Wait for Me (29 page)

“It's so good to see you.”

“Are you tired?”

“I was, but not now.”

“I don't have much time – we have a lot of work to do.”

“That's okay. I'll come and pick you up at eight like always. You see? I'm still yours.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, uneasy.

He went to kiss me and I shifted back, guilty. “They're watching,” I said.

“Right, I'll see you later then, eight o'clock.”

“I'll be waiting.”

My heart was breaking as he walked away. How could I tell him? I would lose him forever. I returned to the books and met Sabrina's eyes, which were on the brink of tears.

“Please don't look at me like that.”

“I'm sorry, but this is unbearable.”

“You're telling me.”

Time is the harshest element, guarded by the unyielding tick of the clock. For every lingering day there is another, like this one, where four hours takes only four minutes.

I said goodbye to Sabrina as we approached Adam's car.

“Sophie, just remember that everything will be okay in the end, alright? And no matter what happens, we're here for you,” she said, as she hugged me tightly.

I sighed, fighting back tears. I would have stayed in her arms forever if it meant I could avoid the imminent storm. “Like I said, if you don't hear anything by eleven, be worried.”

“Don't do it, don't tell him,” she said, distraught. I gave her a weak smile and climbed into the seat. I winked and she closed the door, holding eye contact until I was out of sight.

“Are you okay?” Adam asked, squeezing my hand. “What's up with Sabrina? Has something happened? I've never seen her like that.”

“It's nothing, a fight with Steph,” I struggled.

“Nothing serious I hope.”

“No,” I replied. “Nothing that can't be fixed.”

He kissed my hand gently, with a sincere smile that I tried to return.

“Are you tired?” he asked, perhaps in response to my eerie silence.

“A little.”

By the cruelty of fate,
Sigur Rós
'
Saeglopur
started leaking from the radio speakers. Every note seemed to reverberate through the car and into my body. I pressed my head against the window, lost in thought as we passed through the sleepless streets of New York. I thought about Sabrina, on the subway, worrying about me; Steph, at home making dinner; my brother kissing Miranda's belly; my mother knitting; Steven and David watching
Grey's Anatomy
. It was nothing, I thought, clutching Adam's hand. I wove our fingers together, hoping that it would not be the last time. I was sure that the defeat would be too much – that he wouldn't want me any more. But this was not the consequence that I feared the most. What I feared the most was the pain that I would force him to relive. When we arrived home, the table was already set. I had barely taken my bag off before he pulled me onto the couch and held me in his arms. His lips arrested me. I turned away, plagued, and he stopped.

“Tell me what's wrong,” he pleaded.

This was it.

“I have to tell you something,” I said, slipping away from him. He sat down beside me and began twirl my hair.

I held his face in my hands and stared at him for a long time. “Adam, I love you more than ever, you know that don't you?”

“Sure,” he answered, and leaned in for a kiss, from which I retreated.

“Adam, I've never loved anybody like I love you. You're everything to me,” I repeated.

He smiled. “Okay, and?” he asked, still animate with happiness.

“There's something I didn't tell you… and—” I began to tremble and lose my words.

“Sophie?” he said, anxious. “What are—”

I interrupted. “Please, let me talk, and, listen as much as you can until I've finished. Then you can say whatever you want… ask anything you want and I won't object.”

“You're scaring me. You're shaking,” he said, holding my arms.

“Promise me,” looking straight into his eyes.

“I promise.”

I took two deep breaths and began to speak under his curious gaze. “Do you remember the night after you came back to me? I had dinner with Steven and David, and I met David's colleague… do you remember?”

“The guy who gave you a lift?”

“Yeah, that one,” I replied. “I didn't see him after that night.” His eyes instantly fell onto my trembling hands. He felt it, sensed it – knew it. He could not look at me because he knew what was coming.

“Go on,” he said flatly.

“He ended up coming to Steph's birthday party. We talked for a while and he started testing the waters. I told him that I was with somebody. He apologized and that was that.”

Adam's breath was nervous and faltering. “What else happened?” he asked without looking at me.

Reluctant, I paused for a few seconds.

“Fucking hurry up! Stop with this bullshit pre-amble!” He sprang to his feet. “Tell me what happened that has you on the brink of a panic attack.”

“Adam,” I began to cry.

A moment later, he lifted me by my arm. “Speak, for fuck's sake,” he said, an inch from my face.

“It's Tom,” I whispered weakly.

He released his grip and staggered back a little.

“It's Tom, Adam” I repeated walking towards him, “and Thursday, at the concert with Sabrina, he was there and… Adam I'm sorry.”

“What?” he asked, unnervingly controlled. “What Sophie? What happened?”

“He kissed me,” I answered.

I watched him close his eyes and clench his fists, harnessing the impulse to strike me.

“But nothing else happened. He did it on purpose. He said he wants to see you get what's coming to you – see you suffer for what you did to Elizabeth.”

With his eyes closed, he raised his head towards the ceiling and exhaled deeply.

“Get out,” he said.

“Adam, he cornered me.”

“I've heard enough, Sophie, get out, please.”

“Don't let him get to you like this.”

“Sophie, get out before you get hurt,” he said, still clenching his fists.

I tried to move closer but he grabbed a vase from the shelf and hurled it against the wall.

“Get the fuck out… now.”

“Tell me what you're thinking. Let's just talk about it.” I reached out for his hands. “Nothing happened, nothing we can't fix.”

“You want to know what I'm thinking?” he said, looking possessed. “If you must know Sophie, I'm thinking that you're just a whore like every other woman. There isn't a thing that's different about you. Someone gives you the eye and you offer yourself on a plate. Do you think I'm stupid? ‘He kissed me',” he derisively imitated. “At least say ‘we kissed'. You're not a good liar Sophie.”

“I don't know what happened, he jumped me.”

“That's enough Sophie. I don't give a fuck. You had a drink, you got caught up in the music and you were off guard. I've fucked a lot of women and I know how easily you're manipulated,” he said, staring at me.

I looked down guiltily and he let out a scornful laugh.

“I'm sorry,” I muttered. “I… I love you.”

He placed his hands in his pockets and gave me a bitter smile. “I've heard it all before,” he said, shaking his head. “Don't even bother.” He grabbed my bag from the floor.

I took it and walked heavily to the door with my head down. “For what it's worth, Adam, I'll be waiting for you.”

“Out,” he barked.

In the elevator I held onto the rail, worried that I might be sick. I walked all the way up East 110th Street and took the subway. Sabrina and Steph were waiting up for me. They ushered me into their bed without saying a word. For them, it was simply a relief to see me safe and in one piece.

The next day it was Steven who woke me up, calling to apologize. Sabrina had told him what happened with David's colleague. David wanted to speak to me too. He hadn't known about the whole history. I tried to be polite – it was really Sabrina that needed strangling for opening her mouth.

“I needed to vent. I needed to tell someone about that conniving piece of shit,” she justified.

I spent the whole day in my room, staring at a tree in front of the apartment and watching Mrs White next door fix her rose garden.

In the evening, Steph handed me a bowl of chicken curry that I left untouched until the following morning. The second day was also spent in agony, just the tree and I.

Of the hundreds of messages I sent to Adam, he replied to just one, a definitive…

Of course, Fred came to visit me that evening. Adam had cancelled his parking subscription and told him that we were through.

I didn't go into details, and for once he didn't utter a word. I was spared any version of ‘I told you so' for a simple ‘it'll be alright'.

“It'll be alright”: I heard these words over and over in the days that followed. “It'll be alright.”

But it would not be alright, like Dad's death for my mother, me and my brother – like losing an irreplaceable piece of yourself. It created a void; a bleak sense of death and loss.

At work, Sabrina tried to cover my shifts as much as possible, but after two weeks I decided it was best to quit. Then I wrote a letter to Adam, apologizing for everything and imploring him not to give up on love. Somewhere out there was a woman who would not bring him so much pain and he deserved to find her. I don't know why I wrote it. Perhaps I believed that it might alleviate my guilt. During those weeks, I went over and over the incident with Tom. He had done it; his cursed scheme had flourished. Even if Adam had pardoned that moment of weakness, it would have been unbearable to stay with him. I was not worthy of him. And so, day by day, I simply continued to exist. Then, one fine morning, I woke up with a burning desire to run. The Forrest Gump kind of running: running and running without even thinking about running. I threw on a vest and a pair of shorts and left the house, in search of the indefinite something that might help to fill the void. The sun was beating down – a surprise to someone who had spent twenty days in hibernation. I had no idea that summer had even arrived. I was out of practice and unfit. I ran two blocks and then walked for two more. After those I walked another two before breaking into a run again. Gradually, my breathing steadied and I managed three blocks.

Before I knew it, I had arrived before the Bronx Zoo. I bought a ticket and went in search of the polar bear in its unnatural habitat. It looked incredibly settled. It seemed to have adapted to captivity.

Adapt and make the best of things, I thought, watching her play with her cubs. It was then that my cell phone rang. It was my brother. He proudly announced that Lenya had been born. It was the first good news I had heard in a while. I rushed home to change and went straight to the hospital. The moment I saw my brother with that little bundle in his arms, honored and delighted at his new fatherhood, I told myself that it was time to stop this wallowing; that I had so little time to waste suffering. Life continues, regardless.

When I returned home, I felt revitalized and began seriously searching for a job. Like my abstract suggestion with Dr Richardson, I chose to look in the arts. I made a list of every single art gallery in New York and sent résumés to all of them. A couple of days later, a woman named Mrs Bradford got in touch. She was from some little-known gallery on the West Side. I went to visit and was somewhat unmoved by the display. Instead of the clinical sophistication of typical exhibitions, it was a vessel of dusty old objects. The lady was looking for an assistant. Her husband had passed away a few months back and she was struggling to manage alone. The pay was two thousand dollars per month and I accepted, on the condition that she would allow me enough free time to study and finish college.

To celebrate, Fred invited me over for dinner. Miranda still had not been discharged from the hospital. Of course, the whole evening was spent talking about Lenya. The number of times she had fed, the number of times she had regurgitated, drooled, smiled etc. After the meal, my brother called Miranda and I collapsed onto the couch, exhausted by Fred's inventory. Scrappy was licking my hands clean when I noticed the computer on the desk. The monitor displayed the camera feed from Lether's Parking. It was strange to revisit the images that had greeted my return to New York.

To my surprise, I watched Alice Truman pull up in her shiny red Mercedes. More surprising still was that Adam got out of the driver's side. Arm in arm, I observed them leave the parking lot. Adam was clearly persisting with what he did best. For a split second, I felt sad to have been the cause of this, but then something came to me… the shade of the light changed…

When I really thought about it, I had played very little part in this. I landed in the center of his triangle, and all it took from there was some stupid kiss. The incident itself was secondary. When I altered the angle, I felt content at having made peace with my own past. Unlike Adam, I had learned to face my demons, and if he wasn't willing to do the same then I wasn't entirely to blame.

“Fuck you then,” I murmured.

Scrappy barked, approving, so I grabbed my phone and sent him a message.

*

I left my brother's place at 11 p.m. and for the first time in a long while, I felt strangely serene. It was like removing the albatross from my neck – released from my guilty burden.

On the way home, Sabrina texted to let me know that they were at the local gay bar with Steven and David. I decided to give it a miss and head straight back. As I was in bed, inanely browsing the internet, I was notified of a new email.