Watch and See

by Jiffy Kate

  “I had a nice time today,” he says when we’re standing in front of the restaurant. “Thank you for meeting me for my Sunday pizza.”

  His Sunday pizza. He shouldn’t have said that. Now, I’ll want to follow him to the pizza place every Sunday.

  “It was delicious. Thank you for inviting me.” I smile and then begin to fidget with the strap of my bag. I don’t know what to do now. I mean, I know what I want to do, but I’d never be so forward. I think now is when I’m supposed to say “see ya later” and head into my building, but I don’t want to. I’m not ready to be away from him for an entire week.

  “Have a great week, Harper.”

  “You too,” I say, lingering on the sidewalk, buying myself a few more seconds.

  “I’ll see you Saturday.”

  I nod and open the door but look back at him over my shoulder. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and smiles at me. I finally walk through the door but peek at him one more time through the glass, and he’s still standing in the same spot. I want to run back out there and throw myself at him, but I try to play it cool and continue up the steps to my apartment. When I get there, I’m anything but cool. I flop onto my bed like a sixteen-year-old love-sick girl and spend the rest of the afternoon daydreaming about Luke.

  Later that night, I watch him through the binoculars. He’s sorting through some CDs. I didn’t even know people still bought those. He spends hours sitting in the middle of his living room floor, taking the inserts out and reading through the lyrics. I wonder why...I wonder what he’s thinking about, whom he’s thinking about. I wonder, and I watch. And for the first time, I wish he was watching back.

  §

  The past week has been long. The fact it’s finally Saturday again and I’m going to see Luke in person after six long days puts a little extra bounce in my step.

  I know I said I wouldn’t watch him anymore from the window, but I still do. Not every night, but close. He hasn’t been with a woman in over two weeks, and I don’t know what to make of that. Is it because of me? Or is it something else entirely? How can he go from having sex almost every night to having none? I have to force myself to not blurt out the truth to him every time we’re together. I want so badly to know the reasons behind what he does, or used to do. And still, more than anything, I want to experience it first-hand.

  My phone buzzes from my nightstand as I’m getting ready to leave.

  Wyatt: I miss you. Can I see you today?

  Ugh.

  I roll my eyes and let out a frustrated breath. He is not giving up, and it’s starting to piss me off. He texted me on Tuesday and wanted to know if he could buy me dinner, to which I replied no. Then on Wednesday, he asked if I wanted to have drinks after work, to which I also replied no. I made up a lame excuse of having to work overtime and that I was tired from not being able to sleep very well, which wasn’t a lie. Luke had been at his window the night before, and although he wasn’t with a woman, he was wearing those fucking gray sweatpants, and I couldn’t look away. On Thursday, when I was leaving the library late after working overtime for real, I thought I saw Wyatt standing out by the lamp post, but when I looked up again, he was gone. The weirdest part was that the entire walk home, I felt like someone was watching me. I almost texted him to see if he’d reply, but I didn’t want to give him any sort of false hope.

  Now, I really don’t know what to say to him. Most of the time, he’s a good friend, but every once in a while, like last Saturday, he completely oversteps his boundaries.

  Me: I have my mom’s therapy session today.

  I know that’s not really an answer, but I’ve told him before that I don’t usually feel up to going out afterwards. Surely he’s not that dense and can read between the lines.

  Wyatt: I could stop by after the session or maybe meet you there, and we could get something to eat or have some coffee. There’s a place right across the street.

  Or maybe he is that dense. And why does it creep me out that he knows about the coffee shop across the street from the rehab place?

  Me: Not today. Maybe sometime next week.

  I really don’t know what the right response is, but that seems as good as any. Hopefully, it’ll get him to drop it for today, and I’ll be able to come up with a new excuse the next time he calls or texts.

  I wait for a few minutes, and when he doesn’t reply, I toss my phone into my bag and head out the door.

  This time, when I walk in, I don’t pay any attention to the lady at the desk. I sign in and head straight to the room and let myself in. I’m only in the room by myself for maybe a minute before Luke and my mom walk in.

  The smile on his face as he greets me has my body tingling from my head to my toes, but when I turn and see Sadie, the tingles go away, and my stomach fills with lead.

  Someone is having a bad day. Again.

  I can see it in the slump of her shoulders and the scowl on her face. She’s biting at her non-existent fingersnails, a trait she somehow passed on to me when something is bothering us.

  Is it normal for her to be angry all the time? In earlier sessions, she didn’t seem this grumpy, so I’m confused as to why she seems to be getting worse. Maybe I could ask Luke about it later...if it doesn’t violate his ethics, of course.

  Sadie sits down, opens three pieces of gum and shoves them into her mouth. I wouldn’t have a problem with it, but the smacking sounds she’s making as she chews drives me up the wall. It feels intentional, like she’s doing it to annoy me.

  When I look at Luke, he licks his bottom lip and then bites down as he reads over what’s written on the papers in front of him. I’m reminded of our date last week—of the way he licked the pizza sauce that was smeared just outside his mouth, and it has me blushing now almost as much as it did then. The sound of him clearing his throat brings me back to the present, and I have to look away before my face really heats up.

  “Sadie, your other counselor, Ms. Marcus, mentioned to me that you’ve been increasingly more difficult to work with. She said you aren’t participating in your group sessions, and you’re becoming more and more withdrawn. Care to explain why?”

  The way Luke looks at my mom shows that he really does care. He’s not fussing at her or admonishing her. He’s trying to get to the bottom of Sadie’s issues so she can get healthy. I don’t know if it’s just his training or what, but he’s really good at his job.

  Sadie sighs and looks away before answering. “I just don’t see the point.”

  “The point of what?” he asks as he leans forward, completely engaged.

  “The point of everything...rehab, being here, the classes, talking. Why do we have to talk so fucking much?”

  Luke gives her an understanding smile and sits back in his chair. “In order to learn and move forward, we need to both talk and listen. It’s a give and take between you and the staff here. When you share about your experiences and what has led you to your addictions, the other counselors and I can then share the best ways for you to recover in a safe manner. It’s our hope to empower you with the knowledge and skills to identify your triggers and work through them without turning back to drugs or alcohol. All of that involves talking, I’m afraid.”

  “Well, sometimes I don’t have anything to say! Why is that such a problem?”

  “It’s not a problem when it happens once or twice, but you’ve been closed off the entire time you’ve been here. How can we help you if you don’t tell us how you're feeling?” Luke gives my mother a minute, but she remains stoic, with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes turned to the blank wall beside her. “Why are you here, Sadie?” Luke asks.

  “I told you why I’m here,” she screams—her voice breaking. The sound of Sadie’s voice yelling sends me back to my childhood, and I instinctively cringe in my chair. “I told you it’s her fault,” she sneers as she points to me. Then she’s out of her seat, and her arms are flailing like a crazy person. “I didn’t want to be a mom,” she sobs, sounding as though
she’s on the verge of a breakdown, or maybe a breakthrough. “But I didn’t get a choice! When I didn’t bond with her as a baby, people told me my depression was normal and would go away, but it didn’t! The guilt from that is something I’d never wish on anyone, and the only way I could make it go away was to use.”

  My chest feels like a vise is squeezing the life from me, and I can barely see through my watery eyes, but I stand and face her—my mother. “You’re so full of shit,” I tell her. “No one forced you to be a mom. You could’ve given me up for adoption! Being raised by a bunch of knuckle-breaking nuns would’ve been better than the life I lived!” I yell, allowing myself to get out a fraction of the anger I’ve been feeling inside for so long now. “Grow up and take responsibility for your actions for once!”

  I know running isn’t the answer, but I have no desire to sit here and listen to her put this on me. This woe-is-me act is something with which I’m very familiar. Somehow, my mother can always make herself out to be the martyr. Not today. Without looking at Luke, I grab my purse and walk out of the room. When the door closes, all I hear behind me is silence, so I keep walking—down the hall and out the doors.

  I have no idea if he’ll join me at the coffee shop, but I go there anyway. I order a large latte and sit in the back of the room. Twenty minutes pass before I hear the chime on the door, but I don’t let out a sigh of relief until I see him standing by my table.

  “Mind if I join you?” he asks, and I can tell by the tone of his voice he’s being careful with me, but all I really want is to jump into his arms and beg for him to make me feel something other than pain and rejection.

  “Of course not.” I sniffle and wipe my hands across my wet cheeks. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be here after my outburst,” I admit. “Are you mad at me?”

  “For speaking your feelings?” he asks as he slides into the seat across from me. “For standing up to the woman who has blamed you for everything bad in her life?” Luke pauses, shaking his head as he looks away. “Harper, I’m not mad. I’m proud.”

  Tears flood my eyes again, but I manage to give him a small smile. “Thank you,” I whisper. I take a drink of my coffee and try to clear my emotions before speaking—asking the question I wish I didn’t want the answer to. “Is she okay?”

  He picks at a nick in the table, seemingly avoiding my question, and just when I think he’s not going to answer, he looks back up at me. “Yeah, she’s okay. She tried to play the victim after you left, but when I told her I agreed with you, that she had to own up to her actions, she started changing her tune.”

  I have no idea what to say. He told Sadie that he agreed with me? He took my side? I can’t explain what I’m feeling in this moment. To finally feel validated by someone other than Mia or Layla... It’s relief and comfort and hope. And somehow, I feel less alone.

  “Harper, I know what you’re going through. Not just as a therapist but as a person...a son.”

  I look up at him and see him warring with himself, probably trying to decide how much of himself he wants to share. I know that feeling. Without giving it permission, my hand reaches across the table and covers his.

  “My dad was an alcoholic, and he was terrible to my mother. He’s the reason I wanted to be a therapist at a rehab facility. If I can help someone turn away from drugs or alcohol and in turn, salvage their relationship with their family, then what I went through just might be worth it.”

  There’s something new in his eyes now. Maybe it’s vulnerability or a deeper connection between us. I’m not sure, but my heart breaks a little for the younger Luke. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “Do you mind if I ask what happened to your mother? Did your father get help?”

  His jaw clenches like I’ve seen it do before in the sessions with Sadie, and his hand tenses under mine. “She left. She packed up her things in the middle of the night, kissed me on the forehead while I was in bed, and walked out the front door. I’ve never seen or heard from her since.”

  And now, all I want to do is wrap my arms around him and make him feel anything but pain and rejection.

  “You’ve seemed down in the dumps the last few days,” Layla says, sitting beside me at the desk. “Anything you want to talk about?”

  “Just had a crazy family session on Saturday. That’s it, really. Same shit, different day.” I sigh, pushing away from the desk and grabbing a stack of books that need to be checked back in. “I don’t know why I still let her get to me after all these years.”

  “Because you care,” Layla says, putting her arm around my shoulder. “And that’s okay, because that’s who you are, Harper.” She forces me to put down the stack of books and look at her. “You’ve always cared. Even when things were at rock bottom, you still cared. Don’t feel bad about that. But it might be time to tell yourself you’ve done enough...that it’s okay to let go.”

  “Yeah,” I say, nodding and swallowing down the emotions threatening to spill over. Ever since my blow up at Sadie and my talk with Luke at the coffee shop, my emotions have been raw. I feel like my nerves are shot. A part of me thinks I should skip a week of therapy and let the dust settle, but the other part wants to see Luke...and my mom, if I’m being completely honest. “I think that’s part of why I’ve felt so shitty. After the session last week and seeing how unresponsive Sadie was, it made me realize that this might not work. She may never be healthy or sober. And even though she’s always been a junkie, I’ve always had hope she’d be something different someday...and now that hope is dying.”

  Layla pulls me into a tight embrace and holds me there as a few tears escape. When a couple walks into the library, she pulls back, and we go back to pretending we’re working. “You know what you need?” she asks quietly.

  “No,” I say, shaking my head, kind of scared of what her solution to my problems might be. Layla is known to be a fixer, but her methods are often unorthodox.

  “A girls’ night out.”

  “No strip clubs,” I tell her, scanning a book and putting it on the stack.

  “Fine. But drinks. Lots of them.”

  “Fine.”

  “And I’m buying, so you can’t be a party pooper and claim that you don’t have money or whatever. You’re staying out until I say you can go home.”

  “Fine.”

  At times like these, it’s easier to agree with Layla. Besides, I could use some girl time, anything to take my mind off my current reality...and my fantasy. One, I don’t want and would gladly give away, and the other, I can’t have and would do anything to get.

  My life is a charmed one, for sure.

  §

  At a bar with Mia and Layla a few hours later, I’m already two drinks in and beginning to feel the welcomed numbness, helping me forget about everything that’s wrong in my life right now. Mia’s phone rings, and she presses it up to her ear, covering the mouthpiece and speaking loudly.

  “Hey, baby!” she coos into the phone.

  Layla and I groan in unison. Mia and Kyle are disgustingly sweet to one another when they’re sober, but when they’re drunk, they’re vomit-inducing.

  Mia continues to speak in a tipsy slur to Kyle over the phone while Layla orders us all another round of drinks.

  “Do we want boys?” Mia asks loudly over the crowded bar, covering the mouthpiece of the phone.

  Layla looks at me, and my expression must say it all. “No boys,” Layla commands just as the waitress shows back up with a tray of fruity drinks.

  Mia hangs up after professing her love and everything she’s going to do to Kyle when she gets home and then levels me with a stare. “Okay, what’s up with you and banker boy?”

  “He’s on my last nerve. That’s what,” I say, the liquor helping me speak the truth. “He will not take no for an answer.”

  “What do you mean?” Layla asks, leaning forward to hear better.

  “I told him I just want to be friends, but he keeps coming around. Like last Saturday, he showed up at my building and claimed he was
in the neighborhood.” Rolling my eyes, I take another long pull from my glass. “We all know he wasn’t in my neighborhood.”

  “He likes you,” Mia says, sitting her half-empty glass on the table. “What’s so bad about that? He’s cute. You should at least get an orgasm out of him before you kick him to the curb.”

  Expelling a frustrated breath, I shake my head. “I don’t like him like that.”

  “At all?” Mia’s nose is scrunched in confusion.

  “No,” I reply firmly, chugging some more of my drink. If I’m going to keep having this kind of conversation—about Wyatt and feelings and non-feelings, I’m going to need to maintain my buzz.

  “Are you seeing someone else?” she asks, obviously confused as to why I wouldn’t be into dating Wyatt, but also using heavy emphasis on the word seeing, which makes me think of Luke, causing me to choke on my drink.

  “No,” I say weakly and undoubtedly unconvincing.

  “You are seeing someone,” Mia says with a gasp, slapping the table.

  “Who is he?” Layla asks almost simultaneously, practically climbing onto the table to get closer.

  “I’m not seeing anybody. I mean, I’ve had coffee with somebody, but…” I trail off as they both squeal in delight. Rolling my eyes, I try to hide my smile behind my glass because I’m dying to tell them about Luke. I just don’t know what to say...how much of the truth to tell.

  “Spill,” Mia demands as she motions for our waitress to come back to our table, ordering some shots.

  “He’s just a guy that I…” I struggle with how to explain him—who he is and how we met. “I met him at the rehab facility.” I decide to go with that because it seems like the most logical, sane thing to say. A few more drinks, and I might be telling them the whole sordid story, but for now, we’ll stick with this version.

  “Is he a patient?” Layla asks, cocking her head. I can see her getting ready to go into protective mom mode.