Thirty Days: Part Three (A SwipeDate Novella)

by BT Urruela

  A bang at the door stirs me awake. It takes me a moment to realize where I am. Wiping my eyes with balled-up fists, my vision adjusts to the flood of sunlight pouring through the slits of the blinds in my living room. The banging persists and I curse under my breath at whoever has decided to wake me up this early. Grabbing my phone from the nightstand, I realize ‘this early’ is subjective, as the phone reads twelve-forty. A slew of unread texts sits just below the time.

  Another round of knocking and I try and yell, “Give me a second,” but it comes out nearly inaudible as I heave myself off the couch, my stiff legs trembling in an attempt to steady myself. A muffled voice that I can’t make out comes from the other side of the door, and before I know it, it sounds like whoever it is, is trying to bust the damn thing down.

  I swing the front door open just as Bobby stands on the top step with a boot hiked up and ready to kick. Blocking my eyes from the blinding sun, I ask, “What in the holy fucking hell are you doing, Bobby? For fuck’s sake.”

  He lowers his boot back to the ground and charges in through the doorway, brushing past me.

  “Don’t you get all cranky with me, dude,” he says as I turn to face him, shutting the door behind me. His hands meet his hips and he taps his foot against the wood floor relentlessly. “I was worried sick.”

  “Worried about what? I’m fine, man.”

  “I haven’t heard from you since the funeral. I’ve called, texted… My mind was running through all the worst possible scenarios. Your doctor has been trying to get ahold of you, too. Wanted to check up on you. She ended up contacting me and Javon because she was worried, too.”

  “Well, you all can breathe a sigh of relief. I haven’t killed myself. You’re in the clear. I was going to respond. I’ve just been busy.”

  “Obviously,” he says with a smartass tone, his eyes trailing behind me. He points and I follow his finger toward the beer bottles and Fireball bottle on the coffee table.

  “Honestly, those aren’t mine. They’re from when my brother was here.”

  He tilts his head down and arches an eyebrow. “You don’t say.”

  Laughing, I shake my head and shrug. “You don’t gotta believe me, but it’s the truth.”

  “And the rest of it?” He motions toward the balled-up hamburger wrappers, empty popcorn bag, and turned over ice cream carton.

  “Okay, so those I am guilty for, but seriously, the alcohol wasn’t me.”

  “Whether it is or isn’t, Gavin. You can’t just close yourself off in here and wallow. I completely get what you’re going through. Losing my grandparents crushed me. And I didn’t have nearly the connection you had. But this isn’t the way to cope.”

  I put a hand up to stop him. “Will you just shut up and listen to me for a second?” Tossing the ice cream carton and a bundle of highlighters to the side, I grab a thick stack of papers and hand it over to him. He takes it from me, eyeing it for a moment, before looking back at me in disbelief.

  “This isn’t what I think it is, is—”

  “Completed manuscript.” I finish for him, a prideful smile taking up my face.

  “No way,” he mutters, running his finger over the title. “Into the Nothing by Gavin Mazzarelli.” His eyes return to mine. “You finished it?”

  “Yeah. It’s why I didn’t respond. I was encompassed by it. It was calling to me, so I let it all out.”

  “Well, shit. That’s fucking great news, man.”

  “I made a bet with you. Figured I should probably hold up my end of it.”

  “You don’t owe me a thing, Gavin. And fuck the bet. But this really is great to see. When can I read it?”

  “I’ll shoot it over to you tonight, but be gentle. It’s rough around the edges.”

  “Aren’t all good first drafts?” He narrows his eyes on me as he mindlessly flips through the pages. “How many words you got in this bad boy?”

  “A little over one hundred k.” I laugh, shrugging as I continue, “I couldn’t shut it off when it started pouring out of me.”

  “Is this all you’ve been doing?”

  “Well, let’s just say I started the week with thirty thousand words down.”

  “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, his eyes falling back to the manuscript and then moving back up to me. “Congrats, Gavin. That’s quite the accomplishment.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t congratulate me just yet. The editor still needs to get her hands on it.”

  “Stop being a fucking pessimist,” he says, setting the manuscript back on the coffee table before reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a check and hands it over.

  “What is that?”

  “Your money.”

  “What money?”

  “Twenty-five thousand, for finishing the challenge.”

  I shake my head, scrunching my brows together. “Have I been talking to myself here, Bobby? I didn’t finish the challenge. I haven’t been on a date in the past week.”

  He pockets the check and motions toward the couch. “Let’s sit,” he says, making his way to it and taking a seat, patting the area next to him for me to join him. Reluctantly, I do. “Never was it my intention to make you go on dates with thirty women.”

  “Well, you sure could’ve fooled me,” I jest and he sets a hand on my shoulder.

  “Listen to me. That was just the catalyst. What I’ve always wanted—and I said it from the get-go—was to get you writing again, and to help you move on from Joanne. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. And you’ve done both of those in spades. Joanne texted me the other night and—” He cuts himself off, balling his hand in a fist and trying to stifle his laughter with it. It escapes anyway.

  “What?”

  “Oh God, it was glorious. She’s literally losing her shit over you. Sent me a long ass text about how you won’t respond to her and trying to pry into what’s going on in your life. And before her little text, I wasn’t sure how you were doing. But not texting her back? My man, that’s some fucking progress.”

  I shrug. “She’s not the same as she once was.”

  “Or maybe you’re viewing her through fresh eyes. A new perspective. Regardless, I’m fucking proud of you, man. I mean it. A month ago, there’s no way you leave her hanging. Not a chance in hell.”

  “I guess your little plan worked then. Kudos.”

  “Well, not quite. Worked well enough, though. Shit, I’ll take it. I feel like I’m looking at a new man right now.”

  “But…”

  “But ideally, you and Sami would work shit out.”

  “Unfortunately, that is over and done with. She could’ve texted me, ages ago, and she didn’t.”

  “She’s probably got a lot on her mind. Probably some trust issues. Have you tried talking to her in person?”

  I look at him like he’s crazy. “One. I don’t know where she lives. Two. Even if I did, I’m not going to stalk her ass, dude. That’s some creepy shit.”

  “It’s some creepy shit if there aren’t mutual feelings involved. She cared about you, bro. Probably still does. There’s no doubt in my mind she did. The way you two looked at each other, the way you interacted, it was different. It reminded me of what Cassandra and I have. It gave me hope in you finding something like that, too. Nothing is gonna ever come across right through text. Nobody’s being convinced of anything that way. You need to see her. You need to tell her, face to face, what happened, why it happened, and that you fucking miss her. Because Gavin, I know you do. All that new light you had in your eyes when you met her fizzled out the moment she left.”

  “Well, even if what you’re saying is true—and I’m so not saying that it is—I told you, I don’t know where she lives. Only where she works, and no, no way in hell I’m doing that.”

  “Why not?”

  “She works at a school, dude!”

  “And…”

  “And I’m not trying to go to jail, Bobby.”

  He chuckles, shaking his head at me. “You’re not gonna go to jail for talki
ng to a teacher at her place of business.”

  “And what do you suppose I do, genius? Have the principal call her down to the office over the PA? Maybe stand outside awkwardly, waiting for her to exit with all the other teachers and kids. I’m sure she’d just love that. Totally not creepy. Not at all.”

  “I don’t have all the answers for you, and I’m not saying it’s going to be a piece of cake. I’m just saying, if you care about this woman, if you really miss her like I know you do, you’ll do whatever it is you need to do for a second chance. It’s that simple.” He stands, brushing his hands down the front of his jeans and then pointing to my manuscript. “Send me that tonight, okay? I’m serious.”

  “Yeah, yeah, okay,” I say, my focus distant, my thoughts on her, and on Bobby’s words.

  “And Gavin…” He waits until I turn to face him. “Think about it. Sami, I mean. Really think about it. Okay? Just do me that one favor.”

  “Okay,” I respond mindlessly, my eyes drifting off past him again as he makes his way to the door. The front door opening pulls my attention back to him, and the sun pours in around him, dulling his features.

  “Gavin.” He holds the door handle, remaining motionless in the door frame.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m proud of you,” he says sincerely. “I truly am.”

  “I appreciate you, Bobby,” I say, smiling, as he nods at me and shuts the door behind him, closing me off in the still room with an avalanche of thoughts to sift through.

  It’s no more than an hour before I decide he’s right. I jump in the shower, cleaning the past two days away, lotion up, and spritz some cologne on. I throw some clothes on and before I know it, I’m doing just as Bobby suggested, walking quickly toward the Bleecker Street station, and running what I’ll say to her through my mind. As if produced by my own self-doubt, an ominous set of clouds rolls in overhead, drowning out the sun. Wind whips my coat around my body as my legs push ahead. Class is already out and there is only so much time I have before she heads home. Thirty minutes. An hour, at best.

  I scale the steps beneath the subway sign, down into the station. Pacing back and forth, I wait for the train as images of how she’ll react pass through my mind. In my head, I’ve spilled it all to her. I’ve told her the truth about the challenge and my hardships these past few years, and she still doesn’t believe me. Better yet, she laughs in my face, drives off, and files a restraining order sometime thereafter.

  There’s a sinking feeling in my gut as the train pulls to a stop before me, the doors swinging open. One quick ride and a few short minutes separate me from what could turn out to be a huge fucking mistake. In uncoordinated, jerky steps, I make my way onto the train, sitting down, and my head falls into my hands. There are people on here with me, but they might as well be ghosts, spirits simply watching me as I suffer through the nausea and the faintness I feel.

  The Kingsbridge Road station isn’t nearly far enough away. In my hurry to take action, I failed to give myself enough time to think this through. The train screeches to a halt, the doors swing open, and here I am with a decision to make. Do I look past the crippling self-doubt? Am I honest with myself about my feelings for her? Or do I change my mind, keep my ass seated, and head back home—saving myself the humiliation?

  It’s as if the decision is made for me. I mindlessly stand and exit the train just as the doors close behind me. I shuffle through the turn style, down the stairs, and out into the pouring rain. People rush past with umbrellas above their heads, but I walk poised, determined.

  The school is only a few blocks away, just past the Indian place where Grandma and I met Sami for lunch. It’s the only thing that halts my progress as I slow to a stop, my eyes on the flashing sign hanging in the plate glass window. I think back on that moment in time, perfect in every way.

  I can see the rain vanish, the sun cutting through the thick clouds, and Grandma in her wheelchair, smiling and taking in the wind kicking up leaves in the road, the bike messengers zooming by on their ten-speeds, the people chatting and walking with lunch cradled in their hands.

  And there’s Sami, her lips against mine, her warm body in complete contrast to the brisk autumn breeze as she’s wrapped in my arms. In one of my hands, I carry a bag with the vinyls and record player Sami just gave Grandma—the one she’d die listening to fifteen days later.

  Before I realize it, tears have trickled slowly down my cheeks, but the persistent rain helps them go unnoticed. I continue forward, shaking off my distant stare and the haunting memories of Grandma that accompanies it. Two more blocks to go.

  There is a hitch in my breath when I spot P.S. 122, turning the corner of Heath and West Kingsbridge Road. The aged brick and filthy windows go almost unnoticed behind the heavy rain and beneath the dense clouds overhead. The building carries a formidable presence.

  Waiting for the first wave of teachers to come out, I can’t help but feel like a fucking weirdo, standing out in the rain with only a folded up, sopping wet newspaper over my head, and staring in their direction. It’s hard to make out faces through the chaos of the downpour.

  For a moment, I think about turning back. What good would it do at this point, really? If I were afraid of her reaction before, it’s going to be ten times worse looking like a wet fucking street rat. Just as I’m about to turn around and high-tail it back to the station, I see her. She flips open an umbrella and huddles beneath it as she walks briskly through the parking lot toward her car.

  I inch my way closer to her, though an unseen force is trying to pull me away, trying to save me the shame. As I approach her, I softly say, “Hey, Sami,” but she doesn’t hear me. She swings her door open and as she jumps in, closing her umbrella outside the car, I say her name again, louder this time. Her eyes shoot forward, her mouth in an O and eyes wide as she’s caught off guard. Once she realizes it’s me, the surprise in her face intensifies before her mouth curls into a frown. She tosses the umbrella in her backseat and reaches for the door handle.

  “Just talk to me for two seconds,” I call out through the pitter patter of the rain hitting the pavement. “Two seconds, please.” I’m pleading now, and at the sound of my shaky voice and partial sight of my drenched silhouette in the windshield, I’m filled to the brim with embarrassment, a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  “I don’t have time for this,” she says, her mouth twisted in a scowl, but her eyes reading something else. Something else entirely.

  Hope, maybe? Intrigue?

  As she pulls the car door closed, I yell out, “My grandma,” on impulse. Not to stir up some sort of pity in her, but because at this moment, having her right in front of me, I must talk to her, I must get it all out.

  She stops abruptly, sadness filling her features, hesitation in her eyes. Then she leans toward the open door and says, “Get in the car, crazy,” before shutting it and motioning to the passenger seat.

  Relieved, I make my way around the car in a hurry, opening the door and slipping my coat off. I flip it inside out and toss it onto the seat and hop in on top of it, closing the door behind me, my eyes not wavering from the dashboard, the words suddenly trapped in my throat.

  “What about your grandma, Gavin?” she asks, worry in her tone. It brings tears to my eyes; my palms are sweaty and my mouth’s gone dry. “What, Gavin? Talk to me.”

  “She died,” I croak. “On Sunday.”

  “Oh no!” she says, gasping. “I’m so sorry, Gavin. She was such an incredible woman and I know how much she meant to you.”

  “I’ve spent a lot of time this week, thinking, running everything over in my head, and one thing remained consistent. One thing dominated my thoughts.” I look at her, the tears rolling down my face and into my beard. Sami leans with her back against her car door, but her body language suggests she wishes to be closer. I’m dying for her to be closer. “It was you. I needed you this week. To talk to you. To laugh with you. To help me move on from this.”

  “Gavin, I—�
�� I put a hand up to stop her.

  “Please, just let me finish while I still have the nerve and then the floor is all yours.” She nods for me to go ahead. “What I told you, about the bet with Bobby, the thirty dates in thirty days, it was true. And it wasn’t some bullshit ‘let’s see how many girls I can go out with in a month’ kinda thing. He proposed it to me because he knew I needed the money. And more than anything else, because he knew I needed the help. In every aspect of my life.” I clear my throat and breathe in deep, trying to control my frantic heartbeat. “To be perfectly honest, I’ve had a tough few years—quite a few shitty years before that—and, for the longest time, I didn’t know how to cope. Sometimes I still don’t. About a year and a half ago, it reached its apex, and I found myself standing on the ledge of the Brooklyn Bridge, just a few hundred feet from my death. I didn’t want to die, but I didn’t want to feel the pain of living anymore either.”

  There’s a nerve-rattling silence that follows my last words as her eyes go wide, and her hand meets her mouth. My focus drifts back to the dashboard, my throat all kinds of tangled. I take a deep breath and continue. “It wasn’t my proudest moment. But I managed to move on from that. I got some help, but I was still in this funk. This ugly little cloud loomed overhead. And for the longest time, I couldn’t see it. Or I just ignored it. Bobby did see it, though, and he just wanted to help.

  “And when I took him up on it, I didn’t think anything of it. Truthfully, all I gave a damn about was the money… until I met you. The way you were with my grandma, the moments I shared with you. As brief as it all may have been, it changed me. It made me want to get better. To be better, for you.”

  “Oh, Gavin…” she squeaks out and it draws my eyes to hers. They’re glossed over with tears and she rests a hand on top of mine. “I—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I misjudged you. When Jessie approached me, telling me you’d contacted her to set up a date, I was floored. I thought we’d had something together, something that was more than just a casual thing. Or at least, something casual that had the potential to grow into more. I refused to believe her, but when she showed me the conversation, I didn’t want to see any more. I already knew I was falling quickly, so I needed to get out, before you completely broke my heart. It’s happened to me before. I’ve made the wrong choices. Spent years with the wrong man. And I went through hell because of it. I didn’t ever want it to happen again. So, I shut down. Blocked your number. I put my walls up.”