“I think that’s a good idea.” She kissed me on the cheek. “It was good to see you, Clay. Don’t be a stranger.”
I watched her drive away.
Tatiana moved aside to allow me access to the entrance.
“Amy seems lovely,” she said.
I ignored her and went inside.
Tatiana clomped after me, up the stairs. “She’s the right size, anyway.”
“Please go home,” I said, not looking back.
She kept on coming. We reached the third floor. I let myself into my apartment and she pitched forward to block the closing door.
I was too tired to argue. Maybe my lizard brain was still holding out hope that I’d get laid before night’s end. I don’t know.
I started toward the kitchen to put the leftovers in the fridge.
“Is that what I think it is?”
I paused and turned. Tatiana was pointing at the tumbler on the mantel — the first thing you saw, as soon as you walked into the apartment.
“That’s my father’s,” she said.
“It used to be,” I said. I hurried to grab hold of the tumbler before she hurled it out the window or did something equally melodramatic. “Then it was yours. Now it’s mine.”
I took it into the kitchen.
“Clay.”
I stashed the glass up on a high shelf.
“I’m talking to you,” she said.
I put the leftovers away, opened a carton of milk and sniffed.
“Can you look at me? Please?”
I put the milk back, poked around for another prop to demonstrate my indifference. Mine is a bachelor’s refrigerator, heavy on condiments. I pretended to examine pickles.
“Please listen to me,” she said softly.
I closed the fridge, faced her.
She was crying.
She said, “I’m sorry.”
“What for? Ruining my night? The part where you don’t answer me for a month?”
“I needed to work through some things,” she said.
“It didn’t occur to you that I might be worried about you?”
“I — no,” she said, blinking. “It didn’t.”
I threw up my hands.
“Thank you,” she said. “That means a lot.”
“Whatever,” I said. “We didn’t set any rules. You’re entitled to do what you want.”
“I’m sorry you had to find out the way you did.”
“Not sorry you did it, though.”
She sat down at the kitchen table, waited for me to join her.
I continued to stand.
“If it’s any consolation,” she said, “he kicked me out.”
“He” being Portland Guy. I pictured a stringy neck-bearded dude sporting a woolen beanie and toting an artisanal ax on his shoulder.
“I’m not interested,” I said. “And no, it’s no consolation.”
“He said he couldn’t let me stay because I’m not making good decisions at the moment and he didn’t feel right taking advantage of me.”
“Did you hear me?” I updated Mr. Sensitive’s image: subtract ax, add sweater vest and corncob pipe. His analysis, though — that I couldn’t argue with. She wasn’t making good decisions. “I don’t care.”
She looked stung. I hadn’t meant I didn’t care about her, just that I had no intention of validating her odyssey of self-discovery. Even so, I felt bad for her, almost against my will. Having to defend her behavior to Amy had shifted me into a sympathetic frame of mind.
I said, “Look, it happened. Okay? No hard feelings.”
“But time to move on,” she said, and she twirled a finger in the air, just as she had on a warmer night some months ago.
“Yes,” I said.
Silence.
She said, “Do you know why I went up to Tahoe?”
“To sell the house.”
“I could have done that from here,” she said. “I went to grieve,” she said. “I couldn’t while I was here. I tried. I couldn’t do it.”
“There isn’t a wrong way—”
She held up a hand. “Please? This is hard for me.”
My knee had begun to ache. Cursing myself, I pulled out a chair and sat opposite her.
She gave me a sad, grateful smile. “The estate, my mom, my brothers — it was just too much. I went thinking I’m going to get there, all of that is going to fall away, I’ll be able to focus and look reality in the face.” A bewildered laugh. “It worked. For about an hour, until I realized that the reality I’m facing is, actually, fucking horrendous. It’s my father. And he’s dead.”
She’d begun tugging at a piece of dry skin on her lip. She caught herself doing it and shoved her hands under her thighs. “Then I get back, and you’re telling me all these crazy things about him... I wasn’t ready.”
She looked at me. “I’m ready, now.”
“Are we talking about your father, or are we talking about us?”
“Either. Both.”
I rubbed my knee. “What did your mother tell you?”
“That you went to see her and asked about me.”
“I went to talk to her about your father and Julian Triplett,” I said. “That was the subject of conversation. The only subject of conversation.”
She looked down at her lap.
I said, “Still want to help?”
After a beat, she nodded.
“Fine,” I said. “I ask, you answer. That’s the deal.”
Silence.
“All right,” she said.
She sounded so meek that I started feeling bad for her all over again.
I squelched it.
“The locker where you put your father’s documents,” I said. “Where is it?”
“Eastshore Highway. The big place. I don’t remember the name.”
“Text me the address,” I said. “Meet me there tomorrow morning. Nine a.m.”
She nodded again. Then she said, “We could go together.”
She raised her face to me.
“Tomorrow,” she said. “We could go over there together.”
She meant: I could stay the night.
Lizard brain perked up.
I said, “I’ll meet you there at nine a.m.”
For a moment I thought she’d rescind the offer. But she conceded with a half smile.
“Nine a.m.,” she said.
I ordered her a car. She started to argue, but this time I wasn’t having it: I threatened to arrest her if she attempted to drive away. We sat in the kitchen, waiting in silence. Every second offered another tough choice for lizard brain. She was willing and present and no less attractive than she had been a month ago. Finally my phone chimed, saving me from myself.
At the door, she said, “I’m sorry I ruined your evening.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“I can call her and explain.”
“I’m going to veto that.”
“For the record, Amy really does seem nice.”
“She is. Although I’m not sure how you could tell. You met her for ten seconds.”
Tatiana said, “I’m a good judge of character.”
Like mother, like daughter.
I bid her good night and went to restore the tumbler to its place.
Chapter 36
En route to East Bay Premium Storage the next morning, I left Amy a voicemail, fumbling through an apology that ended with me saying, “Look, do-over? Please? Just, call me. Okay. Thanks. Bye. Call me.”
Smooth.
I arrived a few minutes early, waited in the parking lot till ten after.
I texted Tatiana.
I’m here where are you
Still no sign of her by nine twenty. I was on the verge of leaving when she replied.
Locker 216
Combo 4-54-17
Good luck
My first impulse was to get annoyed. But what was the point? I had what I needed.