Chapter 24
DELANEY
‘Are you sure you don’t want to stay over?’ Megan asks, her head angled in pity.
‘Tempting, but how would I choose between sleeping next to a six-year-old ninja who kicks all night long, and your perfect little princess who snores like a chainsaw?’
‘There’s always the pull-out in the den.’
‘Uh, no thanks – I can safely say that since you told me you were conceived in that bed, I will never want to sleep in it again. I have no idea why you’ve kept it.’
‘It’s a family heirloom – when I die, the twins will fight over it.’
‘The only thing the twins will fight over is who’s taking it to the dump.’
She bursts out laughing, but stops just as quickly, slipping right back into pity mode. I’m not loving it.
‘You sure, Laney?’ she asks again. ‘Go on, stay the night.’ Her plea makes total sense considering I showed up on her doorstep in tears – the pathetic boo-hoo kind.
It was right after dinner and Gabe was supervising bathtime while Megan was packing lunches. She took one look at me, bundled me inside, sat me at the breakfast bar, and poured me a giant glass of Chardonnay, then topped up her own.
‘Now, enough with the stoic bullshit,’ she said. ‘You’re totally fucking miserable, so spill.’
And I did – about everything, catching her up on the past week.
Crying over Nicholas because he obviously never gave a shit about me.
Moping around Capri all by myself after Nick left, despite promising myself not to – not even a hot-stone massage at the spa made a dent in my self-pity party.
Coming home to an empty apartment, like I’ve done a hundred times before, but this time seeing it through fresh eyes for the sterile, soulless box that it is.
And my pitiful attempt to throw myself back into work but being more directionless than a cat chasing a laser pointer.
I start production on a psychological thriller next week – we’re shooting in Toronto, which is doubling as New York – and I’m supposed to be gearing up, not staring off into space trying to recall the exact colour of Nick’s eyes.
I told him to fuck off. He did. And I’ve been constantly preoccupied with thoughts of him ever since.
I’ve taken so long to reply, Megan’s moved on to loading the dishwasher. Do I want to stay? Yes – this is as much a home to me as my own apartment – maybe more – and I’m safe here, loved. But I also need to put my big girl panties on and get over it. I’m busy – I can’t afford to wallow.
Besides, I made this mess; it’s not fair to drag my trainwreck of a love life into Megan’s house, making her and her family suffer along with me.
‘I think I’ll go home,’ I say.
She looks up, a dirty bowl in her hand, and puts it in the rack. ‘Wanna come over for pancakes in the morning?’
‘Hell, yeah.’
We exchange the kind of smile that besties share – one that says a thousand things at once, but mostly I’ve got you and I know.
I take out my phone to book a ride. ‘Four minutes,’ I say – barely enough time to peek in on the kids, so I rush down the hallway, stopping at Gabriel’s door first.
He’s such a sweet, sensitive boy. The second he saw me crying, he went to his room and came back with his favourite stuffy, Toby the dinosaur, and told me I could keep him.
I gave them both a hug and assured Gabriel that Toby’s feel-better powers had already worked so I didn’t need to take him home with me.
He’s on his side, a lock of his floppy dark hair curled on his forehead, like a tiny Clark Kent.
I blow him a kiss and cross the hall to his sister’s room.
After a restorative hug from Toby the dinosaur, Irina, who is both precocious and pragmatic, asked if I was crying over a boy. When I said yes, she patted me on the back and told me that boys are dumb and not to worry, I could be a lesbian like my moms. Out of the mouths of babes.
Now she’s spread-eagled on the bed, covers kicked to the floor, and snoring loudly. I doubt she’ll ever have a problem taking up space or being heard – attributes I jokingly claim she gets from me.
But what kind of example am I to Irina if I’m pining over a guy I knew for a few days and will probably never see again?
‘Car’s here,’ Megan calls.
I don’t want a bad rating so I race to the front of the house where Megan and Gabe are waiting by the open door. Megan hands me my purse, Gabe smacks a kiss on my cheek, and I sprint out of the house, across the lawn, and open the car door.
‘Hi – sorry!’ I say, sliding onto the seat and slamming the door. ‘I was saying goodnight to my niece and nephew.’
‘Hey, that’s okay. How old are they?’ he asks.
‘They’re six – twins,’ I reply.
‘Ah, that’s a great age.’
He goes on to tell me about his kids, who are five and seven. I’m usually the Chatty Cathy on car rides, but he does most of the heavy lifting, which is fine by me and makes the ride go by fast. Before I know it, we pull up outside my apartment building in Toluca Lake.
‘Thanks!’ I say, climbing out of the car.
‘No problem. I’ll wait till you’re inside.’
‘Oh, you don’t nee— Thanks,’ I reply. I’ll be sure to add a generous tip.
Halfway up the path that bisects the lawn, I realise there’s a guy sitting on the front steps. I hesitate and he stands up, silhouetted against the security light. I’m a split second away from running back to the car when he speaks.
‘Delaney.’
Oh. My. God.
‘Nick?’
‘You okay, miss?’
I look over my shoulder, and the driver’s halfway out of his car.
‘All good,’ I call out, ‘it’s my brother – my other brother,’ I add hastily. ‘Not the one whose house you picked me up from.’
Now I’ve fabricated two imaginary brothers, but there’s a real chance the driver will worry I’m in danger and challenge Nick to a duel. Or – more likely – call the cops.
He hesitates, his eyes narrowed as he assesses the situation, but eventually he smiles, waves, and climbs back in the car and drives off.
Then it’s just me and Nick – whose very presence is a starting gun for my heart.
And I’ve been crying and drinking. I must look like hammered shit. I run my ring fingers under my eyes, then lick my lips – as good a fix for my messy state as it’s gonna get. I face Nick, forcing my feet to move towards him, and he comes down the steps to meet me.
He’s so tall. I’d forgotten how much taller he is than me – I’m tiny in comparison.
‘Hi,’ he says, his eyes searching mine.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, instantly wishing I could start again.
He laughs uneasily. ‘Okay.’
‘Sorry, that came out wrong. What I meant to say was, “Hi, what are you doing here?” See, the “hi” part softens the line, so it’s not so abrupt.’
His lips twitch, and I give myself a mental high-five for some first-class banter when my insides are being blended on high.
‘Ah, yes, the qualifying greeting,’ he replies, playing along. ‘Definitely softens the blow.’
Nope – can’t do it. ‘But, really, why are you here?’ I ask in a hoarse whisper.
He takes in a deep breath – girding his loins maybe, but for battle or laying his heart bare? Doesn’t really matter – both are scary as hell.
‘Could we maybe…’ He gestures over his shoulder. ‘…go inside?’
I usually keep my apartment clean and tidy, but I may have been a bit of a slob since I got home – tossing laundry onto the floor, leaving empty takeout containers on the coffee table… I haven’t even unpacked.
‘On one condition,’ I say.
‘Sure.’
‘You don’t judge me for how messy it is.’
His lips part in surprise. ‘That’s not what I thought you were going to say.’
‘What was my line then?’ I ask, back to bantering – not great banter, but even so.
‘Something about keeping my distance.’
‘Oh – well, that too,’ I say, passing him and fishing my key out of my purse.
It’s a good reminder that self-preservation is fundamental when you let the guy who curls your toes, feeds your brain, and makes your heart twang into your apartment at 9 p.m. on a Tuesday.
I open the door to the foyer and Nick follows me inside, then we walk upstairs to the second floor.
‘By the way, your neighbours are very security conscious – no one would let me into the building.’
I stop on the landing and throw him a pointed look. ‘Uh, yeah, I would hope not. And on that, how did you get my address?’
‘Vittorio.’
I blink at him. ‘Vittorio? Seriously? I don’t think he’s supposed to give out personal information like that.’
‘Oh, he’s definitely not, but he took pity on me.’
‘Huh,’ I reply, continuing upstairs.
That must mean Nick had to plead his case to Vittorio, and that means he really, really wanted to see me. There’s also the whole crossed-an-ocean-to-be-here thing.
I unlock the door to my apartment, the hairs on the back of my neck standing to attention, screaming, Nick’s right behind you!
But when I open the door, my apartment’s way worse than I thought.
‘Oh god,’ I groan to myself.
I drop my purse on the counter and rush around the living room, grabbing the most offensive items – including the bra I took off when I was watching TV and tossed behind me, where it landed on my nearly dead ficus.
‘It’s not usually like this,’ I say over my shoulder as I pick up a mug with something growing in it. I take my haul into the kitchen and dump everything next to the sink – even the bra.
I face him, feeling the heat radiating from my cheeks. I’ve imagined our reunion a hundred times since I got home, but my imagination didn’t stretch to me looking like I’ve been on a bender, standing in the ruins of a ransacked apartment.
‘I’ve shared a room with you, remember?’ he asks. ‘I know you’re ordinarily very tidy.’
‘I am.’
‘And that you’d never, ever chuck your bra onto a pot plant.’
‘Never,’ I agree with a shake of my head.
‘And there’s no way that that pizza’ – his eyes dart towards the empty box by the trash – ‘was anywhere near as good as the ones we had on Capri.’
‘It was shit,’ I whisper, becoming aware that while we’ve been talking, we’ve been edging towards each other and now we’re only a couple of feet apart.