You're Not the One (9781101558959) (43 page)

“Not yet. Says she's like a mystery he can't solve.” Putting the empty pizza box on the table, he turns to me. “Every time he thinks he's figured her out, she does something to surprise him and he sees her in a different way. I get that with films sometimes. I've seen them dozens of times and then I watch them again and I see something new.”

“It's the same with art. I can look at a painting one day and the next . . .” I trail off. There's no need to explain with Adam. I know that he gets it.
He gets me
.

“Hey, you got some grease on your chin.” He gestures.

“Oh, really?” I go to wipe it, but he gets there first with his paper napkin.

“You're a messy eater, aren't you?” he teases.

“I'm messy at everything,” I laugh, and for the first time it doesn't seem to matter. That I'm messy, or that I'm late, or that I'm eating pizza and dribbling grease down my chin, or that I talk too loudly, or that my hair is still that dodgy shade of purple from that bad dye job the other week. Because it doesn't matter to Adam.

“I think this is the best first date I've ever been on.” I grin a little tipsily.

“No, the police station was our first date,” he corrects me, smiling.

“That wasn't a date,” I retort.

“Well, that's when we had our first kiss,” he says.

At the memory of our kiss, I get butterflies in my stomach. “So if this is our second date, does that mean we get to have our second kiss?” I reply flirtatiously.

Well, I haven't been suffering in this underwear all night for nothing.

“I guess it does.” He nods, sliding his hand round my waist and pulling me toward him. Before I know it he's kissing me. And I'm kissing him back. And he's sliding his hand up the back of my top. And—

Suddenly the buzzer goes.

I ignore it and keep kissing him.

It goes again.

“Do you think you should get that?” murmurs Adam.

“It will be my roommate. She lost her keys,” I say thickly. Flinging out my hand, I press the release buzzer for the main door and flick the latch. Gosh, Adam is a really good kisser.

I can hear footsteps pounding up the stairs. “C'mon, we should go to my room,” I whisper, tugging at his T-shirt, worried that Robyn will walk in on us making out in the kitchen.

“Just one more kiss,” he whispers, his soft stubble scratching my face as he pulls me even closer.

Suddenly there's a loud crash and the door slams wide open. I jump a mile. “Crikey, Robyn!” I exclaim, laughing as Adam and I spring apart.

Only it's not Robyn. It's Nate.

It's like being wrenched from a dream into a nightmare. “What on earth?” I gasp in horror, as his gray-suited figure comes charging through the door.

“What did you say to Beth?” he demands without any introduction.

I stare at him, speechless with shock. I've never seen him look so angry.

“Who are you?” asks Adam in total bewilderment.

“What? When?” I cry, finding my voice.

“In Martha's Vineyard!”

“You were in Martha's Vineyard too?” Adam's brow creases.

Suddenly the penny drops. It wasn't Jennifer the real estate agent I spoke to. It was Beth, Nate's ex-wife.
The
Beth. “Oh shit, that was her who called our room?”

Adam turns to me, his face shocked. “Our room?”

“She didn't leave a message. I had no idea,” I begin explaining, but my mind is reeling. All those years I built her up in my head to be this superhuman person, the girl Nate married, the one he chose over me, and yet she sounded so normal. No wonder she hung up on me. She must have thought—

“You were together?” Adam looks at me, dumbstruck.

“Please, I can explain,” I try, turning to him, but Nate talks over me.

“We're
always
together!” he cries in exasperation. “We're never apart.”

“That's not my fault,” I retaliate, wheeling round. “It's as much you as it is me.”

“Now my wife thinks we're having an affair.”

“You're married?” Adam's voice is quiet and he's looking at Nate, his eyes flicking over him, his mind obviously racing.

“I thought you were separated,” I gasp.

“We are, but . . . well, we've been talking. . . .” Nate trails off self-consciously. For a moment he looks down at his feet, then back at me. “We want to give it another try. At least she did. Before . . .”

There's silence for a moment. Nobody says anything. I don't think anyone knows what to say, least of all me. I feel numb, relieved, suddenly hopeful. If Nate wants to get back with Beth—

“You've been having an affair with a married man?”

Adam's voice snaps me back. “What? No!” I spin round, shaking my head in furious denial. “No, it's not like that at all.” I meet his gaze, but gone is his warm faith in me. In its place is a cold, steely distrust.

“Save it, Lucy.”

“No, please, it's not like that.” I feel the panic rising. He thinks I'm like his ex-girlfriend. He thinks I've been cheating, that I've been unfaithful with another woman's husband. “Please, I can explain,” I say desperately. Tears have begun prickling my eyes. I reach out to him. “Trust me.”

But he brushes me away. “Like I trusted you before?” he says, his face splintered into anger and contempt.

“Adam, please,” I beg, but he just looks at me and it's the coldest, hardest look. Turning, he walks toward the door.

“Don't go,” I call out after him, but even as I'm saying the words, I know it's useless. He's already gone.

For a moment I stand motionless in the kitchen, staring at the empty doorway. Then slowly I become aware of Nate's presence. I raise my eyes to meet his, but if I'm expecting to see some kind of satisfaction, I'm wrong.

“I'm sorry. I was upset about Beth.” He looks at me with dismay. “I didn't mean . . .”

“I know.” I shake my head wearily. My lovely evening with Adam is lying in tatters and yet there's no point blaming anyone. Nate's suffering too. He's probably lost Beth again now, just like I've lost Adam.

A sob rises in my throat. It's all such a mess.

Nate and I don't say any more; there's nothing left for either of us to say. He leaves, and closing the door behind him, I lean against it and sink to the floor.

And only then do I cry.

I cry my bloody heart out.

“I
've called a dozen times and left messages, but he won't return my calls.”

The next day I'm sitting in a café on the Upper West Side, having lunch with my sister. Over eggs Florentine I've been telling her all about what happened, about Martha's Vineyard, about last night, about everything.

“I've tried e-mailing, texting, you name it, but nothing. I just don't know what else to do.” I heave a deep sigh and slump down into my seat. “I can't believe Nate. He completely sabotaged everything with Adam. To think I did all those things on the Strategy.” I give a little shudder. “It's like nothing works.”

I stare dolefully into the dregs of my latte. Last night, after Nate left, I went to bed but couldn't sleep. I spent the whole night tossing and turning, and woke up this morning still feeling horrible. “But I'm not blaming Nate. I mean, it can't be nice for him either. Apparently he's trying to get back with his wife and give it another try, and now that's ruined too.” I heave an even deeper sigh and sink down further into my chair. “It's all such a mess. We're doomed to be together forever.”

“Lucky you.”

“Excuse me?” I glance up from my coffee cup to look at my sister. She's barely said a word since we met and has hardly touched her salade niçoise. Instead she's spent the whole time staring off into space, as if her mind's on other things. Most likely it's work or her marathon training.

“Some people would love to be together forever. I wish Jeff and I could be so lucky.”

“Aren't you the same person who called marriage a life sentence?” I remark, and reach for a fry. “And you get your sentence shortened for good behavior?” I look at Kate, expecting her to laugh, but her face remains passive.

“Jeff has cancer.”
Boom
. Just like that.

I look at her in disbelief. “
What?
”

“Testicular. The doctor's finally figured out why he's been losing weight and feeling so unwell. He's got to have a chest X-ray and blood work to see if it's spread.” She says all this very matter-of-factly, in the same tone of voice she used to discuss what to have for lunch. “He'll have his ball chopped off, of course, though that's OK—you can manage perfectly fine with just one.”

I'm staring at Kate and listening to her calmly talking, but I can't compute what I'm hearing. “Oh my God, Kate, I can't believe it,” I manage finally. “I had no idea.” I reach out across the table for her hand, but she pulls it away. I feel dreadful. There's me jabbering on about Nate and Adam and the whole time Kate's been sitting here with this awful news.

“I know, neither did I. I thought all he needed was antibiotics.” She falters momentarily—a blink of an eye and you'd have missed it—then, regaining her composure, quickly carries on. “The good news is that there's a strong chance we've caught it early enough and the cancer hasn't spread, and by getting rid of the tumor, you get rid of it all. We don't know for sure yet, but they're running tests, so we'll know soon enough.” Affording a tight smile, she takes a sip of water. “According to the oncologist, it's the best cancer to have. I didn't know there was a top ten of cancers you most want to have, but I guess you learn something every day.”

“And what if—” I stop myself. I don't want to ask the question, but Kate asks it for me.

“What if it's spread?” she says evenly.

I look at her mutely, almost shamefully. I feel disloyal for even thinking such a thing.

“Well, we have to deal with that if it happens,” she says pragmatically. “We'll have to go through the motions—radiotherapy, chemotherapy. I've been reading up on everything, but even for me, with my medical background, it's a whole new learning curve.” She's being incredibly calm. Spookily so.

“You're being so calm about everything,” I say to her in amazement.

She shrugs. “There's no point bringing emotions into this. We need to deal with the facts. When it comes to medical matters, the body is like a car that's broken down and we need to figure out the best way to try to fix it.”

“But this isn't a car we're talking about—this is Jeff,” I say passionately.

“I'm acutely aware of that, Lucy,” she snaps, the strain showing for the first time.

I fall silent. I'm not sure what to do or what to say to try to comfort her. I know she's upset, but she refuses to show it. She refuses to put down the strong big-sister act and let anyone in, least of all me. It's so frustrating. I feel so helpless.

“How is Jeff dealing with it?” I say after a moment.

“He's been better. Obviously. His main concern seems to be that after the operation he's going to be flying solo.” She raises an eyebrow. “But the doctor explained to him that you can get an implant.”

“An implant?”

“Apparently. I don't know if they come in different sizes like with breasts. My husband with the double-D testicles.” She smiles ruefully, attempting a joke. “I'll be calling him Pamela Anderson next.”

We both laugh, but it's a hollow sound. This is cancer we're talking about, this is Jeff, and this is something that threatens the rest of their lives together, but she's refusing to go there, so I don't go there either.

After lunch I leave Kate insisting she's OK. “Don't fuss,” she protests. “Everything's going to be fine.”

“I know, of course,” I say hurriedly. “I didn't mean . . . Look, if you need anything, anything at all. If you want me to come with you to the hospital, keep you topped up with bad vending-machine coffee . . .”

“I'll call you.” She nods curtly, in a way that says she has no intention of calling me—or anyone, for that matter. She hitches her bag onto her shoulder and is about to turn away when instinctively I reach over and give her a big hug. I can't help myself. Despite her steely demeanor, she feels tiny and fragile beneath her cotton jacket.

She stiffens and awkwardly pulls away. “Oh, and Lucy, don't mention anything to Mum and Dad. You know how they worry about stuff.”

“Yes, of course.” I nod, thinking how that's so typical of Kate—never wanting to be any trouble, always determined to handle everything herself. “I won't breathe a word.”

We say our good-byes and I walk back to the subway and begin descending the steps, then pause. I don't feel like going back to the apartment; I feel like walking, and so, turning round, I climb back up again. I've no destination in mind, no clue where I'm heading. I just start walking aimlessly, paying no attention to my surroundings, the people who walk by, the shops that I pass, the neighborhoods that I enter. Staring at the ground, I focus on putting one foot in front of the other, the rhythm propelling me forward, like a musician with his metronome.

I think about Jeff and Kate. About my sister's stoicism, her flippant remarks, the sarcastic humor that hides the true depth of love she has for him but couldn't hide the shadow of fear I saw in her eyes. About Jeff and how he must be feeling. I try to imagine it, but of course I can't. How can I? This is life or death we're talking about. Not some silly legend about soul mates. I feel a stab of shame. Talk about putting things into perspective.