34. Jo
Chapter 34
Jo
I t’s been three weeks of self-deprecation and wondering what I did wrong. Dinner was great. Dessert was better. But it’s been radio silence ever since.
The occasional side-long glance from across the faculty lounge or quick wave as we pass each other in the quad is the most interaction I’ve gotten from him.
It’s weird.
Even weirder, I don’t feel like vomiting right now.
Then again, I did throw up everything remotely solid in my stomach about thirty-five minutes ago, including what looked like the burrito that I ate three days ago.
I should probably get that checked out.
“Okay, don’t worry. Chloe is going to be here soon to feed you lunch!” I kneel in front of Charlie-girl, scratching just behind her ear with my free hand. She looks up at me with impossibly sad eyes and huffs, falling back onto her hind legs. “And you get to spend time with your Auntie while I try not to vomit on a plane.”
You could not find a more special relationship than the one between Dad and Charlie. She spent most of the first years of her life in the garage, curled up next to where Dad laid on the mechanic’s creeper, putzing with the undercarriage of whatever car he was working on that day. When he got sick, she spent her days sleeping next to the couch where Leo lived out his hospice time.
Now, she sits on the laminate floor staring up at me with her goopy eyes and droopy ears, looking old and sad and tired.
My front door opens hesitantly, and Chloe peeks around the corner to where I stand in the living room.
“Uh, why is there a limo parked outside?” My head snaps to her, and she pushes her way into my apartment. Charlie meets her halfway, her tail wagging uncontrollably.
“Wait, what?” I set my sights on the living room window while Chloe kneels and attends to my attention-whore of a dog.
“Looks like someone’s going to prom,” she adds, crawling on her hands and knees over to the rug and pulling Charlie into her lap.
I push the curtains aside, peering out the window and into the parking lot. Cold air radiates from the windowpanes and a shiver shoots down my spine.
“You are not gonna believe this”—I hesitate and squint, using my fingers to wipe away condensation as it forms on the glass—“I think that’s Isaac.” I turn back to face her, letting the curtains fall into their original position.
“You’re fucking with me.” Chloe cradles Charlie-girl in her arms, setting her gently down on the rug and pushing herself up using the arm of the couch. She brushes the accumulated dog hair off her sweatshirt, assuming her spot next to me at the window. She pushes the curtains more aggressively this time, causing them to slide all the way open to reveal us both staring, mouths wide open, at Isaac, who is now making his way up the concrete sidewalk towards my apartment. He looks up, doing a double take at the window.
“Do you think he sees us?” Chloe asks, covering her mouth with her hands like she’s play-calling for a pro-football team. Right on cue, Isaac lifts his arm, waving with two fingers and an awkward smile. “Ope.”
“Go ope yourself to the door and let him in,” I respond, rooted to the spot as Isaac continues up the steps to my home. The door squeaks open, but I can’t turn around. My eyes stay fixed on the limo, black and shiny, parked up against the curb in the parking lot. A man in a suit sits in the driver seat, scrolling on his phone.
“Chloe! It’s been forever, my friend.” Isaac’s voice infiltrates every nook and cranny of my apartment, and I know immediately that it will never feel the same in here. I need to get some sage or incense or something. My focus pulls from the limo to the reflection in the window of Isaac pulling Chloe into a tight hug.
“Well, you did leave, so,” Chloe taunts, stepping back from his embrace. Atta girl, Chlo.
I turn around in time to see Isaac grab his chest, feigning hurt.
“You wound me, Chloe Carello.” Our eyes meet, and he smiles brightly. “But I’m here now, so that should earn me some points right?” Isaac breaks our eye contact, looking back to Chloe, who scoops up Charlie into her arms and passes her to Isaac. She settles into Isaac’s hold, her tiny tail wagging in content.
Little traitor.
My stomach churns uncomfortably, saliva accumulating inside my mouth.
God dammit, not again.
I try to send subliminal messages to Chloe with my eyes, but she’s painfully oblivious to the fact that I’m about to projectile vomit all over the living room.
“Dr. Carello?” My hands fly up to cover my mouth. Not now with his Dr. Carello shit. I need the bathroom immediately.
Isaac sets Charlie on the floor and takes a step towards me, but I’m running through the living room and down the hall before either of them can react. My beautiful dog, the love of my life, thinks I’m playing and runs after me, her nails scratching against the flooring.
“Charlotte, no!” Chloe’s voice follows me, but so does Charlie, swerving between my legs on my panicked dash to the bathroom. Relief washes over me when I reach the bathroom, shoving the wood panel door out of my way as I launch myself at the toilet.
There’s no stopping the vomit now. Charlie pushes her way between me and the toilet, jumping in my lap. I try to push her aside, but it’s too late.
“Did you puke on the dog?!” Chloe stands in the door frame in front of Isaac. Both are staring at me like I just murdered someone.
I look down at the golden Cocker Spaniel on my lap. The fur on her head is soaked and matted with stomach acid, but she’s thrilled to be included in my bathroom floor adventure.
“Ugh,” I groan, grabbing a piece of toilet paper and wiping my mouth. My gaze meets Isaac’s, and I roll my eyes. “Don’t even look at me, okay!” He attempts to speak, but Chloe clears her throat, stepping into the bathroom with me.
“I know they call puke sacks doggie bags , but I think you took it too literally.” I shoot eye daggers over my shoulder at my sister.
“Would you shut up? I’m dying.” Charlie has had enough of my energy shift and jumps out of my lap, scurrying across the tile floor towards Chloe and Isaac.
“Okay, so, I’ll get this little troublemaker and you both need to get the hell out of here or you’re gonna miss your flight!”
Isaac glances down at his watch and nods, a grimace plastered on his face. I can’t tell if he’s disgusted by me or upset that we haven’t left yet. Either way, he can get fucked.
“You go,” I say, pushing myself up from the floor in front of the toilet. “I can’t do it.”
We both watch Chloe grab Charlie’s leash off the wall and maneuver her out the front door. I assume she’s taking her to the courtyard to hose her off, but damn her for leaving me alone with him. Right after I hurled anxious stomach acid in front of him.
“Yes, you can,” he replies, studying me. “We can.”
My shoulders slump, and I glance in the bathroom mirror at my horrifying reflection. Blood vessels are visible in the whites of my eyes, and the vein in my forehead is larger than I remember it ever being. If I make it to California, and that’s a massive if, there’s no way I’m surviving this weekend.
“Give me a minute, please.” I lean my palms against the wannabe granite countertop and wait as he nods and closes the door.
It only takes me a few minutes to splash some water on my face and re-brush my teeth, but by the time I emerge into the living room, Chloe has returned with a very clean, very tired Charlie. Chloe laughs as something Isaac says, but my ears won’t tune in.
“Ahem,” I clear my throat, but neither notice my presence until I step fully into the living room.
“How’s the tum tum?”
I ignore Chloe’s condescending question and look directly at Isaac. I need to get it out before I lose my nerve.
“Can I just use the bathroom quickly?” Isaac asks. I guess it is a two hour drive.
“Ugh, fine, but then let’s go.”
Being in this limo makes me want to puke again. He insisted on loading my luggage and opening my door for me.
I would be lying if I said it didn’t tick me off.
“You’re telling me a limo was the cheapest option?” I do nothing to hide the sarcasm after a painfully silent hour.
Only one more hour to Midway. And then four and a half hours next to him on a plane.
On a plane.
“Yeah, the cheapest option,” he answers, not looking up from his phone screen.
I lean forward, tapping on the glass divider between us and the driver. The window slowly descends in response and I clear my throat.
“Sir, how much does this limo ride cost? All the way to Chicago can’t be cheap—” I watch as the driver glances up into the rear-view mirror and makes eye contact with Isaac. “Oh no, no , no, don’t look at him, look at me!”
Thank God there isn’t a blood pressure requirement to fly, because right now I would surely fail.
“We are getting reimbursed,” Isaac whispers, breaking eye contact with his new best friend, Joe.
“With an e ,” he said when I introduced myself. “Not Joseph or Joey. Just Joe.”
Truthfully, I’d trade this punk for Hector Elizondo in a heartbeat.
“Faculty didn’t get a cost of living increase this year, and you’re telling me they’re paying for us to take a two-hour limo joy ride?” I whisper back aggressively. My annoyance flies freely in the cab of the limo, bouncing off the walls and windows.
The divider begins its journey back up to section us from Joe and I huff, slumping back into the leather seat.
Pressure builds inside my ears and against my chest.
I’m overstimulated in a dark, silent limo.
God bless my nervous system when we get to the airport.
“Am I gonna have to take my shoes off?” I stare down at my white sneakers. A brown scuff mark on the top of the right one catches my attention and tears immediately well in my eyes. “Charlie stepped in mud,” I say, half whisper, half pout.
Isaac reaches into a drawer across from our bench seat, pulling out a plastic package of disinfectant wipes.
“No!” My arm flies out and my fingers wrap instinctively around his forearm, holding it in place. “I mean,” I huff, “it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” He nods slightly, stuffing the wipes back into the seat-back pocket, and it’s only now that I see the fatigue in his eyes.
“Sorry,” he says, settling back into the leather-covered cushion of the bench seat. The silence between us only breaks when the skyline begins to change from cornfields to the south side suburban landscape. I’ve taken this drive so many times, I could tell you the exact contents of every highway rest stop vending machine.
Isaac pulls my attention from the window with the pressure of his palm on my knee. Just enough of the warmth from his touch seeps through my leggings and I shudder.
“I probably shouldn’t bring it up, but are you feeling okay?” Embarrassed by my body’s reaction, I pull my leg away from him, rubbing my palms over my thighs a few times. I’ve got to get it together.
“I’m fine.” I’m not fine.
“Okay.” Traffic begins to pick up as we reach city limits, slowing our speed to a crawl. “But also, if you hypothetically weren’t fine, that would also be okay.”
I curl my hands into fists in my lap, focusing all my attention on steadying my breathing. He’s trying to help me.
“You didn’t have to do this.” My childish response elicits a shocked expression, and Isaac shifts in his seat to face me. The dark circles under his eyes are accentuated by the setting sun outside my window.
“I didn’t have to do what? Get your ass to the airport? It would’ve been stupid to travel separately to get on the same flight.” He leans forward with his knees on his elbows, too close.
“I know you changed your flight.”
After a week of donuts and coffee, Beth from the registrar’s office offered up that Isaac had come in with flight information, asked about my flight, and disappeared, only to return the next day with a matching flight number.
“Yeah, well, I knew you wouldn’t get your ass on the plane if I wasn’t here. So, you should really be thanking me.” He offers a cocky response, holding my eye contact two beats too long for my cardiac health.
The tinted glass panel descends again, and Joe interrupts our staring contest before I can throw in the towel.
“Sorry to intrude, but remind me what airline you’ll need,” Joe says as he eyes us curiously through the rear view mirror. I glance out the window to the large metal signs for arrivals and departures.
“Southwest. Concourse B,” Isaac responds as Joe veers right toward the Departures lane. Cars and trucks line the curb adjacent to the main terminal as we approach drop offs for Southwest Airlines. There’s something about the scene that makes me giddy, even over all the anxiety pulsing through my bloodstream. Maybe it’s my annual viewing of Love, Actually, but as I take in the scene unfolding around me, tears threaten my eyes once more.
Hugs and goodbyes and love.
All I need is a Joni Mitchell song playing in the background and I would be a puddle of mush on the floorboard of this limo.
Joe slows us to a halt in the first free spot, snapping me out of my sentimental daze. The bustle of travelers continues between us and the sliding doors of the building and I force myself out of the limo, asserting my spot on the sidewalk as Joe and Isaac pull our luggage from the trunk.
“Here,” Isaac’s slender frame appears by my side, pushing my pink rolling suitcase towards me. I grab the handle, pushing the button and snapping it to its full height. Isaac slings his duffel over his shoulder. I take an exaggerated breath before thanking Joe with a forced smile as he slams the trunk closed.
“Have a nice trip, Mr. and Mrs. Britlyn.”