‘Wait, you guys made a bet?’
‘Just a little one. Relax.’
‘What about?’
‘She thought you’d hooked up with someone. Said she caught you being all secretive on Facebook chat and that you fed her some bullshit about looking at amps, like you don’t have enough of those. You need to get a better cover story, dude, she’s not stupid.’
‘First of all, eugh, why have you guys not got anything better to talk about than this? And also, you bet against it? You know me better than anyone and you bet against it?’
‘Uh huh,’ he says, taking the last bite. ‘That’s the reason I bet against it.’
‘I… I don’t know what to say.’
Travis finishes his mouthful and swallows. ‘Then don’t say anything. Just let it happen,’ he says, scrunching up the foil packaging into a tight ball and throwing it towards the kitchen. It lands in the sink. ‘In one!’ he says, and leans back on the couch. ‘Watch the movie, Jesse.’
* * *
A couple of nights after, Holly calls, and this seems odd because she’s never been the type to call me for a chat, and things have been a little strained since Nicole and I broke up. Guess that’ll happen when your brother’s wife made friends with your now ex-girlfriend. I’m about to tell her Travis isn’t here, but she starts the conversation on a whole different note.
‘So,’ she says, coolly. ‘New York was too far, but London somehow isn’t? Jesse, do you even know geography?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Travis mentioned you’d met someone in London.’
‘Yeah, so?’
‘And that you’re seeing her again?’
‘What’s your point?’ I sigh. ‘Am I not allowed to move on? I wouldn’t say this is entirely your business.’
‘I just think the way your relationship with Nicole ended was shitty, is all.’
‘Did you tell her that, too? Because as I recall, she said carrying on would just delay the inevitable. Are you just calling to bitch me out about something that happened between two people that aren’t you, or did you want something else?’
‘I still maintain you could have tried a little harder, Jesse. Made her feel like she was worth a little more than just walking out on.’
‘Holly. You have a completely skewed account of what happened that night. And again, not your business.’
‘I mean, not that it matters now, I guess,’ she continues, ignoring me. ‘She’ll have enough to deal with soon anyway. I’m sure she’ll be glad to hear you’ve moved on.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘You know,’ she laughs, sing-song.
‘Not really, but okay.’
‘You really don’t know?’
‘I’m not playing, Holly. Tell me or don’t. Whatever.’
‘Erm,’ she says, and the change in her voice is audible.
‘Holly?’ I say, and there’s a creeping feeling of unease. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Jesse,’ she says, doubtfully, ‘Nicole is having a baby. Really soon.’
‘Excuse me?’
I can’t have heard that correctly, surely.
‘Wait, you really didn’t know? I thought you were shitting me. I thought she’d have told you.’
‘No. Why would she have told me?’
‘Because by really soon, I mean in a couple of months. And because she didn’t leave that long ago.’
I can’t respond. I’m trying to absorb the news whilst at the same time figure out a timeframe. I’ve never needed math so much in my life. Nicole’s having a baby in a couple of months. She moved out of state seven months ago. A human pregnancy is nine months. Is that nine whole months? Or when you reach the ninth month? I might not be an expert in obstetrics but some very basic arithmetic would suggest there is a chance our business is very much unfinished.
‘Jesse?’ she says again, her voice tinny and trebly, on the other end.
‘Do you have any more information than that?’ I ask.
‘No,’ she admits.
‘I gotta go,’ I choke, and end the call.
And now I feel lightheaded and sick and I definitely need to sit down. This can not be happening. Nicole wouldn’t keep news like that from me, would she?
I didn’t see her after I left her apartment on New Year’s Eve. I didn’t answer my phone when it rang as I was driving home, or when she called the next day, and I didn’t respond to any of the text messages she sent. But on Monday I found an old oversized Ramones t-shirt she sometimes wore to sleep in in a drawer, and I noticed there was a toothbrush and a box of tampons, and a couple of hair elastics, and a purple disposable razor in the bathroom. And downstairs, a magazine she’d been reading the week before, a book she’d left once, and some diet soda in the refrigerator. Little traces of Nicole all over the place. Things she might want back if she was going. And I guess a part of me still hoped she’d changed her mind, at least about us. So I made a call.
‘Hey,’ she’d said, answering on the second ring.
‘How’s it going?’ I’d asked.
‘I’m sorry about Saturday night,’ she’d said, at exactly the same time.
‘Hmm, yeah, that kinda sucked. That’s actually why I’m calling.’
‘Right.’
‘I have some of your things here. I didn’t know if you wanted to come and collect them.’
‘Ahh, you can toss it all.’
‘Really? There’s some decent stuff there. Your t-shirt, that book.’
‘Yeah… I know. But it’s okay.’
‘I can bring them to you if it’s easier?’
‘Jesse,’ she’d said, and sighed.
‘Right.’
‘I really am sorry.’
‘Are you? Okay.’
‘Look, opportunities like this don’t come around often. I can’t just stay here transcribing fucking court cases in Spanish forever. Don’t make me choose between you and my career.’
‘I wasn’t asking you to choose. You said it was a contract.’
‘Yeah, but…’
‘You know, now I feel like this isn’t just about your fancy new job.’
She sighed again and made a sort of humming noise, and I knew. It wasn’t just about the job at all.
‘You’re so… closed off,’ she said, finally.
‘Sorry?’
‘I just feel like…’
‘Like what?’
‘Like I never properly knew you, you know?’
‘I’ve never been dishonest with you, Nicole.’
‘But you have never really truly been open with me either. There’s stuff you never want to talk about. That you always skirt around. I always felt… peripheral.’
‘I’m not really sure about that.’
‘Why? It’s true. Stuff about your family. I mean, don’t you think it’s weird that we were together over a year and I didn’t even get to meet your brother?’
That word, were. So final, so past tense, such a kick whilst I was down.
‘I mean, that’s just sort of the way –’
‘It is, yeah, you always say that. But you never go into why.’
And I felt myself close up, so I guess she was right, in a way, but I didn’t want to revisit what happened when Franko ended, especially not during an uncomfortable telephone conversation with someone who wasn’t going to stick around either way.
‘Why are you only bringing this up now?’
‘I guess I was hoping things would change.’
‘Are you seriously telling me that in fifteen months you didn’t think I opened up to you at all?’
‘I mean –’
‘Because that’s bullshit, Nicole, and you know it.’
‘Look, I don’t want to hurt you but –’
‘Oh, do me a favor. Never follow those words with a but.’
She heaved out another sigh.
‘Look, the job is like, ninety per cent of this, but I can’t be with someone so closed up, and so I’m w
alking away. And you shouldn’t try to change my mind. When someone finishes with you, please just accept it.’
There was absolutely no point in continuing this.
‘Are you flying? Or driving?’
‘Flying,’ she’d said. ‘My car’s off to a lot tomorrow.’
‘Want me to take you to LAX?’ I asked.
‘Uh, I think it’s probably easier if we don’t do that.’
‘… Right.’
‘Holly’s going to take me,’ she explained.
‘Wow, okay.’
‘Don’t be like that Jesse, she’s a good friend.’
And apparently she was. She took Nicole to the airport and kept her secrets, and now, seven months later, she’s using them against me, drip-feeding just enough information to unsettle me and leave me back-footed and only in possession of half the facts.
I know I have to contact Nicole, but it takes me a while to build up to it and I’m afraid of her response, and what having all that information will mean, and when I eventually call, it rings and rings but she doesn’t answer and I can’t bring myself to leave a voicemail, but she texts instead.
Hi Jesse. This is unexpected and yet sort of not.
Hey Nic, yeah. I heard your news. Not really sure how to ask this…
Oh wow, seriously?
Well, yeah. I mean, you can understand, right? Given when you left. If that’s the situation then obviously we need to have a discussion.
I sit and watch the screen on my phone. She types for a bit. Stops. Starts again. Stops. Then the screen times out and I don’t get another message at all. And I don’t know what to do with myself or how to get rid of the foggy cloud of panic and dread that’s settled around me. I could try to prise more information out of Holly, but I think she’d love that now she knows she was the bearer of unwelcome news. She’d get drunk on the power and wouldn’t let me forget about it. I could speak to Travis, but I don’t know how much he knows. I’m pretty sure she didn’t stay in touch with Seth and Cindy, so that’s a bust, and if she didn’t, and I brought it up, Cindy would deliver a lecture on responsibilities and the importance of loving and stable homes, and Seth would undoubtedly make loud and inappropriate jokes in bars.
Nic. Please can you reply. I’ve met someone. I don’t want to fuck that up. So I just really need to know.
Not delivered
Well, fuck.
Chapter Twenty
Cassie
‘Los Angeles! Bit swish!’ Mimi says, when I clear my holiday with her. ‘Who are you going with? Rachel? Last debauched girls’ trip before she becomes Mrs… whatever his name is?’
‘Nope, going on my own,’ I say. ‘But I’m staying with someone when I get there.’ I widen my eyes and am deliberately cryptic because I hope she’ll ask more questions. Now this has happened, I feel like we’re deeply involved and I want to shout it from the rooftops.
We must be. You don’t invite someone to stay with you from the other side of the world if you only have mediocre, lukewarm feelings for them, do you? And that night was anything but lukewarm and mediocre.
But she’s busy and doesn’t ask any more questions. Killjoy.
‘Email the dates to HR,’ she says. ‘And please copy me in.’
At lunch time I eat at my desk whilst writing a list of everything I need to do before I go away.
1) Get a wax.
Natch. Better make that appointment now. Everyone knows good waxers get booked up fast.
2) Buy new underwear.
There’s no way my usual, every day knickers are going to cut it out there. Absolutely not. It’s got to be cute Brazilian knickers at the very minimum.
3) Get on the pill.
I underline point three and realise that all three items on my list relate back, in some way, to my vagina. Which I think probably says a lot about my priorities and my intentions.
Later on, I email Marie and Lauren and by the end of the day, a rough plan for Rachel’s hen night is in place. Striking the balance between a night of drinking and finding something Rachel will enjoy is trickier than we had anticipated, but eventually we settle on a plan. Lauren puts herself in charge of sourcing lewd accessories, Marie is in charge of invitations, and I opt for dealing with bookings and anything else that crops up. Come five o’clock, I’m satisfied with my day’s work. I’ve booked some painful hair removal. I’ve made an appointment with my doctor. I’m ahead of the game with my bridesmaid duties. The house is empty when I get home. Jon is out at his monthly movie club night, and Sara’s gone to stay with friends in Somerset.
* * *
I booked time off work today. I am so excited I think I might actually explode!
Please don’t explode. I, for one, would be bummed out about that.
Oh, you!
* * *
It’s 2am here now. That means it’s 10am there, right? I just got home. I did a triple session today. 3 separate jobs in one day. I’m exhausted. Anyway I’m going to sleep now. Can’t. Function. Anymore.
* * *
It was… it’s not anymore. I’m at work now. My colleague keeps trying to peer over at what I’m typing. If I’d signed on half an hour earlier I might have caught you. I’ve been Googling California today, on work time, obvs.
* * *
Have you got any ideas about what you want to do whilst you’re here? I’m gonna call you later… 10pm your time going to be too late?
I have plenty of ideas, none of which I am divulging over the internet ;-) 10pm is fine.
* * *
Morning! Before I left for work this morning, Jon moaned that I’d kept him awake. *sigh* it’s about time something did. I’ve lived with him for 2 years and I’ve never known him to go to bed after 9pm.
Jon sounds like he’s fun at parties.
He’s OK on the whole. Quirky. Can’t deal with people. Definitely all about his job, and his routines. Pretty sure he’s on the spectrum. I said I’d keep it down from now on because I felt bad. I’m seeing Rachel tonight anyway.
* * *
Rachel and George live in the eaves of a three-storey townhouse. I love visiting their flat. It’s small, but perfectly formed. She has nice taste, and it’s the kind of place I’d like to live in if I ever grow up and buy property. There are varnished floorboards in her living room, a fancy Persian rug, a squashy sofa, and shelves made from pieces of driftwood. There are church candles arranged inside a cast iron fireplace, and piles of the sort of books people place artfully on coffee tables, and a record player in the corner because George has a thing about collecting old vinyl. Some, he says, are quite valuable. Rachel is convinced that if there was a fire, he’d save his record collection before he’d save her. Once, he didn’t speak to her for days after they’d fallen out and she’d threatened to toss them out of the lounge window. Now, every time I see the records, arranged neatly on the shelf, I imagine them flying out across Crouch End, like frisbees, or liquorice roll up sweets.
George is out, and we eat dinner sitting at the little foldaway table in their kitchen. She complains that it’s tiny, but I tell her that having a small kitchen has its benefits; not having to get up to get more wine from the fridge, for instance, which I then demonstrate perfectly. Or being able to throw your cutlery directly into the sink. I don’t test that theory. She wouldn’t like it. After we’ve finished eating, we take our wine into the living room and she asks more about my trip. She seems excited for me, but there is also something not quite right. She’s good at composing herself but when you’ve known someone since you were four, you know when they are hiding something.
‘What’s that look for, Rach?’
‘What look? There’s no look.’
‘There’s absolutely a look. Do you think I shouldn’t go? I’m definitely going. I’m getting on the pill and everything.’
‘It’s not that,’ she sighs. ‘I want you to go and be happy. It’s just that it’s all happening quite fast, and it’s quite a significant amount of time to sp
end with someone without a break. What if you get there and you don’t like each other?’
‘What if I get there and we do?’ I counter. ‘And anyway, you were the one who told me off for worrying about whether he’d call me or not. You were the one who told me to let it happen. What am I doing if not exactly that?’
She takes a deep breath in, holds it for a few seconds and blows it out through her nose.
‘You’re right,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry. I am excited for you, of course I am. I just don’t want you to fly all that way to be disappointed, that’s all. Not after what Jack did. I want you to keep a part of yourself back just for you, until you’re sure.’
I look around her living room. She has a nice life with George. All their stuff, here in this flat, it melts together so you can’t tell where her stuff ends and his begins. Now it’s just their stuff. Their sofa and their rug and their contemporary art prints on the wall, and their names, jointly, on the mortgage. It must be nice, I think, to have that with someone. Not the stuff, but just knowing you’re not on your own anymore. That you have someone always on your side. I was just beginning to think I’d got that with Jack, but finding that earring was like pulling the pin out of a grenade, and the aftermath of him blowing us up left me hollow and small for months.
And now I’m getting ahead of myself and wondering if my shot at this happens to be on the other side of the world, and that’s why I am so excited about going to California.
I want to tell her all this but I don’t know if she’d really understand. Or she’d tell me to stop reading too much into it, because after all, Jesse and I have only really properly met once as adults, and how can you even begin to think about being with someone when you’ve only spent fifteen hours with them?
Call Me, Maybe Page 13
