I’m a zombie for most of the drive. And we make it from Derby to Long Island in just over three days. Very few stops. Very little talking. Vera has my back, and she didn’t push the point of trying to get me to smile when she knew I couldn’t.
I told her we should visit some parks and then we did but when she saw I couldn’t get into it she said, “Hon, you know I’m here for you, don’t you? Then stop thinking I’m not having a good time doing just that. We’re gonna go see your dad. And he’s gonna give you the answers you need. And you can mope and weep and cry and wail as much as you want in the passenger seat. Because I know you’d do the same for me.” We hugged. I wept (again.) And then we drove, non-stop, ending off late at night, and making it into Suffolk County around mid-afternoon.
I was beat, completely broken, and if I saw my dad now I’d probably lose my cool too easily because I was so tired.
Vera and I found a motel and fell asleep before six. We slept until early the next morning. Monday. Dad would be in the middle of his Taking Over The World workaday. I hadn’t bothered to get a new phone yet. I didn’t want to see any of Logan’s lying messages telling me he missed me or some fucking crap because I wasn’t at his goddamn fight.
But I needed it now to call my dad, and before calling him I needed to know what his answer to my text was (if there was an answer.)
There was. And when I saw his name pop up on the incoming messages, I was almost too afraid to look at it.
But all it said was OK.
OK.
OK?
Well, it could have been worse. He could have said, No. Or Fuck off. Or, I’ve disinherited you, didn’t you get the memo?
But it said OK, which I guess was...OK.
I called him to tell him that I was in town, and asked him when he’d have time to see me. “You’re in town? Damn it, Kyla, you should have let me know first. I... I’m totally unprepared.”
Right.
“Well, I’m here, dad. I mean, I’m your daughter, remember?” Fine, that was too mean. Gotta keep him cool if I’m gonna get the answers I need.
“No need to get snide, Kyla. I’m busy. Money doesn’t grow on trees. Look, could you come over on the weekend. Things will be freer then.”
“The weekend?”
“Yes.”
“I guess.”
“Saturday morning. Hold on.” I hear some papers being shuffled. “No, not Saturday, I’m meeting with LT Systems then. Damn it. Sunday, Sunday, Sunday... Yeah, Sunday, between ten and eleven.”
Glad you could squeeze me in, Mr. Hensley. Shall I bring those contracts you requested? If I wasn’t so desperate to get the answers I needed I’d tell him to fuck off. “Fine. Sunday.”
I hang on the phone for a bit, just to hear those three words from him, those three words I rarely heard growing up.
“Is that all?” he asks. Three words.
“Yeah.”
Vera and I hit the malls, and then we hit the bars. What else is there to do?
She’s checking out the talent and I couldn’t be less interested.
The bar we’re in reminds me too much of when I was growing up, the innocent girl I used to be. It even brings back memories of Madelyn. She and I had been friends since middle school. She got into guys before I did, way before. But before that, we were just two young girls who read a lot of books and rode our bicycles. I even played the guitar a bit. Not a lot. I sucked. But it was a dream, a hopeless dream.
Mads cheated on her first real boyfriend. I think she was fifteen then. And I’m pretty sure she was deflowered already at that young age. I should have taken that as a warning sign, but she always denied it when I asked her.
Vera doesn’t look too excited about the talent either, surprisingly. She clutches to her beer and lets her eyes roam around. A guy on the other side of the bar bought us drinks thirty minutes ago and we drank them, but Vera has completely avoided his gaze. He’s good looking. Tall with black hair and wearing a sports coat. By this time, Vera would be blinking her eyes at him and looking up bashfully and playing the scene just right so the dude would have nothing on his mind but getting under her skirt within twenty minutes.
She isn’t even trying.
“Don’t hold back because of me,” I say.
“Hmm?”
“Mr. Good Looking. Go for him.”
Vera flicks her hand in the air aimlessly, looks down at her beer.
“C’mon. That I’m heartbroken doesn’t mean you should be, too. You haven’t been with someone since Nashville.”
“So?” Her eyes are still looking down. She extracts her gaze from the beer, looks up at me with such a sad face I think I might melt.
I understand. No need to mention it. Jake. It’s only then that I remember I texted him, and that I realize he didn’t text me back. Best not to tell her. “What are you gonna do?”
She shrugs weakly.
“You gonna call him?”
“Nah,” she clucks, waving her hand again.
“You think he doesn’t love you.”
She looks down at the half-empty beer glass. (Yes, half-empty.) “It’s not that,” she says.
“But?”
She sighs, reluctant to speak.
“Vera, talk to me.”
She looks up at me with her brilliant green eyes.
“I—”
But she doesn’t have time to finish. Mr. Good Looking from earlier appears out of nowhere next to her, a dashing smile on his face, super confident. “Ladies?” he says, expecting us to melt and drop our panties right here for him. On another night, he’d have a chance. Nothing outwardly bad about this guy. Professional, tall, slightly tanned skin.
“I hope you enjoyed your drinks.”
Neither of us answers.
“Have I misread things? Etiquette states that if you accept the drink you should accept the ensuing conversation as well.” Vera’s lip twitches up slightly.
The fire returns quickly to her eyes.
There’s a long moment before I see the decision appear on her face.
She scoots over. “C’mon, cowboy,” she says, making space for him. “Momma needs some company.”
Wall Street Man sits next to her and I can see Vera starting to smile wistfully.
“Where you ladies from?” he asks.
Ahhh, the good, safe question before we get down to business.
Vera answers him, and then answers on my behalf. It’s not long before his expression tells me that Vera’s hand is at least on his leg under the table, at least.
I smile at my best friend. “Meet you at the motel?” I say to her. Wall Street Man seems to get excited about my statement, maybe hoping he’ll get a threesome.
Vera grins at me. “Don’t wait up.”
I step out into the suburban street and wonder if the quietness I feel is because no one’s here, or if it’s my soul that’s quiet.
Logan has been on my mind the entire day, all week. Gut feel, or irrational fear from the past?
Matt and I never came to this particular bar, but we hit a few others in Suffolk. Matt liked the city, and often we’d drive out to Manhattan and he’d take me to something stylish like I was some princess. He knew all the moves. He was the guy I was Supposed To Be With and I can’t even remember if there had ever been any spark there between us. He was from a wealthy background, I was from a wealthy background. He was popular. We hooked up.
My feelings for him snuck up on me, but I see now that they were only there because he was the first one to take me to bed. Sex complicates things, especially when it’s your first time.
I pull out my phone, look at the messages again. Nothing.
Logan told me that if I never messaged him and told him it was over, he’d still have hope.
Maybe the woman he was with was just a friend. “Damn it,” I say aloud. I need to stop thinking of him, and I need to stop rationalizing what I know I saw. It was obvious, and she was dressed to get laid. I’m not going to make a bigger fool of myself by chasing him.
I jump into my car and head back to the motel, realizing it’s ridiculous that I don’t even feel comfortable sleeping in the house I grew up in only a few miles away, and that I’m not surprised my dad didn’t ask me to stay there even though I’m in town.
It’s just the way it’s always been.
This time the text I send is not a drunken one. I send the text because I’m desperate, because I’m alone in this motel and Vera’s out having a good time and I have nothing but the thoughts of me and Logan in a dark room, our bodies hot, and my emotions at a soar.
I feel like an idiot for doing it. I promised myself after Matt that I’d never let a guy hurt me again. But even the fact that I’m remembering these promises to myself must be progress, right?
I had buried that pain. And, before that, buried the pain of whatever happened to my mother.
Besides, I fucking miss him, damn it. I miss Logan. And I could sit here and be the jilted lover like I was with Matt, or I could at least give him a piece of my mind.
No, the text is not drunken. It’s lucid. And I’m pissed when I send it: You promised. I saw you with her in Denver. I think a long time before writing the final part, but I do. It’s over.
There, now it’s official.
I wait in vain for a response. But there’s nothing. And two hours later, still nothing. My eyes are locked on the phone’s screen until the early hours of the morning. Every now and then my eyes close, but not for long.
I plug the phone in to charge.
Still no message. Why would there be?
Vera walks in at about seven. I’m half-asleep, half-awake. She has a bright grin on her face. The I Got Laid Last Night by a God look. “Good night?” I say.
She falls back against the door and sighs. “Oh. My. God.” And then she inhales deeply. “I think I’m in love.”