Page 25 of I Love My Mistake

Chapter Fifteen

Twenty-Eight Minutes After I Left Michael

Idial Amber’s number. As soon as she says hello, I blurt out, my teeth chattering, “Amber. I need help. Can I come over? Is Josh there?”

“What’s wrong? He’s here, but I’ll send him away. Josh! It’s Nico on the phone. She doesn’t sound good. Can we move this to another night?”

She doesn’t know it, but I’m right outside her apartment building holding my jacket around me, standing in these damn heels and this stupid black dress, shivering partly from the cold, partly from overwhelming sorrow. “Thank you,” I whisper as she listens to him get his things together.

“Of course! He’s leaving now. Please come over. I’m so glad you called.” That’s why I came here. Amber has your back in a storm. She’s such a rock that sometimes it’s annoying how solid and pitbull-headed she can be, but those are the exact qualities that beckon you, when you can’t stand on your own.

Josh is going to see me out here when he comes out. Can I hide? I don’t see anywhere I could. So, I confess, “I’m downstairs, Amb,” covering my face against the wind with my hand.

“You’re what??! Get up here! It’s freezing out there! I’ll buzz you in. Why didn’t she tell me…” That last part was mumbled as she hung up the phone. When the security door buzzes loudly, I jump at the noise. I reach out and grab the door before it locks again and hurry in, rubbing my arms and stamping my feet to warm up. Josh runs down the stairs, pulling on his jacket as he approaches.

“Hey!” He looks concerned. I nod to him. I don’t even try to pull up the corners of my mouth.

I look at the ground as I push the elevator button a couple times. “Hey.”

It’s clear he understands I don’t want to talk. “She’s upstairs. Hope you’re okay.”

I watch him retreating as I walk into the elevator. He’s acting like a good guy, respectfully turning away and leaving, but right now I don’t believe in good guys. When I get to Amber’s floor, I walk off the elevator to find her waiting for me in front of her door. She looks worried. I shake my head. She nods like she knows.

I hug her as she asks, quietly, “Hi. You want tea, or something stronger?”

“What do you think?” I answer, bending for the hug, nuzzled in friendship and support. I’m a giant to her in these heels, but she still feels bigger than me.

“You got it.” We pull apart and she walks in, with me following after I shut and lock the door. “Have a seat on the couch. There’s a blanket on it to cover your legs with.”

“Thank you, Amber.” I expected her to scold me for wearing next to nothing, on a night like this.

I slide onto the couch, wiggle out of my shoes and tuck my chilled feet underneath me for warmth. Pulling the squishy-soft blanket over me feels like I’m at Mema’s; like she’s alive and making hot chocolate in the kitchen, and we’re going to watch The Sound of Music for the millionth time. I can see Amber in the kitchen through the window that separates both rooms. She’s deep in concentration and working fast to return to me. The sight makes me feel not so cold anymore.

She walks in and says, “Here. It’s Jameson Irish Whiskey. Josh drinks it. This’ll warm you up. Did you know people used to give whiskey to their children for colds? Or for teething?”

“Or to shut them up.” I sniff the thick aroma. “Woo! That’s something else right there.”

She grimaces, watching me, sitting on the couch, too, and facing me with her back against the arm. “Yeah. I can’t drink it. You want something else?”

I’m not joking as I say, “I’m something else tonight, too, so it’s perfect.” She pulls up her knees to her chest, her teacup held in both her delicate hands as she patiently waits for me to talk. The warm zing makes it hard to drink and surprises my throat on the first sip. I may have just found my new drink. I’m staring at the coffee table, my attention held by a fairy figurine. She’s dressed in purple, her face wistful and sweet. It’s as though she’s looking at me… like she gets it.

“I’m in love.”

Amber stops breathing. Then she exhales and says slowly, “I thought that’s what it had to be.”

I look to her. “It’s Michael. The painter who lets me use his studio.”

“You pay for it, though.”

“Oh I pay for it, alright.”

She says softly, “I meant the studio, Nico.”

My voice wavers and I shake my head. “I pay a fraction of the price he pays for it, only because I needed to pay him… something. He wanted to let me use it for free, but my pride wouldn’t have that. But Amber, how am I going to get my own space? I could never pay half of what he pays. Not monthly! It adds up, you know. What am I going to do?”

“Okay. Well, let’s not talk about the studio. What about him? Does he know how you feel? And…” She stops herself, takes a sip of tea to slow down.

“I can take it, Amber…hearing your questions. You don’t have to tiptoe. Frankly, they’re helping me pull out the pieces, see them one at a time.” I sip the whiskey again and this time it’s not as strong. Funny how we get used to hard things.

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