“Fuck.” The word escapes my lips louder than I had intended. I steal a glance at Nate but thankfully he doesn’t seem to mind. Lord, he must think I’m a total potty mouth and I’m not, I swear I’m not. I just keep forgetting everything today and it drives me nuts. Like I never called Taylor. I’ll have to do it first thing in the morning.
I turn to Nate. “Is the couch big enough for you?” I know it’s not. It’s a loveseat more than a couch and he’s a tall muscular guy with a few aching ribs.
“I’ll manage,” he says. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve had much worse. I just need something to eat.”
“Ha!”
“What did I say?”
“You might as well have asked for a million dollars. Or the moon. There’s barely any food in this place. I haven’t eaten myself.”
“That’s no good,” he says with concern.
“There must be something edible in the fridge,” I suggest.
“Do you mind?” he says and takes me by the hand to lead me to the kitchen. He leads us to my bedroom door instead. It’s hard to hide my embarrassment when I realize my bed has not been made in three days. Not to mention the pile of panties and stockings just inside the door.
“Okay, maybe you should be the one leading us,” he says as I close the door to the bedroom.
In the narrow kitchen, I have him sit at the table while I rummage through the pantry and fridge and come up with two eggs, an apple and some borderline expired sliced bread.
“Hah hah!” I say triumphantly as I present my meager loot to him. “What do you have to say now?”
“Honestly?” he says with a chuckle.
“No, this is white lie time,” I say with an exhausted smile.
“I have an idea,” he says as he gets up from the chair and takes the eggs from my hand. “Watch and learn.” He takes a bowl from the dish rack and breaks the eggs, one after the other, with one hand.
*
In the dark of my bedroom, I crumple my body up in a ball, knees to my chin. The world is spinning a little faster than I can handle, pulling me along on a ride without my permission.
Should I trust Nate to stay here even when I don’t know what he’s running from? What kind of trouble is he in? It doesn’t matter. It’s one night. Tomorrow I’ll tell him he can’t stay here, that my priorities have shifted.
It’s true. I can’t take care of two broken men at the same time when I can barely take care of myself. It’s reckless.
As I’m falling asleep, I rejoice in the simple pleasure of having Nate’s surprisingly delicious omelet in my belly. My mind wanders to his surprisingly delicious torso. Falling asleep is the most honest time of the day. We’re too exhausted then to fool even ourselves.
He called my books heirlooms from the past. I could not be sure if he was teasing me somehow or truly admiring the books. What kind of person reads the last page of a thriller first?
I suddenly feel incredibly guilty to be thinking about Nate and not Jack.
Chapter 4
The door to the hospital lobby slides open as we enter. Jack looks much better on this warm November morning than he did last night showing up at my door unexpectedly, key in hand. He’s dressed in a soft beige tweed jacket and pants that go really well with his fair complexion and auburn hair. When he removes his sunglasses in the lobby, I notice his eyes are a bit puffy but he looks otherwise healthy.
“Okay,” I say. “Where to?”
He takes a piece of paper out of his back pocket and unfolds it slowly. “Level three,” he says. “Diagnostic Imaging and Radiology. Our first stop.”
He squeezes my hand once we’re in the elevator as he starts humming a melody I’ve never heard before. He realizes I’m at a loss and winks at me. “It’s a song I’ve been working on,” he says.
This makes me feel good. We’re in need of some normal conversation. “You’re writing songs again?”
“Well, I wouldn’t call them songs exactly. They’re not complete in any sense of the word but I have all these ideas in my head that I’d lose if I didn’t give them some kind of form, so that’s what I do.”
Jack has been an accomplished musician since he was barely driving age, churning out punk rock chords and angry lyrics regularly, and abusing his guitar strings, until he got so disillusioned with the lack of interest in his various bands and attempts at a recording deal that he put the guitar aside and began taking courses in Management and Organization at USC.
A few months later he dropped out to take a job as an assistant to a rather small-fry Hollywood producer with a huge ego. That didn’t work out either as Jack’s innate tendency to view himself as the center of the universe made him quite restless and anxious to get out of his boss’s shadow and, most importantly, stop giving in to the man’s every little whim.
He then tried, without success, to become a music tutor. I was there for the whole ride and experienced each of his frustrations almost as deeply as he did. Jack has bounced between random endeavors ever since he graduated high school. One month he’s a DJ, the next he’s a bartender. His quick temper has always been his worst enemy and, therefore, the agent of change.
“I’m going to move back home,” he says as we exit the elevator and head for the Imaging Department.
“Really? Are you done with living downtown? What about work?”
“I’ll find something,” he says. “I’ll be closer to you, like the old days.”
“Your parents will appreciate it,” I say as if I didn’t hear his last comment.
We grew up in a quiet valley north of Los Angeles. His parents helped me a lot when I was a teenager and started dating Jack. They treated me like a daughter giving guidance and support. I feel shitty having kept my distance since Jack and I split.
We stand in line at the reception desk in Radiology. Hospitals always distress me, even if I’m just visiting to fill out a form or get a prescription. In reality, it’s not the hospital itself that distresses me. It’s the empty expressions on the faces in the waiting room: indifferent, uncomprehending, resigned. A hollow reminder of how small and helpless we all are.
I look at Jack and notice drops of sweat on his upper lip. “Go sit down,” I tell him. “I’ll sign in. They’ll call us when it’s your turn.” He doesn’t resist. He obediently takes a seat and grabs a magazine from the small table next to him.
A million thoughts race through my head. There was a time when I would have done anything and everything for him. I remember how my stomach buzzed all night after we held hands for the first time. He said he had been thinking about me for months before that.
Jack had been one of the most popular kids in middle school and even more so in high school being a talented athlete and musician. No one really noticed me except Jack.
When I reach the desk, the receptionist asks me to hand her the doctor’s referral while I fill out a form. I turn back to wave at Jack to join me but he’s nowhere to be found. I scan the entire waiting area unable to locate him.
“Well?” the receptionist says, obviously impatient.
“Excuse me,” I say with my best smile on and set off to find Jack.
I find him in a corridor next to a vending machine with a soda in his hand.
“What the hell, Jack?”
“What’s up? Still boycotting sodas and bacon?”
“What are you doing? This is your appointment.”
He takes a sip of his soda. “I changed my mind,” he says after a while.
“About what?”
“The tests. I’m not in the mood today. Let’s go to the ocean instead.”
Typical fucking Jack. I remember now all those times he drove me crazy with his absolute disregard for facts and his ostrich-like behavior. If I put my head in the sand, I won’t have to deal with reality. I’ll just go on acting as if there’s nothing wrong with the world or my job or my relationship. At least until it’s too late to take any real action.
“Well isn’t that grand?” I say
fighting not to strangle him.
“Good idea, San Pedro has beaches,” he says.
“I’m not following,” I say, losing patience.
“The Grand Theater in San Pedro,” he explains. “We went down there to some film festival, remember?”
“Right. The H.P. Lovecraft thing,” I say.
He smiles brightly. “And we walked on the beach in the moonlight after.”
“With a couple bottles of Mike’s Hard Lemonade if I recall,” I say deciding to let him enjoy the memory.
“Yeah, that’s right,” he says almost sadly.
“It’s a great memory, Jack, but you’re going back in there.”
His eyes go stone cold. “No fucking way.”
“Do you think this is a joke? I needed to work this morning. I just got a job after being unemployed for two months. And I had to call them and say I’d be late on my second day. And now you’re pulling this stunt. Really, Jack? What is the matter with you?”
I deliberately left out the part about our common friend Taylor being my boss. He wouldn’t have heard another word I said if he knew.
“You don’t get it, do you?” he says locking onto my eyes. “Of course you don’t. You’re not the one who stands to lose everything.”
“I don’t like your tone,” I say between clenched teeth.
“I don’t like my chances for a happy life. How’s that?” He passes his fingers through his perfectly combed hair, messing it up. “Fuck. I’m sorry, Grace. I’m a dick. I just need a few more days before I learn my fate. I’m not ready to be a victim yet.”
I nod, beginning to understand. What he’s going through must be terrifying. “I won’t push you,” I say. “We’ll do it at your pace, but I can’t miss work again.”
“Grace to the rescue,” he says licking soda drops off his lips. “Always on the side of the weak and unprotected.”
His cynicism does not look as good on him as he thinks, but he’s insisted on wearing it ever since his sports career ended after high school.
“Go make another appointment with the receptionist,” I say, shoving him toward the Radiology door. “Before I kick your ass.”
“All right,” he says smiling. “Give me a second.” He gulps down the rest of the soda and goes to find a trash bin. He stares at the bin waiting a moment before dropping his can in. He turns away from me and hangs his head.
I wait until he wipes his cheeks and turns back around. I exhale and let all my defenses down. I walk slowly to the poor guy and wrap my arms around him. He hugs me back and we stay in this embrace, silent and still, for a long while. This hug is much different than the one from last night. This hug was born in the past, years before we broke up, when we truly loved each other.
Nobody stops to look at us. People have worries of their own and sadness is not unique in the corridors of a hospital.
“Jack, give me the paperwork,” I say softly. “I’ll go reschedule your appointment, okay?”
He nods and hands me the crumpled paper. I straighten my jacket, pat down my sweater and head back to reception to schedule his tests.
*
It’s a little after noon when I show up at the shop and Ashley has taken her lunch break. I suppose one has to be grateful for small favors.
Taylor is with a customer so she just winks at me before I walk to the back of the store to hang my sweater and get my hair up in a ponytail.
“This is the Jaguar of essential oils,” I hear Taylor say. “A powerful mix of potent fragrances that will relax you and increase your focus and libido.”
A smile forms on my lips as I realize that oil blend is exactly what I would need if I had a purpose to my life right now. Or a sex life. Or both.
“Your days will feel like the fourth of July,” Taylor goes on. “Your money back guaranteed if I’m exaggerating one tiny bit.”
I clap my hands in approval when the customer leaves with the precious oils in a small brown paper bag. “I doubt I’ll ever be as convincing as that.”
“The key is to believe what you say when you’re saying it,” Taylor says.
“So, you don’t actually have to believe it before you say it? Or afterwards?”
“Nope. What you believe in your free time is your own business.”
“That’s good to know,” I conclude lowering my eyes to my fingers. I forgot to put my good luck ring on this morning, a gift from my late mother. It doesn’t matter that it hasn’t exactly brought me luck. It’s my connection to her and I want it on my finger always.
“So where have you been?” Taylor says, wiping down the counter with a perfumed moist tissue.
“At the hospital.”
Taylor puts the tissue down. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. It’s not me.”
“Who then?”
Taylor knows I don’t have any family left in the entire Southern California with the exception of my aunt. She knows every single friend I have and there aren’t that many. I can’t lie to her and I guess I won’t betray Jack’s confidence if I don’t give away any specifics. I take a deep breath in. “It’s Jack,” I say. “He hasn’t been feeling well lately and he went in for some tests.”
Her eyes get narrower as she takes me by the arm. “Grace, you’re not back with him, are you?”
I shake my head. “I’m being a friend to him, there’s nothing more to it.”
Even so, there’s disapproval in her eyes. She still can’t get over the fact that Jack lied and betrayed me. No matter how many times I tell her our problems were of a very complex nature and that we were both to blame, she insists that the fact that he promised never to hurt me and ended up betraying me is unacceptable.
Jack, Taylor, Cody and I used to be as close as teenagers can be, especially during the last year of high school. Jack and I were dating happily whereas Taylor and Cody fought all the time. Their relationship didn’t make it past high school. Even so, I can swear that Taylor still has a thing for Cody.
First loves can be tough bitches and they refuse to shut the hell up in our minds. To Taylor, Jack was the good guy in direct contrast to Cody’s short temper and unpredictable moods. She never forgave Jack for cheating on me in the end, shattering any faith she might have had in long term relationships.
“Did he give you back your money?” she says.
“Taylor, I don’t care about the money. That was a long time ago and it’s not that big of a sum.”
“If it’s not such a big sum, why won’t he give it back?”
“There’s a customer,” I say as the door opens with a ring. Just in time, too. Taylor isn’t one to back down easily.
I loaned Jack a thousand dollars – part of the small sum I inherited –shortly before we parted ways to help him buy the guitars he wanted. Getting that money back has never been a priority for me, now less than ever, as I gave it to him fully prepared to lose it. Besides, I know he would have returned it if it was an easy thing for him to do. He never seems to know how to stay afloat financially.
My thoughts are interrupted by the ridiculous ringtone of my phone. I have no idea what possessed me when I picked a parrot’s imitation of a crying baby for my cell.
I take it out and notice that it’s a private caller. For a few seconds I’m of a mind not to answer. I give in finally to hear Nate’s voice on the other end.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey, I totally forgot about you.”
I found him sleeping on the floor when I stepped out into the living room early this morning. By the time I got out of the shower, he had vanished.
There’s a long pause before he decides to talk. “Meet me at the library,” he says. “After work.”
Chapter 5
Nate stands behind a shelf stacked with international cookbooks. His left eye is swollen and barely half open; the bruising has spread to half of his face but he manages to stay focused on the illustrated book of Asian Cuisine he’s holding.
“Seriously?” I whisper as he raises h
is eyes and gives me a smile.
He brings his index finger to his mouth to let me know I should keep quiet while he reads.
“What’s so interesting?” I say when he closes the book.
“Have you ever tried Aloo Gobi?” he says.
I shake my head. “I’m pretty sure I don’t even know what that’s supposed to be.”
“It’s a dish. I’m cooking for you tonight.”
I guess it’s safe to assume he takes it for granted that he’s staying at my place again tonight? Did he interpret the fact that I allowed him to sleep on the loveseat – or the floor, not sure how that went – for one night to mean that I have offered him my hospitality for as long as he needs it? If so, the conversation we’re about to have will be at least awkward.
I offer him a lame grin. “What does it involve? That Halo Gobi recipe?”
“Aloo Gobi,” he corrects me. “Here, look for yourself.”
He shows me the recipe in the cookbook. I can’t help but roll my eyes as I read the ingredient list. Onions, fresh coriander, green chili, cauliflower, potatoes, tomatoes, ginger, fresh garlic, cumin seeds, turmeric, blah blah. “I can’t afford all that,” I tell him. “I’m not getting paid for another week.”
“Don’t be silly,” he says. “I’m buying.”
“So, you’re not totally broke?”
“Did I ever say I was?”
“No, but...”
“But what?”
Surely, he can’t be that dense? “You told me you don’t have a place to stay. And you dress like...”
He waits a moment before he asks, “Like what?”
“Honestly? Like a homeless person.”
“I didn’t think you a snob,” he says with teasing eyes.
“I’m not!” I protest. “It wouldn’t even matter to me. I’m just trying to figure you out.”
“You’re curious. That’s not a bad thing, I guess. Will you let me cook for you?”
I let my hand rest on the spines of some Italian cookbooks with a certain degree of nervous energy. “I don’t know, Nate. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Why? Don’t you like trying new dishes?”
Beautiful Ruin Page 3