by Emilia Finn
He said sorry.
I hate his damn guts.
But that’s not true, so I shake my head and laugh as I move back inside my apartment and close the door behind me.
“Galileo?”
I toss my newspaper to the kitchen counter, and stick the Post-It to my fridge, because I guess I’m feeling sentimental about the third letter I’ve ever received from a guy.
The first was scribbled on a Chinese takeaway menu. The second, wrapped around a fortune cookie.
Shaking my head, I walk away from the note, and head toward my bedroom, but I glance back again. I can’t stop myself. I can’t not see the yellow square of paper flashing like a beacon against my white fridge.
Smiling, I move into my bedroom to find Galileo exactly where I left him. In my bed, with his head on my pillow like he thinks he’s a human. He lets out a sleepy grunt when I pat his butt as I pass, and then a heady exhale when I keep walking and move into the bathroom.
New nerves flitter through my stomach as I strip with fast movements, toss my clothes into the basket, and dive under the hot shower spray as my breath comes faster. I exfoliate, soap, rinse, shampoo, and rinse again. Just two minutes after getting in, I rush back out and wrap my hair up in a towel. I wipe the water from my body with fast swipes, then trip into a pair of jeans, not relaxing until I have a tank top on.
Finally, when I’m dressed from head to toe, I let my breath out on a relieved exhale.
Smite me now, universe. I’m ready for you.
With slower, more relaxed movements, I let my hair down out of my towel, and smile at the soft wave even when it’s wet. I don’t have straight hair like Kane’s wife. And I don’t have curly hair like Evie. I have something in the middle. A wave, a kink that sometimes looks beachy-cute, and other times, kinda Bellatrix Lestrange.
I add an extra layer of mascara to hopefully pull attention away from the pockets of exhaustion that hang beneath my eyes. I ignore lipstick and gloss, and opt instead for a slide of Chapstick, then I brush my hair back until it’s up in a high ponytail that makes me feel in control.
Like risking the Bellatrix-beachy waves today is too much risk.
Checking myself in the mirror one last time, I deem myself ready with a nod, move to my bed and pull on a pair of sneakers, then I smack Galileo’s hindleg once more and laugh on my way out. “Let’s go, lazy. We’re going out.”
I snatch up my phone and keys as I pass through the kitchen, check my screen and the reply texts I was waiting on, then I head to my front door and wait while Galileo follows with a lazy yawn.
Outside, in the real world, when other people are around, and my panic threatens to fold me into the sidewalk, he’s the most astute guard dog ever – Tucker Morris notwithstanding. But behind closed doors, he’s a ball of butter, a freeloading housemate that eats a lot, farts a lot, and never says thank you when I share my dinner.
I cast a quick look through my peephole to make sure the hall is clear, then I open my door and head out for the day. I have a little work to do later, I’ll have to head over to Evie’s place to work on this new project of theirs, and because she loves being a pain in my ass, she’ll be sure to ask about Joshua Jackson – not the actor. She’ll tease because I only made it to the appetizers. And then she’ll shop for the next guy, because that’s what she does.
It sounds like torture, I suppose. And if I was fifteen again, and someone told me this is how my day would go, I’d probably call in sick and move to Alaska just to escape.
I guess it’s kind of a good thing I like Evie now.
But before my day can begin, I climb into my car and switch on the engine.
Click, click, click.
It’s running, but I can literally hear metal scrape on metal. I’m a horrible, horrible car owner; I know it’s in distress, and if my car was a dog, the humane society could have already had Galileo removed and me sent to prison. Cars and their pain just don’t rate in my universe. I don’t care enough to rush it over to the vet-equivalent, and I refuse to make time to consider getting it done.
Once Galileo is settled in the passenger seat, I pull out of the parking lot – we have assigned spaces, and though there are stains on 4A from my poor SUV, there is nary a mark on 4B. Because I guess Tucker would never let his engine click.
I should be turning left out of the building parking lot, but instead, I turn right and make my way across town. I sent Kane and Jay a text. Both of them, one text, and told them to meet me on Kane’s lawn – convenient for Jay, considering he lives across the street.
It takes only minutes to arrive, and because they’re caring, kind men, I pull in to find the brothers standing on the lush green grass in sweatpants and tanks.
It should be weird that I find them sexy, I should be committed somewhere, I’m certain, that I find these men attractive. But here we are, one of them wears gray sweats, the other black. Kane wears a black tank, and Jay, white.
They look stereotypical jailhouse criminal with their tattoos that cover almost every inch of exposed skin. Fingers, hands, arms, shoulders, and necks. They wear their hair short – prison style – and I know they’re both armed – it’s what they do – but still, their smiles are disarming. Their kind, curious eyes. Their slow steps forward as I pull on the handbrake, and then their opening arms when I slide out of my car.
Memories of my dream play over my mind; Jay, snorting cocaine, and fucking a woman against a wall. Kane following suit, getting high, and forcing me into that dark room behind his brother. The dregs of a horrible nightmare play through my mind and make my eyes itch, but then the brothers wrap me up in a three-way hug. They make a sandwich out of me, and chuckle when I cry against Jay’s chest.
“I dreamed of you guys,” I whimper. “I dreamed the bad stuff.”
“And here you are,” Jay rumbles softly, “hugging us.”
“So fucking brave.” Kane presses a kiss to the top of my head and helps me relax. Pulling back, he turns me around to face him and holds my hands. “Have time for breakfast? The girls would love to see you.”
I pull a long breath in through my nose, let it out again on a cleansing exhale. “No. I already ate, and I have somewhere else I have to be. But maybe tell them I’ll come back and play later.”
“You gonna be okay?” Jay asks. “You don’t always ask for a hug.”
“I just needed a minute with you both before my psyche screws us all up. It’s best to face it head-on, remember that you guys are kinda dorks, and not the monsters my dreams make you out to be.”
“Dorks?” Jay scoffs. “Girl, you better find your respect.”
“I love you dorks.”
“Aww.” He pulls me back in and squeezes so tight, I find it difficult to breathe. “We never had a sister, but we sure as hell are gonna keep you. Where are you going now?”
“Sonia.” I step back into Kane’s side for a fast hug. Because Jay got two, and you don’t treat one of these men better than the other. They both know how to pout, they know how to hold a grudge. “I texted her when I texted you.”
“And she can fit you in, just like that?” Kane whistles. “You sure know people in high places. Shit, she makes me wait a month between texts.”
“It’s because I’m cuter than you. Alright.” I step away from the brothers and back up toward my car. Galileo remains in the front seat, with his chin on the open window, and his ears flicking when the cicadas chirp in the trees. “I’m heading out. No more mushy stuff.”
“Back to work?” Kane asks. His tone changes, from big brother, to formidable boss, he switches one off and the other on just like that. “You’re with Soph today?”
“No.” I move around my car and slide into the front seat. “Soph handed some stuff over to me, so I’m working alone for most of it.”
“Sucks to be you,” Jay chuckles. “You gotta work with Evie, and get approval from Soph. It was nice knowing you.”
“Tell me about it. I’m going.” When a movement at the f
ront door catches my eye, I smile for the twin girls that stand in front of their mom – not identical twins, but more like Luna is her mom’s twin, and Rosalie, her dad’s.
I meet Jess’ eye and wave, then I do a little finger-wave for the girls as they spin in their matching – but opposite – outfits. Luna wears a red skirt, and a white shirt with a T-Rex on the front. Rose wears a white skirt, a red shirt, and the dinosaurs the pair seem to favor.
Pulling away from the house, I make my way to my therapist’s office, and prepare to purge just a little bit more.
I hate these sessions. I avoid them as best I can, and let Sonia’s calls ring out nine times out of ten. Not because I don’t love my therapist, and not because I don’t owe her my life and sanity, but because our time together is always heavy. So heavy, whereas everyone else in my life lets me skate on by and survive.
Sonia would rather poke and prod and not settle until she’s made me cry. Not because she’s cruel, but because she knows I need to purge.
“Hello.” As soon as I arrive at the elegant office of rich brown sofas and forest green prints on the walls, I greet the receptionist with a smile.
“Hey, Nora.” They certainly know me here. “Head on in, she’s waiting for you. Hey, Galileo. Hey, buddy.” She gives his ears an enthusiastic scratch that sends his eyes rolling into the back of his head. “Have you been a good boy? Are you the goodest of all the boys?”
“He sure thinks so. Come on, Galileo.” I only shake my head as he sits on his ass and waits for the treat the receptionist keeps on hand for him, then I hold Sonia’s door open and wait for him to bolt through with a silly gallop.
“Good morning.”
Sonia is the world’s most comforting woman. Softly spoken, gentle smiles, welcoming eyes, and a keen mind despite her age. She’s… I don’t even know how old. Long past the age she should have retired. She should be tending a rose garden by now, drinking tea, and reading books in luxury, rather than tending to me, pouring tea, and helping me purge my shit on a monthly – weekly, daily if needed – basis.
She wears a fancy outfit of sky blue – pants and a blouse – and a single strand of pearls around her neck. She’s closer to a hundred than she is to fifty, so the skin around her chest and neck is loose, but she’s not thin, not frail. Her hair is worn back in a nice low ponytail, and her eyes are framed with a better mascara job than anything I’ll ever manage.
“You look so beautiful,” I tell her.
Long ago, we shed the awkward client and therapist exteriors, and in its place, we became friends. I suspect this is her superpower; to become more than a therapist. So I accept her embrace when she stands and pulls me in, then I hold her hands while she lowers back down and crosses her ankles like a true lady.
I don’t seem to have gotten that gene, because I flop down in my jeans and grunt, then I laugh, because I know she’ll make mention of my posture if I don’t fix it. “How do you stay so young, Sonia?”
“The souls of all the children that come to see me,” she answers without pause. “The younger, the better. Now sit up straighter and talk to me.”
Scoffing, I lean forward and snatch her delicate blue and white teapot before she can do it. I pour a cup for her, and only half for me, since I can’t stand the taste of whatever leaves she habitually brews with. It would be rude of me to not have any, which means pouring is a double win; I take the job from her for a moment, and I control how much I have to choke down and pretend to love.
“I went out on a date last night.” Sliding her tea across the small table that separates us, I take mine and sit back. “Joshua Jackson is a fighter, a gentleman, he thinks he’s kind of pretty, and he’s definitely not the actor, nor is he related.”
Sniggering, Sonia’s eyes roam over my face. “What a lovely recap on your life. You can probably go now, huh? Be sure to tip on the way out.”
“You’ve got sass today.” I relax into the room and look around. It hasn’t changed in the ten years I’ve been coming here. Same wallpaper, same carpet, same couch, and teapot. But despite the time that passes, none of it seems outdated. “I didn’t stay beyond appetizers.”
“Why not?” She sips her tea, and extends her pinky finger the way I think young ladies are taught in finishing school. “What about him bothered you?”
I shrug. “Nothing in particular.” Then I add, “I didn’t like his tweed jacket.”
“Incorrigible,” she huffs. “You’re nitpicking his outfit choices? Evie was right; you’re not even trying.”
My shoulders bounce with muted laughter. This is what she does, I guess. It’s what we do. Small talk, light teasing, surface stuff, but soon, she’ll smack me in the face with the heavy. “The jacket wasn’t a deal-breaker or anything,” I reply. “It was just something I noticed once I’d already decided I didn’t like him.”
“So, early night then?”
I shrug. “Sort of.”
A single, sharp brow wings up. “Intrigued.”
“My new neighbor? I told you about him last time.”
“The one that was noisy the night he moved in? Is he still giving you trouble?” From joking, to protective mother figure. “You could probably speak to Angelo about it. You know they’re acquainted.”
“Yes. No.” I shake my head. “He’s not a problem anymore. Not really. I got home last night, and he was sitting in the hallway. He was eating his pizza and chilling out, I guess.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t know. He was just there. I think, maybe… possibly…” Stop it. “He was waiting for me. I think he’s as observative as I am, he’s noticed my Friday night dates, and last night, he just happened to be eating a Pinocchios pizza when I got home.”
“Pinocchios?” She asks with surprise. “That’s interesting.”
“Same restaurant Joshua took me to. Could be coincidence, maybe not. I don’t know. But it was interesting. He was sitting there, he cleared his throat to announce he was nearby so I wouldn’t be scared, then he smiled and said hey.”
Her lips quirk up. “This smile… is it nice?”
“You are worse than Evie! I swear.”
She bursts out in laughter that helps wipe away some of the anxiety in my stomach. “I was only asking! Why are you so defensive?”
“Because his smile is cute,” I admit, “and I knew you were going to get me to say that eventually. He’s charming, even when he’s just… silent, ya know?”
She lets out a content sigh. “So… you had a date, you didn’t like your date. You came home early, but you did not have an early night. Am I following?”
“You’re making assumptions,” I roll my eyes. “It’s nothing like that. I went inside my apartment, had a shower, got ready to go to bed, and then there was a knock on my door.”
In any other situation, any other person, that information would elicit a wolfish grin and bouncing brows, like the next logical step is something naughty. But Sonia knows me better than that, so her eyes flare wide, her lips flatten. “Explain.”
“It was him,” I croak out. “He knocked gently, nothing loud or scary, and when I came to the door—”
“You opened the door?”
I shake my head. “Not right away. I stood on my side and watched him through the peephole.” Then when the view turned black, and I realized he was leaning against the door, I did the same. “He said he wanted to show me something really quick. He promised not to scare me, he just needed a minute.”
“What did he want to show you?” Gone is the therapist, and in her place, a girlfriend hanging for the next morsel of story.
“He’d pulled his television to his doorway, set up a movie.” I sit back and sigh. “He chose a chick flick, offered his pizza, and somehow talked me into sitting in the hall for a little while.”
“Oh, Nora.” She presses a hand to her heart. Not in jest, but genuine emotion. “You watched a movie with him?”
“Well…” I shrug. “I glanced at the movie every now and then,
but we talked too. Which was kind of nice. I ate a slice of pizza, chatted about…” I exhale. “I don’t know. Stuff.”
“Stuff?”
“About risks and rewards and such. He races motorbikes for fun, did you know that?”
She visibly deflates and sits back. “That’s not ideal.”
I scoff. “Understatement of the century. He courts danger and adrenaline.”
“And you stay far, far away from both.”
“Yeah… He likened it to skydiving. The feeling of being out of control, the speed, the wind. The fun. I told him in no uncertain terms that I think he’s stupid for enjoying adrenaline—”
She snickers.
“And he said I should live a little, because when my time is up, it’s up.”
“Oh dear.”
I look down into my tea, and study the flower pattern on the side of the china. “He doesn’t know about Lisa… or if he does, he’s a good actor. I suspect he understands there’s something wrong with me, because he’s gentle when—”
“Wrong with you?” Here she comes. “There is nothing wrong with your feelings, Nora. There is nothing wrong with your natural response to trauma. There are certainly aspects we can work on, like your desire to control everything and everyone around you, but—”
“I do not try to control everyone!”
“No?” She looks at her tea with a pointed glare. Then mine. “Are you sure?”
“I don’t—”
“When you’re introduced to change, when a new player is brought into your game – case in point, Mr. Morris – you feel like your world is spinning out of control. You lashed out at a man for making noise in his own apartment after what you deemed your bedtime.”
“He made it so I couldn’t sleep!”
Smoothing her tone, she smiles. “And in retaliation, you had a shouting match with this stranger in the hall, and got mad that he was out past eight o’clock.”