Wrong Number (Or Not)

by Emma Quinn

  “We need to celebrate,” she said. “Let's get more drinks. Something strong. Oooh, something that comes in a fishbowl!”

  The last thing I wanted to do was get drunk, but that's all Emily had in mind.

  Once I'd finally got my mom to stop screaming and called Emily to tell her I had news to share, the first place she had suggested we go was the old Delaney bar in the center of town.

  We'd both discovered it in our third year of college and fell in love with the place. But definitely not because of its glamour and classy cocktails. The place still had sawdust on the floor and the tables were sticky, but it had the best bands in town and a laid back cool as fuck attitude that left us spending many nights headbanging on the dance floor.

  We'd calmed down a fair bit since then. Or at least I had. But we still ventured here at least once a week for a drink and a catch up. And if Emily got her own way, a drink that came in a fish bowl.

  “I think I'll just stick with my vodka tonic,” I said, looking at my still half full glass.

  “Are you kidding?” replied Emily. “We have to celebrate! I mean, really celebrate!”

  “But my mom's insisting I meet up with all the family later to tell them the good news and then I'll have to start packing right away. It's only two weeks until the start of semester!”

  “Stop being such a pooper. You're so serious, Sophia. You need to let your hair down like you used to.”

  “I know. I know. Sorry. It's just that I've been working so hard recently and this has all meant so much to me. I just can't relax.”

  “Relaxing is exactly what you need to do. You've been working your ass off for years. You need to take some time off. Need to pamper yourself.”

  That sounded like a dream come true, but that's all it was. A dream. I wasn't one to rest and let life pass me by. I was an all or nothing kind of girl who worked until I dropped. It's what put me top of the class. And it was now what got me into Harvard.

  “Come on. Just one cocktail,” insisted Emily.

  “Okay, fine. You've twisted my arm.”

  “My treat,” she winked.

  She slid out her chair and ventured up to the bar where she began chatting to the barman. A toothless old guy who'd had to put up with our terrible dancing and even worse karaoke skills since we first discovered the place.

  Legend had it that he lost his teeth by catching bullets in Vietnam, and I didn't doubt that. It seemed he had a grizzly story to tell for every situation. I could see him up there now, regaling Emily with some story as he began mixing up what looked like the strongest, weirdest, most inaccurate Cosmopolitan I'd ever seen.

  Relax and celebrate, I thought. You've worked so hard and you deserve it.

  Except I couldn't relax because no matter how happy I was that I was going to be going to Harvard, I knew I still had one person to tell.

  “Cosmoooos!” grinned Emily as she returned to the table with our drinks. “My God Sophia what's with the long face? You'd think you just learned you had six months to live.”

  “Sorry,” I said, taking my drink from her hand. “It's just that I haven't told Ethan about Harvard yet.”

  “You haven't told him yet!” she gasped. “Why the hell not?”

  “Because... Because well, I'm not sure how he'll take it.”

  “He'll be delighted for you. You know that. Ethan loves you more than anything. You two are like the perfect couple.”

  “I know he'll be happy but...”

  “But...”

  “Well, Harvard's across the other side of the country. I'll have to move away.”

  “And? Ethan can move with you, can't he?”

  “If it was a year ago then definitely but maybe not now. Not after his mom's breast cancer came back.”

  “Shit, it came back?”

  Her face dropped at hearing the news.

  “You never told me,” she said. “And neither did Ethan.”

  “He didn't want to depress everyone,” I explained. “You know what he's like. He's such a private guy. Always wants to make people smile. The last thing he'd want to do is bum everyone out with his bad news.”

  “So this is the good news he needs,” she insisted.

  “I suppose so.”

  “You don't look convinced.”

  “I'm just worried. He's such a good son to his parents. He's not going to just up and leave them because I got into Harvard.”

  Which was an understatement. There was nothing that could pry him away from his parents. He was the most loyal, dutiful, caring child any parent could ask for.

  When his dad broke his back and couldn't work the week after Ethan's sixteenth birthday, the family were suddenly plunged into poverty. But Ethan didn't complain. He just got a job flipping burgers and tried his hardest to pay the bills while playing nurse to his dad.

  And when his mom was diagnosed with breast cancer two years later, he played nurse to her as well. Even though he was working two jobs to reach the payments on the house, fill the fridge and keep the heat on. Even though he was trying to put himself through acting school and more often than not went two or three days without sleep.

  He was a fun, outgoing guy who somehow, through it all made time to see his friends and have fun. He always had the energy to smile and spoil me rotten too.

  I couldn't ask for a better boyfriend, and I knew he would be so happy for me to attend Harvard. He knew how much I worked and how driven I was to succeed.

  But I also knew that at the center of everything were his parents, and that he couldn't just walk away from them.

  “You have to tell him,” said Emily, reaching across the table to touch my arm gently. “You're going to have to sooner or later.”

  “You're right.”

  Plucking my phone out my bag, I dialed his number and closed my eyes. Why was I so nervous about telling him the news of a lifetime? By the way my stomach churned itself into knots you'd think I was about to tell him something terrible had happened.

  When his phone went straight to voicemail I couldn't help but feel a sweeping sense of relief.

  “No answer,” I said.

  “Then text him.”

  “I can't tell him news like this with a text!”

  “Sure you can.”

  “Really? Okay... Here it goes.”

  With bated breath, I took a long sip of my drink and fluttered my fingers across the screen.

  You'll never guess what? I got accepted to Harvard!

  I stared at the message for a long while, wondering if it was the right thing to say.

  “Just press send already,” moaned Emily impatiently.

  “Okay fine! I'm doing it!”

  I slammed my finger against the screen and the next thing I knew the message was flying off into the electronic abyss.

  “Okay, sent!

  My heart was beating in my mouth. What would Ethan think when he read it? I knew he'd be happy, but would he be worried too?

  “It'll be okay,” Emily assured me as she sipped on her drink. “I promise. You've got nothing to worry about.”

  But I wasn't so sure.

  2

  Ethan

  “ E

  than? Ethan!” came Dad's gruff voice down the hall. “Ethan where are you?”

  His voice soon turned into an explosion of coughing and spluttering and I dragged myself up in bed and looked at the time. It was barely six, but it looked as though my morning was already starting.

  “I'm coming!” I called back.

  With a stretch and a yawn, I pulled on my bath robe and staggered down the hall.

  How long did I sleep last night? Four hours at the most? Maybe five? I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a full night's sleep and the exhaustion was starting to catch up with me.

  “Ethan!”

  “I'm here, Dad.”

  I pushed my way into his room and saw him trying to fluff up his own pillow.

  “Wait, I'll get that for you.”

  I dashed
to his side and helped him up into a seated position, carefully placing the pillows behind his back to support him.

  “Where were you? I was calling for ages,” he grumbled and coughed.

  “I was asleep. Sorry.”

  “Asleep?”

  “Well, I got in from work at half one this morning. I'm feeling pretty beat up still.”

  “Urgh, you youngsters are as soft as marshmallows these days. When I was your age I used to work sixteen hour shifts down the coalmine and I never complained once.”

  “Yeah, and I bet you had to walk twenty miles in the snow to get there,” I retorted sarcastically.

  I'd heard Dad's stories a thousand times before and they always grew more exaggerated.

  “Ah, God. My back's really getting to me today,” he moaned, rubbing at his spine. “Hand me my pills, won't you?”

  “It's a bit early for them, isn't it?”

  The look on his face told me to shut the hell up and hand them over.

  “You can have one,” I said. “You can't just pop pills on an empty stomach.”

  “Who said I've got an empty stomach,” he replied, popping the cap off the bottle. “I've probably got some scotch sloshing around in there from last night.”

  I sighed, infuriated. It was hard enough to look after him at the best of times without him drinking away what little money we had.

  “Don't look at me like that,” he said.

  “Like what?”

  “Like you're judging me.”

  “I am judging you. Don't you think you should lighten up on the scotch?”

  “It's all I have since your dear mom went into hospital. What else do I have to keep me warm at night?”

  He spluttered again, a great big flem-filled cough that came from somewhere deeper than his lungs. I watched as he tossed the pills into the back of his throat then squeezed them down dry.

  “That'll do the trick,” he said.

  “I really think you should go back to the chiropractor,” I said, sitting on the edge of his bed.

  As I lay my hand down on the covers, I noticed they were wet with sweat. And I started to notice a sour odor coming from not just Dad, but the whole room. He'd been living out his bed for months now and, barely able to walk, he'd taken to lying almost flat on his back for most of the day. I didn't begrudge him that. He was injured after all. But did he have to be such a decrepit old man? It was like he was trying to waste away in here. And with Mom now in hospital, any motivation he had to recover went right out the window.

  “Chiropractor,” he winced. “Now how the hell are we supposed to pay for that when all you do is work a minimum wage job and spend most your time at college? I mean for Christ's sake, Ethan. Would it hurt you to get a real job? Every other man in this family worked down the mine as soon as they could walk.”

  “The mines closed down a long time ago. You know that.”

  He said nothing, just looked solemnly out the window and shook his head.

  “College,” he said as though it was a dirty word. “I don't know what possessed you to waste your time in that pompous hellhole. And to study acting. You gotta be crazy. And do you know what the worst thing about it is? I have to tell my fucking friends that you've got your heart set on being an actor. An actor for crying out loud! Do you know how embarrassing that is? Do you know what they all say about you?”

  “I don't care what anyone says about me,” I replied.

  “Well you should. They think you're a good for nothing. Think you're wasting your life away when you should be looking after me and your mother.”

  “That's exactly what I do!” I yelled back.

  I was shocked at the power in my voice. I'd never raised my voice, especially not to Dad. But I'd been growing increasingly tired of him telling me I wasn't doing enough. That I was wasting my time at college. I may have been the only guy in the family to not work down the mines, but I was also the first to go to college.

  Mom was happy for me of course. She told me I could be an actor all I wanted, but Dad? I may as well have told him I wanted to fly to the moon. He thought it was just a pipe dream, and a wimpy one at that.

  “Real men work with their hands!” he'd always yell. “They don't act or dance or sing.”

  But he was wrong. I was a real man, and I could do all those things. I could also look after my family and put a roof over their head.

  “You think I don't look after you and Mom?” I said. “You really think that? Well, how the hell would you know what I do? You spend all day festering in this bed. You've no idea how hard I work, how I do all the cooking and cleaning and shopping. And that's before I even go to work and college. You've no idea how little I sleep or how stressed I am, or how much I worry that we're going to lose Mom!”

  “Son, settle down. I didn't mean what I said. It's just the pain talking. I'm in agony here. You know what I get like when the pain hits. I say things I don't mean. Please, just sit and talk a little while.”

  “I'm not sitting anywhere. I'm going to see Mom,” I said and stood up.

  Looking out the window, I saw it was already a beautiful summer's day with the sun blistering across the sky. Mom would have loved to sit out in the garden and sip on her homemade lemonade as she read one of her favorite books. But I knew she'd never be back in her beloved garden again.

  “Fine, runaway to your mother,” moaned Dad. “God knows you were always hanging off her apron strings.”

  3

  Sophia

  “ O

  h, my God this pizza. Oh, my God. Sooooo gooood.”

  I wiped a strand of melted cheese from my bottom lip and reached for the garlic mayo.

  “Christ what is it with you and food once you get tipsy?” laughed Emily. “You turn into Godzilla or something. I wouldn't be surprised if you started chomping down on that nearest lamp post over there.”

  “I can't help it. I just get so hungry when I drink.”

  We had migrated out of the old Delaney bar into a nearby pizza parlor where I had my heart set on devouring a sixteen inch meat feast all on my own. Emily, always cautious about her weight, had chosen to nibble on the bread sticks while looking at me with pure disgust.

  “What?” I said, wiping my mouth with a napkin. “I have a healthy appetite.”

  “It just doesn't make sense. Where do you put all this food? You're still a size zero.”

  “Size four actually,” I corrected her. “I haven't been a zero in forever.”

  “Still, do you know how small that is? If I ate like you I'd be the size of a house.”

  “Aw, shut up. No you wouldn't. And even if you were I bet you'd be the sexiest house ever.”

  “Aw, really. You think so?”

  “I know so.”

  She smiled and reached for her second bread stick. Behind her, I noticed the clock on the wall reach five o'clock.

  “Shit,” I said, nibbling on the crust. “I gotta get back home soon. “My mom's planning this huge celebration dinner to share my news. You're invited too, obviously.”

  “Hey, I wouldn't miss your mom's cooking for the world.”

  Bread stick number three made its way to her mouth before number four was in quick pursuit.

  Looking down at my plate, I realized just how much I'd eaten and in such a short space of time.

  “I'm a monster,” I said, picking cheese off the plate.

  “You know once you hit thirty it all catches up with you,” said Emily. “That's what my mom always told me. She said she used to eat whatever she wanted then as soon as she turned thirty she turned into a blimp.”

  “Don't say that.”

  “Hey, thirty's still a long way for us. You've got eight more years of cramming pizza into your mouth before then.”

  But out of the blue, the idea of pizza didn't seem too appetizing. If anything, it felt repulsive.

  “You okay?” asked Emily. “You suddenly don't look so good.”

  “I'm fine,” I lied, feeling a rising sense o
f nausea.

  “Are you sure? Because you've gone really pale.”

  “Yeah, I'm just... gonna... go to the bathroom to splash my face with some cold water. Don't think Cosmos and pizza mix that well.”

  Standing up, I staggered into the bathroom. I'd not had that much to drink, had I? Just a couple drinks. So why did I feel as though I was about to collapse? And why did it feel as though my stomach was on a spin cycle?

  Holding a hand to my belly, I entered the bathroom and looked in the mirror.

  Shit, you do look pale? Or green more like.

  Must have been something in the pizza. Maybe it wasn't cooked right or...

  The nausea intensified and suddenly I had the strongest urge to run headfirst into the nearest cubicle and dive into the toilet bowl.

  I vomited with such force I felt as though I was going to tumble in. Over and over again, the contents of my stomach emptied itself until there were tears streaming down my face and my throat was raw.

  That's it. I'm never eating meat feast again!

  But at the back of my mind, I wondered if that was really what was wrong. I'd never been sick with such suddenness and ferocity in my life. The Exorcist had nothing on me.

  Flushing the toilet, I dabbed at my face with some tissue paper and rested against the cubicle wall. A second later came the creak of the door behind me as someone walked into the ladies room.

  “Sophia?”

  “In here, Emily,” I replied, my throat burning as I talked.

  She appeared in the doorway and saw the tears in my eyes and the look of pure exhaustion on my face.

  “Oh, my God Sophia! Are you okay?”

  She knelt down beside me and brushed the hair from my face.

  “You look really terrible. I think you need to see a doctor.”

  “No doctor. I'm sure it was just the pizza.”

  “I doubt it. You've eaten here dozens of times.”

  “Then it was the cosmos.”

  “You had two cocktails,” said Emily. “Not enough to make you look like this. Come on, let's get you cleaned up.”

  Hooking her arms around my back, she helped me to my feet and walked me over to the sink. Balling up some tissue paper and running it under the water, she dabbed the smudged mascara from my cheeks.