Chapter 12
12
“I love you, Thuya.” Sebastian softly touched Catherine’s cheek, ardent even in the throes of death. “If I have to search every cavern of the underworld, I will find you. I will never let you go.”
Watching Stargirl for the first time in two decades seemed the only reasonable thing to do after the exceeding strangeness of the week. After our conversation that morning, I’d waited for another chance to talk to Catherine. But after filling out paperwork, Catherine had been approached by Shana, who took her to the TV room and questioned her about her “Hollywood affairs.” Whenever I peeked in, a small crowd of patients surrounded her. I’d considered bringing her back to the conference room, but my own day had gotten busy, and I’d completely lost my chance to find out more about this mystical link between us. I’d have to catch her the next morning before she left.
A part of me had wondered: Could my thirteen-year-old self be right? Had my feelings of connection and closeness with Catherine been more than just a parasocial delusion? She’d been such a big part of my life then. It was like praying to a deity and then running into her in a grocery store. It just felt so weird .
But it was all ending soon, and maybe that was a good thing. Catherine would soon be flying back to her world, leaving me to mine. Since the public knew she’d been at the hospital, I no longer had to bite my tongue. If I kept the details vague, it could even become a juicy story, maybe one I’d tell at parties: how my teen-era celebrity twin showed up in my psych unit.
Watching the movie felt like an appropriate bookend to the experience, though I had no idea how I would react to it.
Oh boy. It did not age well. Beyond the hokey sets and wooden dialogue, thirteen-year-old Catherine’s affair with the adult pharaoh now felt incredibly disturbing. In spite of the heavy makeup, it was clear she was still just a kid. This movie would never be made today. I considered turning it off more than once, but the eerie nostalgia it provoked caused me to keep going.
At the tail end of Sebastian’s death scene, there came the scrape of a key in the lock. Dom and the mysterious Amelia tumbled in, mid-laugh.
“Hi!” Dom ran over and hugged me. “How are you?” Her breath smelled like whiskey.
“I’m okay.” I smiled at Amelia. “Hey there.”
“Hi. I’m Amelia.” She stuck out her hand. Her fingers were filled with silver rings, her nails neon pink.
“What are you up to?” Dom flopped next to me on the couch. “Wait. Is this…”
“ Stargirl ,” I supplied.
“With that actress.” Dom snapped her fingers. “The one who showed up at the hospital, right?”
“Right.” At some point, Dom had texted me about it, sending one of the cat-outta-the-bag gossip site articles. I’d written back: See? I DID know her!!!
Dom jumped up and went to the fridge. “You kept saying you recognized her—I should’ve believed you.”
“What’s she like?” Amelia asked, flipping the part in her hair.
“She’s… you know. Nice.” It hadn’t gotten out that Catherine had attacked a social worker, thankfully.
“I think we should all discuss this at the show.” Dom came back balancing three glasses of whiskey. “Amelia’s friend is performing.”
“Oh, you know what? I just put these on.” I pointed to my sweatpants.
Dom smirked. “What if I told you our cute friend Matt is going to be there?”
“Do I know him?” I asked.
“Not yet!” she cried, almost spilling her drink. I had to laugh; tipsy Dom was enthused and accident-prone. “Hey, when’s the last time you chatted up someone?”
“Chatted up someone? What, are you Bri-ish?” I teased with an accent. Seeing Dom in party mode reminded me of grad school nights when a group of us would hit a nearby dive bar for karaoke.
“Trust me, gov’na!” Dom clinked my glass. “You won’t regret it.”
Two hours later, I’d managed to snag a stool at the bar. Live music blasted from the back room, where Dom and Amelia camped out. I’d felt dizzy in the hot, cramped space. But even out here it was packed, mostly with twentysomething hipsters with shaggy haircuts and ugly-cool glasses. I felt old, out of place. And the much-touted Matt hadn’t yet materialized.
“Just thirty more minutes,” Dom had shouted when I’d tried to leave. “He’s on his way!”
After a few drinks, I was yearning for human touch. But it was near midnight—way past my bedtime. I ordered one last IPA and opened my phone. I’d posted on Instagram during the first set, a video of the band. The bartender set down the glass, but when I picked it up, the guy to my left bumped me, jostling my arm. Amber liquid sloshed over the rim.
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” he said.
I turned, slightly annoyed, and found myself staring into warm, brown eyes. They were buttressed by under-eye circles that gave up-all-night-writing-poetry vibes. I zoomed out: heavy, concerned brows, a full lower lip, slight stubble, a mop of curly dark hair.
This guy was gorgeous.
“No problem.” I flashed him a grin.
“It’s crazy here tonight.” He was so close I could smell him: a mixture of laundry detergent and a woodsy, smoky cologne.
“I know.” Be cool be cool be cool. But I couldn’t help but glance down at his left hand resting on the bar. No ring.
“I’m Jonah.” He held out his hand. “Let me buy you a fresh one.”
“Oh, it’s fine. And I’m Thea.”
“Great name.” His mouth quirked in a cute smile.
“Thanks.” What was happening? Was this overly hot man flirting with me? True, I’d been told that I underplayed my own attractiveness—seeing my skin as pasty, not ivory; my green eyes as muddy instead of catlike; etc. Still, Jonah might really be out of my league.
But who knew? Some guys really, really liked red hair.
“It’s not like this on weekdays normally.” He took a sip.
“Come here often?” I cringed at the clichéd pickup line.
But he just nodded. “All the time.”
We chatted through one round, then another, which he insisted on paying for. The rest of the loud bar receded into the background. We leaned in, and it felt like we’d entered into a cozy sonic cocoon.
At one point, Dom brought up a wan, blond boy. We shook hands before I turned back to Jonah. She gave a subtle wink as they left.
“My friend was trying to set me up with that guy.” I rolled my eyes, secretly thrilled that Jonah had witnessed it.
“Ah yes.” He nodded wearily. “The ol’ setup. I get that sometimes too.”
So he was—confirmed—single. I rejoiced inwardly. The next round I somehow forced myself to order a water, knowing I was ready to tip over into too-drunk at any moment. I’d learned Jonah was a software engineer, he was teaching himself piano, and he was dad to two cats his ex had left behind. And then, somehow, he was saying those magical words:
“Do you want to get out of here?”
We took a cab to my apartment; I texted Dom to let her know I’d left the bar—with him.
GET IT, she responded.
By the time we walked up the four flights of stairs to my apartment, I was giddy with anticipation. After the stress of the past few weeks—hell, months—maybe years?—the universe seemed to be throwing me a literal bone.
But when I ushered Jonah into the apartment, he kept his black coat on and beelined for the couch. That was fine. We had all night. I grabbed two beers—I would just have a sip or two, no more—and sank alluringly beside him.
“Nice place.” Jonah slung his arm over the back of the couch.
“Thanks.” I had the sense, suddenly, that Jonah was a bit skittish. I couldn’t make any sudden moves or I might scare him away.
“So.” He fixed me with those soulful eyes. “Tell me more about your job. It sounds fascinating.”
“Oh.” The last thing I wanted to talk about was work. “It’s interesting, that’s for sure.”
“You work at that place on the East Side? Isn’t that where that actress was?”
“What?” I’d mentioned my job early on—I knew working at a psych ward would catch his attention—but I didn’t know he’d heard about Catherine. A defensive wall began to rise.
“I saw it on social media.” He shook his head, his expression serious. “I can’t imagine what happened to her. To make her end up there.”
“Yeah.” I shrugged. “It’s a mystery.”
“Is it?” He pulled out his phone. A text lit up the screen.
Fuck. I didn’t want him to get distracted. So what was the harm in sharing a tidbit? “She has amnesia.”
He eased his phone back into his pocket. “Oh, wow. Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Has it been a media circus there? Like, reporters hanging out and stuff?”
“Not really, actually. I think they know they can’t get in.” How could I push this conversation into flirtier territory?
“So when did she leave?” Jonah asked.
“Why are you so interested?” I tilted my head.
He smiled. “I’m not allowed to ask about my teen crush?”
“Teen crush?” I echoed.
“Oh yeah.” He chuckled. “I remember taping this Stargirl newspaper review to my wall. My parents actually didn’t have a computer at home until I was seventeen, so…”
“She was your Pornhub?”
He grimaced. “It felt a lot more innocent than that.”
“I get it.” I scooted forward. “I had a huge crush on Sebastian Smith, her costar. And for the record, I never looked at porn either. Our computer was in my dad’s office, and I was sure he was going to walk in on me.”
“Porn-free adolescences.” He smiled. “We have so much in common.”
“I know, right?”
“You know, you kind of look like her.” He studied me.
“The less attractive version.” Jesus. Don’t neg yourself.
He shook his head. “Not at all.”
“Well, thanks.” I set down my beer. “To answer your question, she’s leaving the hospital tomorrow morning. So, in about…” I checked my phone; it was almost two. “Eight hours, this will all be over.”
I was going to be wrecked at work the next day, but it’d be worth it. We gazed at each other, and I started leaning forward.
He pointed behind me. “That your bathroom?”
“Yeah.”
He disappeared, and I took the opportunity to run into my room and chuck a pile of dirty clothes into the laundry basket. Thank God I’d made the bed this morning. When the bathroom door opened, I hurried out and perched expectantly on the couch’s arm.
“Hey.” He winced. “I’m really sorry to do this. But there’s a family thing I have to deal with. My dad’s been blowing up my phone. I need to head out.”
“Are you sure?” I jumped up. “You can call him here.”
“Yeah, no, this is going to be a whole thing. He’s got some addiction issues.” He zipped his coat and something in my chest wilted. I wanted to wail, to force him to stay. We didn’t even have to have sex; couldn’t he just hold me for a few minutes?
“Do you want my number?” I asked when he reached the door.
“Oh. Sure.” He typed it in, but I knew he wasn’t going to call. I’d just been a distraction, someone to waste time with.
“Night.” He waved. “Thanks for the beer.”
After he was gone, I downed both of them, one after the other, in defiance of something. As if it would hurt him instead of me.