“Fine. How are things with Sylas?” He says Sylas’ name like it tastes bad in his mouth. I find it strange, because not that long ago, he was doing whatever he could to get Sylas to let him see Lizzy. Interesting how things can change when his daughter is involved.
“Things with Sylas are fine.” Not even close.
“I’m surprised he hasn’t saddled up and charged down to Texas. You know I’ve got people watching him.” The way he says it tells me that he already knows Sylas went.
“He came back. He didn’t do it, Dad.”
“I know. That’s why I’m going to.” I feel a headache coming on.
“Can’t you just have someone else take care of it?” I disguise my language without even thinking about it. No conversation is private in the information age. It is beyond easy to hack into a cell phone and pick up someone else’s conversation.
“No. I’m taking care of this mess. If I hadn’t been a coward so many years ago, it never would have happened.” He thinks he’s directly responsible for everything because he didn’t stay with Sylas and Lizzy’s mother, which is ridiculous. It’s crazy what we can feel guilt over.
“If I hadn’t intervened, it wouldn’t have happened.” I shake my head, but he can’t see me.
“Dad, it’s not that simple. I wish you wouldn’t do this. I don’t think it’s going to be as satisfying as you think it is.” I know it won’t, but that won’t stop him from doing it. I just hope he doesn’t regret having more blood on his hands.
“I’m not discussing this with you. I just wanted to let you know I’ll be out of town if you come by the house.” I’m sure he’s told my mother it’s a business trip of some sort. She won’t even notice he’s gone. She never does.
“Fine. But just think about what I said. I love you.”
“Love you, too.” I let out the world’s longest sigh and then my phone rings again, scaring the shit out of me.
It’s Lo. I know if I don’t answer, she’ll leave a long and rambling voicemail and I’d rather just figure out what she wants and get the conversation over with. I hate that she’s moved down my priority ladder. I told myself I wasn’t going to be one of those girls who ditches her friends for a man. This isn’t exactly like cancelling plans with her so I can go see my boyfriend’s new band play, but it’s still not good friend behavior.
“Hey, Lo. I can’t talk long,” I say right off the bat.
“Fine, fine. I just wanted to check in with you, seeing as how I haven’t heard from you in forever.” I did let her know Sylas and I are ah “back together.” She wasn’t too pleased and he’s not on her list of favorite people right now.
“I know, I’m sorry. It’s finals week and I’ve been doing nothing but studying.” And rescuing Sylas.
“Sure, sure. And I bet you’ve had some lovely breaks. Naked breaks.” If only.
“Lo,” I say in a warning voice.
“Fine, fine. I’ll get to the point. I knew you had finals coming up and I thought maybe you might want to take a break and have a drink with me. Away from your study partner.” I can’t say no to her without sounding like I’m blowing her off.
“I guess. When were you thinking?”
“Well, if it’s going to be a chore for you to hang out with your best friend, then never mind.” Why did I pick such a difficult woman to be my best friend? Why couldn’t I have befriended a shy girl who wouldn’t call me and demand I hang out with her when I’m in the middle of several crises?
“Lo, seriously. I’m exhausted and I still have to get through two more classes.” Including my drawing class, which is my least favorite. I still have to do my final project to get my portfolio ready. I’m not sure what I’m going to draw, but it’s supposed to be something I love, which is a rather broad category.
“Friday, five o’clock. That little hole-in-the wall that makes the good dirty martinis.” I agree I’ll be there and she lets me go.
I send Sylas a quick text asking how his day is and get a message back immediately.
I don’t know how to do nothing. It’s really hard.
It’s good to see him regaining his sense of humor. That’s something I love about him. He’s not the funniest guy at all times, but when he is, I can’t stop laughing. And when he’s dirty and funny… well. That hits me in all the right places.
I’m going to have to tell him Dad is going to Texas. I’m not sure how he’s going to take it, and there’s no way to drop that bomb gently. I ponder it as I get my fourth cup of coffee on the way to drawing.
My talents just don’t include drawing. No matter how many times I repeat the techniques I’m supposed to be using, my pictures never come out right. If I were better at the subject, then it might be a more relaxing class. I could lose myself in the process, the movement. But I can never get the drawing on the paper to match the drawing in my mind and it drives me crazy. I wouldn’t call myself a perfectionist by any stretch, but I do like things to be a certain way.
This day is no exception and I get so fed up I want to break my charcoal in half and throw it across the room. The vase we’ve been working on is uglier than sin and I wish someone would walk by and accidentally knock it off the stand in the middle of the room.
At last the professor tells us time is up and we all put our supplies away. As a result of who I am, I tend to keep to myself in classes. I don’t usually think about it, but as I pack up, I realize everyone is talking to someone else. There are small groups and pairs and trios all chatting about weekend plans and jobs and study sessions. I hurry out of the room and head to my next class.
It’s the same there. I sit alone and don’t talk to anyone. I’ve also cultivated an effective Resting Bitch Face that keeps a lot of people at bay. Even when someone talks to me, I make sure they never want to do it again.
I’ve been doing it so long, I stopped even thinking about why I do it.
As I leave another class where no one talks to me, I head to my car and briefly consider not going home. Or at least just… not going home right away. I drive around for a little while. I used to drive around all the time when I was younger. I got my license as soon as I could and of course Dad bought me a car. It was my refuge. My home away from home. Sometimes I’d even drive somewhere, park and sleep in the backseat. Mostly it was normal teenage rebellion, but it was also so I didn’t have to go home and listen to my mother pick apart every little flaw she perceived I had.
Feeling foolish for dredging up the past, I make the turn that will take me home. My Sylas is waiting.
He’s stretched out on the couch with Leo sleeping on his stomach when I walk through the door. The television is on some cooking show, the volume turned on low.
“Hey,” I say, and he looks up, a sleepy smile on his face. He’s wearing… sweats. Actual sweats. I didn’t even know he had them. The dark gray bottoms are baggy in places and tight in others and totally working for me.
“Hey, Redhead.”
I move his feet and sit down on the other end of the couch, replacing his feet in my lap.
“What did you do today?” I ask.
“This,” he says, gesturing to his current state. “I can’t remember the last time I did nothing. I didn’t even know I could do nothing without having my mind racing and plotting all the time.” I know how he feels. I have to force myself to slow down and smell the metaphorical roses. Both of us are high-strung individuals.
“Feel good?” I ask, starting to rub his feet.
“Oh, that definitely feels good,” he says, his eyes closing. “How was school?”
“Fine. Same old, same old. Lo called and she wants me to go out with her on Friday night for drinks. I couldn’t see a way out of it.” Even if I gave her an excuse, like I was sick or something, she’d just show up here and make me prove it.
“That’s fine. You deserve a break from everything.” So does he. Maybe the two of us could go away together after I’m done with finals. It would be complicated to plan, but we could make it work.