Switching to speakerphone, I crank the volume, set the phone back on the floor, and go back to cutting out pages. The recorded hisses and clicks, and sound of the phone rubbing against a pocket or purse, provide a strangely soothing background noise. A minute of this goes by, then it’s broken by a tiny, feminine sneeze followed by a muffled male voice that laughs and says, “I have a tissue in my pocket.” The rustling gets louder, the voice clearer as he realizes his phone is on. “Shit, my pocket wanted to talk to someone! Hope it didn’t pocket dial China!”
Jason.
Shock makes my fingers slip, and I nick my thumb with the scissors. Blood wells up from the cut. End of message. Jason? I clumsily fumble for the phone.
That was Jason’s voice. That was what Jason used to say. “My pocket wanted to talk to someone. Hope it didn’t pocket dial China.” He said it all the time and always found it just as funny as the first. A thin trail of blood smears the screen of my phone as I select replay message. The cut on my thumb stings as I press the phone tightly against my ear, straining to hear every word, every sound of the call that I might have missed while it played in the background on speakerphone.
I can hear his voice and hers, but not what is said. Their voices are too muffled by the pocket until she sneezes and they raise their voices, and what’s left of my heart clenches painfully. Who is she? Where is he? What does this mean?
Has he already moved on? Of course he’s moved on dumbass, he moved on when he moved to a different city without telling you!
But did he leave me for her? Pain in the hand that I didn’t cut makes me look down to see I’m gripping the scissors so hard the handle is digging into my claw-like fingers. I set the scissors down and move to the bed to think.
It was a new number. He had to have manually entered my number into his new phone.
What does that mean? He probably just transferred his contacts electronically. It’s meaningless. But what if—
It was just a pocket dial. He’s moved on, and I have too. Have I? The hot tears that leak down my face disagree, but they stop within minutes. He sounded so carefree, using the same material he’s always used. Is she his new girlfriend?
Does it matter?
It doesn’t. Maybe not enough yet, but I have moved on too, at least from where I was even a couple weeks ago. I’m better, stronger than this! I wipe the tears from my face, and press delete message a bit harder than necessary, but it gets the job done.
Fuck him. Fuck him! I’m not a weak little girl who drowns in sentimentality because of a pocket dial. He treated me terribly, and obviously didn’t give a crap about me if he could just leave me like I was nothing. That chick’s sneeze sounded fake as well, so whatever. Good riddance. Pretty soon he’ll just be someone I used to date.
I wait for the wrenching emotions to rise at that thought, but can only summon a twinge. For the first time since Jason left, I feel...free. Well, freer. Sort of. The message is gone, but his new number is now in my phone. Sigh. I don’t know what to do. I need help. Having Jason’s new phone number is both empowering and terrifying; empowering because I know I can call him at any time, call ID blocked of course, and tell him off. I can ambush him.
It’s terrifying because I know I can call him at any time and I might not tell him off. He could ambush me. Old habits die hard, and his voice affects me in ways that aren’t fair. I need advice, and I need help, and I know just the cutthroat bitch with the heart of gold to call; Marie.
She answers on the third ring. “Elle! How are you?” Easy enough question, complicated answer best handled in person.
“I’m good. Listen, is it all right if I come over for a bit?”
“Of course! I’ll just kick Blondie out of bed and we’re good to go.”
Oh my. I blush. “No, well hey, if you’re busy, then I’ll just—”
“Shut up, Elle! Get your sexy ass over here. I have some news anyway and need to see you.”
“Oh my god, you’re pregnant!”
There’s a loud choking noise followed by Marie’s gasp. “Don’t even joke about that! What is wrong with you?”
Mwahaha. “See you in half an hour. Need anything?”
“Liquor and plenty of it after that scare you just gave me. Sadistic little minx, I’ve taught you well,” her voice is dipped in admiration.
“See you soon.”
I hang up with her and call a cab, deciding to forgo the pleasures of public transit, as a reward for not breaking down and calling Jason.
***
One uneventful cab ride later, I pull up to Marie’s apartment complex with a bottle in each hand. Manoeuvring the door open with an arm and my butt, I walk to the inner door, press the buzzer, and nod at the security cam. Marie always screens her visitors on the camera. She even watches it when she’s not expecting anyone, referring to it as her “favourite reality television show.” Marie’s voice sidles through the intercom and echoes through the lobby.
“Now I know you didn’t think you’d get off that easily, Elle. Dance for me!”
“Marie...”
“Dance! Something sexy but not sleazy.”
Damn. It’s not a huge deal, but anyone watching the security camera channel on their TV is about to see me embarrass the hell out of myself. Not that it would be the first time.
“Marie.” I try wheedling out of it one last time.
“You’re not getting in until I get a dance. Keep it classy. I’ve got aaaaaaall night,” she taunts. It’s true. One time I stood petulantly and refused her dance for twenty-seven minutes. She won in the end. She always does. Sigh.
I walk toward the wall away from the door and focus at the camera. Setting the bottles down, I begin a little shuffle with a little hip action.
“Yeah!” Her voice echoes through the lobby. “Classy time is over! Now work that ass!”
I grimace, close my eyes, and “work that ass,” wishing I’d stayed home.
“Sexy! Okay, you can come in!” I hear the door buzz behind me and bend down to grab my bottles, whip around to open the door in time, and smack straight into Hazel Eyes. Dominic. At least I don’t fall over or drop the bottles.
“Dammit!” I exclaim, bumping my still-sore lip on his chest for the second time today. “What are you made from, cement blocks?” For real, he’s got a solid body. Like a boss, I resist the urge to feel his chest with my hands this time instead of my face. I tuck a bottle under my arm and prod my lip. No blood this time, so that’s good.
“Is that your way of saying I’m a brick house?” His eyes twinkle. Oh my, that voice. He looks even cuter in hazy evening natural light, dark hair picking up reddish highlights in the sun, and his eyes are warmer than I remembered.
“Cute. Why are you here? Do you live in the building?” I might have to visit Marie more often.
“No, I was just leaving—visiting a friend. But then I had to stop and watch the show.”
“What sho—oh.” I redden. “That was, you know...” I trail off, unable to finish that sentence in a way that will restore my dignity.
“Indeed. I take it you don’t live here either?”
“No, just visiting a friend.”
“Then I won’t keep you.” It’s then that I notice he’s held the door for me. His adorable grin blocked my view for a minute. I won’t have to redo my hellish dance for Marie—she’s made me give encore performances in the past when I missed the buzz. He opens it wider for me as I walk past him.
“Thank you.” God he smells so good.
“You’re welcome. Elle.” The way he says my name moves up my spine like a pair of lazy, wandering lips. Distracted, I almost walk into a wall, but reroute just in time. I reach down to press the button for the elevator, and when I turn back to Dominic, he’s gone. That man is trouble.
I’m still tingly when I walk off the elevator and knock on Marie’s door. She flings open the door clad in a short satin robe, so pale pink it’s almost white.
“Come in. What did thee brin
g me?” She looks at my hands. I hold them up—Alize Gold Passion in one hand, Hennessy in the other.
“We’re Tupac-ing it today. It’s all I had.”
“Ooo Alize! Gimme!” Marie flaps her fingers open and closed like a greedy child. I oblige and follow her to the kitchen. Her apartment is all ultra modern; chrome, leather, glass, and sharp edges. It’s beautiful and expensive and makes me wish I made more money, but I prefer a more relaxed atmosphere.
The kitchen is the only room that looks or feels lived in, though the bedroom sees a fair bit of action as well. I’m not judging, I’m noting—and not without a certain shade of jealousy. Marie is so free and certain about who she is, sometimes I wish I was more like her.
She gets the ice, I get the glasses, and we meet at the table. It’s right beside a large bay window and has an amazing view of the city. The setting sun paints smudgy, vibrant colours across the western sky—pollution melding with nature to create art. Seems that the only beauty they make together ends up being toxic—like this sunset, or when sunlight picks up the iridescent colours of an oil spill on the asphalt.
The ice cubes make pleasant little dinging noises against the heavy crystal. I crack open the lid and pour the Alize. Our glasses chime as we clink them together in a wordless toast and drink.
I remember our chat in the pub six days ago. “Was it the new partner that you kicked out of bed?”
Marie sips and smirks. “Blondie. I said give me a week, but I didn’t need it. I strung him along a bit anyways, played hard to get.”
I nearly snort liquor out my nose. “Three days is hard to get?”
“In the advertising world? Yes. Three days is an eternity. If I’d left it up to him, we’d have been banging in the stairwell on Monday.” She finger combs her hair with the hand that isn’t holding her glass.
“You’re like the female Barney Stinson.”
“Right? Up top!” She holds her hand up for a high five.
We slap hands, but my heart grows heavy. I have to tell Marie about the phone call. How can I word this? Where should I start? I’ll have to go all the way back to the break up, which will be awkward as she’ll wonder why I didn’t tell her the truth. If I were her, I’d wonder why I didn’t tell. Everything would have been fine but nooo, Jason had to pocket dial me. It’s time; I need help. I need Marie’s help. Okay, I can do this.
Right after this drink.
“Oh!” Marie swallows more Alize and stands up. “I got you a present!”
“Really? What is it? Why?” Marie’s presents range from way too personal; double-headed amethyst studded vibrator; to amazingly thoughtful; rare favourite books of mine that I’ve either worn out or never had. I’ve never heard her exclaim, “I got you a present,” without being invaded by a strange mixture of excitement and dread. I’m not good with surprises in general, since an unfortunate surprise party when I was seven.
“You’ll see,” she says over her shoulder as she walks into the living room. I finish my drink in one slug and refill our glasses. The beginnings of a buzz swarms through my body. Excellent. I’ll open my present then tell her about Jason. And maybe Dominic... you know, just for entertainment value—it’s not like he’s anything, whatever. He’s trouble. My tongue finds the sore spot in my mouth. That said, he is hot, not to mention he’s got a voice that makes me want to—
“Okay.” Marie’s back with a plain blue expensive looking shopping bag. “So, I got one for myself as well, but thought of you immediately.” She hands me the bag. “Open it!”
I reach in and feel... Oh my god, it’s silky, and cool, and soothing. I’d purr if I could. A slightly muted version of the tingles that Dominic’s voice gave me comes flooding back. Damned tactile Synaesthesia, I’m completely defenceless against silky textures. I pull the slippery precious out of the bag and onto my lap.
“It’s a set of satin sheets!” Marie exclaims. “Well, three of them.”
“Wow. They are so soft!” I finger the hand tied ribbon holding the bundle together that proclaims an outrageous thread count and that they are satin, not sateen, though I’m not sure what that means. They are a gorgeous deep, inky, royal purple colour. The other bundles inside the bag are a dark lapis lazuli and a rich sort of emerald-forest green.
“But, satin sheets? Aren’t these kind of...” I don’t want to say whorey.
“Indulgent?”
“No, I was thinking more in the neighbourhood of... coquettish?”
“Whorey?”
“I didn’t want to say it, but sort of.”
“Sweetie, these will be a fantastic addition to your life. I didn’t get them for you to add oomph to your sex life—although they can’t hurt.”
“Hey!” Her joke hits a bit close to home. I miss being held, not just sex. Though I miss that too.
“It’s about indulgence. Trust me, one night in these bad boys and you’ll wonder why you wasted your life sleeping on anything else.”
Their colour and delicious texture have won me over. “Thanks Marie, this is really thoughtful.”
“You’re welcome.”
I rub the sheet against my cheek. “These will spoil me for regular sheets you know.”
“Should I leave you two alone?”
“Maybe,” I laugh and gently place the sheet set back into the bag. If I keep them out, I’ll continue to pet them, which will only get more hellishly awkward until I resemble Gollum hunching over the Precious. It happens. Soft textures are like a drug. I’ve felt a lot of things most people probably haven’t.
Getting wrapped up in the textures of things can be dangerous; the softer something feels, the better. Scratchy or rough fabrics make me shudder, and they make me feel uneasy. Satiny textures are delightful but can be dangerous; I’ve worn some truly hideous clothes, not caring how bad they looked, simply because of the amazing textures.
I clear my throat, finally ready to talk to someone about this whole Jason situation. It’s festered inside me long enough. And you know, I’m looking forward to not carrying this alone anymore. It will be awkward, and hard to talk about, but I can do this. “So, Marie, I know I don’t really talk about my feelings and stuff much, but I just wanted to say that you’re my best friend, and I need to tell you—”
Marie cuts me off with a hand on my forearm, her eyes slightly wet. “Oh, Elle, I know. I love you, and because you’re my best friend too, I wanted you to be the first to know.”
“To know what?”
“I’m moving to Spain!”
I swallow down a feeling akin to panic. “What?”
“For work!”
“But you work here. And I thought you were headed to Italy?”
“I am, but not until Wednesday. And that’s only for a couple days.”
“How is this happening? Spain, I mean.”
“I’ve accepted a lateral promotion. I’ll move to the Spain branch, no new title, or pay hike, but still! Spain! Can’t you just see me soaking in that delicious sun, surrounded by dark eyed lovelies?”
The sad thing is that I can. She’ll flourish there on her exotic independent adventure. And I’ll be left here, my world a little smaller without her.
“How long will you be gone?”
“A year, well a year to start. I might stay longer if it agrees with me. Isn’t it incredible?” Her eyes sparkle with excitement. But I need her. I need to talk about Jason.
“Yes, it’s totally amazing! But, I just wanted to say—”
“I know what you’re about to say! And believe me this isn’t just a spur of the moment decision, I have thought this through. I knew you’d ask that. But this is something I really need to do, Ellie. I just feel like, I don’t know. I need a change or I’ll go mad! I’ve been going through some things.”
I open my mouth to ask what stuff, but she cuts me off again.
“Things I haven’t talked about because my ego demanded I deal with them on my own. I need to do this for me. And I feel awful, like I’m abandoning everyo
ne, you especially. But it’s necessary. Sort of a twenty-something version of going to Europe to find myself, only without the mangy hostels and khaki backpacks.”
“Marie,” I start, but realize I can’t tell her about Jason. Marie is many things, but selfish isn’t one of them. It’s doubtful she’d cancel this promotion because of my situation, but she would feel like crap leaving me in this state. And I can’t have her carry my emotional baggage with her to Spain.
Brave face in three, two, one. “This really is a huge opportunity! I’ll miss you like crazy, but you have to go, you’d be silly not to take that deal and run with it!” I shine a smile at her and finish my drink.
Her eyes light up. She buys it.
“So when do you leave?”
She makes a face. “In three weeks—it took this long to work the details out, and I didn’t want to say anything if it wasn’t a certainty.”
“Wow! That’s so exciting!”
So exciting I could just cry.
***
Because there’s no need to hurry home, I take transit. I need more time to not think about today’s developments, but I make the mistake of not paying attention where I sit on the bus. Ten minutes later, I realize I’ve sat next to a homeless man who is valiantly trying not to puke. I feel the same way, though judging by smell, his reasons have more to do with gin whereas mine are emotional. I don’t even care enough to move to another seat.
This really is an amazing opportunity for Marie, and she looked so happy. I couldn’t rain on that by dumping all my issues on her just before she moves. No, I should have just been honest from the start. The good news is that Marie’s news has dampened the urge to call Jason. For now.
Keeping my pain to myself, I stayed and drank to her shiny happy future, feeling darker inside by the minute. I can’t believe Marie is leaving and that sucks. At least there’s the internet and Skype now. If previous generations moved, it was a bigger deal; waiting six weeks for a letter, or spending a small fortune on phone bills.
Just Breathe Page 5
