“Ha! Sure. Well, if you work like you eat,” he says, nodding at the taco I’ve been holding in my hand for a full fifteen minutes, “I’m surprised they even pay you.”
I try to laugh, and immediately realize how difficult it is. I suddenly have a whole new appreciation for people who fake emotions.
“Hey, I gotta tell you about this British chick I met. Jesus H. Christ!”
I raise an eyebrow and pretend to carry on chewing so I don’t have to answer.
“She was working in the hotel I was staying at. They made them wear these dorky uniforms, but even in those clothes this girl was enough to make your eyes water. I’m talking grade-A ass, dude. I seriously didn’t think the Brits made them like that. Anyway, so I call for room service one day, right? And…”
Kyle draws out the story and I make as if listening, familiar enough with his tone that I can nod and smile at all the right parts, but inside I’m tightening up like somebody’s got me in a chokehold. I look down at my half-eaten plate and suddenly feel disgusted, the noise of cars and people talking around us suddenly filtered through a fog. I put my taco down and wipe my fingers, concentrating on it so that Kyle doesn’t notice how seasick I’m feeling. I push every bit of strength in my body to the surface, bracing myself, tightening my focus to the job at hand. It only works when I think about why I’m doing this.
Jessie.
Her face. Her voice. Just thinking of them makes me feel a burst of adrenaline, a surge of strength. I imagine her smile, and it’s like a tonic for all the queasy shakiness in my gut. I haven’t even told her what I’ve decided yet, but if I can get through to her brother, maybe he can help me win her back. Because I think I’m finally ready to step up. Am I one hundred percent sure? Truthfully, no. But I’m willing to try. That’s what you do when you care about someone as much as I care about Jessie. And as for the pregnancy – even if she hates me, I hope she’ll at least let me be there for her. Help out however I can. Support her and…it.
A fresh wave of nausea washes over me, and I take a long drink of my beer. It doesn’t help. Meanwhile Kyle’s still talking, oblivious to my inner turmoil.
“…I was hoping for a repeat on the last night, but she texts me that she had to swap a shift. Dude, I was so fucking gutted. I’ll tell you one thing, though, she’s almost better over text than in bed. Shit, I never liked that ‘sexting’ crap, but this girl can say things that’d make porn stars blush. Plus, it’s the only action I’m gonna get now that I’ll be stuck to my desk twenty-four seven again. You think I should ask her to fly to L.A. for a weekend?”
“You spoken to Jessie?” I interrupt, trying to sound casual instead of strangled. I fail.
Kyle’s enthusiastic demeanor drops the second I mention her name, the thrill in his eyes when talking about the ‘British chick’ suddenly replaced by the concerned frown he usually wears when talking about his little sister.
“I tried to,” he says, his voice now tinged with indignant exasperation, “she says she wants to talk to me, but…well, you know how it is. I work a lot, she works a lot.”
“Yeah.”
“I get the impression she’s avoiding me, though. I know you’ll say that’s bullshit, but I tell you, dude, something’s going on. You know anything about it?”
This is it. There won’t be a better opportunity than this. I look up at Kyle, who notices that I don’t respond quickly, that I’m not jumping in with my usual ‘I’m sure she’s fine’ or ‘let her live her own life.’ His glare turns from casual annoyance to severe worry, and I think of her face once again to draw strength.
“Actually, yeah. It’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
Kyle doesn’t say anything, just twists his lips as if preparing to get angry. I take a few deep breaths as I figure out where best to start.
“That day you came to her house, back early from your trip, and I told you I was there because Jessie had broken up with her ex. Do you remember?”
“Of course I remember, I spent the next three nights waiting for that asshole to come by again.”
“Right. Well, the truth is that I wasn’t there because of that. It wasn’t that she’d broken up with her ex.”
“What?” Kyle says, his frustration growing. “They didn’t break up? You mean she was still seeing him?”
“Not him. But…she was seeing someone.”
Kyle shakes his head as if it’ll remove his confusion.
“Who? Fucking hell, Nate. Just tell me who.”
Her face. Focus. Don’t back down.
“Me.”
Kyle’s face has never been the most expressive, but in the few seconds following my answer it goes through pretty much the entire range. Amusement, shock, intense rage, concentrated scrutiny, tortured uncertainty, and back to rage again.
“The fuck? Hold up…I don’t get it. What are you saying?”