About the last thing in the world I ever wanted to do, especially in the presence of that guy, was cry, but there I was, sobbing.
When we got up to the apartment, there was a note on the table. Mike said he’d be downstairs, smoking a cigarette, and that he’d press the buzzer in a few minutes.
I heard him, but I didn’t answer. I was engrossed in the note.
It read:
“Dane,
I can’t begin to tell you how much our time together has meant to me, but I think we need to be realistic. Yes, I have feelings for you and yes, it might even be love, but you’re not ready to leave New York, and I can’t stay there. I really hope you understand.
It’s been so long since I’ve had a glimmer of what we’ve shared, and I thank you for that. I know this isn’t going to be easy for either of us right now, but it’ll be the best thing for both of us in the long run.
Thank you for making my fantasies come to life. I will never forget you.
—Leila”
And that was it.
And here we are.
Mike’s still downstairs smoking. I don’t know, maybe he left. It’s been about half an hour.
I don’t know if I’m sober or drunk. I don’t even know what I’m feeling right now, only that it’s the worst thing I’ve ever felt.
This is the worst day of my life.
The buzzer snaps me out of my trance for a moment, and I walk over and press the button.
“Yeah?”
“Hey,” Mike says, “it’s me. Mind if I come up for a few minutes?”
I don’t answer, but I do press the unlock button.
Really, I don’t want to talk to Mike right now.
I get why he did what he did; she is his friend, and he was doing what he asked her to do. I can’t hate him for that, but I hate the situation. Right now, that situation is embodied in him.
There’s the knock on the door. I just call out, “It’s unlocked.”
Right now, I’m trying to force an answer to the question of inebriation.
Thank god I remembered to go to the liquor store.
“How are you doing?”
“Did you read the note?” I ask.
He’s quiet.
That’s a yes.
“How long have you known that this was how she was going to do it?”
“She left most of her stuff,” he says. “Well, she took her personal stuff, but she didn’t want to just up and leave you with an empty apartment.”
I mumble something.
“What?”
“I said, it is empty,” I tell him. “Without her here, I don’t give a shit if this place is packed to the ceiling, it’s fucking empty.”
“Yeah,” he says, and that’s all he says for a minute.
Alcohol probably isn’t the best idea right now, but the anesthetic properties are all I’m thinking about at the moment.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.
“Not really,” I tell him. Then I decide I have every right to be pissed off at this guy, “Not with you, anyway.”
“I get that you’re upset—”
“Upset?” I ask. “Did you even consider what this might feel like for me? Did you even care?”
“I know it hurts, man,” he starts, but I don’t let him finish.
“You don’t know a fucking thing,” I snap. “I have never felt what I feel for Leila. Why would she do this?”
“Because it’s her fucking dream job and you need to stop being so god damned selfish,” Mike answers.
“Boy, you’ve got some fucking balls,” I retort, glaring.
“Yeah, maybe that’s a little harsh, but this whole time, have you even thought about how much this job means to her? She’s been working toward this for her entire adult life, and I’d think for someone who professes to love her so fucking much, you might look past your own shit and realize that you need to let her do what’s going to make her happy. Otherwise, who the hell are you and what the fuck are you doing?”
“Why are you here?” I ask. “Aren’t you doing the same fucking thing: not supporting her? The least you could have done was help her move.”
“I helped her move the stuff down to the car, and does it not occur to you that the only reason that I am here right now is because Leila asked me to be here? She cares about you, dickhead, and she didn’t want you to be alone tonight. So you can be pissed at me all you want. I probably would be if I was in your shoes, but at the same time, you’ve got to pull your head out and realize that if you really care about her, you’ve got to let her follow her dreams, man.”
“I want her to follow her dreams,” I tell him. “But I want to be a part of them, too. Is that such a bad thing?”
“She kind of gave you the chance to do that,” he says. “Don’t you remember her inviting you to move with her?”
“I have a job,” I tell him, and yes, it sounds and even feels weak as it comes out of my mouth. “I can’t just leave my boss high and dry.”
“I get that,” he says, “I really do. But that’s the choice that you’ve made. So, you can sit here and be pissed at me or be pissed at her, but you made your choice. Now it’s time to start living with it.”
“I was going to talk to her tonight,” I tell him. “I was going to talk to her about finding a way to make this work.”
“Don’t you think that’s the kind of thing you might not want to leave for the last minute?”
“Okay, I get that you’re trying to help your friend here, but your folksy advice is really starting to piss me the fuck off.”
“Whatever,” he says. “Look, you had the chance to go with her, to figure something out before hand, but it doesn’t seem like it was important enough for you to—”
“Get the fuck out of my house,” I tell him.
His mouth is still open and, for a second, it looks like he’s going to start moving it again, but I’m ready to beat the shit out of him, and I think he can see it.
“Fine,” he says. “I told Leila I wouldn’t leave, but I don’t want to make things worse either. Just one more thing before I go?”
“What?” I ask, impatiently.
“Could I use your bathroom? I’ve really got to take a—”
“Get the fuck out of my house,” I repeat.
He leaves, and I start to feel bad. I don’t really feel bad for him. He was being an asshole, but I feel bad for talking to one of Leila’s friends—one who actually listened and followed through when she asked him to keep an eye on me tonight to make sure I was going to be okay.
Maybe I should have gone with her, maybe not. Whatever the case, Leila Tyler turned my life upside down in the best and worst possible way.
Now she’s gone.
Now she’s gone, and I’m calling Wrigley to see if she’d feel up to hanging out, maybe getting a drink.
It’s not that I have plans to get back with her; she’s simply the only person I can talk to right now. Before I slept with his secretary, I used to be able to talk to my friend, Derek, but he’s a little pissed at me right now.
I’m sure as hell not going to get Mike back up here.
“Hello?”
“She’s gone,” I start, but I can’t say anything else.
I take the phone away from my ear and drop it on the table.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Of Chlorine and Anger
Dane
It’s been a week now, and I haven’t heard anything from Leila.
Mike hasn’t stopped by again, but I’m not quite so upset about that.
I tried calling Leila a few times, but the phone always went straight to voice mail, and what I have to say isn’t something a recording can contain.
I’ve been talking to Wilks, trying to gauge his readiness in taking the kitchen entirely on his own, without any further input from me, but he’s nervous. I know it’s something he’s going to have to overcome, but even standing back, watching him, it’s clear he’s not quite ready.
I’m not sure that I am, either.
Right now, I’m at home with an old friend. Well, in truth, the only friend I have left.
“So, are we fucking tonight, or what?” Wrigley asks.