“Er...hello?” she says, her voice thick and smoky.
I nod, straightening to meet her stance. “Hi.”
“Sorry.” She says, shaking her head. “I was expecting to see someone else.”
I nod again, not knowing what to say. From the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee drifts toward us.
“Is Eric in?” she asks, taking a step toward me.
I take a step back. “Not at the moment. He ran to the shop for a couple of minutes.”
“Oh,” she says, suddenly chipper. “Well, don’t mind me.” She brushes past me and into the apartment. She smells like berries. “I just came by to drop something off.”
I notice that she doesn’t have a bag with her and isn’t carrying anything. I stand between her and the door, unsure of what to do. She inspects me from head to toe, taking in my damp hair and somewhat wrinkled dress. I shift in my boots, the towel now idle in my hand.
“I’m Abby, by the way.” I say, in lieu of the silence.
She musters a smile. “Luna.”
Her hair is coloured in shades of brown and hangs in loose waves down to her elbows. Her lips are robust and stained the colour of Merlot. Dimples form in the sides of her cheeks when she speaks. I find her to be exceptionally beautiful.
“This might be none of my business, but did you spend the night here?” Luna asks, her eyes narrowing slightly.
“I did.” I gesture toward the sleeper couch, which Eric had not yet manoeuvred back to its original form. “I slept on the couch.”
Luna looks relieved. Her face softens and her eyes lighten. I get the distinct feeling that she’d been threatened by my presence in the apartment, and that my words have reassured her of something.
I am trying to think of something else to say when I hear someone approaching. I hope that it’s Eric, back from his quest. He walks in with a carton of eggs in his hand, slightly out of breath. He has changed out of his pyjamas and into dark pants and a hoodie. He smiles at me, a question forming on his lips when he spots Luna. He looks at her, then back at me. He doesn’t acknowledge her at first, but walks toward the kitchen and puts the eggs down.
“Luna, what the hell are you doing here?”
The austerity in his voice startles me. Luna doesn’t seem to be bothered by it at all. She smiles and pulls her eyes off me. “I came by to remind you of Grace’s get-together tonight. You know, the going-away party?”
Eric, who has braced himself against the counter with his arms extended, closes his eyes and lowers his head. I hear him swear under his breath. “I forgot about that.”
Luna looks pleased with herself. “I thought you might. But you have to be there. We’re not going to see her for two years and tonight will be the last night that all of us will be together...”
“Alright.” Eric says, cutting her off. He runs a hand over his head, his hair protesting at the contact. “I know. It just slipped my mind. I’ve been...preoccupied.”
Luna looks briefly at me, and turns her attention back to him. “I can see that.”
Eric doesn’t catch her retort because he’s looking at me like he’s deciding what to do. I scuff my boots along the floor, uncomfortable.
“So, the party starts at seven. You can bring Abby, and introduce her to everyone.”
I raise my hand in protest, eager to explain that she’s getting things wrong. She cuts me off before I can say a word.
“I’m sure they will all be super excited to meet you.”
“Luna,” Eric says, shooting her a warning look.
Luna plasters a smile on her face, her dimples appearing again. “Well, I should get going. I took off from work to help Grace set up for tonight. Got lots to do.” She starts to make her way to the door. “It was nice meeting you, Abby.” I offer her a tight smile. “Eric, I’ll see you tonight.”
She exits quickly, leaving the scent of berries in her wake.
*
“I’m sorry about Luna,” Eric says later, after he has finished cooking our breakfast, plating everything up. He pours me my second cup of coffee and sits down at the table with me. “She can be a lot to handle sometimes.”
I poke at my egg with a fork, piercing the yolk and watching as it dribbles onto my toast. The frying pan is still sizzling in the sink, steam filtering out through the windows. I take a sip of coffee and watch Eric as he eats.
“How do you two know each other?”
Eric sticks a forkful of mushrooms into his mouth and sits back in his chair as he chews. When he’s finished, he wipes at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “She’s my ex-girlfriend.”
I’d thought as much. The way she had sized me up earlier had tipped me off. There had been a certain scrutiny about the way she’d let her eyes travel all over me, like she was comparing all the parts of my body against all the parts of hers.
I wait for Eric to tell me a little more, but he seems suddenly very interested in his slice of toast.
“Why’d you guys break up?”
It really isn’t any of my business. We don’t know each other well enough for me to be asking him such questions, but I find myself vastly curious about this man.
Eric takes a long sip of his coffee, the cup half hiding his face from me. “If it’s alright with you, I’d rather not talk about it right now.”
I nod, picking up my fork again. I’m not hungry, but maybe not attempting to eat something when he had graciously cooked seems a little rude. Eric doesn’t notice my disinterest in the food; he is eating with vigour and tenacity, like he’s been starved for weeks.
“Look, about this thing tonight. I actually really need to be there,” he says between bites, between breaths. “I’ve known Grace since I was fifteen, and she’s moving to Nepal for a few years.”
I nod, biting into a slice of stiff, buttery toast. “You should totally go then.”
“I should?”
“Of course. Why would you want to miss it?”
Eric frowns at me and swallows a mouthful of his breakfast. “Did we forget that last night even happened?”
I tense. Things had been playing out at such a normal rate and I’d been happy to go along with it. It feels easier to act like this is ordinary, that Eric and I – even though we are strangers to each other – normally have breakfast together. It feels easier to pretend that the way the sun falls through the loft windows – stained with dried rain and dust – is much like it always is on a spring morning in Southern California. All of this feels easier. I am willing to accept that all of it is true; anything to make me forget – or at least put off remembering – why I am really here.
I sigh. “No, I didn’t forget. But you should continue your life as if I’m not here.”
“But you are here.”
I start eating so I don’t have to say anything.
Eric rests his right hand on the table. I think he might reach over to touch me, but his palm sits still in the space between us. He has exquisite wrist bones.
“I made a decision last night. We both did. We could have just walked away from each other. This could have been any other ordinary day in my life. But here you are, sitting in my kitchen, as tangible as anything else. I’m not just going to ignore you.”
I swallow my mouthful of food, feeling dizzy with emotion and struggling to meet his eye.
“Please come with me tonight.”
I stare at his fingers for a bit. “I don’t know. I don’t have anything to wear. All my clothes are dirty. And I don’t want to be an imposition to you and your friends.”
Eric’s face lights up a little when I look up. “First off, my friends are great. You’ll fit right in. And second, you can wear what you’re wearing right now. You look nice.”
I feel my face heat up.
“We probably don’t even have to stay long. I just need to say goodbye to Grace then we can come back here.”
“Please, not on my account. You can stay as long as you want.”
“So does that m
ean you’ll come with me?”
I smile. “Yes.”
Eric beams. “Great.”
We finish our breakfast in relative silence. The food on my plate has gone cold but I finish it and awkwardly sit at the table with Eric as he helps himself to more. When he has finished, he excuses himself and leaves to shower, while I sit at the table and consider what I am getting myself into.
Eric’s cell phone chirps on the table. I can tell that he’s received a text message, but this is not what interests me. From where I’m sitting, I can see the time displayed on the cell phone. It’s 09:19. If I’ve done the calculations correctly – Cape Town and California have about a nine-hour time difference – Benjamin and Nina should be sitting down to have dinner right around this time. I wonder if he is going on living like it’s another day, something that I am trying to manifest here, on the other side of the world. I don’t think my letter has made its way to him yet and for now, to him I am still in South Africa, keeping to myself like I have been for the past few months.
When Eric walks out from his bedroom freshly showered, he’s dressed in jeans and a dark blue polo shirt, in boots he hasn’t laced up all the way.
“My shift at the shop starts in thirty minutes,” he says, searching for something near one of his bookcases in the living room. I stand, not knowing what else to do. I hadn’t realized that he’d be leaving for work. I try to act like my mind isn’t racing with troubled thoughts about leaving the apartment. Eric finds what he’s looking for – his car keys – and strides towards me in the kitchen. “I noticed that you don’t have a cell so I’m going to leave mine here with you.” He reaches for it on the table, and noticing that he has an unread text, scrolls through it quickly.
I realize that he’s leaving me here by myself. He trusts me to stay here alone. “You’re leaving me here?”
“I didn’t think you’d want to come with me to the coffee shop. Do you? It’ll be pretty boring, just sitting there all day.”
I shake my head. “No, I wasn’t expecting...” I scratch my head. It is dawning on me that I am very ill prepared for this situation. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was expecting.”
A concerned look passes over Eric’s face. He takes a furtive step toward me. “Would you prefer me to stay?”
I can smell the soap on his skin. His hair is still damp from the shower. His eyes, beautiful and apprehensive now, search my face for answers. I breathe.
“I can get someone to cover my shift. I’ll need to make a few phone calls, but I can do it.”
This rattles me. I don’t want him to manoeuvre his life around me any more than he has to. I know I can be selfish at times, but I don’t want to be with him. He doesn’t deserve that. I try to sound brave.
“You trust me to stay here alone in your apartment?”
Eric regards me for a few seconds. A smile starts to bloom on his lips. I find that I want to know exactly what he’s thinking. “We’ve decided to trust each other, remember?”
I press my lips together, saying nothing. Eric moves into action again. He scribbles something onto a piece of paper and hands it to me. “This is the number you can use to reach me at the shop. If anything happens, you call me, okay? If it’s an emergency, dial 911.” He places the phone in my hand.
“I know how to call for help.”
“Good.” He walks back to his room and re-emerges wearing the same jacket as the previous night. It doesn’t go unnoticed how good he looks. “My shift ends at three, but I’m going to try to get out of it a little earlier. I still need to pick up a gift for Grace and we can stop at the Laundromat and get a few things done before the party.”
“Okay.”
Eric looks around his apartment, for what I do not know. He sighs and looks at me like he’s deciding whether or not it’s a good idea to leave me by myself.
“Go. I promise not to break anything, or burn down the place or whatever.”
Eric smiles. “Lock the door when I leave. I’ll use my spare key to get back in. If Luna comes by again, pretend you’re not here.”
I trail Eric to the front door. “Will she come back here?”
“She’s been doing that lately. But like I said, just pretend you’re not here. She’ll go away on her own.”
Eric opens the door and cool, outside air rushes in. Mimi, the white cat from last night, is sitting in the walkway, tail curled around her front paws. Eric greets her like she is a neighbour – I guess she is – and she contemplates both of us with her pale green eyes.
“I’ll see you later.” Eric says. Through the peephole I see him wait until I lock the door before he leaves. I walk to the window – the living room looks out over the street – and watch as Eric gets into his car and drives off.
I stand at the window, taking in the softness of the early Californian morning, trying to grasp how so much has changed in less than a day. A few hours ago I was in the confines of a motel room, unwillingly listening to people having sex in the room next door, alone and desolate. Now, in Eric’s apartment, I am still alone but I have someone who knows where I am, who is looking out for me, and that makes it feel okay.
I turn away and look over at Eric’s space. It’s strange to be here alone, the quiet settling around me. Now that he is gone and I have a moment to myself, I look around his apartment. Maybe I’m snooping, but everything about him – even the things he owns – intrigues me.
In theory, the loft is small, but since there are no walls defining spaces and rooms it doesn’t feel that way. I like the way it epitomises independence and freedom. I’d liked my place back home, but it somehow felt stifling and morose most of the time, or maybe it was just me.
Eric has bookshelves that are seven tiers high. The books are catalogued by author and range from the horror genre of Stephen King to poetry by Sylvia Plath and e.e. cummings, as well as a huge compilation of books on the galaxy and planetary systems.
His music collection is broad and consists of artists that I have never even heard of. We have some musical taste in common, like Gregory Alan Isakov and Penny and Sparrow, which I remember had been playing in the coffee shop when I had walked in last night.
I skim past his albums and other trinkets on the shelves until I come across some photographs clustered together near the coffee table. The first photo is of Eric and an older woman who has the same smile as his. She has dark blonde hair, and an arm wrapped tightly across his shoulder. Looking closer, I can tell that Eric got his eyes from her too, their dark irises ringed with gold and honey.
The second photograph is of a younger Eric – maybe in his early teens – with a blonde girl with long legs and a guarded smile. They are both sitting on the tailgate of a pickup truck, a slice of watermelon in each of their hands. Surfboards rest at their feet, and both of them look happily exhausted by the day at the beach.
I smile, pleased to have gotten a peak at Eric’s life, and put the photos back where I’d found them. That particular picture reminds me of Benjamin, and I remember how he always used to call me every day at around the same time, from his office overlooking the Waterfront, to tell me about his day.
A lump starts to form in the back of my throat, and I know that I am jonesing for my best friend. I do the dishes and clean up the kitchen to keep my mind away from him. It is also the least I can do after Eric had gone through the effort of preparing breakfast. Once the sink is sparkling and I manage to put everything away in the places I think they should go, I sit down at the table and contemplate calling Ben.
I am feeling empty again, and yet disconcertingly heavy, like an invisible force is trying to pin me to the floor. I take a few deep breaths, something I’d learned to do in the past few months, and wait for it to pass. It doesn’t feel like it will. In fact, it seems to be getting worse.
I reach for Eric’s phone, recalling his voice telling me to call 911 in case of an emergency. This is an emergency, I think. Why, I do not know.
It takes me a while to figure out h
ow to block the caller I.D. on Eric’s phone. My hands are shaking so badly that I key in Benjamin’s number incorrectly four times. On the fifth attempt, I manage to do it properly and hit the dial button before I have a chance to dissuade myself.
The line on the other end rings twice, and Benjamin answers curtly and businesslike, the way he always does. “Hello?”
All of my breath escapes my body. My fingers hold onto the phone so tightly I think I might break it in half.
“Hello?”
I want him to say something else, so much more. I want him to tell me about his day so badly, but I am too cowardly to even let him know that it’s me on the other end of the call.
“Hello?” he says for the third time, a bit of annoyance in his voice.
I hang up. My body shudders and softens. I switch Eric’s phone off, afraid that Ben might call back, even though I’d ensured that the number would not reflect on the incoming line. I run to the bathroom and dry heave in the sink, my stomach chaotic and unhappy. I wash my face with cold water; avoid looking at myself in the mirror and walk back into Eric’s bedroom.
Suddenly exhausted, I sit on the bed. My muscles droop, taking the rest of me with them so – for reasons I can’t explain to myself – I lie down on the bed and close my eyes.
I want to be strong and face the day. But I also want to curl up on the bed and sleep for decades. The events of the last few days all rush over me at once, and I start to weep. I cry long and hard, and even after I have finished, it feels like my body still wants to continue crying. In the end, I crawl into Eric’s bed, on the side where he doesn’t sleep, and cover my head with the blankets. I make myself invisible. Here is no sign that I ever existed, that I have ever even been anybody. No one but Eric and Luna know I’m here.
I don’t have to exist for anyone.
I can make myself disappear.
Chapter Four
“Abernathy?”
I swear for a moment I hear Benjamin calling my name, but when I open my eyes Eric is standing hunched over the bed, looking at me with a pained expression on his face.
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