Chapter 45
45
I made an offer on the apartment in Two Bridges.
Jacqui was stunned. “You’re serious about this? I thought you were just looking at places to get Margaret off your back.”
“At the start, maybe. But now…”
“Anna, Two Bridges is miles away, it’ll take you ages to get up town to me. What if I need you at the last minute?”
“I don’t know.”
I should have found a gentle way to admit that I no longer wanted to be on permanent call, but my lifelong fear of confrontation stymied me. And how could I hurt her when she was already so fragile?
“What’s up, Anna?” Her voice was hard.
“I might be getting better. After Aidan. Ready to find a new home.”
That wasn’t what she’d meant and we both knew it. “Won’t you miss us?”
“Jacks, I’ll see you all the time. I’ll still take care of Trea.”
“By, like, appointment. But from now on, every time that prick bails, I’ll be fucked.”
“I’m sorry.”
She turned away from me.
“Could one of your neighbors help?” I tried.
“In Manhattan? Axe-murderer central?”
But they couldn’t all be axe-murderers. I didn’t deserve Jacqui’s resentment but I lacked the courage to tell her. I just wanted our boundaries to magically reestablish themselves in a happier, more harmonious way.
—
Angelo and I had had no contact since the evening, several months ago, when I’d flaked on him to watch Trea. Later that night he’d texted, telling me that all of the Finnish glassworker’s pieces had sold. I’d thanked him for trying. Nothing since.
I’d thought about him but I was too enmeshed in The Jacqui-and-Joey Show to have the bandwidth. All at once, I was able. In fact, it felt urgent, so I called him.
We met for coffee (he had an infused water).
“Sorry for going dark on you.” I was embarrassed.
“You were doing what was right for you. Never apologize for that.”
“You’re…” There was no other word for it. “…amazing.”
He laughed and waved it away. “Totally not amazing. So what’s going on with you?”
I told him about my new apartment. “I should get possession in maybe a month.”
“That’s quite a step,” he said. “So. How’s the guilt?”
“Oh my God.” I was astonished at how astute he was. “Bad. Always. All the time.”
“Survivor’s guilt.”
You see, nobody else ever spoke to me like this.
“How bad did you feel about meeting me today?” he asked. “Out of ten?”
“Seven?” I shrugged. “Eight?”
“But you still came. That’s what’s meant by ‘learn to live with it,’?” he said.
I was so grateful for Angelo acknowledging that, three years on, I was a long way from normal. And maybe would never be again. Not the way I used to be, at least.
“?‘Feel the guilt and do it anyway,’?” I said. “That’s going to be my new motto.”
“You’re already living it.”
“And what’s going on with you? I know it’s going to be interesting.”
“Is a gong bath interesting?”
“Yes!” I’d heard about them. “So you lie down? Someone plays giant metal gongs?”
“A type of meditation,” he said. “You ‘bathe’ in the vibrations.”
Apparently, it “helped to calm the soul.” The part of me that was keen on silver bullets, magic solutions and easy answers to life’s pain perked up. “Could you let me know the next time you’re going?”
“They’re held every new moon. Easy to figure out the dates.”
Was it? I knew nothing about new moons; the only moon that got my attention was a full one, because I was usually awake half the night.
“Call me,” he said, “if ever you want to give it a go.”
The implication was clear: if I wanted to see him, I’d have to make it happen.
There was a resistance in him, a strength of will. It excited me.
As soon as the next gong session was listed, I booked two tickets and texted him the details.
On the night in question we met at the park, in the dark, carrying our mats and duvets.
Is this a date? I wondered.
Because I wanted it to be a date.
What did Angelo think? I could have asked but it was a novelty to just float. Whatever was going to happen would happen. Surrendering to the benign indifference of the universe was a glorious relief.
When he invited me to the Catskills for some comet-watching I said yes. I said yes to everything involving him, because he made me happy. And full of guilt. One feeling couldn’t exist without the other and maybe it would always be this way.
But sleeping with him wasn’t the major upheaval I’d expected. In bed, he was very present. It wasn’t sex—he made love and he did it with every part of him: heart, soul and body.
“You fucked a Feathery Stroker?” Jacqui exclaimed when she extracted the details from me. “I don’t know you anymore.”
She was aiming for funny but there was too much truth for either of us to laugh. And I was ashamed of turning something so beautiful into a cheap gift to curry favor with her.
“How are you and Joey?” I asked tentatively. Because I hadn’t been called on in the past few weeks for any last-minute Trea-watching. “Has he got more reliable?”
“That shithead? No! But instead of leaving me hanging, he sends along one of his buddies—Shake, Luke, that cretin Gaz.”
Relief washed through me.
“Your sister’s been here a couple of times. With Luke, like. She has the cop-on to know he’s not safe with me.” She forced a laugh and, a second too late, so did I.
“I’m going to Boston on Friday to tell Aidan’s mom and dad about Angelo,” I said. “I’m dreading it.”
“Oh my God, you’re serious about him!”