call, Naomi had forced herself to swallow all renditions of "I told you so", and "I warned you", and "You should have left him years ago". She'd bit her tongue on so many things, she'd almost choked on her anger and on the guilt caused by said anger being not only directed at her father—this, she had no problems expressing out loud—but also at her mother.

  It was most likely out of that guilt that when her mother had asked her to visit, Naomi had made the decision she had.

  "I'll be there at the beginning of May. And not just to visit."

  Maybe this had been the only choice right from the start. Maybe instead of a miracle, she got a sign, instead.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Elliot stared at his tablet screen without really seeing anything as his thought drifted off, once again, to the one thing—one person—he couldn't figure out.

  Naomi.

  Everything seemed fine—great, even—on Sunday, when they parted in the early evening, after Naomi wouldn't let him convince her to stay for just a while longer. Their texting was sporadic throughout the week, but that had happened sometimes, when they'd had more work than usual.

  But when he called on Tuesday, she couldn't talk long, and when he tried on Thursday evening, she hadn't picked up at all, only sending a short text an hour later. On Friday, he'd asked her about her weekend plans, and she'd actually called him during her lunch break to say she wanted to meet and that she'd call after work to make plans, but she never had.

  Now, it was Saturday morning and instead of sleeping in, Elliot wondered what the hell had happened.

  Had he pushed too far with that fundraiser dinner and sharing about his brother? He hadn't planned on talking about Carl at all back then, but things had happened and it had felt right. But maybe it only felt right to him. Maybe after the weekend, Naomi thought differently.

  Or maybe it was something else he'd done. Elliot had been known to put his foot in his mouth or not to notice when he hurt someone's feelings. He thought he'd been careful with Naomi, but maybe—

  His phone buzzed on the nightstand, and he turned to grab it so fast, he dropped the tablet on the mattress next to him.

  Are you home? I could come over.

  Elliot fell back against his pillows.

  Yes! Any time, I'm home all day.:)

  How about in 10 min? I'm close already.

  That made him pause. Relief that had come with the first text disappeared again, leaving him disoriented and tense. Something was going on and it wasn't a nice Saturday surprise he'd started to hope for.

  Sure, he tex
ted back anyway. Come on over.

  Elliot busied himself with making the bed and tidying up quickly. Maybe he was wrong and Naomi would walk in with coffee and breakfast, and they'd spend a nice day together. Night, too, if he had any say in it.

  But it didn't take him more than one look at Naomi when she got there to know that it was stupid to get his hopes up. Something was definitely wrong.

  "You okay?" he asked, because he had to say something, do something, even if he had no idea what was the right thing to say or do.

  She tucked her hands in her oversized sweater as soon as she pulled off her coat. She seemed to be curling onto herself and Elliot didn't like that at all. He took a step closer, wanting to comfort her, but she side-stepped him before he could get there and headed towards the couch. When she sat down on the armchair next to it instead, Elliot had already known how this conversation was going to end.

  Still, he followed her and lowered himself onto the couch. He didn't say anything, because, really, what was there to say?

  "There's—" Naomi started and paused. She looked so small with her back hunched and hands tucked in. Then, she stood up and started going back and forth right in front of the couch. The only thing separating the two of them was the coffee table—physically, at least. The other kind of distance was growing by the second.

  As she moved, Naomi seemed to get back her confidence, and soon enough, there was no trace of a small, closed-off person from a few minutes ago. This was a woman who didn't seem to have a doubt in her mind about anything.

  "There's this thing that I've been meaning to tell you, but didn't know how," she finally said, turning towards him, but not really meeting his gaze. "Now, it came to a head, and it kind of forced my hand. I mean," she faltered for a moment, "I made a decision. No one forced me, some stuff just made it quicker."

  Just tell me already, Elliot wanted to tell her, but on the other hand, he didn't want to hear that speech at all. For a second, he considered getting up and leaving, shutting her off just like she had done to him. He pushed his hands under his thighs instead and stayed quiet.

  "I'm moving to San Diego."

  Elliot blinked. The words registered in his head, but it was as if he hadn't heard her right, as if he needed to strain to really understand. Then it clicked.

  And that click felt like a punch in the stomach.

  "Why?" he asked finally, after the whirlwind of questions in his head somehow settled.

  "Lion's Den is most likely closing." She crossed her arms against her chest. "The current place is only rented till the end of April and Ed can't find a new one. I've been looking for another parlor to work at, but there's nothing available in New York. I have a friend in San Diego at the parlor I used to work at, though. They're looking for a short-term replacement with possibility of more. That's the best offer I have."

  "That's the best offer I have."

  "I've been looking."

  And Elliot could let it go. It wasn't like it would change things anyway. But he needed to know.

  "How long have you known the Den is closing?"

  "Most likely closing," she corrected him. "Ed's still looking and he probably won't stop until the very last day, possibly more."

  "But you've decided not to wait," he said. He wondered if she realized that it was actually worse for him if the parlor wasn't definitely closing, because that meant she'd made her decision to go even when there was still a chance things could work out.

  "I can't wait," Naomi told him, shaking her head. "I can't wait until the last second, because then what would I do, huh?"

  "You'd start over. Like you did numerous times in the past. You told me that." He looked at the coffee table. "How long have you known?"

  She inhaled sharply. "A little over two months."

  The hits just kept on coming, it seemed.

  "Two months." Two months of dates, of conversations, and texts. Two months of dating someone who, almost from the start, had had one foot out of the door.

  Smarter than you, the voice at the back of his head told him. You should've known better.

  "It was only a possibility at first," she said. "I hoped it wouldn't come to this."

  Or so you say.

  "But you've been looking for another job."

  "Yes."

  "Why didn't you say anything, then?"

  Something flashed in her eyes, a glint of—anger? That would be rich, coming from her right now.

  "I don't owe you an explanation," she told him, and, oh, wow.

  Wow.

  Elliot had been so stupid. So incredibly stupid.

  "Wait, no." Naomi took half-step towards him before she halted. "I meant— I should've told you earlier, but at first, we were still new, and then… There was never the right time."

  Never the right time. What a joke.

  "So all those times we've seen each other? Talked to each other? Slept with each other? Never the right time?"

  She gulped, slumping her shoulders. "It never seemed to be," she said quietly.

  "It never seemed to be?" he repeated, incredulous. "Are you kidding me?"

  "So what do you think I should've done? Asked you?"

  She said the last part with such disgust, Elliot almost reared back.

  "I think you should've talked to me. I had a right to know."

  "And what would you do?" she pushed, but before he could open his mouth, she shook her head. "It's not your decision to make, anyway! It never was!"

  And suddenly, Elliot had enough of this.

  "Clearly, it's not only not my decision, it's also not my business. Not my anything." He got up. "So you made your decision and you came over to announce it to me. Fine. I heard you loud and clear."

  She halted in place, as if she didn't know what to do next.

  This, Elliot could help her with. "If that's all you came here to say…"

  Naomi looked between him and the door, and then back at him. "I—" She paused and glanced at the door again. "I should probably go."

  He forced himself to stay silent. He swallowed everything, every angry word, every plea, every stupid, useless confession he'd thought he would have a chance to make, at some point.

  She had no interest of hearing anything he had to say, anyway. She'd made that clear.

  He turned to watch her go. Maybe this was the masochist in him or maybe he just needed another reminder of how putting himself out there, trusting someone to be in it with him for the long haul, had always turned out for him.

  Naomi paused by the door and his stupid heart skipped a bit.

  "I'm sorry," she said, then slipped out.

  Yeah, Elliot thought. I'm sorry, too.

  ***

  He would be the first to admit that it had been too long since he'd come there last. There were always reasons, but they felt like excuses now. And after that fundraiser last weekend and telling Naomi the story, he felt like his time for excuses had run out.

  As he walked through the cemetery, he looked around, taking in the familiar sights once again. But it wasn't until he came close to Carl's grave that he noticed there was someone crouching next to it.

  It was Aiden.

  Elliot paused in his step. He didn't expect to meet anyone here, but Aiden? He would be the last one on the list anyway.

  Which, Elliot realized now, might have been an unfair assumption to make. Why wouldn't Aiden visit Carl? Because he never wanted to talk about him? That wasn't a good enough reason, since his whole family didn't, and yet, there were always fresh flowers on the grave whenever Elliot came by.

  For a moment, he considered turning and walking away. Things between him and Aiden still weren't right—if they ever were—and he didn't want to bring that with him here. Besides, Aiden probably wanted to be alone.

  But before Elliot could make up his mind, Aiden must have sensed someone watching him, because he turned his head and looked straight at Elliot. There was a fleeting look of surprise, but then his older brother schooled his face a
nd stood up.

  No turning back now. Elliot crossed the remaining distance quickly.

  "Hey," he said with a nod.

  "Hey."

  "I didn't expect anyone would be here," Elliot went on after a bit of silence. "Sorry to bother you," he added without thinking and shrugged when Aiden frowned at him.

  "You're not bothering me."

  Elliot barely contained a snort. I'm always bothering you, he wanted to tell his brother, but he really didn't want to do it here. Besides, he was done fighting uphill battles in his personal life. It was what it was.

  "You don't believe me," Aiden said and this time it was Elliot who must have looked taken aback. He certainly felt like it. When had Aiden ever wanted to talk about Elliot's feelings on any subject?

  "Forget it, it doesn't matter," Elliot told him, hoping his brother heard the other part of that message: Let's not fight today.

  Aiden looked between him and the tombstone and back again. "You okay?"

  Now Elliot was starting to worry. "Are you okay? You haven't asked me that in, I don't know, ten, fifteen years?"

  "That's not true!"

  "I can assure you that it's true." Elliot would remember that.

  "If I didn't ask, it was because it was usually obvious how you felt."

  Now, he snorted. "You have no idea how I feel about pretty much anything."

  "Well, I know how you feel about me." Aiden shrugged. "You're angry whenever we're in the same room, unless we're in public."

  "Whenever I behave in public, you mean," Elliot threw back. "Let's not forget how you felt the need to give me that talk."

  "I'm sorry I didn't want a woman I date, my boss's daughter, to see how much my own brother hates me!"

  The silence that fell was deafening and Elliot stood there, stunned, for what seemed like forever.

  "I don't hate you," he finally said, when his brother started to turn away. "I never did. I thought you were the one who couldn't stand me."

  Aiden faced him again. "Why would I—"

  "You've always looked down on my choices," Elliot told him. "Anything I do, you have this look on your face like I personally offended you."