Here’s my chance. Just tell her. Just say it! “N-no, um, that’s actually why I’m here.”
She stops going through the bag and gives me her full attention; her look is intimidating. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing’s wrong. It’s just that Cal’s gone on another business trip, and the penthouse gets lonely at night. I thought, I haven’t seen you in a while.” I laugh slightly. God, why didn’t I just tell her? I missed the perfect opportunity. Now this whole time, I’m going to be on pins and needles and have to remember my own lies.
“Oh.” She looks at me skeptically, the look quickly replaced by a smile. “Well, I’m really glad you’re here.” She gives me another hug. “How about I finish up here, you go to your room and get settled, and I’ll order us some lunch?”
“That’d be great.” I get up from the table. “You sure you don’t want any help?”
“No, I’m fine. Go get settled,” she insists.
I walk out of the kitchen and head for my car. I hate lying to my aunt, or lying in general, but if I told her why I was really here… I open up the trunk and heave my big suitcase out, setting it on the ground with a plop. As I roll it up the walkway toward the house, I notice Raven standing at the door with a huge smile and the phone close to her ear.
Please tell me she’s not talking to who I think she’s talking to.
“Lauren, honey, Cal’s on the phone!” she calls.
My heart stops for a minute. She loves that man so much, I swear, if he weren’t my husband and he were just a little bit older, she’d be on him like a Chanel bag in the clearance section, if there is such a thing.
“I’m kind of in the middle of something,” I call to her as sweetly as I can, squashing my annoyance and anger as I head back over to the car, trying to look busy shuffling through my bags.
“Lauren Brooks! Get over here right this minute. You can bring your bags in later,” she says in a calm but forceful tone.
I feel my shoulders drop as I slowly walk up to the porch, a small pout on my face. I remember I’m supposed to pretend I’m happy. I take the phone from her. “I’m going to take this in the house.”
“Sure,” she tells me.
I walk into the dining room and close the door. I take a huge breath and bring the phone to my ear.
“I knew you were going to be at Raven’s,” he says before I even let him know I’m there.
How wonderful of you, I think and roll my eyes.
“You’re not talking to me?” he asks.
I sigh in disbelief. He still thinks I’m “not talking to him.” I’ve left him, and he’s shrugging it off as a temper tantrum. Obviously, he doesn’t get it.
“Two calls. It must be my lucky day,” I mumble sarcastically, pacing the room.
“I know. I was wrong,” he says.
“You really mean that? Or are you just saying what you think I want to hear?”
“I mean what I say.” He sounds offended.
“Cal, I’m tired of doing this with you.” I sigh.
“Well, what do you want me to say?” he asks defensively.
What do I want him to say? What the fuck do I want him to say? I want him to say he’s sorry for everything, sorry that he’s played with my emotions, sorry that he’s such an ass, that he leaves me alone for days without a single phone call, sorry that he’s made me into a person I don’t even recognize, that he’s eroded my self-confidence, sorry that he exists in my life!
I don’t hear anything except silence on the other end. Oops, I must have said all that out loud.
I’ve been sitting here in my old bedroom in silence for twenty minutes, waiting for him to call me back. I shouldn’t be waiting for him. I should be happy that he’s not attempting to call me back. I brush my fingers through my hair and sigh. I hear a soft knock on the door.
“Honey, is everything okay?” Raven asks, quietly walking into the room.
“Yeah, everything’s fine,” I say, forcing another smile.
She opens her mouth as if she’s about to say something, but then she changes the subject. “I completely forgot I told Mrs. Ingram that I’d have lunch with her today, before I knew you were coming. Would you like to join us? She’d love to see you.”
“No, it’s okay. I think I’m just going to stay here and think some things through. Tell her I said hi.”
“Okay, if you need anything, just call my cell,” she tells me, as if I’m a twelve-year-old again.
“I’ll be fine,” I assure her.
“I’ll see you later, honey,” she says, shutting the door.
I suddenly feel exhausted. I strip the big quilt and colorful sheets off the bed, replacing them with some sheets I brought from home. After I’m done, I look around the room, taking a deep breath. This place will take some getting used to again. I crawl into the bed, hugging the pillow as if it’s a stuffed animal.
Chapter 4
May 9th, 2008
“I went to University of Illinois for two years before I transferred to Indiana State, where I played football. Believe it or not, I originally majored in criminology. It’s funny how I jumped from criminology to journalism, because they’re so different from each other. Initially, I only took it in high school because of this girl I had a crush on. Then I changed it because criminology was getting too complicated. I thought it was the best thing I ever did in my life. So when I graduated, I moved back to Chicago. My dad helped me get a job at the Tribune, where my boss assigned me the Entertainment section. Who the hell reads that? But anyway, the point is…”
Jason can’t shut up. I continue to nod and smile, pretending to be interested in what he’s saying. He’s been going on like this for twenty minutes; he hasn’t asked a single question about me except what I wanted to order. He then told me the dish he’s having is better and I should order that. I glance at my watch for the third time. I’ve never been this bored in my life. I don’t know if he’s nervous and just rambling on to cover it up, or if he’s really this self-absorbed. He seemed so different back at the club. Looks can sure be deceiving.
I take a sip of my water. The ice has melted. Looking around, I admire how elegant the restaurant is. The piano is playing softly in the background. I could really enjoy this atmosphere—if Jason would just be quiet for a minute.
“I remember my first piece for Journalism 101. It was on a dean sleeping with a student. I had a lot of fun with that, even though it only received a C. My professor always told me I could do better, and on my last paper, I finally had an A,” he continues. “So what about you?”
I almost choke on my water; the opportunity to talk is unexpected—I thought he’d at least give me a rundown of every article he’d ever written before he asked me a question. “Well, I attend Chicago University. I’m majoring in English and minoring in art history.”
“The art world is a hard world to break into,” he tells me, as if I don’t know.
“That’s why I’m majoring in English,” I tell him, a little annoyed.