Stir Me (19 page)

Samantha nods, but there's a smugness to it, like she's won this round of conversation.

But she already has everything I can give her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The rest of dinner goes similarly. I hate to admit it, but I watch Alyssa carefully. She takes such timid bites, and she looks at her food with such trepidation. It's the kind of thing she'd normally include on her dreadfully dull recovery diet--grilled salmon and vegetables.

She can't stand it. Every time she catches me looking at her, she sinks further into her head. I try to include her in my conversation with Samantha, but Samantha keeps dominating it with trips down memory lane.

We finish our meals, but Samantha insists on dessert.

"Come on, it's been forever since I've had dinner at a nice restaurant."

"You know I'm not a dessert person," I say.

"And you'll complain about the shitty tea they serve in about five minutes." She looks to Alyssa. "What about you, Alyssa? Do you like chocolate?"

Alyssa tries to smile but it's pained. "On occasion."

"Do you want to split a piece?"

"No thank you." Alyssa looks out the window. "I'm full."

I clear my throat and give Samantha a look that demands she drop it. She folds her arms like I'm the one being ridiculous.

The waiter returns and Samantha orders for herself. Chocolate cake with ice cream. Alyssa orders a coffee, frowning when the waiter explains the lack of almond milk.

Samantha turns up her nose like she finds Alyssa's milk preferences horrifying. It's a little much. Samantha is from Santa Barbara, the hippie food capital of the state. I'm sure she's used to people requesting almond milk.

But no, she orders a cappuccino. Whole milk. Like she's showing off somehow.

I bite my lip. I can take anything Samantha wants to throw at me. But if she even thinks about doing anything to push Alyssa...

It will be the last time she ever hears from me.

We make small talk while we wait for dessert. Samantha and Alyssa talk about nail polish and clothing, apparently the only things they have in common.

I watch their exchanges. They're both trying to be polite, but there's something off about it.

The waiter returns. Chocolate cake, ice cream, and three spoons. Of course.

Samantha digs in, moaning like she's in the middle of the world's most amazing sex. "You really should try it."

Alyssa shakes her head. She takes a quiet sip of her coffee. She's trying to act strong, but there's a nervousness in her eyes.

"Are you sure?" Samantha asks. "It's amazing."

"Sam, drop it," I say.

Samantha shrugs like it's nothing. Like she has no clue this is upsetting Alyssa.

I swear... if she's doing this on purpose. If she's doing anything to hurt Alyssa...

It's not completely absurd. Rumors of Alyssa's eating disorder are only a Google search away. But Samantha would never sink that low. And she has no motive.

Alyssa steals a sip of my tea. "Wow, that is awful."

"I told you."

"Why drink something you don't like? Why not hold out for what you really want?" Alyssa's eyes are on mine.

She's not asking the tea.

"I already have what I want," I say.

She blushes and turns her attention back to the window. So this dinner can't be all bad.

Samantha drops the subject of the cake. She eats the rest of it without offering more bites or complaining she has to eat it alone.

The rest of the dinner is polite. Talk about nothing. No argument when I insist on paying the bill. Samantha lingers a little long when she hugs me good-bye, but it's still well within the normal length of a hug from a friend.

It's nothing.

***

Alyssa beats me home. The lights are off. She's sitting on the couch cross-legged, her attention on the darkness engulfing the backyard.

Her eyes are heavy, like she's about to cry, like she can't stand another minute in her skin.

"Ally..." I move towards her. Sit next to her on the couch. "What's wrong?"

She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. "I hate to sound like a cliché, but do you really have to ask?"

"Of course I--"

"I don't want to fight."

I try to take her hand but she pulls it away.

"What are you talking about?" I ask.

She says nothing.

"Ally, what are you talking about?"

She moves off the couch. To the sliding door to the backyard--a big mass of glass blocking out the darkness.

"You can tell me anything," I say. "Even if it hurts."

But she shakes her head. She presses her palm against the glass of the door. I can barely see her reflection. But it looks like she's crying.

Her voice is a whisper. "I'm not in the mood to have some stupid drawn-out conversation."

"Don't be so oblique."

Alyssa turns back to me. She stares at me, her eyes heavy, like they're so full of sadness they're going to burst. "She's in love with you. Why can't you see it?"

"That's ridiculous."

"What about it is ridiculous? You visit her. You dote on her. You soak up all that need of hers. Why wouldn't she be in love with you?"

"She's not."

A tear rolls down her cheek. "I can't keep doing this."

I move towards her. She presses her back into the glass door. But when I wrap my arms around her, she melts. She squeezes me, even as she chokes back a sob.

I'm causing her this pain. I need to stop it.

I move my mouth over her ear. "I love you. Tell me what I can do to make this better and I'll do it."

"It's not about love."

She holds me closer. Tighter. And then, in this horrible, cold, dark room, she unleashes. She cries, blubbering, squeezing me tighter and tighter.

"Ally, let's talk about this."

"She's in love with you, Luke. You're playing her boyfriend and you're playing my therapist, and I can't do it anymore."

"But..."

She takes a deep breath, melting into me a little more. "You need to figure this out. Because I don't think I can be with you if you're always going to be running off to help her."

"She needs me."

"She manipulates you," she says. "She isn't your friend. Your friend would be polite to your girlfriend. Your friend wouldn't spend dinner trying to make your girlfriend jealous. And you think I didn't notice that bullshit with the chocolate cake?"

"Maybe she was being nice."

"Nice? You might not realize this, since your private life isn't visible to anyone with an Internet connection--but she obviously knew about my eating disorder, and she was obviously reveling in it."

Alyssa pushes me. It's soft. A
give me space
not a
get the fuck away
.

I step back and bring my eyes to hers. "She wouldn't do that."

She shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Luke, but I need you too. At least, I want to. But every time I start to get that feeling in my chest, every time I start to let myself need you, I have to stop myself. I don't know if you'll be around or if you'll be off with her. I don't even know if you'll keep your promises or if you'll be too busy conceding to what she wants."

"Is that about the house?"

She bites her tongue. "I want someplace that feels like home too."

"If I had known you wanted it I would have fought for it."

"I don't believe you."

The dizziness is back. My head is swimming. My limbs are light and weak. I take a deep breath, but it only makes the ground feel further away. It only makes this feel more impossible.

Alyssa is pulling away. I have to do something.

But I can't abandon Samantha. Ending our friendship would be sentencing her to death.

She wipes the tears from her cheeks. I move towards her again, wrap my arms around her again. But there's a coldness to it. She's already made up her mind.

She's already somewhere else.

"Alyssa, please. I want to be with you."

"Until when? What if she tries to kill herself again? Will you be by her side again?"

"She's my best friend."

"Exactly," she says. "She's your best friend. And, if she gets her way, she'll be your girlfriend, so she can keep leaning on you forever."

"Ally..."

"I want to be with you too, Luke, but not like this. Not if you're always going to rush off to save her." She steps away, her back pressed against the glass. "I need some space. To think about this... to figure out if I can really handle it."

"I thought we were done with space."

"Me too."

She moves away from me, towards the couch, towards the other side of the room. She picks up her purse and hugs it to her chest. She looks so small and sad and it's all my fault.

I need to do something now. I need to grab back on to her.

"I want to help you through everything you're dealing with," I say. "You shouldn't have to do it alone."

She shakes her head. "I'm sorry, but I can't. Not if you keep trying to save her."

"Let's talk about this."

Alyssa shakes her head, hugging her purse tighter and tighter. "Are you still her friend?"

"That doesn't matter."

"And are you still going to insist she needs your help?"

"She does."

"Then no," Alyssa says. "We can't talk about it. Because any conversation I'm going to have is going to include some kind of ultimatum." She moves away from the door, wiping tears from her cheeks.

I take the box of tissues off the coffee table and offer them to her. She takes one and dabs it against her eyes gently.

This is the closest I'm getting to her tonight.

Her voice is a whisper. "I sat back idly while you went to rescue her. And really, I was okay with it, because it's who you are. You care too much and you want to help people. But this has gone too far. I'm losing you."

"You'll never lose me."

She shakes her head. "For all intents and purposes, you're her boyfriend. And I'm not going to share you."

"Alyssa..."

"I want to be with you. But not like this." She takes another step towards the door. "Think about it, okay? Because I'm going to get some breathing room, and I'm going to figure out exactly what I want. And when I come back, I expect you to know what you want too."

"I know what I want. I want you."

She shakes her head. "But you want to help her too." She wipes a stray tear from her eye. "Think about it, okay? When I do this, I want to do it all the way."

"Alyssa, stay."

"I'm sorry," she says. "I love you. I hope you can figure this out."

She steps out the door.

And that's it.

The color drains from the room. It's cold and gray and there's no rhyme or reason to any of it anymore.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

It was hard before, when Alyssa didn't immediately choose me. It was unfair of me to give her an ultimatum, but I couldn't help it. My stomach twisted in knots every time I thought of her with Ryan. I know it's a dick move to start an affair with an engaged woman then get mad at her for being engaged, but I really didn't mean to fall in love with her.

I never thought things would get that far.

That day, three or four months ago, I pressed her to finally leave Ryan. She recoiled. She wasn't ready.

Even though it killed me, I understood. I understand better now, actually. She really believed she'd fall apart if she left him. That she'd spiral back into her mostly recovered bulimia without him around to keep her in line.

It was a punch in the gut, but it was nothing like this.

I am the walking dead. I drag myself out of bed every morning. I stare at the electric kettle in the kitchen, barely able to force myself to find the teaspoon, to scoop Early Grey into the damn plastic tea maker. I stand there as the microwave timer counts down from five minutes, and I stare at the water as it mixes with the tea, becoming a darker and darker shade of brown.

The beep is always a surprise, every damn morning, but it does nothing to jar me out of this. The tea tastes like nothing. No matter how strong I make it--double, triple, even quadruple strength--it takes like nothing. Everything around me is nothing. The air isn't warm or cold, salty or sweet, dry or humid. It's nothing. The white walls, the beige carpet, the blinding gray morning sky--it's all nothing. And the nothing washes over me until I am sure it will swallow me whole.

Alyssa is gone and it's all my fault.

It takes all the willpower I have not to call her every morning. She wants space. I have to give her space. I still have a chance. It's a tiny piece of hope, a sickening sweetness in my otherwise bitter day.

She wants to be with me. She said she wants to be with me. Just not like this.

I have to show her she always comes first.

I push back another thought--that sting that screams that I have to choose. I can either repay my debt to Samantha, to help her out of the mess I put her in and lose Alyssa, or I can abandon her and choose Alyssa.

There has to be another way.

Work is agony. I am lost in my meetings. Some other version of me takes over. He is the charming, flirty man all my clients love. He woos them, compliments them, promises them everything they deserve. And then I am back to my zombie self, moving through prenuptial agreements and settlements as if I am simply entering data.

And I am. It's all the same. It's all dull and gray and ugly. It's all nothing.

Even Ryan can't rattle me. He must not know Alyssa is taking space again, because he doesn't gloat or brag. He just offers once again to buy out my half of the business.

But he's living in a fantasy. Ryan is the reason why I feel like this. If Ryan hadn't fucked with Alyssa's head so thoroughly...

He's not getting anything from me. Not anything but a punch in the face.