41. Joey
41
Joey
T he phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s been doing so intermittently for the past few hours. I’ve turned the ringer off, but the constant vibrating is grating on my nerves. I check the display and see it’s Brent—again.
If I could, I’d turn the phone off or throw it against a wall, except I’m expecting calls about both my next work assignment from the temp agency and apartments I’d inquired about. I’m looking into setting up my own business, but until I can make it happen, I need to keep making and saving money.
“Whose calls are you ignoring?” Kelly saunters into the break room. “I notice you’ve been doing that all afternoon.”
Despite the commute from Aunty’s place in Jersey City and having to face Kelly and Mitch, I’ve forced myself to finish out the week. After today, I’ll never have to see them again.
“No one important. That’s why I’m ignoring them.” The way I wish I could ignore you.
I place the phone screen-side down so she can’t see Brent’s name come up on the display. Pretending she’s not loitering near me, I go back to my laptop to continue my search for a permanent job. The moment has a tinge of déjà vu from when I got the call regarding the Firebirds job. I can only hope I receive a similar call regarding another amazing job opportunity.
“Hm. Well, you know you can block the number, right?”
Yes, Kelly, I know that. But if I do, he can’t leave me messages that I can listen to over and over later, just to hear him talking to me. He’s already left various versions of “Call me back, Josie” and “I miss you, baby.” I’ve already tortured myself at least a hundred times with the one he left me the day I ran out of his place.
Please trust me, baby…I promise I’ll tell you everything as soon as I can.
His words tempted me more than once to call him back and demand explanations. I resisted, because I want honesty, not vague promises.
The phone buzzes again. Prepared to ignore it again, I lift the phone just enough to see the screen. Unknown number. Hoping it’s one of the calls I’ve been waiting for, I answer. “Hello.”
“Hi, baby.”
I freeze and don’t say anything. He must have masked his number.
“Please, don’t hang up. I need to talk to you.”
I glance over my shoulder and see Kelly watching me avidly. I lock my laptop and close it, then stand and walk out of the room. The only place with privacy is the bathroom, so I go there and lock myself in. Speaking in a low voice in case Kelly decides to press her ear against the door—I wouldn’t put it past the nasty, nosy woman—I say, “What do you want?”
“I miss you, Josie. I want to talk to you.”
I sigh and give in, hoping he comes clean and we can move past this. I miss him too. Keeping my voice firm so he doesn’t realize how much I want to go back to him and pretend our fight never happened, I say, “Fine. But only if you’re willing to speak the truth. Otherwise I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”
“Yes,” he immediately agrees.
“Okay. Talk.”
“Can’t we talk in person? Charlie told me you were staying at your old place. I’ll come over.”
“No!” I’m not ready to see him yet. “I’m not there. I’m at work. Just say what you want, or I’m hanging up.” My tone is unintentionally bitchy in my attempt to stay strong.
For a moment, he says nothing. Sensing my resolve, he says with a sigh, “Josie, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Caitlyn. As far as I was concerned, she was in my past, and I wanted nothing to do with her, as I told her a number of times. I swear to you on my father’s grave, baby, there is only you.”
Feeling myself wavering, I stiffen my spine, telling him dispassionately. “Okay, I believe you. And…?”
“And what?”
He hesitated before asking, making my resolve stronger.
Rather than answering the question, he teases, “And besides, you wore me out with your demands on my body. You literally drained me and left nothing for anyone else.”
“You pleased me too.” An understatement, to say the least.
“Pleased? I pleased you?” His tone is no longer teasing.
Well, too bad. “I didn’t realize until now that was part of the problem. You only ever saw us as lovers, not friends. But I don’t blame you. It’s what started this whole thing, me asking you to be my lover. So I want to thank you, sincerely, for being my first. I’ve learned a lot, not just about sex but about myself, and I’ll always be grateful to you for that.”
“I don’t want your fucking gratitude.”
I ignore him and continue. “You’ve shown me I’m stronger than my mother, and I’m enough as I am despite my father not loving me for who I was. Thanks to you, I’m not as self-conscious about my body. And most importantly, I’ve learned that I deserve more than I’ve given myself credit for. That I’m worth more than being just a convenient bed partner, waiting for you to get bored with me.”
“Josie, you’re not—”
On a roll, I don’t let him finish. “I deserve more than an affair without commitment, one you can walk away from at a moment’s notice because of the rules and expectations you laid out. I know it’s not fair of me to change those rules, but I can’t help that my feelings grew, when you’re…you’re so freaking—”
I stop to take a breath before I admit how amazing he is. He’ll take that ammunition and knock down the fragile wall I’ve built around my heart to protect it from further hurt. Softening my voice, I continue. “I deserve someone who wants to be with me wholeheartedly, without reservation and without fear, even if we end up not working out in the long run. And most importantly, I deserve honesty in return for the trust I gave you.”
When I finish, there is nothing but deafening silence and I wonder if he hung up during my tirade. Finally he says, “Josie, you’re right. Please come back and let me make it up to you.”
I want to shout, Yes! Anything to be with him again. But he’s still holding something back. I feel it in my gut.
“I don’t think so. If you can’t be completely honest with me, then I can’t trust you enough to continue a physical relationship. Goodbye, Brent.”
I take some comfort that he kept calling until I answered. But to do so without a commitment and, more importantly, with secrets between us means he doesn’t want me—need me—enough. And I’ve started to need him, too much. That scares me more than anything.
I keep my chin up when I leave the bathroom, seeing no signs of Kelly. I ignore my phone when it rings again later. When I listen to the voicemail about a temp job assignment I don’t want to take, I impulsively decide to take some extended time off and figure out my life.
When I’m ready to leave after my last patient, I’m firm with Mitch after he asks me out again, as promised.
“I’m sorry, Mitch. I’m not in a place to date right now. My focus is on finding a job and a place to live. It wouldn’t be fair to you since I can’t give you the time you deserve.”
“Hey, I understand,” he responds with a smile and a shrug. “How about just a drink? As friends?”
“I’m sorry,” I repeat with an apologetic smile. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.” As terrible as I feel for turning him down, I don’t want to give him false hope.
And I’m damned proud of myself for not giving in to him just to avoid a possible confrontation.
Aunty’s house is bursting at the seams with guests staying the weekend for her niece’s wedding. A cacophony of noise—voices talking over each other, children playing, and upbeat music with a heavy drumbeat—filters into the guest room I’m staying in. I’ll be sharing it tonight with a couple of Aunty’s younger nieces who will bed down on the floor at the foot of my twin bed. Apparently other family members will be doing the same throughout the house.
Aunty invited me to stay for all the festivities, but I was glad to have the excuse of having to go to Connecticut. I don’t think I could endure an entire weekend of being out of my element and being stared and pointed at like an animal in a zoo, towering over all the women and many of the men. It feels like my childhood school days all over again.
Charlie invited me to stay with her when she learned of the breakup from Brent, who had been calling her incessantly to ask about me. In typical Charlie fashion, she called me an idiot and told me to get my ass to Connecticut when I told her I didn’t want anyone to feel awkward with me there.
But Aunty insisted I attend at least the pre-wedding festivities tonight, refusing to take “no, thank you” for an answer. Not wanting to offend her after the way she readily offered me refuge in her home, I reluctantly agreed.
The door opens without a knock, the noise flowing into the room a second before Aunty bustles in. “Okay, Beti , I am here to help you.”
Thank God she’s come to help me dress. I’ve been staring in consternation at the colorful fabrics laid out on the bed, wondering what I’m supposed to do with them. I was contemplating making a run for it, sneaking away and hoping Aunty wouldn’t notice me missing in the chaos.
“Good, you are done with your makeup. Now put this on,” she commands and takes a piece of clothing off the bed and hands it to me. It’s a long skirt, heavy with shiny gold embroidery and covered in sequins.
Realizing Aunty isn’t going anywhere and I’ll get no privacy, I pull the skirt on over my leggings, which I then pull off from underneath. She helps me tie the ends of the stringlike matching fabric at the waist that serves as a built-in belt.
She picks up another piece. “Put this on. Hooks go in back.”
I turn my back to her to put on the matching top, cropped to just below my breasts. The back is cut as low as the front, leaving most of my torso bare. Luckily, the fabric covers my bra strap so I don’t have to, God forbid, go braless. Because that’s not happening.
But it is slightly tight and makes my breasts overflow from the top. No way am I appearing in public in this. I turn to inform Aunty, but she’s holding out another piece of the outfit, a couple of yards of sheer material, like chiffon, also embroidered and decorated. “Hold your arms out.”
I obey, and she walks around me, wrapping and tucking one end of the material into the skirt, draping the other end over my shoulder and chest, then fastening a couple of large decorative safety pins to make sure it all stays in place. She fixes the folds over my chest, with no sense of personal space as she repeatedly smooths the fabric over my breasts, then steps back to survey her work.
“It is perfect fit, no?”
I turn to survey myself in the dresser mirror. Despite the sheerness of the material, the folds somehow manage to provide modesty over my breasts, my main concern. When I take in the whole outfit, I realize I look like any other young Indian woman, albeit a much taller one. The lime green and raspberry pink, which should clash, instead mesh beautifully together and complement my coloring.
“Aunty, how did you find something that would fit me?” The skirt falls all the way to the floor. I don’t think too many Indian women have my height or bust size.
“I take measurements from your bra and pants and make adjustment to my sister’s lehenga choli . I add material at bottom and top to make lehenga longer, and I make choli tight so it fit you.”
I’m mortified but not surprised. Aunty has never had any sense of privacy, and the years have bred familiarity.
“When did you do this?”
She picks up my hand and slides colorful matching bangles over each wrist. “After you came, I told my sister to bring one for you. She is jaadi ,” she says, holding her arms out, bent at the elbows, to indicate wide or possibly fat . Her sister, whom I met earlier, is both. “Only her blouse is big enough to fit you here,” she finishes, placing her hand flat on her chest. “I take apart and put back together, in your size.”
Aunty has done an incredible job because there are no signs of the outfit being altered and patched up.
She holds up a wide necklace that matches the bangles, with tear-shaped pearls and pink and green stones, and reaches up to put it around my neck. I have to bend my knees so she can reach.
“I can’t believe you did this so quickly. It’s amazing.”
“I am good with sewing machine. I will teach you. It is good skill for wife and mother.”
I mentally roll my eyes but reply sincerely, “Thank you, Aunty. It’s beautiful.”
She tsks and hands me large, dangling earrings that match the necklace and gestures for me to put them on. I fasten the earrings, afraid they will make my earlobes pull down, but they are surprisingly light.
“You look beautiful. I will have no problem finding you husband today. Come, I want you to meet my brother’s wife’s nephew…”
She bustles out as quickly as she entered, talking a mile a minute. I should have known Aunty would take the opportunity to go husband hunting for me. It’s likely the reason for her insistence I attend tonight.
I shake my head, sigh in resignation, and follow her.