14. Derek
Another week was gone with no sign or communication from Mel. The weekend had come and gone before he realized that they hadn’t talked.
Even when they took breaks in the past, they still talked once every other week or more. They talked about the normal things. The weather, her students, any houses he”d sold in the past week.
But at this point, it had been over three weeks since they last talked, texted, or emailed.
It’d been long enough that he didn”t miss her calls anymore. The excitement and anticipation surrounding the next call no longer existed. For the first time in years, their feelings aligned. Neither of them really needed each other.
That was the problem. He wanted to be needed. He wanted to make someone her coffee, pick up her groceries, bring her small gifts at the end of a bad day.
He wanted to be the reason someone”s bad day turned around.
And he”d never have that with Mel.
He picked up his phone to call Jake. Even though it was Tuesday evening, and Jake never went out on Tuesdays, maybe he would meet up for a beer.
A loud wave of opera music stopped him from tapping Jake’s number, the soprano’s words muffled from the walls. Why would anyone play opera music so loud? He thought about turning off the electricity to her apartment again, but decided that would take too long.
He walked out of his apartment, not bothering to lock the door behind him, and walked over to her apartment door. The music was even louder. A female”s voice was belting out something indecipherable in Italian at decibels that no human should be able to produce.
He banged on the door, waited to the count of ten, and banged again until it swung open.
Theresa stared at him with her brown eyes smug and a challenging look on her face. “What?”
“You know what.”
“Oh, the music? Sorry, can”t turn it down. My plants like it.”
“Your what?” That part caught him off guard.
“It”s a scientific fact that plants grow better when they listen to music.”
“They”ll wither up and die if you keep playing whatever it is you call that.”
“My apartment, my rules.”
“My speaker. That you stole.”
“Confiscated.”
He narrowed her eyes at her. Was she seriously looking for a fight? And why was his initial irritation melting away into something different? Amusement?
He placed his hand on the door and pushed it open the rest of the way, hoping that Theresa’s casted leg would prevent her from being able to hold the door closed against him. He was right, so he sauntered into her apartment.
Sure enough, his speaker sat on her kitchen counter, pressed against the shared wall of his apartment.
“You did this on purpose.” He turned the volume down so the music wouldn”t make his ears bleed.
“Whatever. You can leave now.” She”d followed him to the kitchen, at a much slower pace, and stood in the doorway.
He studied her for a second, then decided that he wasn”t about to leave. Her eyes continued to draw him in. He thought he saw a spark in her eyes, something he hadn’t seen before.
He walked over to her counter and picked up the glass food storage container. “This is mine, too.” He”d left it in her fridge, filled with homemade pasta from his mom”s house when she”d first come home from the hospital. “You could have returned it to me.”
A light blush spread over her face. “I didn”t ask you to help me.”
“You did.”
“No, I didn”t.”
“Well, it’s good manners to return someone’s baking dish filled with food. I gave you this dish with pasta, now you have to fill it with something equally good when you return it.”
“That”s not a real rule. You”re making it up.” She shifted her weight, chewing her lip like she was flustered by the thought of owing someone anything.
He realized that he liked pushing her buttons a little.
She squinched up her nose, and he didn”t want to find it attractive, but it was. “I didn’t know that was a rule.” She sounded less certain about herself than she had a few minutes ago.
“I”ll take a tray of brownies.”
She crossed her arms. “I didn”t say I”d follow the rule.”
“You will.” He walked past her into the living room, sitting down on her couch. Her living room was nice, nicer than his, at least. The grey couch was designed for relaxing and watching football games, but it had too many throw pillows. A book sat on the coffee table, and a cup of tea sat on the end table next to a recliner.
She wobbled on her crutches a few seconds later, sitting down in the chair and taking a sip of her tea. “Don”t expect me to offer you anything. You aren”t staying.”
“Fine. How”s your ankle?”
“Fine.”
“Are you back at work yet?”
Her jaw tensed, but the rest of her face stayed neutral. “Had my first day back today.”
“Bet that was nice. Seeing your coworkers again. They probably missed you.”
She silently took another sip of tea, avoiding eye contact with him.
“I think they”d be happier if I didn”t come back.”
“What?” He hadn”t expected that response from her.
“They don”t like me at work. No one likes me, really. You don”t either. So why are you over here? You should just go home and leave me alone.”
He studied her face to see if she was being serious. There was no trace of humor. And no ounce of pity. She had spoken like someone would talk about the color of the roof tiles on a house for sale. Blunt and honest, no emotion attached. “You can”t be serious.”
“I am.”
He shifted in his seat. “Everyone has friends. I met one of yours, remember? Emily. And Bill.”
“Not everyone is like you, Derek. Some people don”t need friends.”
“I don”t believe you.” He”d never met someone he couldn”t turn into a friend. He was voted most popular in high school and never felt better than when getting to know someone new. Maybe that”s why he found Theresa so interesting. She was the exact opposite, and he couldn”t remember meeting anyone who”d worked so hard at avoiding his friendship.
“I don”t lie. And I don”t want friends. So whatever this is—” she waved a finger between her and him ”—I don”t need it.”
“Well, the jokes on you, because I like having friends, and I have no one else to hang out with tonight.”
“Don”t you have a girlfriend? Emily said something about that.”
Ouch. “It”s complicated.” His shoulders slumped, feeling the weight of her words fall on him.
“Would she be mad if she knew you were at another woman”s apartment right now? Alone?” she asked with curiosity in her voice, not judgment.
He considered her words for a minute, then shook his head. He decided to tell the truth. “I honestly don”t know. She”s halfway across the world, and I think our relationship is over. But neither one of us wants to end it, though.”
That caught her attention, and she sat up straighter, looking at him. “What happened?”
“We”ve known each other since we were young and started dating as soon as we were old enough. We had the same dreams, really, until she was diagnosed with cancer in college. I took care of her, and she fought hard. She beat it. Was declared cancer free. But something in her changed after that. It was like having cancer made her want different things out of life. After she graduated college, she took a job teaching English in Columbia. Didn”t even talk to me about it before she signed the contract. She just told me one day that she was leaving in two months.”
“How long was she gone?”
“A year. We stayed together for the first few months, but then she wanted to take a break. When she returned, things were still different. It was like she was back, but she wasn”t. Does that make sense?”
Theresa chewed her lip, then nodded slowly.
Derek continued. “She almost immediately took another job teaching English in Vietnam. This job lasted for another year.”
“Let me guess, she wanted to take a break again?” Her voice carried some bitterness behind it, like she understood the pain of that type of rejection.
“We got together again when she got back. But now she’s in Cambodia. And we”re taking another break. Now, it feels different. Like we aren”t meant to be together anymore.”
“Then end it. Move on.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know how to end things without making a huge mess. And I made Mel a promise.”
A promise that being near Theresa, seeing a glint of vulnerability in her beautiful brown eyes, made him regret more and more each day.