different girl every night. It was probably just some trick to try and get me alone in an emotionally compromised state of mind. Wasn't that their game?
Though being able to talk with someone about this sounded nice. I thought I should call mom.
"No... Thanks, I mean, but I can't. Something pretty serious has come up. I just can't talk about it, okay?"
There was silence for a few moments. "Are you sure? I am a pretty good listener."
"Really, I can't. Look, we'll talk some other time. Bye."
As I hung up the receiver, I heard his voice again. I couldn't make out what he said.
I rubbed at my eyes again, enjoying that pressure. It hurt just enough to take my mind momentarily from the present moment, into some place between thoughts and feelings.
Unfortunately, I couldn't keep it up very long. Soon enough, I found myself staring at the phone. It was a sleek black wall mount with a white AT&T logo beside the tiny LCD screen.
Jerry had picked it out, and I'd been a little surprised that he hadn't taken it back. Maybe the woman he was with had a nicer model or something.
If I hit the directory button, then the little down arrow three times, it would bring up mom's number. Then, if I picked up the receiver, it would dial. A few very simple actions. Too simple, it seemed. The call itself would be hard, why should placing it be so easy?
Mom would let me come home, I knew. I tried to draw this pre-call moment out as long as I could. Yeah, she'd answer, be surprised to hear me (she always insisted on corresponding by letter!).
At first, she'd resist the idea of me coming back. Then I could spring the whole Jerry breakup on her. If that didn't work, I'd just tell her that my boss propositioned me on a daily basis.
Yeah, that would do it.
It felt like I had arrived at some sort of turning point. Though, maybe calling it a breaking point would be more apt. I knew, intellectually at least, that even if I convinced her to let me come home, I could renege on the whole thing and try to tough it out in New York.
But if she did agree (and she would) I also knew that I would let it happen. I'd move home, away from all this. I might fret about it, regret it, bitch to whatever friends came to visit. But I'd never come back here.
I started reaching for the phone. My heart lurched. My stomach twisted itself up. The sounds of engines and brakes from the street four floors below got louder, deafening even.
I pushed the menu button, bringing up the directory. My finger poked the down key once, twice...
Someone knocked on the door. I almost didn't hear it. I almost discounted it out of hand. Right then, the only person I could think of who would be knocking was Jerry, and I didn't want to see him. What if he wanted the phone back?
So I ignored it, even as it grew more insistent. Had I locked the door? I couldn't remember.
I hit the button for the third time. The little screen displayed "Jenn Mom and Dad." All I had to do was pick up the receiver. If mom answered the phone, she always did so within three rings. Another of her quirks. If she didn't get to it by the third, she let the machine take it.
Otherwise, people might think she was being rude, or screening her calls. What can I say? She's a weird one.
Then the door opened. I snatched my hand back, a sudden anger flaring through me. Jerry had moved out, dumped me. What made him think he could just come right back in any time he wanted?
I squeezed my hands into fists so tight that my nails bit into my palms as I marched over to the entry hall.
"God damn it, Jerry, what do you think you're doing?"
But it wasn't Jerry standing there. It was Drake. He'd paused in mid-stride, halted by the venom in my voice most likely. He had a brown paper bag, like the ones some of the grocery stores around here still used, under one arm.
"Hey," he said, smiling.
I wilted, the anger draining out of me, leaving my shoulders sagging.
"Hi," I said.
Then I rushed into the kitchen. I leaned against
Though being able to talk with someone about this sounded nice. I thought I should call mom.
"No... Thanks, I mean, but I can't. Something pretty serious has come up. I just can't talk about it, okay?"
There was silence for a few moments. "Are you sure? I am a pretty good listener."
"Really, I can't. Look, we'll talk some other time. Bye."
As I hung up the receiver, I heard his voice again. I couldn't make out what he said.
I rubbed at my eyes again, enjoying that pressure. It hurt just enough to take my mind momentarily from the present moment, into some place between thoughts and feelings.
Unfortunately, I couldn't keep it up very long. Soon enough, I found myself staring at the phone. It was a sleek black wall mount with a white AT&T logo beside the tiny LCD screen.
Jerry had picked it out, and I'd been a little surprised that he hadn't taken it back. Maybe the woman he was with had a nicer model or something.
If I hit the directory button, then the little down arrow three times, it would bring up mom's number. Then, if I picked up the receiver, it would dial. A few very simple actions. Too simple, it seemed. The call itself would be hard, why should placing it be so easy?
Mom would let me come home, I knew. I tried to draw this pre-call moment out as long as I could. Yeah, she'd answer, be surprised to hear me (she always insisted on corresponding by letter!).
At first, she'd resist the idea of me coming back. Then I could spring the whole Jerry breakup on her. If that didn't work, I'd just tell her that my boss propositioned me on a daily basis.
Yeah, that would do it.
It felt like I had arrived at some sort of turning point. Though, maybe calling it a breaking point would be more apt. I knew, intellectually at least, that even if I convinced her to let me come home, I could renege on the whole thing and try to tough it out in New York.
But if she did agree (and she would) I also knew that I would let it happen. I'd move home, away from all this. I might fret about it, regret it, bitch to whatever friends came to visit. But I'd never come back here.
I started reaching for the phone. My heart lurched. My stomach twisted itself up. The sounds of engines and brakes from the street four floors below got louder, deafening even.
I pushed the menu button, bringing up the directory. My finger poked the down key once, twice...
Someone knocked on the door. I almost didn't hear it. I almost discounted it out of hand. Right then, the only person I could think of who would be knocking was Jerry, and I didn't want to see him. What if he wanted the phone back?
So I ignored it, even as it grew more insistent. Had I locked the door? I couldn't remember.
I hit the button for the third time. The little screen displayed "Jenn Mom and Dad." All I had to do was pick up the receiver. If mom answered the phone, she always did so within three rings. Another of her quirks. If she didn't get to it by the third, she let the machine take it.
Otherwise, people might think she was being rude, or screening her calls. What can I say? She's a weird one.
Then the door opened. I snatched my hand back, a sudden anger flaring through me. Jerry had moved out, dumped me. What made him think he could just come right back in any time he wanted?
I squeezed my hands into fists so tight that my nails bit into my palms as I marched over to the entry hall.
"God damn it, Jerry, what do you think you're doing?"
But it wasn't Jerry standing there. It was Drake. He'd paused in mid-stride, halted by the venom in my voice most likely. He had a brown paper bag, like the ones some of the grocery stores around here still used, under one arm.
"Hey," he said, smiling.
I wilted, the anger draining out of me, leaving my shoulders sagging.
"Hi," I said.
Then I rushed into the kitchen. I leaned against
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