by Jiffy Kate
The tears are gone, replaced with numbness. I lie back on the pillows and lay my head on the phone. My arms are too tired to hold it, but I don’t want to hang up.
“Where are you?”
“Hotel.”
“Which one?”
“Trump. Soho.”
There’s a long pause on the phone, neither of us talking.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Dani.”
“Don’t apologize. You didn’t fuck the therapist, did you?"
He laughs, but there’s no humor there. “No. But I’m sorry he hurt you.” His words sound pained, like he’s the one hurting.
“I don’t know how to feel. One second, I’m crying. The next second, I want to go back there and beat the shit out of him. And the second after that, I want to use the key I have to his apartment and go burn all of his clothes. And then, sometimes, I laugh at the complete absurdity of it all.”
There’s another long pause, and I press my ear close to the phone, listening intently to Micah’s breaths.
“I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. When I told him to get the fuck out of my apartment, I felt like I was hovering above myself, watching it all happen.”
“What did he say?”
“That it wasn’t what it looked like.”
Micah laughs humorlessly into the phone and mutters something under his breath.
“If I hadn’t felt like crying so bad in that moment, I would’ve laughed. As he was saying it, his dick was standing at half-mast and hanging out of his pants.”
“Fuck,” Micah groans into the phone.
“Yeah, that’s what they were doing.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah.” So am I. I’m sorry I ever trusted Graham. I’m sorry I wasted so many years loving him. I’m sorry I believed him when he said he would be there for me.
“What are you going to do?”
“I have no fucking clue. This wasn’t really in my five-year plan.”
I begin to cry again, but we continue to talk, and every once in a while, we just sit in silence. I don’t need him to say anything. I just need to know he’s there, even if he is a thousand miles away.
“I feel so alone,” I whisper into the phone.
“You’re not alone, Dani.”
“I am. You . . . you have no idea how this feels.” My voice cracks and I swallow the cotton ball lodged in my throat. “You have a family, who you see every day, and friends and . . .” He has everything. Everyone. Anyone he wants. I have nobody. Except Piper and . . .
“You have me.”
I wish I had you, Micah Landry. “Thanks for saying that and for being a good friend.”
“Is there anybody you could call . . . ?”
“No. I mean, Piper, but . . . oh, God. Please don’t tell Piper about this. I mean, don’t try to do some good friend thing by hanging up with me and calling her,” I ramble frantically. “I’ll call her. Just not tonight.”
“Do you have any other friends close by?”
“No.” Admitting that makes me feel even more pathetic. “But I’m fine. I mean, I will be fine. Don’t worry about me. It’s not like I’m going to jump out of this fourteenth floor window or anything. I’m not a jumper.”
“That’s good to know.” His soft laugh makes me smile, and for a moment, I imagine what he looks like right now. He’s obviously not at work, so that means he’s probably in a rumpled LSU t-shirt and jeans, like the day he took me on a tour of the property. The warm feeling that idea gives me turns cold when I realize he could also be getting ready to go out on a date. Maybe he’s going to drive Val right through that fucking door this time.
“You don’t have to keep talking to me, you know.”
“I want to.”
“I don’t want to keep you from any plans you may have. You don’t have to babysit me, Micah.”
“Babysit? What are you talkin’ about? Believe it or not, I like talking to you.”
“But, if you have a date or something . . .” I can’t even finish that sentence. I don’t want to hear about his flavor of the month.
“Dani, I haven’t been on a date in a long time.”
What?
“A long time? What’s that, like, a week?”
Why the fuck am I doing this to myself? Oh, yeah . . . booze.
“If you must know, Ms. Reed, it’s been two months since I’ve been with a woman.”
I feel flushed from my head to my toes, and I’m not entirely sure it’s because I’m tipsy. Speaking of alcohol, I need to replenish my buzz while I contemplate what Micah just said. I pop the cork on a bottle of champagne, making a toast to all the physical therapist-fucking bastards of the world.
At some point, after the sun has gone down outside my window, my eyelids feel like they’re coated with sand. They’re so heavy, I finally give in to sleep with my phone pressed to my ear.
When a loud pounding echoes through the quiet, I press my hand to my exposed ear, willing it to go away. I can’t even open my eyes, they hurt so badly. The knocking continues every thirty seconds or so, and I worry it’s inside my head. I haven’t been drunk in a long time; maybe this is what a real hangover feels like?
“Dani,” a muffled voice calls from the other side of the door.
Oh, shit.
Micah
I PRESS MY EAR TO the door, trying to hear any sign of life on the other side. I tried calling on the taxi ride here to make sure I remembered the room number and to give her a heads up I’m in New York, but her phone must’ve died. For all I know, she could’ve been wrong when she was singing about it, drunkenly, over the phone last night.
“Room 1414 . . . such a lucky room . . . too bad I’m not getting lucky in 1414.”
She sang it over and over for a good two minutes. I laughed at her, and she asked if I was laughing because I didn’t like her singing. I told her I liked it very much. It was horrible, actually, but adorable at the same time.
I knock a little louder, hating that I’m probably waking her up, but I can’t stand outside this hotel room forever. A maid with a cart has already been by once, eyeing me warily as she passed.
What if she was so drunk she didn’t really know where she was?
What if she doesn’t want to see me?
“Dani,” I call through the door, hoping she can hear me.
A loud thud inside the room makes my ears perk.
“Dani? Are you okay?” I ask a little louder. “It’s, uh . . . it’s Micah.”
A few seconds later, the door slowly opens, and behind it is the best thing I’ve seen in two months. She’s a little worse for wear, but she’s still beautiful . . . and perfect . . . and holy shit, I’ve missed her.
“Micah?” she asks, looking at me through squinty eyes. Squinty eyes with black smudges under them. A few of the smudges go all the way down to her chin and there are spots of black on her cream-colored shirt.
And . . . she’s not wearing any pants.
I clear my throat, looking down to her bare legs and then back up to her face. Fuck.
“Micah?” she asks again, like she doesn’t trust herself to believe what her eyes are seeing.
“Yep.”
“What the fuck are you doing here?” She turns to look inside the room, back out to me . . . and then sticks her head into the hallway. Realization starts setting in.
“Oh, fuck,” she whines, covering her face. “Did I ask you to come here?”
“No.”
“I didn’t?” She peeks through her fingers. “Then why are you here?”
“I wanted to check on you. Make sure you’re all right.”
“You could’ve called me.”
“Your phone’s deader than a doornail.”
“Shit,” she hisses. “God, I’m so embarrassed.”
“Why?”
“Because . . . well, because you’re here and . . .” She bends down and rests her hands on her knees. “Oh, God. I think I’m gonna be sick.” She stra
ightens and cups a hand over her mouth, releasing the door in my face as she runs toward the bathroom. Fortunately, I act fast and catch it before it shuts.
“Don’t come in here!” she yells after slamming another door in my face.
I chuckle to myself and lean against the wall beside the bathroom. Well, isn’t this a warm welcome.
“I came here to help you, but I can’t really do that if I’m standin’ out here, now can I?” It’s a rhetorical question—one I don’t plan on her answering since she’s throwing up at the moment. At least she made it to the toilet. Tucker threw up in my bathtub once. And don’t even get me started on Deacon’s messes I’ve cleaned up over the years.
But I’ve never taken care of a sick girl before.
I quietly open the door and my heart clenches. I really hate seeing her like this. She’s sitting in front of the toilet with her arms and head resting on the seat. Wetting a washcloth, I wring it out and place it on her neck. I pull her hair out of her face, cringing at the dampness. Taking another washcloth, I wipe through her hair, getting as much of the vomit off of it as I can, then I twist it around and shove it down the back of her shirt to keep it out of her face.
“Want some water?” I ask.
“No,” she mumbles, her voice weak and sad. “I’m sorry you have to see me like this.”
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.”
She sniffles a little, wiping her nose on her arm. “Yeah, but I can’t believe you want to be here.” She’s crying now, like full on girl-crying, and it breaks my fucking heart. “Yo-you didn’t call Piper, did you?”
“No. You asked me not to, so I didn’t.”
“Thank you,” she says, her forehead still pressed into the crook of her arm with her cheek on the toilet seat.
I take the rag, wipe the side of her face, then rub my hand down her back. My mom always used to rub my back when I was sick, and it made me feel better. Hopefully it’ll work on Dani, too.
A second later, she throws up again, trying to push me away with her free hand, but I don’t budge. She cries some more, her sobs echoing from inside the porcelain bowl.
I’d like to track Graham Harrison down and break both his fucking legs.
When she feels like she’s done getting sick, I turn the shower on for her, check the temperature, and help her shed her shirt. She doesn’t bother taking off her bra or panties. She just climbs in the shower and lets the water pour over her.
“I’ll be right outside the door. Holler if you need me.”
I step out into the hotel room, giving her some space. The only evidence that someone has been here is the pile of empty packages and bottles on the bed. There’s a small, clear space by the pillows where she must’ve slept. Her phone is lying on the pillow.
I hate that she was here all alone last night. I stayed on the phone with her for as long as I could, even on the drive to the airport, but I never said anything about coming. I just got online and booked the first flight I could find. The fastest I could get here was by driving to New Orleans early this morning and leaving from there. If I hadn’t had a fucking layover in Atlanta, I would’ve been here earlier.
Flying here was a no-brainer. I would do anything to take her pain away right now.
While Dani is still in the shower, I clean up the bed, tossing the trash and doing a count of all the empty bottles. Seven. Well, eight counting the empty champagne bottle. The shit she didn’t eat or drink, I put back in the mini bar, saving a pack of crackers and a can of Sprite, just in case.
I brought her some breakfast pockets I made at home yesterday, but I doubt she’ll want to eat those until her stomach feels better.
I laugh a little as I glance over the pricelist for the items in the mini bar. Forty fucking dollars for the small bottle of champagne she drank. Ten bucks a pop for the tiny bottles of liquor. She rang up a nice little tab for Graham.
“Hey,” I hear from behind me. I turn around, finding her peeking around the door with a towel wrapped around her. “Um, I have a problem. I kinda don’t have any clean clothes to wear.”
With a laugh, I look away. Her not having clothes to wear should not be a problem, but it is. She’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen, sick or not, but I didn’t fly to New York to fuck Sheridan Reed. I flew to New York to be her friend and help her through a hard time. I grab the backpack I left by the front door and pull out a pair of boxer shorts and a t-shirt. “Here, wear these. We’ll send your clothes down to be cleaned.”
“Yeah, Graham can pay for that, too.” She gives me a half-smile before shutting the door.
That douchebag deserves it. He deserves a whole hell of a lot more than a five-hundred-dollar hotel bill. Dani has been at his beck and call for the last two months, taking care of his every need, and he repays her by sleeping with the fucking physical therapist.
She deserves so much better.
Dani slowly walks back into the room and sits on the bed, looking so exhausted. My arms itch to wrap around her, but the way she’s fidgeting with the t-shirt and shorts she’s wearing makes me worried she’s uncomfortable. As much as I don’t want to, I offer to leave.
“But you just got here!” Her outburst surprises both of us. I try to hide my grin as she bites her lip and turns her face toward the window.
“I don’t want to go, Dani, but if I’m makin’ you uncomfortable, I will.”
She covers her lap with the blanket and begins picking at a stray thread. “I’m just embarrassed.”
“What on earth for?”
It takes every ounce of strength I have to keep from laughing when she rolls her eyes at me and says, “Duh!” She pauses for a moment before looking up at me. “Micah, this is it.” Her voice is so matter-of-fact and sad. “This is the lowest of the low. I’ve officially hit rock bottom, and I hate being so pathetic, especially in front of you.”
“Now, you stop right there. You think I’ve never felt like this before? You think I’ve never seen other people I care about hurt like you’re hurting right now? Well, I have on both accounts, and I know it sucks.”
“I still can’t believe you flew all the way up here.”
Forcing that dreaded F-word out of my mouth, I reply, “It’s what friends do.” A flash of disappointment crosses Dani’s face, but she quickly recovers. I’d love nothing more than to kiss that look away for good, but I remind myself that’s not why I’m here.
“Do you want me to brush your hair?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood “I mean, isn’t that what girls do with their friends when they’re sad?”
She laughs. “Maybe sometimes. I’m more of an eat-and-drink-myself-stupid kind of girl, obviously. But I’m still pretty tired. Mind if I take a nap?”
“Of course not. You sleep, and I’ll see about gettin’ your clothes washed, okay?”
Nodding, she scoots completely under the blanket and closes her eyes. Unable to help myself, I bend down and kiss her forehead.
When she’s good and asleep and the only thing I can hear is the small snore coming from the little ball under the blankets, I call housekeeping and request them to come clean the bathroom. The lady is fast and quiet and she takes Dani’s dirty clothes with her to have them laundered.
After housekeeping leaves, I lie down on top of the blanket next to Dani. No reason to tempt myself any more than I already have. Maintaining a platonic status between us is going to be a lot harder than I thought, or maybe I didn’t think. Honestly, my only thought since she called me yesterday was getting to her.
Early this morning, during my layover in Atlanta, I called my mama to let her know I left and I’d be back on Friday. She sounded worried, asking me if something was wrong. I told her a little bit about Dani, just enough for Mama to understand my need to see her for myself without betraying her trust. She told me to promise to give Dani an extra hug for her and, I quote, “take care of our girl”. Our girl.
I swear, when my mama gets something in her head, there’s no get
tin’ it out. The fact that Dani has, or had, a boyfriend seemed inconsequential to her. She said she has a sixth sense about these things.
Rolling over to my back, I laugh softly. She has a sixth sense about a lot of things.
A couple of weeks ago, when I was moping around the house, she told me when you really care about someone, you have to show them, not just tell them. Show them. I looked at her like she was crazy. I hadn’t even said anything about what or how I was feeling, but somehow, she knew my foul mood had something to do with Dani. When I asked her how I was supposed to do that, she told me I’d know when the time was right. And she followed it up with one of her many philosophical sayings: Matters of the heart can’t be rushed.
I have no idea where she gets all that shit, but every once in a while, something she’s told me over the years comes back to me, and it suddenly makes sense. Like now. I think what she was trying to tell me was if you really care about someone, you have to be patient. If I would’ve rushed things with Dani, I could’ve messed everything up. Lying here beside her, I realize I’m okay with just being next to her. Of course, I want her, but I’ll take this over anything that doesn’t include her and me in the same room any day.
For a while, I just watch Dani sleep, brushing the hair away from her face and memorizing each freckle on her nose and cheekbones.
Sometime later, a phone ringing wakes me. I’m completely disoriented at first, forgetting where I am, but once I’ve taken in my surroundings and find Dani’s phone where I left it charging, I see it’s Piper calling.
“Hey, Piper. This is Micah Landry,” I say, trying to clear the sleep from my voice.
“Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit. That’s one sexy southern drawl you have there, Micah. What the hell are you doing answering Dani’s phone?”
I manage to hold in the sound, but my laughter still shakes the bed, so I climb off and sit in the chair by the window, not wanting to disturb Dani.
“Spoken like a true southerner. I almost couldn’t tell you’re a Yankee.”