Page 27 of I Need You to Read This
“How are you going to go to college?” he said, and the floor dropped out from below me.
“But I thought you said you’d help me?” My voice was shaking. I stood up. “You told me to quit my job.”
“I said quit your job, sure. But I never said anything about college,” he scoffed. “What are you going to put on the application? That you worked in a hardware store? That you graduated from high school three years ago?” He picked up the catalog and opened the lid of the garbage can, tossing it inside. I just stood there, totally numb. I felt like the world had stopped spinning. What was even happening? And then he just walked into the bathroom and shut the door.
I stood there frozen in place while he went and took a shower. As the water ran, I tiptoed into the kitchen and opened the trash can. I felt my heart beating inside my throat as I considered fishing it out. I listened for the water to stop. For the sound of the bathroom door. Instead, I very quietly closed the lid.
We didn’t talk much after that. He even started acting more normal, making dinner for us. I questioned whether it had happened at all. It’s hard to trust my memory now. I wish there was someone else in the room who could tell me I’m not going crazy, to put things in perspective. But there is no one to guide me, no one to tell me what is real. There is only Brian. Just us alone together in this apartment where I feel I can’t take a step without it possibly being in the wrong direction.
I wish you’d write back, Constance. I feel like something is very wrong, and I don’t know who to turn to. I think I’ve made a terrible mistake. I’m afraid this horrible feeling in my chest might open up and swallow me for good.
Please, read this. I need you.
Lost Girl
TWENTY-FIVE
The morning air is hot already in Alex’s apartment, a layer of humidity coating her skin, making her feel sticky and uncomfortable as her eyes flutter open. It feels at first like any other hot summer morning in New York. But then she remembers.
Today is the day that Alex becomes a published writer.
With a quiver of nervous energy, she tosses the sheet off her legs. The sun beats in around the edges of the privacy curtains. She pulls them up, letting the hot summer light spill onto her bare walls.
She rushes to the shower. “Morning, Mildred, Percy,” she says to her pigeons. They swivel and bob their heads at her from the bathroom window. The date still lingers with her, and as she steps into the shower, she swears she can smell Tom on her skin even though they haven’t so much as kissed. Not yet. When she thinks about him, she can still feel the electrical charge between them. After all this time it feels good to be near someone again. As much as she doesn’t want to let herself hope for anything more than that, not yet, Alex can’t help herself.
A car swerves around the corner, laying on the horn as Alex crosses the street to the Bluebird. She rolls her eyes at the sound of summer road rage. It happens this way every year as soon as the heat becomesa weighted blanket. Across Manhattan the changeover is happening from early summer to deep hot summer. Every rich person will have fled by now to their home in the Hamptons, their month in the Greek islands, their grandfather’s rustic cottage in Maine. It is only the people who are working hard, those who are struggling, and those who are new that are left wandering around the city dodging the tourists with aggravation in their bellies.
The air is humid and thick with cooking oil as Alex makes her way to the back corner of the Bluebird. Raymond is sitting in his usual spot, the crown of his head barely visible over the newspaper in his hands. As she gets closer, she sees that instead of his usual tabloid-sizedDailyhe is holding up a copy of theHerald. Her heart thuds. Her column must be in there. It’s hard for her to even believe.
“There she is,” Raymond says. “Our famous neighborhood advice columnist.” He swivels the paper to show her the column printed with a small illustration of her face next to it. Alex looks in wonder at the words,herwords printed on the page for the whole city, the whole country to see.
“He bought his own copy, that’s how excited he was,” Janice says.
“You did a great job, Alexis,” Raymond says. His wide hand pats her on the shoulder as she sits down next to him. “I don’t know how you did it. I could never have that kind of patience or insight. I would have just told them to stop whining and get over themselves.”
“It was beautiful,” Janice agrees. “He had tears in his eyes.”
“That was from the toast burning.” Raymond dismisses her with a wave. “Practically smoked us all out.”
“Well, that’s because someone likes it extra crispy.” Janice clears her throat, glancing at the black crumbs left on Raymond’s plate, then says to Alex, “Usual?”
Alex’s stomach rumbles. She can feel last night’s slight wine hangover behind her eyes. “Actually, I’ll have what he’s having,” she says, pointing at Raymond’s mushroom and cheese omelet. Janice’s tattooed eyebrows shoot up her forehead, but she writes it on a slip and passes it back through the window to the kitchen.
“What’s different about her?” Janice says, putting down a fresh mug of coffee in front of Alex. “Besides her adventurous order.”
Raymond also turns to stare. “You’re right, there is something. Maybe it’s just her sudden fame?”
“Is that it?” Janice asks. They both stare until Alex breaks.
“Fine, stop torturing me. I went on a date!” Alex admits, covering her face with her hands as soon as she says it.
“I knew it!” Raymond slaps the paper against the counter.
“No, you didn’t,” Janice says, grinning. “Iknew it. Didn’t I say?”
“I did, I did. I just couldn’t put my finger on it.”
“A date? Alex! How could you have kept this new development from us?” Janice asks. “Who is he?”
