The Unrequited Page 13

  “I called a cab. It’s outside,” she tells me.

  “Give me a second to put on some clothes. I’ll walk with you.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  I shoot her a look and she quiets down. If she wants to leave, I’ll escort her out myself. A few minutes later, we’re standing at the door of the cab. Hadley puts her bag inside and then slides in herself. Without looking at her, I shut the door and tap on the roof, alerting the cabbie to pull out. I feel Hadley watching me through the window but I don’t return her look. I simply turn around and walk to the house—the pile of bricks I want to take apart with my own bare hands.

  ________________

  Last time Hadley left, it took me two days to notice she was gone. I’m not proud of it. In fact, I’m downright ashamed that I never noticed her absence. My sole focus was the collection of poems I was working on. I had a deadline and I didn’t see anything beyond that. I can’t remember if I ate or even moved from my desk, although of course I must have.

  I can’t remember anything of those frenzied forty-eight hours until the knock that came at my office, jarring me awake from my dreamy, fugue-like state. After that, I remember everything clearly. I remember Hadley entering the room. I remember wondering about how clean everything looked, despite the fact that I practically lived in there for hours on end. The trash was in the trashcan. The papers were organized on the desk. I felt a momentary happiness, a momentary pride at how different I was from what I’ve known, from my father.

  I was a real poet. I had published poems, won awards, and I was organized and neat. As I looked at Hadley, I remember thinking I had a family. It was a moment of sheer arrogance for myself and pity for the man who’d failed in every aspect of his life. It was a moment of sheer anger at him.

  But with Hadley’s next words, my world cracked and then crumbled. She told me she wanted a divorce, and like a fucking moron, I stilled, became speechless. She told me she had been gone for the past two days. She’d needed the time to think. She said our love had died and it was better to part ways, that it was no one’s fault. It was just something that happened.

  We’re in awe of each other, Thomas. We admire each other, but we don’t love.

  What the fuck did that mean? Of course I was in fucking awe of her. She was my wife.

  The jingle of keys followed by the click of the door brings me out of memories, and tells me Susan has arrived. It’s morning now. Hadley has been gone for a few hours, but it feels like years.

  Susan sets her bag down on the coffee table and pads over to where I’m sitting on the floor in front of Nicky. My son sits on the carpet, his toys strewn about. His favorites change every week. At the moment, it’s the elephant I bought a few days ago.

  “He’s up early.” She sits beside me and coos at Nicky. He gurgles at her. With his red cheeks and messy hair, he appears impish. I wonder if he feels the change in the air. Does he feel the absence of his mom? I want to pick him up and hug him, tell him I’ll always love him, no matter what. Just don’t leave me.

  “Thomas?” Susan puts her hand on my shoulder.

  “Yeah, he was sort of fussy. I should’ve tried to put him back to sleep but I just…didn’t. I guess I wanted to play with him.”

  “It’s okay. He’ll be a little cranky, but nothing I can’t handle.” She smiles.

  There was a time when Susan knew me the best—she was my nanny too, when I was growing up—and I think her motherly understanding is still intact. She studies me, my face, my posture, and I want to hide myself…or maybe break down and tell her everything, like a child does to his mother, hoping she’ll solve all the problems. At least, that’s what I imagine a mother feels like.

  “Are you okay, Thomas? What’s going on?”

  Her concern touches a deep part of me. It soothes me to see that she cares, but even so, her sympathy is grating. It further proves that I fucked everything up.

  “Everything’s fine,” I reply curtly as I stand up. “Would it be possible for you to stay here full time for a couple of days? I’ll pay you, of course.”

  She frowns. “Of course I’ll stay, but why?”

  I can see that she probably knows why, and I hate that. I hate that she knows there’s something wrong in this house, in my family. I’ve never known one. I’ve never wanted one, but now I can’t seem to let go of it.

  “I’ll need you to start today. Let me know when you’re ready and I’ll drive you to get your stuff.”

  I walk away then, but Susan catches up with me at the bottom of the stairs. “Thomas, get back here.”

  It’s her stern tone, one she has used on me countless times when I was a kid. Thomas, walk slowly. Thomas, don’t disturb your father. Thomas, your father is busy.

  I stop but don’t turn around. I hear her footsteps approaching. “What’s going on, Thomas?” At my silence, she puts her hand on my back and I tense at her soft touch. “Is it…Hadley?”

  At the mention of her name, a weird sense of possessiveness rises in me. I can’t explain it, but I don’t want Susan to be talking about her, knowing she left me, knowing she left her seven-month-old son. As if Nicky knows I’m thinking about him, a sharp giggle echoes in the air.

  “Let me know when you’re ready to go,” I insist, taking a step away from her, about to climb up the stairs and do…something. Anything. Words are coming to me, begging me to make something of them, but I won’t. I hate them.

  “She left, didn’t she?” she says, effectively stopping me in my tracks. Her long sigh makes me turn around. It’s an unsurprised sound. It’s a sound that says it was expected. My anger is about to burst now. I feel hot, hotter than I’ve ever felt.

  “Do you have something to say?” My voice is calm and soft, unlike the jagged, furious edges inside me.

  “Thomas, I…” She sighs, her hands wringing in front of her. “I know it’s hard to hear, but I think there’s something wrong with Hadley. I think she’s going through something big and she needs help, Thomas. She might be suffering from baby blues or something similar. I read up on it the other day. It’s very common in women. They don’t show interest in their children. They are…depressed.” She reaches out and clutches my bicep. “It fits the bill. I think Hadley should see a psychiatrist.”

  “My wife is not crazy,” I say with gritted teeth.

  “No, of course not. I’m not saying she is, but she needs medical help. I have seen her, Thomas. Nothing about her indifference feels right. I—”

  “We’re not talking about this.”

  “We need to talk about this. We need to do something. Do you know where she went? We need to find her. I should’ve said something sooner. I—”

  “We don’t need to do anything, and Hadley hasn’t left. She’s just gone for a few days. She just needed a break. She’ll be back Wednesday.” As I say it, I realize how hollow it all sounds. Do I really believe she’ll be back?

  “A break from what? You don’t leave your baby to fend for himself like that—”

  “You do when you never wanted that baby.”

  The declaration thuds like a landslide. It crashes against the air and boomerangs, hitting me in the chest. I know the reason why Hadley can’t bring herself to care about Nicky. I know I’m responsible for it.

  “What are you talking about?” Susan asks, frowning.

  “She wanted to get an abortion but I convinced her not to.” I plow my hands through my hair and finally break down and tell her. “She’d found out she was pregnant so she went away for a couple of days, but I didn’t even notice she was gone. I was too busy writing my next fucking masterpiece. When she got back, she told me she wanted a divorce. She wasn’t even going to tell me about the baby. She didn’t want him, said it wasn’t the right time for a baby because we hardly loved each other. Things would get messy, she said. She didn’t think she could raise a child alone because I was too wrapped up in my own shit.” A bark of a laugh escapes me and with an aching throat, I confess, “I’m lik
e my father, Susan.”

  I feel dizzy and I grab the railing to keep myself upright. If it wasn’t for that discarded pregnancy test, I never would’ve known I was going to be a father. She would’ve killed my baby because I fucked up. I can’t describe the anger I felt then. I wanted to kill her, kill myself for not loving her right.

  But all I did was beg and beg until she gave in and decided to try again.

  My gaze swings over to Nicky, who’s still playing on the carpet. His coos and gurgles cut me as sharp as a knife. Somehow I’ve failed again. She’s gone, and Nicky is left motherless.

  Susan puts her hands on my tight cheeks. “Thomas, you’re not like your father. He loved you and your mother, but he didn’t know how to show it. You do know. You know how to put your child first. You know how to be there for Hadley.” She squeezes my arm. “Do you hear me? You’re not like your father.”

  “Then why is she gone?” I whisper.

  Susan understands and steps forward to hug me. I deflate within her motherly warmth, like a fucking child. I hate it. I hate being this weak, being such a failure, but I don’t have the strength to step out of her embrace yet.

  After a while, Susan leaves to get Nicky something to eat.

  He is playing with Layla’s purple Russian hat, chewing on the fur, drooling. It triggers the memories of last night and before I know it, I’m thrown into another dimension. I’m flooded with Layla. I haven’t thought of her or the kiss since Hadley left, but now it’s all I can think about.

  A hunger rises in me, a wrong, dirty, angry kind of hunger. It just wants to take and take and take, because I’m tired of feeling like this, like I have no control over my life.

  I’m ravenous for Layla. I’m ravenous for the power she gives me. I want to abuse that power, unleash it, use it against her. I want to destroy her like I’m destroyed in this moment. She is too brave for her own good. I want to destroy that bravery, that pure courage.

  Maybe Susan is right; maybe I’m not like my father.

  My father never thought about anything else besides his wife, and the sudden burning in my bones, the volcanic eruption in my gut has nothing to do with Hadley.

  It has everything to do with Layla Robinson.

  Emma is with Dylan at the dorms and the school is closed due to the snowstorm. I am home alone and restless. Normally, I wouldn’t care about being stranded alone, but over the past month, I’ve forgotten how to live that way. Emma has spoiled me and now she’s gone.

  I hate her.

  And I hate Dylan.

  And I hate the fucking snow.

  I hate everyone and everything.

  I’m sitting on the couch. My body feels tight and awkward, like it doesn’t know what to do with itself. I try to remember what I normally do when alone. There’s a half-eaten packet of Twizzlers on the coffee table, and I begin stuffing my face with it.

  Okay, what else?

  “Aha!” I shout to the empty room then scroll through the music on my phone and put on something by Lana Del Rey. Blue Jeans.

  The song reminds me of Thomas—no surprise there. I curl up on the couch and make myself miserable listening to it. Flashes of storage closet bombard me as the song progresses.

  The kiss. The orgasm. My confession. The devastation when he left.

  I brought it on myself. I never should’ve kissed him in the first place. I never should’ve come apart on his leg. It was wrong on so many levels…even though he seemed to enjoy my moans and desperation.

  The song stops and a shrill ring echoes in my apartment. I have half a mind to ignore it, but my fingers clumsily hit accept before I can see who it is.

  It’s Caleb, and I’m staring down as the seconds pass on the screen. Slowly, I bring it to my ear and stammer, “H-Hello.”

  I should’ve prepared myself for the sharp intake of breath on the other side at the sound of my voice. There’s a rattle in my chest. I feel my ribs shaking as my heart tries to squeeze out and latch on to the phone.

  “Hello?” I say when I don’t hear anything else.

  “Hey,” he says with a world of hesitation. “I-I wasn’t expecting you to pick up.”

  I let his voice—a little scratchy, a lot boyish—wash over me. It’s been two years, two years since I’ve heard it, since he’s spoken to me. I pinch myself and curse at the sting.

  “Lay? You there? What’s, uh, what was that?”

  It’s hard to speak against the tidal wave of emotions rolling through my throat to my mouth. “Um, I just kinda pinched myself. I’m okay though.”

  A shy chuckle. “Okay. Good to know.” He clears his throat. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything, but in my defense, I was hoping you wouldn’t pick up.”

  “No. You’re not interrupting anything.” I look around the empty apartment. “It’s a snow day so I’m pretty much free.”

  “Ah, yes. I bet it’s coming down hard over there. I hope it stays that way. I know how much you love unexpected holidays.”

  Not anymore, I want to say. Now I hate them. I hate being trapped inside the apartment. I hate not being in Thomas’ class.

  Caleb doesn’t know me. He has no idea what’s going on in my life. I derive a certain satisfaction from that. “Yeah,” I say instead, and leave it at that.

  We fall silent. I listen to his breaths—they’re more like sighs—and I feel like a bitch. I ruined everything between us. Me. What I did was a felony. No apology would make up for it. Even though I called and called, he never picked up.

  I shake my head and break the silence. “So, how’s Boston?”

  “Good…I hope. I’m back in New York.”

  “Yes. For the party.” I lick my lips. “Did you bring me anything?”

  “I-I actually—”

  “Relax. I’m kidding.” I throw out an awkward laugh. “Wow, Boston sucked all the humor out of you, didn’t it?”

  He laughs and I picture his dirty blond hair and green eyes. I picture his smooth fingers gripping his cell phone—is it an iPhone?—while he talks to me.

  “Where are you staying?” I want to complete the picture, see what he sees. My hungry heart wants information.

  “At your mom’s. In fact, I’m staying in your room.”

  “No way.” I sit up. “Ugh. Why? They’ve got enough rooms. My room is messy.”

  “Lay, you don’t still live here. They cleaned up after you.”

  “Oh, right.” I fall back and prop my legs on the coffee table. “Sorry I panicked.”

  “What for? I’ve seen your room before. I know you’re a slob.”

  “Hey! I’m not a slob. I’m just a little disorganized.”

  “No, you’re a slob. You lost your phone in your room for two whole days because of your supposed ‘disorganization.’”

  “Well, excuse me for acting my age. Not everyone is as perfect as you, wiping off water rings.” I shudder.

  This time our silence is much lighter. I take the time to complete the picture. Caleb is in my room right now. It’s hard to imagine it clean, but still I see him sitting on my bed, propped against the white headboard, maybe even staring out the left window overlooking Central Park. This time of year the trees must be bare, and today, they must be covered in freshly falling snow.

  “So I’ve been calling because I wanted to see if you were still coming to Henry’s party,” Caleb says, after a while.

  That’s why he’s been calling. He wants to see me.

  I press my palm to my stomach, trying to squash the onslaught of butterflies, the fluttering of their soft wings. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that. Did I imagine it wrong or have the sensations always been so…light with dulled edges?

  It’s nothing like the sharp tug of my belly button or the firecrackers over my skin, or the urge to smash my thighs together and grind my hips.

  “I can’t.” It comes out agonized, pained. “I’ve got some stuff to do at school. I already told Mom.”

  “Oh.” He is disappointed. I can hear i
t in his voice. “Well, maybe I’ll see you some other time then.”

  “Are you planning on sticking around?”

  “I think so, yes. The company needs me. I mean, I’ve been groomed for it forever, you know. I think it’s time.”

  “Sure. Yeah. The company. Well, I’m glad you’re gonna be around.”

  “Me too,” he says with a quiet voice.

  It’s the end of our conversation. It’s time to put down the phone, but nothing feels resolved. What was the point of the call? Somehow I know it’s not the usual check-in about the party.

  “Why did you leave me?”

  Did I just say that? I did, didn’t I? I’m such a fucking moron.

  “Lay, I…”

  “You never even said goodbye. Were you…that mad at me?” I hear the rush of air as he prepares to say something, but I don’t let him. “I mean, I know you were. Why wouldn’t you be after what I did? But I thought… I don’t know, I thought we could maybe fix it, or if not that, then maybe you’d give me a chance to apologize, but you never even answered my calls. You never came around. You know, Mom was devastated that first Christmas when you wouldn’t come home.”

  I know I’m rambling, but I can’t stop the word vomit. It falls out of my lips, rolling down my tongue.

  “She was completely depressed. She didn’t even throw a party, and she always throws parties at holidays. Henry was so worried about her. He was, like, you know your mom well—what’s happening to her? I told him I didn’t know, but I did know. She was missing you.” I sigh. “You know, I never feel bad for the things I put her through. She’s not the mother of the year, as you know better than anyone, but I felt bad then. I felt like I broke up our family. You never even shouted at me or told me you hated me. I mean, I don’t wanna hear that, but silence is way worse. I don’t…”

  I press the heel of my palm to the center of my forehead. “I’m sorry, for lying, for taking advantage of you…for everything.”

  “Lay, stop, okay? Please just stop,” he whispers in a guttural voice, and I know, I know he has tears in his eyes. They jab behind my closed eyelids as if in answer to his pain.