Curious Obsession

by Elora Ramirez

I think over our plan.

  Tonight, Simon is coming over. At first, it will be normal.

  We’ll grab something to eat. Maybe start watching a movie. And eventually, we’ll start to fight. Eventually, I’ll throw him out of the house.

  Last night, I asked Simon if he could be the one who broke us up. Even if it’s fake, I don’t know if I can do it myself.

  “It has to be you. He has to think you are choosing him.”

  “Simon, I just told him he has was basically delusional — that there was nothing between us.”

  He nodded. “Yes. I know. But what he heard is that you’ve gotten distracted. What he heard is still completely different than what is actually happening in reality.”

  I told him okay, that I would try.

  “If we do this, and do it well, he’ll act. He’ll do something — show his hand.”

  He moved one of his hands and placed it palm up in between us. I grabbed it.

  “And then we’ll have our evidence.”

  Simon nodded.

  “And then we’ll have our evidence.”

  Here’s what I can’t stop thinking about: we still don’t know how he will act. Hell. We don’t know how he’s planning on acting after I met with him yesterday. For the first time in weeks I’m not in constant terror thinking about doing this on my own and that maybe, just maybe, I might get out of this in one piece. But even still — there’s a fear we’re missing something pivotal. That I’m putting myself in danger by provoking him.

  I massage my forehead, thinking.

  It doesn’t really matter. He’s going to do whatever he’s going to do regardless. What we’re doing is just capturing the data. Allowing ourselves proof. Even when Silas showed up at Simon’s work, he had thought enough in advance to rig the security cameras so they captured the sun beaming in through the windows rather than him berating the secretary. So he’s smart. Calculated. Everything you don’t need in someone who is determined to have you.

  I need to call Lavender. I wish I could call her and tell her everything — that’s what I was planning on doing yesterday when I left her that message. But when she called me back last night, Simon and I were talking and by the time we finished I was too exhausted to call her back. I look at the time. 7am. She will definitely not be awake right now, but at the very least I can leave a message so she’s not freaking out about me disappearing or something. Maybe I’ll send her a quick Marco Polo.

  And then, when we finally are able to connect, I’ll tell her about Simon. I’ll pin it on him, so she has no choice but to hate him, and there will be no questions. As far as she will assume, Simon and I won’t be together anymore.

  I grab my phone and pull up her profile in the app. Before I press the button to start recording my face, I close my eyes and think about Mom. Just for a moment — just enough time to bring the tears right up to the surface — and then I sniff and open my eyes and press record.

  She’ll need to see me teary.

  .::.

  Simon gets to the house right on time. I’ve already spoken with Lavender, and she was beside herself with shock at the audacity of Simon all but forcing me to leave teaching to work for him. I hated lying, but she played right into the narrative I concocted. We’ve been texting all day and she hasn’t once asked me anything more about him.

  I know what this means.

  To Lavender, Simon is dead. Done. Out of the picture. Gone.

  She didn’t even mention him when she called me crying about one of her projects at work. I tried to listen to the situation, giving her advice where I could, and apparently I said something of value because at one point she sniffed and said how grateful she was for me — “how are you always so practical, Juniper? You always know what to say.”

  I hummed a response, and she took that as exhaustion, apologizing for the call. I told her it was no worries — that she could call any time.

  “I know, Juni. But you’ve had a week and here I am centering myself. I’ll let you go get some rest. I love you.”

  I didn’t correct her, just responded in the way our mother always did.

  “….to the moon and back.”

  I heard her breath catch and she laughed. Like me, she never gets over hearing the words.

  I sigh. I will have a lot of explaining to do on the other side of this.

  “You okay?”

  I blink and come back to the world around me, only now realizing I was completely in my head. I grab Simon’s elbow, giving it a squeeze. Looking at him, I smile.

  “I’m fine. I was thinking about Lavender. I told her. She is…not your biggest fan right now.” I turn and lean on the counter as he dishes out our food. “I will have a lot of groveling to do when this is all said and done.”

  “Maybe,” he says. And then looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “Or maybe she’ll understand where you were coming from and give you some grace?”

  I laugh.

  “Oh, Simon. That’s cute. You don’t know Lavender. She is — she is a pistol. Nothing stands between her and family….unless it’s some hot guy she found in a theatre or the water cooler at work…” I smile to myself. “But even then, all I would have to do is tell her I need her and they would be a distant memory. It won’t be that I lied that I have to account for — it will be that I didn’t let her know that I needed her.”

  He stops cutting the steak and really looks at me. Placing the knife on the counter he wraps one arm around my waist.

  “Do you need her?”

  Tears pop into my eyes and I have to fight back a sob.

  “I miss her.”

  His face tilts upward and he studies me.

  “I can fly her out. We can have her come visit.”

  I start shaking my head.

  “No. No. I don’t want her here. Not right now. Not when Silas is still doing his thing. I remember when he found out I was a twin. He couldn’t stop talking about it for weeks.” I shudder. “You mean there are two of you?!”

  I stare off into space and tap Simon’s arm still around my waist.

  “It was as if he won the lottery but couldn’t believe it.”

  I take a breath, shaking off the thought.

  “Anyway. No Lavender. Let’s finish whatever this is first and then we can fly her over later. When life is…normal.”

  He raises an eyebrow and we break into a moment of laughter.

  I know. I know.

  After you’ve been through something like this, what even is normal?

  .::.

  We start fighting an hour later.

  We’re on the couch watching a movie and he taps my knee. I look at him and he mouths are you ready? I take a breath and stand up, turning to look at him.

  “Simon. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you. I’m not coming to work with you. I love my job. I love teaching.”

  His eyes sparkle for a brief moment before he purses his lips and his face transforms before my eyes.

  “Juniper. I understand. I just want to take care of you.”

  “You’re not taking care of me, you’re trying to control me. There’s a difference. What don’t you understand about me loving my job?”

  “But you’re always so stressed!”

  “I want to do a good job.”

  “But you are doing a good job. You don’t have to try so hard. You shouldn’t have to try so hard.” He runs his fingers through his hair, clearly frustrated. “You would be fantastic working with me. I would create a role for you — it would be perfect.”

  “Simon, I think you need to go.”

  He looks at me confused. “What? Juniper. I’m just trying—“

  I shake my head, closing my eyes. It doesn’t take much for the tears to come because all of this is excruciating for me. It’s not a real break up, but it’s definitely something. I won’t have his steadiness around me for who knows how long. I blink away the tears and look at him.

  “No. I — I don’t think this is working for me a
nymore. I don’t like the way you refuse to see how much I love my job and it really feels like you’re trying to control me by having me work with you.”

  He stands up then, his eyes flashing love before clouding over. “Do you know how infuriating it is to see you waste your intellect on something as simple as teaching?” He sneers. “Babe, these kids aren’t even going to remember you!”

  I breathe in quick then, because these words in any other situation would legitimately sting. Even though we’ve rehearsed them, imagining the impact is easy.

  “Leave, Simon.”

  He stands up straighter.

  “No.”

  “Simon. Leave.” I raise my voice. He reaches for my arms, tries to pull me close.

  “Juniper—“

  I break away and grab a book off my coffee table, throwing it across the room.

  “LEAVE!”

  My voice startles even me. We stare at each other, our breath making our chests rise and fall in tandem. I see a moment of pride in Simon’s eyes before he looks down, away from me. He starts nodding his head as if he’s accepting my ultimatum.

  “Okay. Okay.” His voice is quiet now.

  “But if I leave, this is over, Juniper.”

  I stand up straighter, fingering the edge of my shirt. We watch each other for a moment, unwilling to let the conversation end because we know it means we’re moving to the next stage of no contact.

  I swallow. Wipe tears from my cheeks. Straighten my shoulders.

  “Bye, Simon.”

  And then I turn around as he waits for just a moment and walks out the door. After that, there is no faking the heartbreak that takes over my body. I walk into my room and collapse onto the bed, sobbing. My entire being aches.

  This is what I was afraid of this entire time. This is why I didn’t want to get too attached. Because even though, intellectually, I know Simon and I are still together, that he still loves me, that one day I’ll feel his arms around me again, to my body this feels all too familiar.

  Lost time. Lost love. Lost everything.

  I let the grief flow through my body, and only after managing to collect myself do I notice my phone lighting up in front of me.

  It’s a text.

  I stare at the phone for a beat, trying to figure out if I want to see it or not. I doubt it’s Simon. He was pretty clear in the no-communication rule, and texting me right after we broke up would completely annihilate everything we just did.

  Lavender told me she was giving me a few days to recover.

  That leaves only one other person who would text me. My hands shake as I reach for the phone and flip it so I can see the screen. I unlock it and stare at the message in front of me, my blood running cold.

  I KNEW YOU LOVED ME.

  NOW THAT SIMON IS OUT OF THE PICTURE, WE CAN BE TOGETHER.

  FOREVER.

  The chills cascade down my spine and I fight the bile rising in my throat. It took him less than 30 minutes to reach out to me once Simon left my house. I glance around me, suddenly feeling vulnerable and very, very, alone — the one thing Simon said he didn’t want. I realize only now the huge flaw in his plan of us breaking up.

  Simon was right. We pushed him. But now I am facing him alone.

  And I don’t know what he plans on doing next.

  33

  The next day, I struggle to make it through my classes. Mostly because I’m just exhausted. I stayed up most of the night, thinking I heard things. And who knows, I probably did. But I’m trying to play the role — both for Simon (and others thinking we’re done) and for those at school (and hopefully them thinking I’m not completely losing it).

  My students, still feeling the weird energy from a few days ago, watch me the entire time, waiting for something to happen. I remember this feeling from high school. I remember knowing something was about to happen — something juicy — something I could talk to my friends about for weeks. The inevitable train wreck making an appearance.

  I don’t like that they’re waiting for it to be me.

  I walk down the halls before my planning period, trying to make it to the lounge before the rush of other staff. I see a few teachers waiting by their door for the classes and I smile and wave, providing the standard niceties expected. When I finally get to the lounge, I breathe a sigh of relief. For a moment, the crowd and buzz of noise lessens and I’m grateful there aren’t very many people, most likely because most of them are waiting for their lunch.

  Our lounge is absolutely ridiculous. It’s always been over the top, but a few months ago one of the parents, an interior designer, came in and redid the entire thing for some hopeful exposure. I’m guessing it worked. Last time I checked she had a waitlist that was pushing a year. The entire room is painted a rich emerald and there are professional candid photos of the entire staff in a grid on one wall. I look at my picture and notice the ease of how I’m standing in the classroom, laughing with another student. It was two weeks into the school year, and I honestly thought I had stumbled into my dream job. I purse my lips and look away. I can’t think about that right now.

  A leather couch lines one wall — the plush kind that makes you feel completely enveloped. I’ve seen multiple teachers crashed out and snoring after school a few days when we were in the midst of testing or curriculum planning. For other seating, there are multiple chairs big enough for two people that face each other and three solid wood tables that have the comfiest seats I’ve ever experienced. I once did some digging, trying to figure out where they came from, and stumbled on a version of them at Restoration Hardware.

  They are $1000 each.

  For dining chairs.

  Needless to say, I stuck to my original idea of finding mine at IKEA.

  Most teacher lounges have coffee makers or, if they’re lucky, hidden French presses other teachers have left in cabinets. This one though? It’s a legitimate coffee shop.

  As in, there is a guy who runs the counter where they have standard espresso drinks, some customized and seasonal like a bacon latte and small sandwiches. He’s one of our chefs in the cafe, and when he’s not working with students in nutrition for college or creating menus that fit within the weird national guidelines for school cafeterias, he’s behind the counter keeping us caffeinated. We all call him chef, and he is a school-wide treasure..

  We still have the freshly brewed coffee in those brown standing containers and the standard cluster of fridges for those who bring their lunch, but most people will grab a salad or banh mi because they can. And I mean, who wouldn’t skip Starbucks in order to have a freshly brewed latte in between classes? I see Jasper in line and I walk up behind him, leaning forward to catch his attention.

  “What’s your poison today?”

  He turns around and smiles.

  “Ah. I’m going with draft Kombucha today.” He puts his hands up. “I know. I know. Such a stereotype. If it helps, I had too much scotch last night and it’s to help ease that horrible decision?”

  I grimace and shrug, my hands palm up. “I don’t know. It seems pretty fitting. English teacher, scotch, resetting with kombucha…”

  “Okay, then. What about you?”

  “Mmmm. It’s tough, you know?” I look at the menu. “I might get adventurous and double fist today.”

  He raises an eyebrow and I roll my eyes.

  “Drinks, dummy.”

  He chuckles and I groan.

  “Unbelievable. Anyway. I need all the energy I can get today, so I am probably going to get a double shot and then the Sparkling Twilight.”

  “Impressive. Save one for later?”

  I shake my head and motion my two hands pouring an imaginary liquid into one container.

  “Imma mix it.”

  “Brave.”

  “Reckless? Maybe might a better word? I don’t know. Check back with me at lunch and see how I’m faring.”

  We laugh and I tap his arm. And for a moment I’m proud of myself for being able to communicate normally.
<
br />   Look at me. Engaging with the public, acting like everything is okay.

  “Hey. What are you doing after school? Do you want to meet and touch base about the gala? We need to go over the menu, right? I know we snagged Tiffanie’s dad for the catering, but he gave us a few options for the food?”

  He nods.

  “We did. But I won’t be able to make it today. I have a deadline with these essays and I have to grade.” He separates his hands to indicate how large his stack is of papers and I laugh. “When was the last time you graded? Last semester?”

  “No.” He looks at me, wrinkling his nose. “Last week.”

  I groan.

  “That’s why I’m a math teacher.”

  “Yeah, well….I’m going to be only grading intros or picking apart the basic structure of their writing. There’s no way I can read every single word of every single paper before tomorrow’s deadline for grades.”

  I widen my eyes, understanding.

  “That’s a lot.”

  “Yeah.”

  I grab my coffee from the chef, throwing him a smile of appreciation, and turn back to Jasper, who is taking a sip of his kombucha and trying to hide his facial reactions.

  “Bitter?”

  “Mmmm. It’s uh. It’s something.”

  “Well good luck with that — and good luck grading. I’m going to go back and see if I can finish my lesson plans for the next few weeks. Mattham has been down my throat since I’m normally much more ahead than I am right now.”

  “Ah. Yes. You would think the department heads remember what it’s like to balance all the things but every year, they forget.”

  “Encouraging.” I hear the door open and Tracey walks in, spying me from across the room. My cue to exit. I step away from Jasper. “I’ll take a look at the menu options and write something up for you to glance over. We can meet up tomorrow?”

  He nods. “That’s perfect.”

  I walk right past Tracey, catching her shoulder as I try to open the door.

  “Oh!” she exclaims. “I’m so sorry.”

  I look at my blouse and am relieved to note that I didn’t spill any of my coffee. I stare at her then, not breaking eye contact as I open the door and maneuver past her.