Maybe Later

by Claudia Burgoa

  “Why don’t you send me his resume?” I offer. She stares at me questioningly.

  “I have friends who work as headhunters and others who own telecommunication companies, and I don’t know, maybe I can find him something.”

  She picks up her phone and taps it really fast, then turns her head to me and says, “What's your email address?”

  Fuck!

  “Jack23@mail.com,” I use the address I had back in middle school which I’m almost sure doesn’t have my last name, and I hope I can remember the fucking password.

  “Seriously, your email is jack twenty-three at mail dot com?” she asks.

  “Yes, that’s my personal email. I would give you the company’s email, but I try not to use that email for personal things. You know how things get complicated.”

  “I totally understand,” she offers. “I do the same.”

  She taps a few keys and says, “sent.”

  “Thank you.” She kisses my cheek lightly.

  “Hey, I haven’t done anything. I’ll send it to my headhunter friends and see what they can find. That’s all I can do for now if that’s okay with you.”

  “It’s perfect. It’s all anyone can do right now, but maybe you’ll have better luck than me, right?”

  I squeeze her hand reassuringly, trying to erase that big frown on her forehead and the worry in her eyes. This situation with her friends is wearing her down.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Jack

  Saturday, June 4th, 7:31 a.m.

  AWalk90: Why would someone invite you for a weekend at a secluded cabin?

  JSpear84: HE’S A SERIAL KILLER!

  AWalk90: You don’t even know who I’m talking about.

  JSpear84: Serial Killer!

  AWalk90: Stop joking about it. This is a serious matter.

  JSpear84: I’m emotionally devoided. Why would you want my opinion?

  AWalk90: This isn’t about emotions, but reasoning. I need a cold-hearted level-headed person to answer my questions.

  JSpear84: Should I send you my bill after the consultation or before?

  AWalk90: Why not invite me for dinner at his house?

  JSpear84: Serial Killer.

  AWalk90: Is that your final answer?

  JSpear84: Who are we talking about? Your current relationship?

  AWalk90: This is a question for a client. I need a male perspective.

  JSpear84: An imaginary person, Amy, seriously? Why don’t you talk about yourself?

  AWalk90: It’s easier to pretend not to be me sometimes.

  JSpear84: Who are you?

  AWalk90: Who am I? Or who am I in real life? Those are two very different questions which I can’t answer. I’d have to kill you if I told you. And I kind of like you so, just know that I’m at a crossroads. And I have no idea where I am going.

  JSpear84: You lost me at AWalk90. What the hell are you talking about?

  JSpear84: Are you having a mid-life crisis? I knew it, you’re not 28.

  AWalk90: I am 28, won’t be 29 until September.

  JSpear84: Aww, we share a birth month. Just tell me you’re 49 and I’ll understand what you’re going through better.

  AWalk90: Look who’s turning into a comedian.

  JSpear84: Learning from the best. Now, tell dear Jackson what’s bugging you.

  AWalk90: I’m done wearing so many hats and trying to be so perfect.

  Thank fucking god!

  I love her no matter what, but there’s a part of her that’s hurting on a soul deep level, and she just doesn’t want to recognize it. What she says excites me, but the thoughts that played through my mind surprise me even more. Do I love her? I do—so fucking much, and I’ve got to find a way to end this stupid split-personality dating game.

  AWalk90: It’s scary to open up to others. I trust him, you know. Just like I trust you. But I’m not sure if I’m ready to say: yes, let’s go to Steamboat for the weekend. It’s in a secluded cabin, just the two of us. If things go wrong, it’s going to be awkward. And do I want to take so many steps forward into this relationship? It’s too much too soon.

  AWalk90: Sometimes it’s easier to be alone with my cats. They know the deal with me. I don’t have to explain anything to them. Though, Ramen adores him. She’s not a people person, but she’s attached to him.

  I smile. Ramen became my girl ever since she was injured at the boarding place. She might not love being around people, but when I visit, she’s always right beside me.

  JSpear84: I am not an expert, but maybe it’s a good thing that you’re giving yourself a chance to be yourself. It’s a weekend at a cabin, nothing’s going to happen.

  JSpear84: Have you guys had the talk? About the birds and the bees?

  JSpear84: You should explain to him what’s on your mind.

  AWalk90: I think he already knows I’m off my rockers. But I’m more comfortable telling you these things than him and that’s wrong.

  JSpear84: Anyone who has dealt with you for more than 5 minutes knows that you’re not sane. So, you prefer me over him?

  AWalk90: Yes, and no. I feel like with you I don’t have to hide or try to be perfect.

  JSpear84: You hide. We already established that I don’t know your name.

  AWalk90: It’s just a fucking name. You get who I am. I’m more comfortable telling you about my sex life than him.

  JSpear84: It’s one thing. What else is wrong? Are you looking for excuses to break up with him?

  JSpear84: Just say no to going away for the weekend. Baby steps and all that fucking shit. You’re good at fixing problems. What’s going on?

  AWalk90: I might be organized, I can solve almost every problem that a client brings to my table. If asked, I might be able to solve global warming. It’s easier to look into someone else’s problems and find a solution. The person looking in from outside the labyrinth can find the way out easily. I’m inside, trapped and ready to bail because I doubt I’ll ever be able to be normal.

  JSpear84: You think highly of yourself if you think you can solve global warming. Scientists are working on that and have been for years. Give it a try. I have faith in you! Might as well since you’re giving up on your life.

  AWalk90: Spearman, you haven’t answered my question.

  JSpear84: He invited you because he wants to spend more time with you.

  AWalk90: I don’t know how to tell him no.

  JSpear84: Why don’t you want to go?

  AWalk90: Because I don’t think we should continue this relationship.

  JSpear84: You’re being a coward. Open up to him. You can continue. There’s something there. Don’t waste it.

  AWalk90: Look at you, giving relationship advice.

  JSpear84: Now that I gave you a resolution, what are your plans for today?

  AWalk90: I’m going to the Farmers Market after yoga, then I think I’m texting him to tell him, no.

  JSpear84: Farmer’s Market on a Saturday?

  AWalk90: There’s always a Farmer’s Market in town. At least in the city I live in. This one is closer to my favorite bookstore.

  JSpear84: That makes no sense unless you’re going book shopping afterward.

  AWalk90: Text, phone call, or should I ask him to come to my house?

  JSpear84: What are we talking about?

  AWalk90: I need to break the news to him and just get this over with.

  JSpear84: You’re breaking up with him?

  AWalk90: What’s the point?

  JSpear84: Is that even a question?

  I don’t know what to type. We have something important going on, don’t we? I stare at my phone confused.

  AWalk90: You’re right.

  JSpear84: Why are you ending it?

  AWalk90: I’m confused about my feelings. When more than one person occupies your mind, there’s something wrong.

  AWalk90: Talk to you later.

  * * *

  “Whoa!” Alex says on the other side of the phone. “She’s breaking up
with you, and she’s been two-timing you. You need to go to New Orleans and have a witch cleanse you.”

  I don’t know if I called the right brother. Alex gives relationships a try. He puts himself out there. He’s even had a partner for the past three years. But it’s evident that he doesn’t get what I’m saying.

  “Does she know how much she’s cost you?” he asks angrily. “I’ve gotten her the best tickets to seven different concerts.”

  “It’s not about the money,” I tell him.

  “She’s worse than fucking Vivian or Sam. I told you to go out and have fun, not fall for the first pair of tits you see.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I growl.

  “I say go and confront her,” he says. “Move on, and next time, just fuck the girl and leave. You’re shit at relationships.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Jack

  Saturday, June 4th, 8:23 a.m.

  I go for a run, then to the gym. When Vivian and I broke up, we wounded each other with words. Even though I know this is the end, I don’t want to be a bitter memory for Emmeline. Of course, I texted her around eight asking if I could see her or at least talk to her. I’m going to tell her the truth, and if she doesn’t want me for who I am, I’m ending everything today.

  That’s why I find myself at the Farmer’s Market near the bookstore. This isn’t me. Amy—Emmeline has changed my life since the first time she bulldozed herself into my schedule. How do I explain why I’m at a Farmer’s Market?

  At least I can excuse myself by saying I’m here to buy fresh bee pollen for my sister—which is sold at this Farmer’s Market. Oh fuck. I shouldn’t be listening to my brother, my sister or any member of my family. Alex insisted I dump her. While my sister Jeannette insisted that I confront her.

  I just can’t leave without knowing all the facts. There is something about Emmeline. I’m smitten with her personality. Smitten … that’s the word Jeannette used. She claimed I was in love.

  I am in fucking love.

  L-O-V-E.

  And I have no idea how to handle Emmeline’s last texts. The reality of what’s happening to me it’s unclear. I don’t understand how I was so used to being alone, and now, I just can’t imagine being without her. Even the days I don’t see her, I feel close to her with her playlist, her chatter, or her scrabble.

  How would I go on without her? Will we continue playing games online and having a platonic relationship as Amy and Jackson, if Emmeline breaks up with me? Which one of them is the real deal and do either of them want to be with me? As I walk through the corridors of the market, my phone buzzes with an incoming text.

  Em: Hey, I got your text. Maybe we can talk tonight. I’m been on the ER for the last couple of hours.

  The ER? Did something happen to the cat?

  Jack: Em, are you okay?

  * * *

  Saturday, June 4th, 11:38 a.m.

  Em: I’m sorry to ask this, but I need someone to come and pick me up. Apparently leaving in an Uber isn’t allowed since I have a light concoction.

  Jack: It’s called a concussion.

  Em: I knew that. Anyway, I hate hospitals, and I don’t want to stay the night here. You only have to check me out. I have an Uber waiting for me.

  Jack: Send me the address, I’ll be there as soon as I can.

  Jack: Hey, can we exchange apartments for the weekend.

  Jason: Why?

  Jack: I need it for Emmeline, she had a concussion. Her apartment is too small, and I’m sure she’s going to try to work if she’s at home.

  Jason: Take her to your place.

  Jack: She knows where I live.

  Jason: Sorry man, I can’t. My weekend date is here.

  I sprint toward my car, rush through the streets of Denver, and arrive at the hospital within eight minutes. I enter through the emergency room and go toward the hall she described in her text and stop at room seven.

  “You have a cast,” I say staring at her wrist.

  “It’s a clean break,” the doctor who sits by her side explains. “We set the bone and it should heal within four to six weeks.”

  He turns to look at Emmeline, giving her a business card. “Call me if you experience any discomfort. If you experience any vomiting, nausea, or the headache worsens, you have to come back immediately.”

  “Thank you,” she whispers.

  The doctor looks at me and says, “the nurse will give you a list of things you have to do. We’d rather keep her here, but she insists she’ll be fine at home. Just monitor her until Monday, please.”

  I nod pretending to understand why we’re leaving. I’d rather keep her in the hospital and not move from her side.

  Once the doctor leaves, she says, “Don’t worry.” Her voice is soft, like a whisper. “I have everything under control. Just bail me out of here.”

  Instead of answering, I go to her and hold her in my arms.

  “You should’ve called me as soon as this happened,” I say trying not to sound angry.

  It doesn’t take long for the nurse to arrive and discharge Emmeline. She gives me a list of questions I have to ask, instructions on how to take care of her, and symptoms to look for.

  “She has to stay away from monitors, loud noises, and crowded places for the next week,” the nurse explains.

  “The doctor said only a couple of days,” Emmeline protests but flinches immediately.

  “Refill the medication before you go home, so you don’t leave her alone,” the nurse continues and hands me a pen. “Sign here and here.”

  Emmeline rises from the bed and thanks the nurse for her help.

  “Thank you for coming,” she says,

  She takes the paper from me and keeps walking toward the exit.

  “I felt like I wasn’t going to make bail. Would you mind if we talk when I’m feeling better?”

  She drops the papers as she’s trying to check her phone and grunts in frustration.

  “What happened?” I ask picking up the papers for her.

  “I was run over by a scooter,” she answers. “You know those scooters that you can ride downtown. Some idiot ran over me. I can’t remember much about it, suddenly I was riding in an ambulance, and there were a bunch of people asking me questions.”

  “Jesus, Emmeline,” I say. I’m angry at whoever hurt her and the fact that she was fucking alone for the past three or four hours. “Why didn’t you call me before?”

  “My Uber is here, thank you for coming,” she says faintly.

  I roll my eyes, give her the papers I just recovered from the floor, and pick her up in my arms.

  “This counts as our third fight,” I warn her and keep walking toward my car.

  “When was the second one?” she yawns, resting her head against my chest and closes her eyes.

  I pick up her prescription, take her to my house, and make sure she’s in bed before I text Jared from Emmeline’s phone.

  Emmeline: This is Jack. Emmeline was in an accident. She won’t be able to go home for a couple of days. Can you keep an eye on Sushi and Ramen?

  Jared: God, is she okay? Of course, I can take care of the cats and anything else she might need.

  Emmeline: Thank you.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Emmeline

  Saturday, June 4th, 5:16 p.m.

  “Em,” I hear the deep voice call me. “Sweetheart, you have to wake up, or I’m going to have to take you back to the hospital.”

  I can’t open my eyes. Why do I want to wake up when I’m in heaven? I’ve never slept in a cloud before. Fluffy bedding, Jack’s scent, and soft music.

  “Babe,” he calls again. “Please, wake up. You’re worrying me.”

  It pains me to open my eyes, but when I do, I see him, handsome, worried. Why is he here?

  All at once the entire day comes back to me in a flash, increasing the pounding in my head. I flinch, remembering the asshole on the scooter hitting me on the side and sending me flying a few feet.

 
“How’s the head?”

  “It aches,” I complain. I want to cry but don’t because I know it’s going to worsen the pain.

  “Who am I?”

  “Jack,” I respond.

  “When is your birthday?”

  “September twenty-first,” I reply automatically.

  “What day is it today?”

  “Saturday?” I say, snuggling back into the most fantastic bed in the world.

  “Em, I need to ask more questions. You had a bad concussion.”

  “Purple, red, my favorite number is one because Amy took away two. What else do you need from me?”

  “Who is Amy?” he asks.

  “My twin sister,” I answer covering my head with the blankets.

  I don’t feel like talking or even remembering my sister. Being in the hospital reminded me of her last days. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. My desperation pushed me to call Jack to pick me up.

  “Wait,” I say. “What happened to the Uber I requested?”

  “We canceled it,” Jack responds. “You can’t be by yourself.”

  “Where am I?” I ask. This isn’t my bed, and I don’t own such comfortable sheets.

  “My place,” he says. “Jared is taking care of Ramen and Sushi.”

  His voice sounds dreamlike and I imagine myself thinking only of him, or is it really Jackson I’m dreaming about? I long to be far away from here, maybe on vacation, in New York.

  “Let’s go to New York,” I mumble against the pillow. “My phone has the perfect weekend plan.”

  I laugh and then flinch, holding my head. “Amy hated traveling. Poor Amelia, she was afraid of everything, but most of all the fear that our parents would never love her enough. She had so many phobias. The older we grew, the more they developed.”

  “Where is Amy?”

  A sniffle breaks the silence, and my head hurts even more. I shrink into a fetal position as I think about my sister and how much I miss her. She was taller than me but so much more fragile.

  “Em, I have ibuprofen,” he offers. “It’s the one the doctor prescribed.”

  “Amy died,” I say after swallowing the pill, and burst into tears.