Chapter 10 C U Next Tuesday #3
Joan sighed into the phone. “Please, don’t start this again. You made a mistake, and we fixed it. So you could have your life.”
“And what life is that?”
“So now we’re going to pretend you have nothing?”
“I don’t have anything,” Eve mumbled.
“You have degrees from two of the best schools in this country. You have a wonderful career that is flourishing. You think you’d be ‘doctor’ of anything with a baby on your hip?” Joan said. “You had a fiancé who adored you, and I’m sure he’d be willing to—”
Eve cut her off again. “You sent me away and I have never recovered. You still don’t understand that the only reason I went to school for ten years straight was to get away from you. That I chose writing because it was the easiest way to pretend that what happened didn’t happen.”
“Well, you certainly chose the right profession with these histrionics,” Joan said. “I don’t know if this is part of a play or if you’ve been drinking or what, but I’m not doing this with you tonight. Talk to your father.”
“Ma…”
The next thing Eve knew, her father’s rich baritone was on the other end of the line. “What have you done to your mother, Tètè?”
“All I did was ask a question neither of you have ever been willing to give an adequate answer to.”
“Must we do this tonight? Ban m zòrèy mwen. Please.”
“You don’t have to listen to me. You never do.”
“What more is there to say? It was an unfortunate situation, but we did what we thought was best.”
“You thought sending me to nowhere to carry a child I would never be able to know was best for me?”
“We did.” Roger’s voice turned soft, hints of sincerity and regret apparent. “You deserved to be a child, Eve. Go to college, figure out your career. You were never going to be able to do that with a child.”
“But you don’t know what I could’ve done. You didn’t give me a chance.” She angrily wiped away a tear. “And now, all I think about is what was taken.”
Eve ended the call, too emotional and too tipsy to realize she was hanging up on her parents—a criminal offense in any Black household. But after nearly two weeks of stewing in her feelings, she was no less exasperated with her life and feeling a little nihilistic as a result.
She missed Jamie. She was annoyed with him for leaving, but much more with herself for not being more inviting. He’d even offered his number if she wanted it, but she was too stupid and stubborn to take it. Serves her right for being an asshole.
Against her better judgment, Eve poured another big glass of the cheap Chardonnay she’d found at Whole Foods and returned to her perch at the edge of the couch, where her tenuous Wi-Fi signal seemed to work best. She forged ahead with one more call, finally dialing her ex-fiancé at his behest.
“I thought surely you were dead,” Leo answered flatly.
She could hear the hum of some restaurant or lounge in the background.
If she knew Leo, he was at his favorite hipster beer garden in Williamsburg, and Eve was halfway relieved he wasn’t sitting at home sulking, like her. One less thing to feel guilty about.
“Stop texting me,” she said loudly.
“Stop ignoring me,” he said, not missing a beat—a rarity for him. He was smart, sure, but no one would describe Leo as quick-witted.
“I don’t have anything to say.” She absently rubbed her eyes, ignoring the very real possibility of her contacts slipping out. “You can’t harass me because I don’t wanna do this anymore.”
“Asking for an explanation is not harassment, Eve. I’d think you owed me that much, at least.”
“Why do I owe you anything? Have I not done enough?”
Just the thought of Leo drained her now.
Their relationship started as a meet-cute at a little Italian restaurant near NYU, Eve enjoying the way he was so immediately infatuated with her.
And she was intrigued by him, too, always dressed to the nines, like some old-school, golden age movie star.
But after his father died, Leo was a shell of himself, and based on what little she knew of their abusive relationship, she understood it.
She pitied it. And so she protected him. Tended to him.
But now, she no longer had a grip on her own sanity, and there was just no way she could worry about his, too.
Leo released a mocking chuckle. “I sat by the phone for days, thinking just maybe you’d do me a simple kindness, as the man you were about to marry, and give me a damn phone call.
That’s all I asked for. I wasn’t trying to make you come back.
I wasn’t gonna make you feel like shit for leaving.
I just thought, at the very least, I could get an explanation,” he said.
“And now, you call? Did it take you a whole fucking week to find my phone number? Did you maybe realize you were being a fucking asshole? No, of course not. You’re calling me on the Fourth of fucking July, drunk and belligerent, just to twist the knife. Do me a favor and go to hell, Eve.”
The line went silent before she could even pretend she had a defense. Whatever damage she’d done to him was likely irrevocable. There’s not much you can say when someone wants you in hell.
Lucky for Leo, Eve felt like she was already there.