Monsoon Season (4 page)

‘You’re so big!’ I cooed, as she hid her face in Laura’s chest.

‘You’re gonna play shy?’ Laura laughed, handing her a bottle of apple juice, which Isabel latched onto immediately. ‘She can be a little cranky when she wakes up. Sorta like you.’

When we’d lived together, Laura was always awake before me. She’d try to let me sleep in on Saturday mornings, but when she couldn’t take it any more, she’d jump on top of me. I’d wake up with her much too cheerful face in mine, her knee pressing into my bladder.

Before she could remember what we’d been talking about, I changed the subject. ‘So, how’s married life?’

She smiled like she had a secret. ‘It’s been great. Really. I mean, it’s nothing like I thought it would be. You know, my life.’ She kissed the top of Isabel’s head. ‘But I’ve never been so happy.’

‘And Kyle?’

‘He’s good. He works too much,’ she said. ‘I mean, it’s hard on him to be the only one working – well, you know, getting a paycheck.’

Isabel was starting to wake up. She had curly wisps of golden brown hair and big blue eyes. She looked up at Laura as she spoke, holding her bottle with plump hands that dimpled at the knuckles.

‘It’s hard for both of us,’ Laura continued. ‘It just really takes a lot. But it’s totally worth it.’

I nodded. ‘I can see that.’

Laura fanned her face with her hand. ‘Look at me, getting all misty.’

Isabel reached her arms toward me and her bottle fell to the floor.

‘Oh, no more shy girl?’ Laura asked. She passed Isabel to me and leaned over to pick up the bottle.

‘Hey there,’ I said. The baby wrapped her arms around my neck.

‘She likes you.’ Laura smiled as Isabel settled herself on my lap and reached for my earrings. ‘Careful. She pulls.’

I looked down at her little round face. ‘No, no, no,’ I whispered, carefully prying her fingers free of my hoops and shaking my head. She pouted. I was afraid she’d start to cry, but she moved on, prodding my nose and pulling on my lips. ‘Eye?’ she asked, extending a chubby finger and poking me in the eye.

I blinked and Laura laughed. ‘Yes, eye.’ We nodded in unison.

‘Let me know if you want me to take her back,’ Laura offered.

‘We’re fine,’ I said, blowing a raspberry and getting a lukewarm response.

‘It’s so good to have you home.’ Laura sighed.

It did feel good to be there with her. Even though so much had changed, I felt more myself sitting on that couch with Laura than I had in a long time. Suddenly I didn’t know why I had kept her in the dark about everything. I wanted to confess it all, to cry with her and have her tell me I’d be all right.

Isabel poked me in the stomach. ‘Baby,’ she said.

My face flushed.

‘Hey, kiddo, you spoiled my surprise,’ Laura said, mussing up Isabel’s hair and looking at me. The mist was back in her eyes.

It took me three days to get the balls to go to Donna’s place. I realized that the more time that passed, the more extraordinary my apology would have to be. I bought Riley tulips at the grocery store. Tulips are her favourite. Even though I was sure she’d still be mad, she couldn’t help being just a little impressed.

My footsteps seemed so loud against the pavement. I was wearing my dress shoes, cargo pants with a belt, and my shirt tucked in. It didn’t seem right to wear jeans and sneakers. I wanted her to know I was serious.

I knew that Riley had to be there. It was where she’d gone the last time she’d left. It was the only place she could be. No one answered when I knocked, but Donna’s car was in the parking lot so I knew she was home. I could be patient. I sat down on the front steps, thinking Riley might be trying to gather her thoughts. I mean, I’d had all morning to think about what I was going to say. I was prepared. Riley didn’t like to be caught off guard. She liked to know how everything was going to play out.

I’d been sitting there for about half an hour when the door opened. I jumped to my feet and took a few steps forward. Donna was standing in the doorway with her arms crossed. She had big tits and wasn’t ashamed of them, like some girls. She was wearing a turquoise tank top that showed off a nice bit of cleavage. Her dark red curls were pulled back in a ponytail and she was scowling.

‘She’s not here, Ben.’

‘Come on, Donna.’ I gave her a look to convey that I wasn’t buying her story. ‘Just let me in.’

‘No, Ben.’ I didn’t like the way she said my name. It was like she’d forgotten we were supposed to be friends.

‘This is between Riley and me,’ I told her. ‘I just need to talk to her for a minute.’

‘I’m telling you, she isn’t here.’ It was clear that she was sticking to her story. Donna and I glared at each other for a long moment. Then I put my hand on the door above her head and shoved it open.

Dave was sitting in the kitchen. I hadn’t expected that. He stood up when I came through the door.

‘Hey, man, what the hell do you think you’re doing?’

‘Stay out of this.’ I walked past him toward the back of the apartment. I was starting to panic. This wasn’t going the way I’d imagined. I was carrying the flowers upside-down and bits of baby’s breath scattered at my feet.

‘Riley!’ I threw open the door to the bedroom. The bed was unmade and there were clothes all over the floor, but no Riley. The apartment was pretty small. She wasn’t there. The realiza -tion made me catch my breath. My head was spinning.

‘I told you,’ Donna said, turning her back on me to get something out of a cabinet. She placed two lunch plates on the counter and reached into the bread bag. I couldn’t believe it. She was just making sandwiches as if I wasn’t even there, as if the conversation was over.

‘Where is she?’ My arms felt so heavy. It was hard to stand there with my head up.

She turned to me then and put her hands on her hips. ‘I’m not going to tell you that, Ben.’ She was looking me straight in the eye, enunciating each word like English wasn’t my first language.

‘Tell me where she is!’ I screamed, walking into the kitchen.

Dave stepped between us, putting his hand on my shoulder. ‘You need to leave now.’

‘Donna,’ I pleaded with her. I felt like I was about to start crying and it was pissing me off.

She turned back to the coffee. We were finished talking.

‘Dave, where is she?’ I shook his hand off my shoulder. ‘I just need to talk to her. Come on, man. You know how it is.’

‘No, Ben, actually I don’t.’ He ran his hand through his hair. His face was getting red. ‘You and I have nothing in common. I should kick your ass right now for implying that we do.’ He shifted his weight and seemed to think about what he had just said, as though he hadn’t known he wanted to kick my ass until he’d said it. Dave was a big guy, but I couldn’t really imagine him throwing a punch.

‘You want to kick my ass?’ I leaned toward him. We were already standing pretty close.

‘Dave,’ Donna said quietly, as if in warning.

‘Get out of here and don’t come back or I will kick your ass,’ Dave said, coming to a compromise that would work for everyone.

I threw the flowers onto the kitchen table and left.

I couldn’t imagine where else she would have gone. Besides Donna, I couldn’t think of a single other person Riley spent time with. It wasn’t like she was anti-social but she just didn’t make a lot of superficial connections with people. She didn’t hang out at the mall with her co-workers or anything like that. Riley and Donna were like two peas in a pod.

I was already feeling guilty for acting like such a prick in front of Donna and Dave. It wasn’t like they’d done anything to deserve my anger – they were just being good friends to Riley. They’d been looking at me as if I was some kind of maniac. Things would be tense for a while once we started hanging out all together again. That was for sure.

Riley hadn’t wanted to have sex right away. Neither of us was a virgin, but she had this theory about anticipation being a good thing.

We’d spend hours on my couch, making out. One benefit of having no money is that we had to stay in a lot. We kept up the pretence of renting movies for a while. I’ve seen just the first five minutes of about a dozen.

The night she first kissed me, we were on my couch until four in the morning. She had her head tucked under my chin and her hair smelt like vanilla. I thought I should have been uncomfortable, scrunched up and sharing a couch that wasn’t really big enough for one of us, but I wasn’t.

‘Do you want me to take you home?’ I asked her, knowing that pretty soon I’d be too tired to drive.

‘Do you want to take me home?’

I didn’t answer her. But neither of us moved.

The nights when Riley stayed over, I never got any sleep but I didn’t care. I liked having someone to brush my teeth with. I liked how she wore my T-shirts to sleep in. I liked finding her razor in my shower. When she was in my bed, I spent a lot of time watching her sleep, which was something I couldn’t remember ever doing with anyone else.

I hadn’t had a serious girlfriend since high school. Cindy Meyers. And we didn’t have many sleepovers. We’d had sex for the first time on prom night, like a cliché, and if I’d had trouble falling asleep then, it was from worry over my performance. Cindy snored lightly in the bed next to me as headlights from Interstate 10 streamed through the flimsy shades, bending across the walls and ceilings of our cheap motel room. Over that summer, we’d managed to find a few more moments to be alone. It always ended quickly, leaving me feeling spent and ashamed, in spite of her kind reassurances. She went to college in California, and when she left, I was heartbroken, but also relieved.

Since I’d lived on my own, I’d dated several women. A few weeks here, a few months there. Never a one-night stand. I wasn’t that kind of guy. I didn’t have the talent for chatting up a girl at a bar, didn’t understand how other guys did it. The subtext of the conversation – that all you wanted was sex, even if it was all
she
wanted – made me feel bad. Like a bad person.

One night when Riley and I were fooling around, she leaned into my ear and whispered, ‘I’m on the pill.’

It was the sexiest thing I had ever heard.

She offered a shy smile and her eyes flashed with mischief.

She kissed me slowly, straddling me with her hands on my chest for support. We looked right into each other’s eyes. I discovered a constellation of freckles scattered across her abdomen. My fingertips travelled across her nipples. She bit her bottom lip and moaned, softly at first, then louder. She rocked her hips back and forth as I moved inside her. The ceiling fan blew her long hair around her face, like ribbons on a kite.

Afterwards, she lay beside me, her bare breasts rising with each breath. She always slept flat on her back. Her face was tilted toward me. She had a chickenpox scar above her right eyebrow. It looked like it had been stamped there by the
o
key of an old-fashioned typewriter. Her left hand rested on her belly and her right arm crossed her chest, reaching for me. Her fingertips grazed my ribs. I could see her heart beating through her chest. Her hand grew heavier and her breathing became more even. I closed my eyes.

‘I love you,’ I whispered, and drifted to sleep myself.

The first time Ben told me he loved me, he’d thought I was asleep.

That night, we’d had dinner at a pizza place on Fourth Avenue. The summer evening was only gradually releasing its grip on the heat of the day. The air-conditioning in Ben’s car wasn’t working and as we drove back and forth, looking for a parking space, I was wishing I’d worn another shirt. My pale green button-up was a darker shade at the armpits.

Inside, the misery of the heat was quickly forgotten. We sat by the window and looked out on what could have been a pleasant evening. The waitress brought us menus and crayons. The tablecloth was a sheet of blank paper. The walls were covered with the drawings of past customers: portraits and comic heroes, vampires with bloody fangs and busty women in curve-hugging leather. It resembled a tattoo parlour.

We each ordered some water. I drew a line between us, dividing the drawing space.

‘What looks good?’ he asked, reading the menu.

‘Anything. I’m starving. You pick.’ I drew an orange circle in the top left corner.

‘My mom invited us for dinner on Sunday.’

‘Okay.’ I made red and yellow lines jutting out of the circle.

‘We don’t have to go.’

‘I like your mom.’

He reached for a green crayon. ‘What are your parents like?’

I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Like parents.’

‘Are you close?’

‘Yeah. I mean, sort of. My mom and I used to be really close. Too close.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t think she really wanted me to grow up.’

‘Were they strict?’

‘Oh, yeah. Typical Irish-Catholic stuff. Church on Sunday. Don’t talk back. Clean your plate. Home by ten.’

He smiled. ‘Did you ever break the rules? Sneak out?’

‘Nope.’ I drew a green stem with two leaves, reached for a pink crayon. ‘My mother used to say they ruled as a benign dictatorship. I think they ran things like Foucault’s Panopticon.’

Ben looked up from his crayons, scowling.

‘The Panopticon is a model for a jail where the prisoners don’t know when the guards are watching so they start policing themselves. It’s a metaphor for the way societies create well-behaved, self-disciplining citizens.’ I shrugged. ‘I could be a little stubborn, pout when I didn’t get my way. But, for the most part, I was neurotically well behaved.’

‘Did you go nuts when you went off to college?’

I bit my lip. ‘A little.’

He raised an eyebrow. The waitress came over and took our order.

‘What about you?’ I asked, when she had left. ‘Were you a good kid?’

‘Mostly. I sort of had to be. My mom had enough to worry about.’

‘You don’t really talk about your dad.’

‘Not much to say.’

I made the flower into a tulip.

He put down his crayon. ‘He was an alcoholic. He and my mom split up when I was really young. We don’t have a relationship.’

‘Do you wish you did?’