Читать книгу Vanilla - Меган Харт - Страница 15

7

Funny how best friends just know when something’s wrong. I hadn’t talked to Alicia in weeks beyond a few texts, but that didn’t matter. The second I saw her number on my screen I answered, and within minutes we were laughing as much as we always had.

“So, what’s new, what’s going on with you? Feels like I haven’t talked to you forever,” she said finally. “I got a Connex invite to Scott’s gallery show. I guess you’re going to be in it? Sexy pictures. Woo woo.”

“If you’re into that sort of thing,” I said archly, as though Alicia hadn’t been my best friend forever and hadn’t gone with me on a late-night run to the hardware store to pick up laundry rope and carabiner clips for a booty call. “Weird he invited you, though.”

“He probably invited everyone in the area, one of those blanket invitations. I can’t be there, unfortunately. I thought about it,” Alicia said. “My mom would love it if I came home. Can’t get the time off. Bummer.”

“Well, shit,” I said. “That sucks.”

“I know, I miss youuuuu,” she cooed. “When are you coming to Texas?”

“It’s hot in Texas,” I told her.

“The men are hot in Texas,” Alicia said. “You totally need to move out here with me. We can be roomies!”

I’d lived with her already for a few months just after college. That our friendship had survived it was more a testimony to how nice and patient and forgiving Alicia is than anything else. Some people are not meant to live full-time with other human beings, and I’m one of them.

“You know I can’t do that,” I said. “Where would I find a job as good as the one I have?”

She sighed. “True. Lucky bitch. But you could come visit me, Elise. It would be fun. And I miss the hell out of your face. You get vacation time, don’t you?”

“Sure. Oodles of it. Alex is a big fan of vacation.”

We chatted a bit longer about when would be the best time for me to come out—not in the summer, I told her. Not until after William’s Bar Mitzvah, anyway, and in the fall, the days in Texas wouldn’t be so brutal. “I’m a wilting flower, you know.”

“Oh, you,” she said with a laugh. “It’s not so bad. You stay inside, that’s all. Yay! I can’t wait! And neither can Jimmy.”

I paused. “Who’s Jimmy?”

“Guy I want you to meet.” I pictured her blinking innocently. “You’ll like him.”

Alicia knew what I liked, so it was a good bet she was right. Still, the thought of it, of meeting some random dude she was trying to set me up with...hot cowboy or not, I wasn’t into it. “Alicia...”

“It’s been ages,” she said immediately. That was the good and bad thing about besties. They always know what you’re trying to say even when you don’t say it. “Forget about him.”

“I can’t.” I owned it at once. No sense in pretending otherwise, not with her. This girl had held my hair after too many shots of tequila. She’d given me her last tampon. She’d been there all through that delirious agony that had been my last real relationship, and she’d been there after, too.

“Then get over him,” she said without hesitating. “He’s not worth it, Elise.”

“I know he’s not.”

“And you can’t help it anyway.” She sighed, sounding disgusted, but not with me. “Yeah, I know.”

“I know you know.”

Alicia’d had her own doomed love affair. She referred to him as Mr. Darcy the way I called mine George. Not their real names. Literary references, a code of sorts we’d invented in college to refer to boyfriends. Hers to Pride and Prejudice. Mine to Of Mice and Men.

“Have you heard from Darcy?” I asked.

Alicia snorted. “Yes. Of course. Every few months, like a herpes outbreak.”

“Oh, gross.”

She laughed. “We had a real go-around the last time, a couple weeks ago. He had the nerve to ask me if I wanted to Facetime with him—”

“No,” I interrupted. “Seriously? What the fuck?”

“Right? He said he was, and I quote, ‘curious,’ about my life.” Alicia was silent for a second then sounded both angry and sad. “I told him I had no desire to have any kind of conversation with him anymore. I said it hurt too much to talk to him like we were casual acquaintances who’d barely meant anything to each other. He told me he didn’t mean to hurt me, but it wasn’t fair of me to get angry with him for making, and I quote again, a ‘good faith effort at reaching out.’”

I groaned. “Clueless.”

“Moron,” she agreed, sounding more sad than angry this time. “I told him that I was sure he didn’t mean to hurt me, but neither does a door when it slams my fingers. And I don’t put my fingers in a door on purpose.”

“No kidding.”

“Then I deleted and blocked him,” Alicia said.

“You didn’t! Oh, girl.” I was impressed. Mr. Darcy had been in and out of Alicia’s life for a long damn time.

She sighed. “I had to. I was just...done, you know? Finally done. I wish you could get there with George, Elise.”

I did, too, but I suspected it wasn’t going to happen. I’d let him slam that door on my fingers over and over again, if only he’d talk to me one more time. If only.

We changed the subject after that. We talked about her job, not so new anymore, but still worth the move. We caught up on some gossip about people we’d gone to school with. I filled her in on the increasing family drama surrounding William’s Bar Mitzvah.

“Oh, your mom.” Alicia sighed. She’d known me since the third grade. That was all she had to say.

I laughed and groaned at the same time. “Yeah. I know. I’m just waiting for the shit to hit the fan. So far it’s been okay, other than the hissy fit she threw about the date.”

“Oh, God, what was that?”

I told Alicia how Evan and Susan had tried to set the date for William’s Bar Mitzvah a week later than it was now going to be for some reason I didn’t know and didn’t care about—a Bar Mitzvah could be held anytime after the kid’s thirteenth birthday, so if they wanted to give him an extra week to study or so it didn’t compete with something else, it was nothing to me. But apparently, my sister, Jill, had a schedule conflict, my mother threw a hissy and the date had been moved to accommodate it.

“You’d think that would be enough, right, one huge fucking showdown at the start.” I shook my head. “But there’s more coming, you’d better believe it.”

“Come to Texas,” Alicia teased. “Avoid it all.”

“I can’t do that to the kid. Or my brother. Someone here has to be sort of sane,” I told her. “But after it’s all over, I promise I’ll visit. Not setting me up on any dates, though, you have to promise me that.”

Alicia sighed. “You’re no fun.”

“How fun would it be for me to visit you and go out on some lame blind date?” I demanded.

She paused. “It could be a double date.”

“Oh.” That was a game changer. “You’re seeing someone?”

“Yeah.” She paused then said nothing though I waited.

“I would’ve thought you’d have told me that right away.” I wasn’t hurt, exactly, but I did wonder about the hesitation. It was true we didn’t talk as often as we had in the past, but every time we did it was like no time had passed. Now her finally kicking Darcy to the curb made total sense.

“If you ever bothered to log in to Connex,” she said lightly, “you’d have seen it.”

“Wow. Wow,” I repeated. “He’s Connex relationship worthy?”

Alicia laughed. “Yeah. He is. His name’s Jay.”

We talked for the next forty minutes about Jay, until she had to go. She made me promise again to visit, and I agreed. I meant it, too.

“You could’ve just told me, you know,” I said. “I’m happy for you.”

“It felt weird, that’s all. We were both kind of united in our despair for a while, you know? Shit. I’m sorry, that sounded terrible.”

I laughed. “No. I get it. Misery loves company.”

“I didn’t think I’d meet someone I could really...you know.” Alicia sounded shy. “Love. Again. I didn’t want to. And I know you don’t want to, either, Elise, but...”

“Hey, look. It’s good. I’m glad for you. I’m okay, really. I’m not a celibate old maid or anything, Alicia. I date. I’ve been dating someone, on and off.” The words tripped off my tongue before I could call them back. More of a lie than I’d meant to tell her, but hell. If I exaggerated the type of relationship we’d had, it was out of pride, not deceit. “It’s not serious, or it wasn’t, but his name is Esteban.”

“Ooh, Esteban?”

“He’s Spanish. I mean he comes from Spain.” Before she could get too excited, though, I added casually, “But we broke up recently. And it wasn’t bad or anything, just didn’t work out. So really, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m back on the horse.”

“It’ll happen for you, too. I know it,” Alicia said with the optimism only the newly in love can manage to muster.

I didn’t try to dissuade her. We said our goodbyes and hung up, promising to keep in better touch. She had a new boyfriend, so I figured it was a promise meant to be broken. And that would be okay.

Showered, tucked into bed, I tried not to look at the clock. The later it got, the harder it would be for me to fall asleep. Not for the first time, I thought about taking pills, but if there was something I hated worse than insomnia it was the idea of being dependent on something to guide me into dreamland. A couple shots of Fireball whiskey would’ve done the trick, but I wasn’t going to rely on booze, either.

I counted backward to no avail. I slipped a hand between my thighs, hoping an orgasm would ease me into sleep, but though I came within a few minutes, the climax left me melancholy and gasping against annoying tears rather than passion. I rolled onto my stomach and punched my pillow then buried my face in it to breathe in the scent of the lavender oil I’d sprinkled on it before I went to bed.

Who was I to fault Alicia for not telling me about Jay sooner? I should’ve told her months ago about Esteban. We could’ve giggled over him, swooned a little, even. She’d have been happy for me, even if my relationship with him had been solely based on sex and not emotion. Even if he hadn’t been a boyfriend, I could’ve shared him with her, so that maybe now that it was over, we could’ve at least talked about him. Now, all I had was my own discontent to keep me awake.

Anyone who’s had chronic trouble sleeping collects tricks to help them get to dreamland. I’d already tried my standbys, counting backward and orgasm. My mother would’ve advocated warm milk. Gross.

Led by my heart, my hands found my phone before my head could stop them. I opened the message app. My fingers typed. Erased. Typed again.

I told George about Esteban. Everything—how we’d met online. How we fucked, the things we’d done, the places he’d let me take him and where he’d taken me. How I’d found myself thinking of him in the odd moments of quiet when my mind turned to whatever it would, without my conscious effort. I told him how we broke up...and that I’d never loved Esteban. That I would never love anyone the way I loved him.

I hit Send.

He didn’t answer.