Thirty-Five #3
make me catch my breath, desire washing over me as I replay them over and over in my mind?
I get up, unsure of what to do, how to handle this; how would he react if I asked him whether something really happened last
night? I go to the bathroom and as I am splashing my face with cold water, I see the wastebasket, and a quick look solves
my dilemma. It really happened. Everything I have been replaying really happened.
And today is my father’s funeral. Oh God.
I stumble into the living room to make coffee, and not only is Noah missing, all of his stuff has gone.
The guitars, his leather jacket casually thrown over the back of a chair; the bedding for the sofa has gone.
There is no evidence that he has ever been there at all.
“Welcome back to the land of the living.” Lucy hears me and comes out of her bedroom, an empty coffee cup in hand. I don’t
know how she manages to look stylish in pajamas, but in her silk cami top, her men’s boxers and her blond hair piled up on
top of her head, she looks adorable. I have been in such a haze, I have barely seen her, and I find myself welling up with
love for her as she puts her arms around me and gives me a tight hug. “I’ve missed you,” she says, releasing me. “Want some
coffee?”
I nod gratefully, following her into the kitchen area as she pours me coffee.
“Are you ready for the funeral? It’s at one, right?”
I nod in answer to the timing question, scalding my lips on the coffee, but I am not ready. I will never be ready. I do not
want to go, do not want to see my father’s friends, his associates, do not want them coming up to me to offer their condolences,
put their arms around me to comfort me when in fact they are in need of comfort themselves.
I do not want to see Clara. Nor anyone else from ipryy. I do not want their pity, nor their false words of sorrow. Clara texted
me after he died to say how devastated she was, how she was thinking of me, how I will always mean so much to her.
I deleted it.
Bitch.
“Shall I go with you or make my own way?”
“Come with me. Please. Thank you. Protect me from the crowds.”
“Am I allowed to punch them if they get too close?”
“Absolutely. And if it’s Clara, feel free to push her over.”
“I should knife her in the back, just as she did to you. Cunt.”
I shake my head, finally a genuine smile on my face. “That’s why I love you, Lucy.”
“I know.”
“Where’s Noah?” I try and make my voice normal, as if this is a question I would ask naturally, although nothing about the way it comes out seems to be natural. Lucy doesn’t seem to notice.
“He found an apartment! Isn’t that great? He’s living two blocks away, and he got the keys today. Didn’t he tell you?”
“I’ve barely seen him.” A flashback from last night, me astride Noah, moving up and down, back and forth, stretching forward
to hold his lips with my own, groaning as I feel the sweet release approaching.
“You okay?”
I shake the memory away. “I’m fine. Why?”
“Nothing.” She gives me a look I can’t read. “We should take him a housewarming gift. Something really cheesy. Obviously not
today, too much going on, but you should see if we can maybe go over tomorrow. Text him.”
I look at her curiously. Why doesn’t she text him? She is his sister, after all.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll do it later.”
“Text him now!” she says, and I pull out my phone and start tapping, but I have no idea what to say.
About last night . . .
We should talk . . .
Thank you for . . .
Are you okay . . .
This was a mistake . . .
Did this even happen . . .
I start multiple texts, and delete them as quickly as I start. I have no idea what to say to him. I have no idea what last
night meant, our brief coming together. Was it mutual comfort? Was it something more? Or was it nothing, just a quick fuck
in the semidarkness? It didn’t feel like nothing, but today he has disappeared without so much as a goodbye.
“Why do you want me to text your brother?” I pause, looking at Lucy.
She grins. “Do you think I haven’t noticed the chemistry between you?”
I open my mouth to speak, but have no idea what to say. Does she know about last night? She can’t possibly. They’re close,
but surely he would not have told her. “I’m just running to the bathroom,” I say, so Lucy won’t ask anything else. “I’m going
to get dressed.”
“I know you’re avoiding the issue,” she yells after me. I keep walking.
In the bathroom, my phone vibrates. A text. Noah? I think, a thrill of excitement and anticipation running through me. It
is Jerome.
Can I pick you up and take you to the funeral?
I am riddled with guilt and shame. Jerome is my boyfriend, such a good man, a man who takes care of me. He is a man my father
adored. And how did I repay his loyalty? By sleeping with another man. Noah was a mistake. A terrible, one-off mistake that
will never be repeated. I blame the Ambien, and decide to put it behind me forever.
Yes, I text back. You can grab me and Lucy. Thank you. I pause, then type, love you.
Love you too, he types. With a heart emoji. I heart emoji back, even though my heart feels nothing.