Chapter Fifteen
I gave Marina twenty-four hours.
Twenty-four hours to not answer my texts, to not return my voicemail messages, to not stop by to see me.
Twenty-four hours.
It’s now been thirty-six hours and change. It’s after ten in the morning, more than a full day later. And I’ve heard nothing.
Listen, I haven’t gone crazy with texts. I’ve been very cognizant about giving her some space or whatever it is she might be needing right now, and I just want to talk.
Clearly, Marina does not, and I’m not handling it all that well. Which is annoying me.
I get up from my desk, where I’ve been trying to work for the better part of two hours, and I carry my phone into the bedroom, leave it on the nightstand, and come back out, shutting the door behind me as if it might try to escape on its own.
When I sit back down at the desk, I glance at the sofa, and Reggie is judging me. I’m sure of it.
“What? I can’t be looking at it every ten seconds to see if she’s texted me back, now can I? I’ll never get anything done.” I hold his gaze—or he holds mine, I’m not actually sure—for a long moment before he sighs and puts his head back down. Definite judgment there.
The fact that I’m in the last quarter of the book is a good thing, because my endings usually write themselves.
I always know how it will end, so once I get past the climax and into the denouement of the story, things flow faster, and it takes less focus and creative energy from me.
That’s a good thing right now, because it allows me to work.
If I was in the middle of the book while dealing with all this stress and worry, I’d be in trouble.
I do my best to concentrate, and I end up getting to one scene before the end, but it takes me way longer than it should. I manage not to go check my phone, but I also find myself gazing out the window, trancelike, for ten, fifteen, twenty minutes at a time.
We said this was casual. Well, you said this was casual, but I went along, so I don’t get to be upset now.
Marina’s words cut through the silence in my head for the millionth time today.
The way she stressed that I was the one who said we were casual…
that has sat in the back of my mind since I left her place.
But before I can grab onto it and turn it at different angles to examine, the chime for a FaceTime call goes off on my laptop.
Of course my heart jumps, because for a split second, I think Marina is finally calling.
Doesn’t matter that she’s never FaceTimed me, my heart is hopeful anyway. Idiot that it is.
It’s Jessie, and I give my hair a quick finger comb and look at the picture on the screen to make sure my makeup isn’t smeared. Finally, I hit the answer button, and Jessie’s smiling face appears.
“How are all things Roman?” she asks with a grin. She’s in the dark and it occurs to me that it’s only, like, four in the morning or something godawful there.
“What are you doing up?” I ask. “I know you’re a night owl, but taking things a bit far, aren’t you?”
“Nope.” She holds up a champagne flute of golden liquid. “Finished my book.”
“What?” I clap my hands once. “Jess, that’s fantastic! If it wasn’t before noon, I’d have a glass of wine with you to celebrate.”
Jessie pouts dramatically, and I take a quick second to recall the situation I’m in right now.
“You know what? Fuck it. Hang on.” I go to the kitchen area, where I’ve left a bottle of Chianti I opened two days ago, and pour myself a small glass.
Back at the desk, I hold it up so Jessie can see it.
“ Cin cin ,” I say. “Way to go, my friend. Hope it’s another bestseller.
” I touch my glass to the screen in an imitation of cheers, and we both sip.
“You didn’t answer me,” Jessie says after a few seconds of enjoying our drinks. “How’s the hot Italian chick?”
I consider lying—or at least fibbing a little bit, but Jessie has only ever been good to me, and I owe her more than untruths. I sigh as I try to choose the right words.
“Uh-oh,” Jessie says, leaning closer to the phone as if trying to see my face better. “That doesn’t sound good. What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“I think I’m ready to come home soon.” I start there.
“Okay. Makes sense. You’ve been there for more than two months.”
“I told her that.”
“Didn’t take it well?”
I shake my head and swallow hard, and the profound sadness over the situation that I’ve been keeping at bay for more than a day threatens to swamp me.
“You don’t look so good, hon,” she says quietly. That’s when I realize that my eyes have welled up.
I clear my throat. “I mean, she didn’t think I was going to stay forever, right?” I ask, but my voice cracks halfway through. “We said it was casual.”
Jessie gives me a moment to collect myself before asking, “Was it?”
“Was it what?”
“Casual. Did it stay casual? Because I’ve known you for a long time, and your face tells me maybe it wasn’t.”
I groan at myself, wipe my face as if I’m trying to disprove what she’s saying, and try to pull myself together.
“There are so many reasons why it had to be,” I explain.
“The distance. The age difference. The places we are in life, in our careers. It would never have worked beyond just some fun. Never.” I swallow down the tears that threaten while Jessie looks at me.
I don’t like it. I’m feeling scrutinized.
She’s right, she does know me well, and right now, I feel like an open book, exposed, laid bare.
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” she asks quietly, and it’s the last thing I want to hear.
“I just want to go home,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. “I really just want to go home.”
And it’s the truth. I’ll feel better at home. But when I hang up with Jess, I don’t think about going to my home. Instead, I kiss Reggie on the head, lock my suite, and hurry down the stairs to call an Uber.
I’ll go to Marina’s home.
I have no idea if this is a good thing to do or a stupid thing.
What does it say about me? That I’m doing the right thing?
That I’m taking the bull by the horns, so to speak?
Because maybe she’s too ashamed or frightened or angry to talk to me?
Or does it say I’m some kind of creepy stalker, going to her house?
She said it was over, that I should leave.
Am I supposed to just leave it alone, after all the time we spent together?
All the intimacy we had? All the things we said?
Maybe I am.
And this is the circular path my thoughts take for my entire Uber ride.
Round and round, easing my stress, then sending me into a panic.
I’m not sure how much more my stomach can take, but then the Uber coasts to a halt, and I get out.
I watch him drive away, and I stand there.
It’s just me, no Reggie, no overnight supplies.
Just my small crossbody purse slung over me.
The weather is pleasant today, comfortable, no humidity.
I’m dressed in denim shorts and a simple T-shirt, but I’ve already broken out in a sweat just standing there doing nothing but being nervous.
I stand there long enough to garner a strange look or two from others.
A passerby looks back at me after she passes me.
Then a shopkeeper off to my right is putting a sign in his window and gives me a furrowed brow, and it makes me force my feet to move, now that I’ve been standing in front of Marina’s building for a year and a half.
I go to the front door, a place I feel like I’ve been about a million times now, and I pull it open, let myself into the little foyer with the mailboxes.
Where I stand some more.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, and decide maybe I’ll just read all the names on all the mailboxes first. “D’Angelo. Capuano. Manelli. Troiani-comma-M.”
I had rehearsed what I would say to her, but standing here now, I realize it has all flown from my head. I drop my chin to my chest and remind myself that I’m being ridiculous. Before I can overthink anymore, I reach up and poke the button next to Marina’s name.
And I wait.
Nothing.
Did I push the button hard enough? I mean, I was nervous, and I hit it quickly. Maybe it didn’t register.
I push it again, firmly this time, and for a second or two longer than before.
I wait again.
Still, nothing.
“Okay,” I whisper in the tiny box between doors. “Maybe she had a food tour or…something.” Totally possible. Completely valid. I try once more, just in case.
Nope.
I take in a deep breath and blow it out slowly.
So much for all my rehearsing. My nerves are frayed to nothing for no reason.
Shaking my head, I push my way through the doors and back out onto the street.
I wander slowly, phone in hand so I can call an Uber back again.
I glance up and I swear there’s a flash of movement in Marina’s window.
Wasn’t there?
I squint as I stand there, trying to focus, trying to see past the reflection of daylight on the glass, but to no avail. Maybe I imagined it. I hope so. Because imagining I saw her is far preferable to having actually seen her trying to avoid me.
I stare for a few moments longer before I get annoyed at myself.
“It’s fine,” I mutter. “She clearly doesn’t want to talk to you.
If that was even her.” I have enough wherewithal to glance around quickly and make sure nobody’s noticed the weird American lady standing on the street talking to herself.
Maybe I didn’t see her. Maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me. Or the light was. Or it was wishful thinking that she was looking, even if she didn’t want to let me in.
“Okay.” I give my head a gentle shake and order an Uber. “Enough.”
It’s clearly time to go now.
The next night, I’m relaxing on Serena’s love seat.