by Claire Adams
"How's the move going?" he asked me when our drinks had come.
"Almost done. Not a lot of stuff to move," I reminded him.
"Which place did you end up getting?"
"The shoebox in Monterey Park."
"Are you serious?" he asked. I had told him about the apartments I had been looking at. The one I had ended up picking had just been the one that had become available the fastest. If I had been willing to wait, then I probably could have ended up with something a little more spacious.
"It'll work," I said, shrugging.
"Are you sure? If it’s that bad, you can move into my place for a little bit, couple weeks till you can find a better space?"
"Naw, don't worry about it," I said, brushing the offer off. He was being generous, but I wanted my own space. That had been part of the reason why the hotel had driven me crazy; I was never alone. "I'll survive."
"You said shoebox? How small are we talking?"
"Remember our dorm room? That but with a kitchen and bathroom attached."
"God," he said. "You're one of the ones who made it, Jase; why would you go back?" I just shrugged, taking it in my stride. It would have been a waste of time feeling bad about it. Firstly, because I had already paid a couple month's rent up front. Secondly, because I wasn't going to die from this. I hadn't died living in a dorm in college. It would work till I got something bigger. "The offer still stands if you ever want to take it."
"What did you want to talk to me about?" I asked.
"I told you that I thought I knew about something you'd be interested in," he started. "Well, I heard about a new show that's hiring. Lifestyle show, daytime TV." I frowned.
"You thought I'd be interested in that?"
"These things usually have different segments, like the news but more niche."
"I don't know, what are the hours like?"
"What? You’ve been busy lately?" he scoffed.
"Actually, I have," I said.
"Doing what?"
"Writing. For my own site," I told him. He looked skeptical.
"What are you writing about?"
"Everything: moving, my job, this whole thing with Shelby. Whatever comes to me, really. It's been pretty good."
"Yeah, but is anyone paying you for it?"
"Not as much as a TV writing job, I suppose," I said.
"It could be good."
"I know. I'll look into it," I said to him. Monetizing content on the internet wasn't hard anymore. I doubted the site was going to bring in anything close to enough to live on though. Maybe it would be good. Maybe it would even be fun? When was the last time work had ever been fun for me? If I got it, then I could write for a living, something more sustainable than posting online. I'd give it a shot. I had a place now; it was time to start looking for work anyway. Lake let me know about different neighborhoods he thought I should look for a bigger place in and told me a good place to lease a car so I stopped paying out so much to cabs every time I had to move around. I was glad he lived here, that I wasn't totally out of my depth. I owed him one if I ended up getting the job.
Back at the apartment, a while later, I put my bed together. I had hit the supermarket for essentials, cleaning products, plates, things like that, but no actual food. I was okay getting takeout. I didn't really cook that much, but I wasn't living my old life anymore anyway, so why not start. Sitting back down on my couch, I could see the sun setting outside. It had been a good day, the best since last week when everything had gone to shit. I had my feet back on the ground, had a roof over my head and if everything went well, a job soon.
I took my phone out and called her. Her actually picking up would have been a bigger surprise than her not, but I did it anyway. It had been a good day; I wanted to tell her that I was getting my shit together. I had a place, and soon I'd have a job; anytime she was ready, I wanted to talk to her. I was willing to forget what had happened at her place if she'd just give me a chance to explain myself.
The call went unanswered. Of course, it had. I waited for the tone so I could leave her a message.
"Hey, Shel. It's me. I got a place today. Just moved in. I'll text you the address. It's not much, but it'll work. I talked to a friend who said he would help me get a writing job on a show that's going to start airing soon. I just wanted to tell you what was happening since we haven't talked lately." I paused, debating how to sign off. "I'm sorry. Again. I hope we can talk soon."
I stopped and sent the message. I didn't even know whether she was listening to these fucking things. There was nothing else though, so I'd keep sending them. I didn't want to believe that she didn't care about me anymore. Even hate and resentment meant there was still something; her being indifferent would have meant the end of the line. And there was still our son. She was better than keeping me from him because she was mad. I hoped that she was. If she wasn't, then I hoped that I found out before my penthouse was sold.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Shelby
I heard Damien wake up in his nursery. I sighed, turning the television off and putting my cup of coffee down. Finally. I woke up before he did usually but this past week, it had been a little intense. I had gone to sleep last night just a couple hours after putting him down. After trying to fall asleep for I don't know how long, it finally worked, until it didn't. I had been up again at four fifteen, and everything I had tried to do to tire myself out enough for bed hadn't worked. I had had coffee, changed into my work clothes, done my hair and makeup, all while Damien had slept soundly in his nursery. Sleep was important, so if anyone was losing it, at least it was me and not him.
It had been like this the whole week, ever since the confrontation with Jason. If I had known in Napa that this had been what I would be coming back to, I would have stayed. Of course, I knew that wasn't an option for me, but it was comforting to think about when everything got to be too much. I walked into Damien's room, hearing him babble to himself in his crib. I smiled when he did, seeing me.
"Good morning, bub; are you ready to go to work?" I asked, tickling his stomach. My perfect little boy. If Jason had done anything right in his life, it was giving me Damien. I could resent him all I wanted, but this little guy never would have entered my life if Jason hadn't dragged me out to that control room that night. I took him out of the crib and went to the dresser, picking clothes out for him before going to the dressing table. He could roll onto his sides now when he was on his back so I couldn't put him on the table and leave him there alone while I looked for some clothes for him.
I got him dressed and sat in the corner with him, on the chair to nurse. I was more or less ready to walk out already, so the morning routine was basically done. All we had to do was leave. This wasn't typical though. Mornings were a lot more hurried for me, usually. I wasn't typically up early enough to have myself totally ready to go before Damien was up. I had been feeling it later in the day, at work this whole past week, trying to concentrate and fight the fatigue. I'd be exhausted by the time I got back to the house but when night fell, nothing but a couple hours restless sleep before I was wide awake at the crack of dawn.
Damien finished drinking, so I burped him and we went to the living room. I turned the television on for some background noise and put him down on the ground, on his blanket while I quickly whipped up some toast and eggs. I ate with him on his blanket instead of at the table like we usually did. After, I mixed a couple tablespoons of rice cereal with breastmilk and fed it to Damien. I had asked his pediatrician, and he had said that a little at a time would be perfectly fine, especially since he had started showing interest in my food when I would eat with him. Every baby was different, he had said. No, it wasn't weird apparently that he had already started trying to roll himself over and scoot across the floor when he was put down on his stomach, even though he was still a little short of four months.
I had come close to telling Jason about Damien. I imagined that he maybe would have wanted to hear about him. That and... I missed him. T
hat was all there was to it. He had been nice to have around, both to help with Damien but also, because despite everything, there was something there. I had been replaying the fight that we had had the day after I had come back from Napa. He should have given up after that; if he had, I wouldn't have spent the whole week thinking about him. I could try to pin it on him if I wanted but the truth was, part of me was glad that he hadn't stopped calling. It was down to just one a day. I never answered, but he had been leaving messages.
He had found a place, an apartment in Monterey Park, about a twenty-minute drive from here and he had already gotten a job. Surprisingly, it wasn't a broadcast job: he was writing now. I knew that he had had some writing skill since he had worked in broadcast journalism but I hadn't realized that that would have been something he wanted to do. He had started earlier this week, and after just one day, he had loved it. I had to give him props for not running back to what he knew. I had asked him to quit his anchor job because of how big it made his head; it made me feel like he had taken that into consideration getting this new one.
It was my move now. I washed the dishes and hung out with Damien till it was time to leave. I was the one who had to do something about this if it bothered me so much. He had listened to me and kept his distance. I couldn't expect him to reach out any more than he had since he had done everything he could. I had to do something. I had been antsy all week, and I needed to do something about it. Talking to Jason would give me closure. All the anger I had felt after seeing the pictures was still there, but not as bad, not so big that it clouded my judgment anymore.
Parking at work, I got my phone out and called Paula. She was usually free when I needed her, but there was a chance that she wouldn't be able to take Damien today. If she could, I wanted her to pick him up from the daycare and take him back to the apartment. I was doing it. I had to go see him. It would just get worse the more I dragged it out. I was tired of feeling the way I had. Whatever he said, I'd be ready for. I had had a whole week practically to get ready. I had gone over every possible outcome in my head. I didn't imagine he could even surprise me if he tried.
"Hello?" Paula said, picking up my call. I had been afraid that maybe it was too early and she wouldn't answer. I asked her whether she was free that evening and could help me out with Damien. She said that she was once I had broken down what I needed from her. I would have just taken him, but I didn't know what was going to end up happening with Jason when we saw each other again. No, I didn't mean like that. It had been a bit of time since we had had sex, but that wasn't why I wanted to go over to see him. I didn't want Damien to be there if things started going sideways.
Going into work, I let Karla at the daycare know that Paula would be picking Damien up and went up to the newsroom. Work went by in an exhausted blur. My concentration was shot, both from the exhaustion of cumulative sleepless nights and the anxiety of seeing Jason again. The closer I got to clocking out, the more nervous I got about seeing him. There was almost nothing that he could do to surprise me at this point. Knowing that, I still didn't want to be disappointed. I knew now from how angry I had gotten over the pictures that I cared about him a lot more than I had even realized. He was the father of my first child, but he was also the man who I thought about constantly when we weren't together. It had hurt me so much because he was more, a lot more than just my baby's daddy.
Back down at my car when it was finally time, I searched the messages he had been sending me to find his address. I hadn't replied to any, but I had read them all, some multiple times. After the traffic it took to get to his neighborhood, his place wasn't hard to find. The building he lived in didn't have a doorman, so I went straight up. He lived on the eighth floor. I knocked at the door to his unit and waited, taking a couple deep breaths. I hadn't called ahead to let him know that I would be showing up; I was about to knock again when he opened the door.
His eyes widened when he saw me. I hadn't been ready for what I would feel when I saw him again. He was in nothing but a pair of loose basketball shorts. He must have just come out of the shower because his hair was damp, a little darker than usual from the water. His body wasn't anything I hadn't seen before, but it had been long enough for the sight of him to take me out for a few seconds. He was built like an athlete, all the strength, and size of one even though he didn't play any sports. His abs were cut and defined, his broad chest and shoulders were packed with muscle, and his arms were thick and powerful.
"Shel?" he said. I looked down, embarrassed that I had been gawking at him.
"Jason... hi," I said, shakily. He stared at me like he wasn't sure I was actually there. "Is this a bad time? Can I come in?" I walked in past him before he gave me an answer. I had worked up the nerve for the visit, and I didn't think that I would be able to do it again if I chickened out.
"Uh, yeah. Sure," he said behind me. The place was small, surprisingly small, actually. I had been expecting a place, well, closer to the one he had lived in in New York. He had never invited me over or anything, but just the fact that it had been a penthouse in Tribeca had been enough for me to use my imagination. This was an absolute downgrade. It was a downgrade from where I lived. I knew it was hard to find places here firsthand; I had just never thought Jason Bowman could fit his ego into five and a half hundred square feet. There was a couch, small dining table with a computer on it, and his bed was right there, a few feet from the table. I turned and looked at him.
"I came here from work. I've been thinking about what happened last week, and I'm ready to listen to what you have to say." His brows went up, and he crossed his arms.
"Now you want to hear me talk?" he challenged. I walked over to the couch and sat. He didn't have a TV; it faced the windows that overlooked the view of the city outside. Yeah, I was; if he wasn't then I'd leave and that time, I wouldn't come back.
"You've been calling me all week; suddenly you have nothing to say?" I said. He walked over and looked down at me on the couch.
"Meanwhile you haven't said shit to me in over a week."
"I came here to listen. Not talk. Are you going to tell me?" I said, more confident than I was feeling. If he was mad, I got it. If he was going to kick me out and tell me never to come back again, then I would do it. This was me reaching out, the way he had coming all the way to L.A. If I was too late, then I would know better for next time. He looked across the room then back at me.
"Wait here," he said. I exhaled, looking down at my lap. It wasn't too late. He was going to tell me.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Jason
I went across the room to grab a shirt. The apartment had come with a tiny closet that hardly fit half my stuff. I had had to get a clothing rack for the rest. I got a t-shirt off a hanger and put it on before going back across the room to Shelby. She had caught me coming right out of the shower. She had knocked just as I had come out. I hadn't been expecting her; I was still kind of shocked that she had shown up. Over the past week, I had learned to keep my expectations low since the disaster with the pictures. She had told me she wasn't interested in hearing shit from me earlier this week, so I hadn't told her anything, nothing about the pictures at least.
I had been talking to her, but it had all been one-sided. It was going to be one-sided now too since she apparently still had nothing to say to me; she just wanted to let me explain. She scooted to one end of the couch when I came back and sat down, facing her. The bed was right across the room; I would have rather been over there with her than here. I didn't want to scare her off, but it was true. She wanted an adult, which was what Lake kept telling me. The shirt had been to make her more comfortable. Honestly, if I had had the choice, we wouldn't be talking: we'd be on my bed making up for lost time.
"So?" she said.
"Before I start, I'm sorry."
"For something you're about to say to me?"
"No, that you had to see anything at all," I said. She nodded, urging me to continue.
"It was last Thursday n
ight. I was back in L.A., excited to see you and Damien again. When I had been gone, I had been planning to ask you whether we could move in together. I had thought that you would want to since things had been going well. That had been a bad move. I see that now."
"That's good to hear," she said flatly.
"I understand now, but at the time I had been mad. Seeing you walk out of the restaurant with Damien, I just lost it. I felt like you were punishing me for wanting to be with you. Like you should have said yes. I know that I was wrong—” I added, seeing her about to object. "But right then, I had just wanted to forget that it had happened, that I had fucked up that bad after all the progress we had been making together. I left the restaurant and went to find a friend of mine, Lake."
"Do you have many friends in L.A.?" she asked.
"No," I said hastily, in case she thought I was trying to make getting drunk a habit. "My friend, Lake, we've known each other since we were in college. I wanted to talk to someone. It turned out; he had been at a club that night, at a private party. I had found him there, and that was when we met those women. I didn't know them. I still don't. They were trying to get my attention, but I shook them off. Later in the night though, after one too many, they found their way back to our booth and that must have been when the pictures had been shot." She was listening attentively, but her face wasn't giving away any clues to what she was thinking. I kept going.
"I had a lot to drink, too much, but those women? I wanted nothing to do with them. I was angry, and I was drunk, but after talking to Lake, I understood why you had said no to me. I had overstepped my boundaries making plans for us to live together before speaking to you. After all that, I took a cab back to the hotel and woke up with a splitting headache." She sighed and looked down at her hands, which were in her lap. That was it. She had finally let me explain myself; the ball was back in her court.
I wished I never even had to explain myself. I got it now, how I had made a mistake, but would it had killed her to be happy about moving in together? That had been part of it too, realizing in that way that we hadn't been on the same page like I had thought that we were. That had been part of the reason why I had been mad. I had thought we had been doing better than we apparently had been. Telling her that would have sent her right back out the door though. I still should have said something. I had seen it with my parents. It was like they talked telepathically, they were so in tune with each other. I guess I didn't know Shelby well enough yet to be on that level with her, which made sense, but I wished she didn't need as much time as she seemed to. I didn't know what else I could do to convince her and waiting... it was hard.
