Psychic Junkie (20 page)

“Last Wednesday? Thursday? No, Wednesday.” As if realizing, for the first time, that this could get him in trouble, he quickly added, “I worked that evening, so it was a short visit. Very short.”

That was it. That was all I got out of him. As we ate our au gratin potatoes, I had to concentrate on chewing in order not to scream, “Why didn’t we all go on a double date? That’s what FRIENDS do! And why have you still not mentioned that she was one of the girls you kissed? That her name was NADJA? And why, oh, pray tell, did you not tell me?”

I made it my mission to hunt down every single e-mail that Nadja the Aryan Hussy and Wilhelm the Suspicious had ever shared. Right away I noticed he replied to only a fraction of the e-mails she sent him, a fact that left her extremely nonplussed but that lent me a lovely sense of superiority.
Ha!
I thought.
You’re in love with him, but he’s mine! MINE!
But then, a few e-mails later, any and all superiority I felt was replaced by seething anger: Along with complaining about his sporadic communication, Nadja the Vicious had become skilled at subtly weaving in bitchy comments about his “L.A. treasure.” Well, this L.A. treasure was not going to sit idly by and endure digs behind her back. No, this L.A. treasure was going to ask how her boyfriend felt about the whole situation, by calling Erlin!

“He doesn’t care about her. You need to believe me on this. She may be in love with him, but he’s in love with
you
.”

I smiled.
Take that, you Aryan spawn of Satan.

“To him,” Erlin continued, “she’s nothing more than a fly buzzing in the corner of his vision. It’s you whom he sees.”

A fly? A six-foot-tall blond, gorgeous
fly
? I think not. Nonetheless, I tried to embrace the sentiment by repeating in my mind
Nadja is a fly, Nadja is a fly
. The crucial thing to remember was that he didn’t care about her. Most likely, I figured, he had no idea how she felt about him. Okay, that last one was hard to sell, even to me. Though men are notoriously clueless about all things to do with women, Nadja was so glaringly obvious with her feelings and intentions that she might as well have been sending him e-mails with a subject line that read “Hi, Wilhelm! I love you and am trying to break up your relationship!”

But it was clear from his sporadic responses as well as from what Erlin had said that Wilhelm did not share Nadja’s amorous intentions. Ultimately, when I really thought about it, what had he done wrong? If anything he’d been trying to spare me needless worry. He couldn’t help it if she was in love with him. He had no control over her feelings. And honestly, I myself was still friends with guys I’d kissed. Was that a crime? No. Of course, I knew myself and knew I could be trusted around those guys, but then again, what evidence did I have that proved Wilhelm wasn’t trustworthy? All I had was proof that he barely kept up a friendship with a girl he’d once kissed, and to prevent any unnecessary worry, he’d omitted it. That was it. There was nothing to worry about.

Unfortunately, his behavior wasn’t helping me forget about the Aryan Fly. Perhaps sensing something was amiss, he became distant, his romantic talk of our future muffled once more into silence. What the hell? Only a month before, he’d been spouting plans for our life together, had taken me to Hawaii and babbled endlessly about how much I meant to him. Now it was as if I were simply a lump on the couch, a frilly annoyance that didn’t match his Lucite decor. Nadja. I knew it had to do with her. With renewed vigor I threw myself into monitoring his e-mails and prowling the depths of his apartment, determined to find any and all evidence of Nadja-tivity.

One morning, after he’d left for work, I logged on as usual to check his e-mails. There in the subject line was a confirmation from American Airlines. Hmmm. Are we taking a trip? Maybe the distance I’d sensed was in fact secret vacation planning? Sure, we’d just gotten back from vacation, but American Airlines is, well, an airline, so it’s usually safe to say plane tickets are involved.
Click.
There was his name, and the details for a flight to Frankfurt in just a couple of weeks.

Germany—to meet his parents! My heart began to pound. I scrolled down. And down. And down. Then I could scroll no more. That was it. My name was nowhere to be found. I went back to his in-box, searching for another, perhaps separate, confirmation, but the only other e-mail that day was one from Dustin.

I tried to breathe. What had happened to his promises that the next time he went home he’d take me? Didn’t he still want me to meet his parents? Was this…was this to visit
The Fly
?

Determined to learn more about this trip, I began reading other e-mails. All other e-mails. I got to the one from Dustin, which was, of course, in German, and was actually a reply to an earlier e-mail I’d somehow missed. Not a problem. By now I was well practiced in this little routine, so within seconds I had it translated and ready for perusal. I immediately scrolled to the bottom and began reading the original e-mail, from Wilhelm to Dustin. Okay. Blah blah blah, chitchat, yadda yadda, all normal guy stuff made slightly cryptic by what must have fallen through the gaps in the bridge from German to English…and then I saw my name. I skipped to that part. “You by now must be in knowledge of the reunification of Sarah and I. Weakness was my battle, and now we are together paired.” Weakness was my battle? Getting back together made him weak? I kept reading, and that’s when I saw, in torturously clear, concise English, the last line of his e-mail: “Did I make a mistake?”

Oh. My. God. Quickly I scrolled up and read Dustin’s response, some lame quip about how it was never a mistake to kiss Julia Roberts. That was it. Though I hate being compared to Julia Roberts, I must admit I said a silent blessing for Dustin’s existence, since I suppose he had indeed taken my…or Julia’s…side. Whatever.

It was undeniable. I was screwed. Why, why, why, why don’t I learn my lessons? After finding The Insect’s e-mails, I should’ve
known
that snooping was bad and could only lead to unanswerable questions. So there I was, yet again filled with questions I could never utter aloud but would instead be forced to drill into Wilhelm’s head with my deadly and penetrating stares. Never could I scream, “You begged me to take you back, so where the hell do you get off thinking it was a mistake only a month later? And why are you just now telling your friend we’re together? Were you ashamed? And why are you going to Germany? WHO IS IN GERMANY? And don’t say your parents!”

I had to address this. That night Wilhelm came over. It was late, he’d just gotten off work, and I could tell he was tired. He sat down to take off his shoes and I bided my time, waiting for the right moment, waiting, waiting, waiting…waiting till he got one shoe off.

“So. I guess your friend Dustin isn’t very good with the whole e-mail process.”

“What?”

“Dustin. E-mails. The two don’t go together. Why, you ask? I’ll tell you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. So he went to reply to an e-mail you sent him, but when he did he accidentally
sent it to everyone in his entire address book
.” I don’t know where I came up with that; it just hit me in the moment and flew out of my mouth.

“What?”

Stay strong. Strong and confident.
“Uh-
huh
. So Gina goes to check her e-mails and there’s one from Dustin, apparently intended for you. She saw my name, and not knowing what it was, forwarded it to me. So tell me, Wilhelm, did you decide whether or not it was a mistake to get back together with me? Or is kissing Julia Roberts a good enough reason?”

I must admit, I felt a touch bad. The poor boy was frozen with his hand on the heel of his shoe and his eyes filled with immobilizing bewilderment.
Do not feel bad.
I charged forth. “Well?”

A few things helped sell my grossly convoluted story. One, he was tired. Two, he was confused. Three, he was unsuspecting. Never would it have occurred to him that I was really as insane as I was. Though I gathered by what came next that he was beginning to skim the surface. “Wasn’t that e-mail,” he said, his voice deepening, “
in German
?”

I couldn’t go on the defensive. I had to continue, strong and on the attack. “It was about
me
, Wilhelm; I saw my name. I had every right to translate it.”

“I see. You
translated
it. And you didn’t find that to be an invasion of privacy?”

I must say, I didn’t care for his tone. “No. The e-mail was
sent
to me, and was
about
me. Don’t try to turn this around to mask what you did. The only subject we need to address is
what the hell you meant by questioning getting back together with me
. That really hurt me, you know.”

He shook his head. “I wasn’t serious. It’s how we talk. Look. The last time I was with Dustin, you and I were apart. The whole time I spent crying in my beer about
you
. So this, what you read, was just macho speak. It wasn’t serious.”

I stared him down. In support of his claim, I
had
seen him and Dustin interact, and in general it had involved German-accented impersonations of plastered frat boys who blabbed for hours about absolutely nothing of importance. It appeared to almost be a rule, a mandate of sorts, not to broach real subjects, to steer clear of anything of significance, and to display not one emotion other than drunken oblivious joviality. “So, you weren’t serious?”

He laughed. “No. I’m
happy
to be back with you. I’m not
questioning
. But,” he said as he started down the hall to my room, “there is one thing you won’t be happy about.”

I followed him, my nerves prickly with panic.

“I have to go back to Germany to renew my visa. I know I said I’d take you when I next went, but it’s not the right time. It’s in two weeks. I need to go alone now. It won’t be a long trip.”

I sat on the bed, heartsick. How could I argue? I wanted him to want to take me, and clearly he didn’t. Sure I could force my way on the plane, but I’ve never been fond of tagging along. I need to be the center of attention, not an afterthought bringing up the rear, not the unexpected guest who eats all the Brie and then turns a lovely dinner into a cramped, elbow-jabbing, knee-bumping culinary catastrophe. And besides, getting upset about
this
could incite him to revisit the story of the e-mail and its complicated path to my in-box. No, the best course of action right then was to do nothing.

“Well, if that’s how you feel, then I understand.”

Wilhelm’s eyes went wide. “Really? You’re okay with this?”

Oooh, too suspicious.
“Well, no, of course not. I’m actually really hurt because it was a promise. But if it’s not the right time, it’s not the right time. I can’t argue with that; I basically have no choice but to understand.” I smiled, and patted the bed. “But I bet there’s a way you can make it up to me.”

He nodded as he undid his belt buckle, his trousers barely skimming the floor before he scooped them up and hung them neatly on a hanger. “I already thought of that. You know those chocolates, the nougat ones you somehow found in my closet and ate all of?”

I smiled seductively. “Who could forget something so
orgasmic
?” And honestly, I hadn’t been able to forget those chocolates. For the past week I’d been dreaming of them, and just the other day I’d craved one (fine, one
box
) and as a last resort had ended up buying a Hershey’s bar and then verbally abusing it for not living up to its chocolate potential. It was disturbing. Those German chocolates he’d so cruelly—and futilely, might I add—hidden from me had ruined me for life.

He folded back the covers and slipped into bed. “I’ll bring some back for you. Maybe even a couple boxes.” He sank deep into the bed under the layers of blankets. “Mmmm. You got new fabric softener. This is heaven.”

From the corner of the bed I watched him. He closed his eyes, his smile lessening only slightly as he turned on his side and pulled the covers around his face. Then, just like that, he was asleep, drifting off into downy soft dreams of mountain springs. The bastard.

One thing you don’t do is send your boyfriend off to visit an Aryan whore with a bad taste for relationships in his mouth. Essentially, I realized, that was the situation I’d created. So before he left, I tried to be cool, sexy, fun, and undemanding. I figured while the sneaky wench was preparing an arsenal of evil comments about Wilhelm’s “L.A. treasure,” this L.A. treasure would engage in a preemptive strike by increasing her own worth. For everything she might say, I bestowed upon my dupe of a boyfriend an action that would help form my defense. “No,” I envisioned him countering, “she’s not a nag! Just last week I didn’t call for an entire day and she didn’t care! And she actually said she’d like to make enough money so she could support me and I wouldn’t have to work! She’s amazing!”

Though my newfound coolness seemed to have a positive effect on him, I still sensed distance. Now and then I’d catch him staring off at nothing, and in my mind it was an alternate life he was viewing, one without me and my neuroses.
But,
I’d remind myself,
I wouldn’t have these neuroses if he’d been honest about Nadja in the first place.
If he had told me about her, then when I’d found the first e-mail from her, it would’ve simply been evidence of her already spelled out existence. I would have told myself it was nothing I hadn’t already known, chided myself for being so ridiculous, and moved on.
He
was the one who’d created the situation with his secrecy;
he
was the one who’d given me reason to freak out.

And freak out was what I did. The second Wilhelm told me he was boarding the plane and had to shut off his cell phone, I called Erlin. The battle began.

“You don’t need to worry, Sarah. He’s faithful. He’ll spend time with her, but as a friend. Nothing more.”

This was what he’d been saying ever since I’d learned of the trip, but I needed daily reassurance that the future hadn’t changed. After three days with Wilhelm off in the land of temptation, I called in more troops. I figured if four more psychics concurred with Erlin, my trust would be fortified, and then, maybe, I could relax.