Hooked (27 page)

Daniel cast his wide-set, hazel eyes on the woven leather bag that I’d filched from Mom a while ago.

“Tell me, sweet Thea,” he said, flicking his hair. “Why do American girls carry such big bags? Where I’m from, girls don’t try to carry the world around with them like you do. What do you have in there?”

My phone rang before I could answer him. It was Mrs. Weston.

She’d called the house and gotten my number from Monica.

“I hope I’m not bothering you.” Her voice sounded higher-pitched and more whispery than I’d remembered.

“You’re not at all,” I said. “How are you?”

“I’m well, thanks,” she said, sounding nervous. “I’m having some trouble with my mom, but aside from that.”

“Oh no,” I said.

“She’s just had a hard time, you know, losing my brother. She’s not herself. She’s suddenly afraid to go outdoors, afraid her freckles will burn, she’s sort of spiraling.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Yes, well, she’s in Calabasas, in California, so hard to manage from afar.” She cleared her throat. “Thea, I don’t want to keep you. I’m sorry this is so hard for Will. I’m sorry that you probably feel let down.”

“Yeah, well.” I could barely get the words out.

“Well, I’m glad you’re moving forward. You’ve found a job, that’s wonderful.”

“Yeah,” I said, “Dad’s idea.”

“In any event, Thea, we still want to help you in any way we can with Ian. That still holds true, needless to say.”

“Thanks,” I said, wondering what Will had told them. Had he just said we’d broken up? Had he told them he wanted to give Ian up? “Would you like to spend some time with him? He’s with the nanny while I’m here, at work. You can see him anytime you like.”

“I’d like that. I have her number now. I’ll call her to set up some dates, if that’s all right with you.”

“That would be great,” I said, hoping that spending time with Ian would effectively wipe out any talk of adoption.

“Is he eating solid food yet?”

“He is,” I said authoritatively. “He loves to eat.”

“I want to bake him something yummy,” she said. “Something with mushy apples.”

“I’m sure he’d love whatever you make,” I said.

There was an awkward pause as I couldn’t think of anything else to say, but then Mrs. Weston responded, her voice somber and serious. “You’re going to make this work for you, Thea,” she said. “I can tell you are already. You’re a strong person. I admire you.”

“Thank you,” I mumbled, not sure what to make of her attempt at a pep talk, another version of her famous “Be positive,” wondering why she had ever scared and intimidated me so much. Was it just because I was so desperately in love with her son? Did he have that much power over me that he could transfer it to other people? The idea that I could have forged some kind of relationship with her if Will hadn’t busted everything up hurled me into a black hole.

I hung up. Daniel was zoning into his computer screen. I was enjoying a harmless flirty thing with him to pass the time
and didn’t want him to hear. There was an empty, closet-sized room down the hall with a phone in it that no one ever used. I went to the room and dialed Will’s cell phone. He’d see the number and not know it was me and pick up. It was three o’clock on a Thursday and his last class ended at one-forty. It had been over a month since we’d spoken.

“I haven’t heard from you,” I said when I heard his voice.

“I know,” he said. He sounded totally caught off guard. “How’s Ian?”

“Ian’s fine,” I said. “But why do you even get to know that?”

Silence.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” I was scared of what he was going to say.

“Just sorry.”

I held my breath. “You know I’m not giving him up, right? I’m never giving him up.”

“I know.” He sighed.

I ran my fingers over the back of the linty-wool chair, relief washing over me in the dark room. Outside the glass door, a man with red hair deposited a large plate of black-and-white cookies on top of a file cabinet. He glanced at me disapprovingly and turned back down the hallway.

“So you’re going to leave it alone, the adoption thing,” I said.

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” There was resentment bordering on nastiness coming out of him. I wanted to take those cookies, break each of them at the exact mark where black met white, hurl them at the ceiling and shatter all of the hot
dog–shaped fluorescent lights onto everyone. I was working so hard and I was doing a good job.

“You know what, Will? I’m a good mother,” I said. “The fact that I even have to say it, to justify myself to you, it makes me sick. You make me sick, Will. You make me sick.”

My throat felt jammed. I slammed the phone down and banged the desk like a two-year-old, stinging my hand. After I got it together, I went out and made my twelfth green tea of the day and brought one to Daniel.

“I’m so bored,” he said, leaning so far back in his chair he was almost lying down.

“It’s boring here,” I said, my voice hollow. “You’ll get no argument from me.”

“Good, because I couldn’t bear to have you cross with me.” He slumped and wriggled, one pod of a headset in his ear, the other traversing his flat, almost concave, chest. “You look blue. Come to the supply closet and I’ll cheer you up.” He looked up at me and winked. “It locks.”

“I thought you were gay,” I said.

“Now, that’s a cheap shot, Thea.” He blew into his tea. “Surely you can do better than that.”

I glanced at the door and looked at my watch. 4:20. I’m going to do something stupid, I told myself. I’m going to do something stupid. “You’re sure?” I asked as I followed him, feeling achy and already full of unruly remorse.

He turned a metal lock near the floor. “Alone at last,” he said as he backed me into a corner shelf, kissing me so hard I could feel his teeth behind his lips.

“You kiss like a dog,” I said.

“I do?” he asked. “Well, you have a lovely mouth. Your lips are so smooth and thin and pained. Such a slant to those
pained lips.” We crammed ourselves down onto the minuscule floor space, and I thought about something Will said once, how I always kept my eyes open.

“Do you have …” I asked, half hoping he didn’t.

“As luck would have it.” He smiled, reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a condom.

A poster of a smiling Asian girl with doughnuts flying around her head stared back at me from the wall. I was imagining how great it would be if Will could just be brave, like me, and throw doubt to the wind in the name of love, as Daniel tore the edge of the condom wrapper with his teeth. The closet was black with my disappointment. Daniel moved around on top of me, his black hair hanging down, kissing my cheeks and forehead.

“Forget it,” I said, wrestling out from under him and standing up. “I can’t do this, sorry.”

“You’re joking,” he said, still on the floor.

“I’m not,” I said. “Sorry.” I opened the door. It felt like we’d been in there forever, but when I got to the table stacked with marketing packets, the clock said 4:35. Daniel appeared and immediately got on the phone, ignoring me, and when it was time to go, I grabbed my bag and my coat and left without looking at him.

Someone shoved the revolving door downstairs, speeding it up and ejecting me onto the granite-flecked sidewalk. I turned the corner and passed a hot dog vendor, who smiled at me from under his baseball cap. I looked down at the black garbage bag hanging off his cart. I hadn’t done it. That was good. But I wondered if it was possible to feel any emptier.

When I got home, Monica walked toward me holding Ian in front of her. He was facing me, flailing his arms.

“Someone’s happy to see you,” she said.

“Hi, boo,” I said, kissing him under his chin. I took him and he looked at me and smiled, quickly squirming around, wanting to get down. Monica left for school, and Ian and I headed into our room so I could lie down and figure out our next move. Ian didn’t want to go, but I put him down on the rug next to my bed anyway. I stared up at the ceiling and saw the mean queen take shape within the shadows and light from outside. As Ian groped my sheet, I looked down at him and noticed a triangle-shaped bruise on the lower part of his cheek. It hadn’t been there when I’d left that morning. I reached into my bag and texted Monica:
Did I. have a spill?

Something started brewing as I waited for her to respond, the same rage that had been percolating all day, but now more distilled, honed. Monica was not taking as good care of Ian as I could. Monica was probably texting some friend as Ian pulled himself up the coffee table and then fell back down, banging his cheek.

I don’t know how much time went by before I heard a key in the door. When I heard it, I had a split-second moment of thinking it was Ian’s mother, finally coming home; that she’d give me my money and send me on my way.

Dad was on the phone telling someone he’d “circle back” to them after “the due diligence.” I wondered how he could stand doing what he did all day. I got up slowly and brought Ian out to the living room, feeling voraciously hungry. Dad
was in the kitchen, rinsing a cucumber, a bag of spinach on the counter.

“I don’t want spinach salad,” I said, getting a glass out of the cabinet and letting it slam shut.

“I wouldn’t dream of making you spinach salad,” he said offhandedly. “I was going to sauté it in some garlic.”

“What’s that?” I pointed to a cucumber on the cutting board.

“I believe it’s a cucumber,” he said, holding it up and turning it around, examining. “I was just going to slice it up to dip in some hummus. That all right?”

“I’m starving,” I said. I filled the glass with water, letting it fill up too quickly to overflowing. My lonely life settled onto me like soot.

“Ian has a giant bruise on his face,” I said, ripping off a paper towel. “I texted Monica because I want to know what the hell happened, but she hasn’t responded.”

He put the knife he’d been cutting the cucumber with down and went out to the living room to look at Ian’s face.

“I don’t see it,” he said.

I stormed out of the kitchen. “Right there,” I said, pointing. “How can you not see that? It’s getting darker by the minute.”

“Oh, that,” he said, straightening up. “It doesn’t look too bad. Just a little nick.”

“No, well, I’ve got news for you,” I said, my brain starting to tighten. “He’s not safe! He’s not safe, Dad, and you don’t give a shit!” As I said it, I wondered what I was actually screaming about. I didn’t want to watch Ian all day. I liked being away from home, escaping, even if it had to be at Pullman. I picked up a square plastic block Ian had chucked under
the couch, understanding deep down that my emotional turmoil was much vaster and murkier than I realized, and that only pissed me off more.

Dad held his hands up and went back to the kitchen. “You’re blowing this way out of proportion. Whatever happened, it’s a small bruise. Given what happened with his leg, you must realize that accidents happen. To everyone. Including you.” He pointed his finger at me.

“Now
you’re
going to start with the irresponsible Thea bullshit?” I said.

“I didn’t mean it as an attack,” he answered, his voice growing tighter and more monotonous as he went back toward the kitchen. “Just be careful.”

“I am careful!” I screamed, making him fumble and almost drop the cucumber. “I’m nothing but careful. Why is nothing I do ever good enough for you?”

He started to say something, then turned stonily back to the cutting board. Then he looked up again, gritting his teeth.

“C’mon, Dad, out with it!” I yelled, shaking. “What else? Anything else? Let’s hear it. You think I’m a complete screw-up. Trust me, you don’t have to say it.”

“Thea, I suggest you collect yourself,” he said, pointing the knife at me. “I certainly didn’t come home early to hear this.”

“Who asked you to come home early? You think I want to spend every freaking night with you? Please, go find a client who wants to have dinner, for once. Please!”

He looked at me, his mouth tightening into a little ball, which only spurred me on.

“I wish I could be anywhere
but
here, believe me.”

“Great.” He thrust his arm out at the door. “Then go.”

I shoved past him and grabbed Ian off the living room
floor. He was wearing a onesie with blue stars on it. I’d have to get Ian dressed. We both looked at Ian. My whole life with Dad rose in my throat, our awkward, silent dinners, all the empty time I spent alone at his apartment when I was younger and he was at work, flipping through the pages of his photography books while I waited for him to get home, just so that I could say goodnight and finally go to bed—how I always, always waited up to say goodnight just to make it feel like there was a purpose to me sleeping over.

Dad stood frozen in the kitchen, the knife at his hip.

“Mom was right,” I said. “What the hell was I thinking?”

I had the key but I rang, which felt weird. Mom opened the door in her black silk bathrobe. She leaned forward, gripping the half-open door, and kissed me, smelling like sugary grapes.

“Sorry I didn’t call,” I said, hoisting Ian higher on my hip. “Dad and I had a fight.”

“You did?” she whispered. “Alex is here.”

“The married guy?” I asked, disgusted. She nodded. There were mascara smudges under her eyes, but the smudges somehow accentuated them. She looked pretty.

“I won’t keep you.” I threw our bag onto a dining room chair. “We just need to crash here.” There were stacks of glossy real estate brochures held together in thick strips of white paper covering the table.

“What happened?” she asked, tying her bathrobe tighter.

“I don’t even know. It was stupid.” Ian wriggled to get down. Part of me expected her to pull up a chair and devour any gory details.

“You’ll work it out,” she said quickly. She glanced down the hall at her door, then turned and headed to the kitchen.

“He doesn’t want to come out and say hi?” I asked, following her with Ian. “Meet your grandson?”

“Now’s probably not the time for that,” she said, looking skittishly at Ian. “Where’s he going to sleep?”