“Of course.”
I pull the phone away from my ear and watch the screen go dark when she hangs up, but before I place it back on the charger, I pull up my photos. Scrolling past the recent ones from my getaway with Tierney, I find a whole myriad of photos Jude and I had taken together—mostly selfies—and I study our faces, our smiles, the positions of our hands, all the things that probably don’t matter at this point, but still, a part of me wants to know if any of it was ever real for him.
Swiping a few more times, I stop when I come across a photo of me that he took when I wasn’t looking. I’m sitting at a little wrought iron table outside a coffee shop, reading a book I’d picked up that morning. There’s a wildflower—one he’d picked for me on the way—tucked behind one ear, and I’m completely engrossed in my tome.
I swipe again. And again. Stopping when I find another photo he took of me when I wasn’t looking. This one’s from the week of Cameo’s wedding. I’m dancing with my grandmother at the reception—Jump, Jive and Wail I think it was, and he snapped the photo mid-twirl.
By the time I finish going through the rest of the photos, I find a handful of other candid shots, all of them almost artistic in nature, framed and angled perfectly, capturing the beauty in all of these mundane little moments.
Why would he do that if this entire thing was nothing but a meaningless charade?
Forty-Two
Jude
* * *
“Vinnie, hand me that basin wrench, will you?” I ask, crouched beneath the sink in a remodeled hospital bathroom.
It’s been a week since I left The Jasper, guitar in hand.
I keep expecting to get a knock at the door. I keep waiting for her to come and find me, to demand to know why I walked out of her life … but the knock never comes.
Today marks four days back with Premier Plumb and Supply.
It also marks four days working at Lenox Hill Hospital on the Upper East Side—Love’s stomping grounds.
Every morning when I get here, I search the sidewalks for her face. When I leave for lunch, I do the same. The end of the day is no different. I don’t even know what I’d do if I ran into her … guess I just want to see if she’s okay.
“Hey, Vinnie,” I say, turning the wrench. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done before?”
Vinnie lets out a big-bellied chuckle. “Can you get more specific? I’ve done a lot of shit in my day, kid.”
He always calls me “kid” despite the fact that I’m thirty and he’s only got about twelve years on me, if that.
“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done to a woman,” I say, “like a girlfriend or your wife or something.”
Crouching down and grabbing a strap wrench from the box between us, he groans as he rises, his knees popping.
“I dunno, kid,” he says. “I did a lot of shit in my younger days, but I’ve been married thirteen years now and never once cheated on my old lady, so I like to think that makes up for it. Why do you ask? You do something? You having lady troubles?”
I sniff. “Something like that.”
“Lay it on me. Maybe I can help.”
“It’s a long story. Complicated.” I twist the wrench again and check the fitting to make sure it’s secure before climbing out from under there.
“Kid, the day is young. It’s you and me for the next eight hours.”
“I can’t tell if you’re being nosy or if you genuinely want to be helpful.”
Vinnie chuckles. “Little of both, maybe. If I’m being honest.”
“This guy basically hired me to date his ex.” I can’t give him specifics due to the NDA, but I can give him the gist of the situation.
“Ooooh,” Vinnie claps his hands together. “I knew it was going to be good, but I didn’t know it was going to be this good. She find out?”
“Nah,” I say. “I ended up liking her. She ended up liking me. I was going to break it off because it was the right thing to do, only I never got the chance. Her ex basically removed me from the situation.”
“Damn.”
“She thinks I left without saying goodbye.” I dig around in the tool box until I find the connector o-ring I’m looking for. “Just hate that I hurt her, and I hate that I never got to say sorry.”
“Listen.” Vinnie splays his hand flat and leans close, like he’s about to give me some advice under the table. “Women are the weaker sex—but only physically. Their hearts are Teflon. I swear to you. They can take a hit emotionally and you’d never be able to tell. Resilient, that’s what they are. Anyway, I assure you, she’s going to move on and she’s going to forget all about you. You’ll just be that jerk ex that she’s always afraid she’s going to run into. Don’t beat yourself up about the way it went down.”
We finish up this bathroom before starting on the next and by the time we’re finished with that one, it’s lunch.
“You want anything from the deli?” I offer Vinnie before dodging out.
“Nah. I’m hitting up the cafeteria today.”
I check the time and head toward the deli up the street from The Jasper. Love and I used to stop there sometimes, and every once in a while she’d pop in there for blueberry bagels and coffee.
Every day this week I’ve grabbed lunch from there. I suppose it’s because it’s the only place I can go where I still feel her. And sometimes, I swear I see the two of us standing in line, my hands around her waist. She’s smiling, resting the back of her head against my shoulder as she studies the menu even though she gets the same thing every time.
But today, just like the last few days, I hit the deli, stand in line, order my lunch, and leave without a single sign of Love.
On the way back to Lenox Hill, I take a detour past The Jasper and kill the extra fifteen minutes I have left, stopping at the fountain.
Two kids splash in the water, dipping their hands over the marble ledge and laughing, and two teenage girls take a selfie in front of the sculpture of the couple under the umbrella. I sit for a moment, taking it all in. The sights. The sounds. The reminders of some of the happiest weeks I’ve ever known.
And when it’s time to leave, I pass the fountain one last time, tossing in a quarter for no reason at all.
Forty-Three
Love
* * *
With an armful of grocery bags, I maneuver the Fifth Avenue sidewalks, making a beeline for my building the second I spot it. By the time I reach the lobby, my arms are dying. I thought about having my groceries delivered, but I needed to get out of the apartment today. I needed to do something normal and ordinary and productive.
Passing under the black awning and heading toward the lobby, I glance toward the fountain for a split second. And in that split second, I spot a man with Jude’s sandy hair and tall swagger, but it’s only the back of him.
From here I make out a stained white t-shirt and ragged jeans, and then he’s gone.
I doubt it was him, but only because I see him everywhere. I see him in places he couldn’t possibly be. It isn’t fair the way my mind constantly plays tricks on me when all I want to do is forget he was ever a part of my life.