Page 133 of The Moon Also Rises
“Fine, I’ll tell the truth and say after the last few years trying to get pregnant we’re actually rather shagged out and he’ll probably be grateful for a few days off from sex.”
“Also probably untrue, rather depressingly.”
“Jake, please. Will you let me do this for you? I want to come and look after you.”
Sensing my instinctive resistance to her offer, it’s almost like I feel the foundation of those walls being dug and I purposefully stop myself from digging deeper. Jenna’s right. I shouldn’t build up my defences again, and I should do the one thing that I wish Rami trusted me enough to do. I should accept Jenna’s love, and help.
“As long as you don’t mind, I’d love that, Jenna. Thank you.”
I feel noticeably better after hanging up, and it’s not just because I know I’ll see my sister in two days. It’s also because I see glimmers of the man I never thought I could be still shining through this hazy mess. I see how brave I was telling my sister all about my debt. I see how bravely I told her mine and Rami’s story. I see how brave I was in accepting her offer of help. I see my courage, and I feel it too.
Maybe that’s why I pick up the phone again, scroll until I find a number I have been thinking about dialling far too much recently and I press call.
As the ringing starts, I quickly glance at the clock. It’s nearly ten o’clock. Hopefully, that doesn’t mean it’s a bad time to call him.
“Hello?” His deep voice makes me feel far too many things, but I push on anyway.
“Dad, it’s Jake.”
“Jake.” A pause. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m sorry to call so late. But I wanted to ask you something.”
Another pause. “Okay.”
“What are you and Carol doing the first weekend of September? Because I’m having a party for my fortieth birthday, and I would really like you to be there.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Another Month Later
Rami
“Well, it wouldn’t be a comeback tour if you weren’t fresh out of rehab.” Carrie’s tone is as harsh as ever, but it doesn’t cut me like it used to. Who knows if that’s my age or the work I did in rehab, a huge chunk of which was focused on building resilience, but Cassie’s brusqueness doesn’t even phase me. I let it wash over me.
However, it would seem I need time for that to happen because when I don’t reply, she shifts in her seat and starts to look uncomfortable.
“Sorry, was that too soon?” she asks.
“I left over a week ago, so not really,” I say and bring my coffee cup to my lips. The sun is shining bright above us and while the LA heat is a balm, I can’t help but wonder what the weather’s like in London these days. Has the sun been shining on Jake? Has he enjoyed his summer? Has he thought about me at all?
As always, my thoughts end up back with him. Most of them start with him too.
“How was it?” Cassie asks and I am taken aback by the genuine concern that has softened her voice.
I think about my answer for a moment. It feels too extreme to say that it saved my life and it’s possibly inaccurate, but there is some truth in how essential it was, and how with hindsight, I can see how without it, I wouldn’t be where I am now, feeling what I feel. Because I feel proud. Proud of myself and proud of the decision I made to go to rehab, even though at times it felt impossible, like I was putting myself through hell with all the distance from Jake and the excavating of deep-rooted problems relating not only to my rise to fame and joining RemiX, but also my relationship with myself and my family. Turns out Jake isn’t the only one with so-called Daddy Issues. I swallow the small smile this thought prompts before I respond to Cassie.
“It was fine. Good, in fact. Did the full six weeks in the end. Should have done it two years ago,” I say and again my mind drifts to Jake. I can’t help but think how much upset I could have saved him, saved us both, had I just completed the therapy when I was supposed to.
“Yeah, but you had your reasons for not doing it back then. And to be honest, not everyone would do it at all.”
“Not everyone would follow their girlfriend and a middle-aged man who wears far too much linen into a cult either,” I say although my weak attempt at humour makes me cringe a little.
She waves her hand in the air in front of her. “Pah, RemiX isn’t even a real cult. Just sounds like a crappy techno dance event no act would ever want to headline. You said there were no orgies or body maiming so…”
I know she’s joking too but suddenly I don’t feel like laughing anymore.
I speak slowly and deliberately so she can hear every word, and so can I. “It was a cult, trust me.”
