My Life as a Doormat (in Three Acts) (23 page)

Instead, I said, “How's Mother holding up?”

He lowered his voice. “I finally got her to get out of here and take your sister. I'm so sick of people hovering over me. Leah, please, talk some sense into them!”

I couldn't help but laugh. “I'll try.”

“Okay. I've got to go. They're getting ready to take me for some test.”

“I'll be by to see you later.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Dad, I promise. I won't yell at you.”

“Okay,” he said, and offered a small laugh. I closed my eyes in relief. Things were going back to normal. At least in this part of my life. There were so many other areas falling apart, though.

I grabbed my handbag and keys. One by one, I was going to straighten everything out and make it all normal again.

The look on Edward's face was a grim reminder of where my problems arose. Here I was, arriving unannounced again. And even after more than two years of dating, he reacted like my visit might send him running.

“What are you doing here?” was his greeting.

“I wanted to talk.”

“Is my phone not working?” The poor man asked this in all seriousness.

“In person, Edward.”

He took several long seconds to process this. Then he said, “Oh. Okay.” He opened the door and walked to the living room, leaving me to shut it. I joined him, and we each sat down on opposite couches. He clasped his hands together and waited.

“First, I want to thank you for the laptop. It came in really useful yesterday.”

“Good.”

“Before we start, I want to tell you that Dad has had a heart attack, and they did triple bypass surgery on him.”

Edward's eyes grew round. “Is he okay?”

“He will be. He'll be in the hospital a few more days for sure.”

Edward shook his head. “That's so hard to believe. Your father is so thin and looks in good shape.”

“Well,” I said carefully, “sometimes things that look to be perfectly fine on the outside aren't fine on the inside.”

“I'll say,” Edward replied. I realized speaking in metaphors was not going to cut it. Edward was a very logical person. I was going to have to present this in well-thought-out formula.

“Edward,” I began, as gently as I knew how, “I know I'm going through a funky thing in my life. I realize that. And I take full responsibility for it. But one of the things that is continuing to trouble me is . . . is . . .”

“Is what?”

“I just need us to be . . . spontaneous, you know?”

Edward looked completely lost.

“Like, eat at restaurants we don't usually eat at. See each other on days we don't usually see each other. Go do things we don't usually do.”

Edward looked down, and I wondered if I needed to explain more or let him process it. I tried to stay quiet, though everything in me wanted to keep on rambling.

“Why?” he finally asked.

I shook my head. “Honestly, I don't know. I'm just feeling restless, I guess. And I'm feeling like every part of my life is completely predictable. I'm not really a spontaneous person, you know? Maybe it's because I'm getting older. Or maybe it's because I'm going to have to choose a new career pretty soon. I don't know.”

Edward sat up a little. “Well, the laptop is perfect, then. That's why I bought it. So you could go write wherever you wanted.
Whenever
you wanted. You could actually write in a different location every single day if you wanted! I'm telling you, you don't know what you're missing by not writing at Starbucks.” His face was bright with enthusiasm. I smiled, throwing him a bone. But he was completely missing what I was trying to say.

“Yeah, so maybe some of that can spill over into our relationship.”

Edward cocked an eyebrow. “You're saying you want to meet at Starbucks?”

Why did everything in the last twenty-four hours have to be so
hard
? “Edward, I'm just trying to say that . . . I need”—how was I going to say this?—“
more
out of our relationship.”

Edward didn't blink. He didn't move. He just sat. So I said what I always say. “Look, I'm sorry. I—”

But to my surprise, Edward held up his hands. I froze, my mouth open in an
O
shape. He clasped his hands together, looked at me, and said, “You're right.”

I slowly closed my mouth.

“You know, you get into a routine,” he said. “It's human nature. But why not? We can change things up a little, Leah. What harm is there in that? If that's what you want, we can do it. I want you to be happy.”

I could hardly breathe. “Really?”

“Let's go to lunch on Saturday!” He threw out his hands. I'd never seen him throw any extremity. It startled me.

“O . . . kay.”

“Yes! Lunch it is. I normally jog on Saturday afternoons and do laundry, but what the dickens. Laundry can easily be moved to Saturday night. And I can try to fit my jog in on Sunday . . . though Sundays I have lunch with my mother and grandmother, as you know. Well, maybe I can get up early and jog. Except then I'll be tired come Monday.” He glanced at me and waved his hands. “I'll work it out.” He stood and opened his arms for a hug. I accepted, and we pounded each other on the back like we'd just won the first stage of the Tour de France.

“Thank you for understanding,” I said.

“Sure.” He walked me to the door. “I'll see you for lunch. On Saturday!” He was getting a real kick out of himself. And then he said, “You even pick the place, okay?”

“I'll put a lot of thought into it,” I assured him and then left.

I was putting out the fires, one by one.

I never skipped classes in college. I hardly ever skip a Sunday at church, unless I'm desperately ill. I can't even manage to skip a meal. But the conflict resolution class came and went, and I stayed home.

I struggled with doing it. I wasn't one for shirking commitments. But then again, who exactly was I doing this for, anyway? It was Edward's idea in the first place, and he didn't seem exceptionally desirous that I go.

I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the real reason. The truth was, I had to stay home. I had a play to write. To rewrite. I was having a hard time with it, because truthfully, I didn't see it as flawed as J. R. did. Sure, there were holes. But I didn't hate it.

It was a little past nine when the large pepperoni and olive pizza I ordered arrived. I threw my hair into a ponytail and slung a piece of pizza onto a paper plate. I had hours and hours of work ahead of me, so I figured I was entitled to a little bit of greasy cheese. I chomped, chewed, and typed for a good fifteen minutes, by then well into my fourth piece of pizza.

But the Dillan incident continued to distract me. I couldn't get over the picture in my head of him and that other woman. It didn't seem like a business dinner. Or a family dinner. Yet, how would I break this news to my sister? Mom was right. She was more radiant than ever, more normal than ever. This man had totally changed her life. If he was the kind of man who cheated, shouldn't she know it now before she got in deeper?

But what if you're wrong? You'd drop another eight notches
down the popularity pole, you know.

Jodie had a bad habit of stating the obvious. But the situation certainly wasn't black and white. There was a lot at stake here, and it went beyond my feelings.

I snatched up the phone, trying to make myself dial Kate's number. But my fingers couldn't get past the first digit. Then I remembered something. In the kitchen, I found the pad of paper that I'd written Dillan's phone numbers down on. There was his cell number. It seemed to glow against the white pages.

Could I do it? Did I really have the guts to call Dillan and confront him? All I could think about was my sister, deceived into thinking Dillan's whole life revolved around her. If everything was a misunderstanding, then Dillan would have no problem explaining himself.

I started to dial and was two digits from completing the phone call when a knock came at my door. I held the phone in my hand, unsure what to do. Whoever it was knocked again. I turned the phone off, wishing (for the thousandth time) they would fix the intercom security system downstairs. Holding the phone in hand, I walked quietly to the door so as not to alert the stranger outside that anyone was home.

I peeked through the hole and nearly dropped the phone from my greasy pizza fingers. Without any hesitation, I swung open the door.

“Hi,” Cinco said, smiling that wonderful smile.

“Hi.”

“You, um . . .” He dusted his fingers against his left cheek.

“Oh . . .” I whirled around to grab a napkin off the counter. Smashing it against my face, I prayed I got it all, then quickly scrubbed at my hands. When I turned back around, Cinco was still standing at the door. “Hi. Um, what are you doing here?”

“I came to check on you. Can I come in?”

“Check on me?” I had the sudden realization I was in the most ragged clothes I owned, with hair like a rat's nest. “I'm . . . I'm just working.” I pointed toward my computer screen as if I needed to prove it.

With a bashfulness I wasn't accustomed to seeing in Cinco, he said, “I sort of glanced at your address when I was holding your car insurance card. Anyway, we—the class—were a little worried that maybe it was all getting to you.”

I waved my hand, which he took as an invitation to step in. He closed the door and waited for a reply. “No.

Not at all. I just had a lot of work to do. And . . . my dad, he had a heart attack.”

“Is he okay?” Cinco asked, deep concern flashing over his expression.

“He will be. Triple bypass, but he's going to make it.”

Cinco nodded and didn't seem to have anything else to say. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to be saying, but not one to let silence linger, I asked, “Would you like a piece of pizza?” I glanced at the box, a little embarrassed by the fact that half the pizza was gone.

“No, thanks. In fact, I ate at class tonight.”

“Oh?”

“You would've hated tonight's task. We actually had to go to a restaurant and complain about the food.”

“You probably breezed by.”

“You know, Leah, I don't go looking for conflict. Sometimes it comes for me, and sometimes I don't handle it all that well. I don't like it any more than the next guy.”

“Then why is it so easy for you?”

“It's not easy, but it's part of life, you know? I just learned a long time ago that I wasn't going to get along with everybody.”

I offered him a seat in the leather chair, and he took it. I sat in the middle of the couch, not ready to get cozy and comfortable. I'd already done that once this week. I couldn't let my guard down twice. So I was truly dismayed to hear myself say, “I want to know what makes you tick.”

Chapter 19

[She peeks through the hole to the other side.]

I
glanced at the clock and nearly gasped. It was eleven thirty! Two hours had gone by, and it seemed like an instant. I had scooted to the end of the couch close to Cinco and made myself cozy with the pillows.

Not a moment of silence, or awkwardness for that matter, had gone by. We'd talked like old friends who needed to catch up on the last ten years. In fact, the only thing that made me remotely aware of the time was the fact that someone else was now knocking on my door.

Cinco said, “Expecting anyone?”

I shook my head. “Not at this time. Or anytime, for that matter.” I rose, my knees crackling like my grandmother's used to. I walked to the door, peeking out the hole for the second time this evening.

“Oh . . . no.”

“What's the matter?” Cinco asked.

I glanced over my shoulder. “It's my best friend.”

Cinco stood. “I can leave. It's late anyway.”

“No, please. I”—I looked to the ceiling for help— “don't want you to.”

I could feel him smiling behind me. I slowly opened the door. What I hadn't seen when I peeked through the door was Elisabeth's three children, who were now all gathered up by her legs. She looked horrible, and I'm no parenting expert, but I was pretty sure small children were normally not out this late. They all had dark circles under their eyes. Elisabeth looked as unkempt as I'd ever seen her.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She moved forward into my apartment, dragging the children in with her. The angle of the wall must've hidden Cinco, as she didn't notice him. “I need your help,” she said.

“Oh . . . what for?”

Tears shimmered in her eyes. “I need you to keep the kids for me tonight.”

I looked down at their dirty faces. Danny was the oldest, at five. Then Cedric. Then Amelia. Amelia had two lines of snot trailing from her nostrils down to each point of her lip. “Wh-why?” I glanced around her at Cinco, who was watching.

Elisabeth didn't catch the clue someone else was in the room, even as Cedric and Danny saw him and stared like he'd grown a third eye.

“Henry and I had a fight.” She sniffled. “I took your advice and tried to tell him how I felt. Well, a few things slipped out.”

“He . . . knows about Creyton?” I whispered.

“Look, it's too emotional right now. I don't want to talk about it in front of the kids. Can they stay here tonight? They've already seen and heard enough.”

This time Elisabeth saw me glance at Cinco. Her face spasmed with mortified expressions as her voice climbed several octaves. “Who is he?”

“A friend,” I said quickly. “Cinco Dublin, meet Elisabeth Bates.”

“Hi,” Cinco said simply. Then he smiled at the kids. Danny smiled back. Cedric stuck his tongue out. Amelia's tongue busied itself with her snot.

Elisabeth's eyebrows rose. I couldn't help but feel my neck heat up. “I'm sorry,” she said, her tone accusatory. “I didn't realize you had company.”