Nadia has twelve boxes and seven of those are cardboard wardrobes that mostly contain all the clothes Jordan has bought her since they’ve been together. I know this because she made a point of telling me that. Stressed his name, in fact.
Jordan is not here. Asshole. Even though I had his keys delivered to him after I signed the papers today.
We’re in the house. The last of the furniture is being delivered. Anna was here all day hanging pictures and messing with window coverings. She’s got bedding for the bed and towels in the bathrooms. The kitchen is stocked with dishes and glassware. The dining table seats fourteen, for fuck’s sake. And It occurs to me that I have no idea what I was getting into when I bought this house just to make Nadia mad about not participating. Five million dollars cash. What the fuck was I thinking?
She’s in the master closet, presumably emptying out her cardboard wardrobes and thinking about Jordan—asshole—and how perfect he is.
I’m drinking a bottle of brandy in the office. I like the office because I can see almost the entire first floor from here. Specifically, the stairs. And I can hear everything too, like this place has perfect acoustics. Anna and Nadia are up there laughing. Men are walking down carrying folded cardboard, chatting and happy, discussing what they will do this weekend, eager to go home and forget about their week.
I’d like to forget about my week too. My middle brother, Gaius, called yesterday. And my oldest sister, Candace, called today.
I didn’t answer my phone either time, but Margaret made a point to leave me little sticky notes so I’d know they called the Club as well.
My brandy is good and I finish the drink and pour me another. Nope, I’m not getting sucked back into that drama. They can call all they want. I’m not gonna do it.
I didn’t bring anything over except clothes. So I guess Nadia and I aren’t that different. Jordan has brought nothing. Because he’s not here yet. Asshole.
Nadia and Anna descend the stairs. They know I’m in here. Have been in here since I brought Nadia over a few hours ago. But they don’t even look my way as they pass the open door. Just stop in the foyer and do stupid cheek kisses as they say goodbye.
I guess Nadia has made a friend.
Lovely. I’m happy she’s settling into her new life.
They walk out of my view and say goodbye again. The door closes with a click. Nadia sighs, like she’s exhausted. And then she appears as a silhouette in my office door, backlit by the foyer chandelier and sparkling from the light reflecting off the crystals.
“Well,” she says.
“Have a good time moving?” I ask. “Come in here and have a drink with me.”
She hesitates, but then decides it’s not worth a fight, and obeys. She sinks into one of two leather chairs positioned in front of my desk and takes the glass of brandy I just poured her. Sips it. Scowls. Puts it down. Smiles. “I think it went better than I expected.”
“No Jordan, though, huh?”
“He’ll be here,” she says. “He texted me this morning and said dinner time.” She glances at the clock. It says six twenty-five. “So soon, I guess.”
“Are you in love with him?” I ask.
“What?” She laughs out her answer. “No.”
“Then why are you so nice to him?” It bugs me. “He’s not as attentive as I am.”
“And he didn’t buy me a five-million-dollar house.”
I shrug. “It’s in my name.”
She shrugs back. “Jordan is…”
“Is what?” I ask, when she doesn’t continue.
“He gets me, ya know?”
“And I don’t?”
“Not even a little bit, Elias.”
At least she calls me Elias. “So what am I missing?”
“Everything.” She sighs, leaning back in her chair and setting the arches of her feet up against my desk. She’s got socks on. And she’s wearing her dance clothes still. Ripped leggings with holes in the knees. The leggings cover her toes, but those have holes in them too. Her pinky toe is looking at me right now. She’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt that hangs over one shoulder to reveal the tank top she has on underneath. Her hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail.
She looks every bit a dancer right now. The down-and-out type. The I-take-my-art-seriously type. The type I like.
“Specifically?” I ask, wanting more from her.
“Specifically… I don’t know.”
“You know,” I say. “So tell me. I did just buy you a five-million-dollar house. I think I earned a little insight.”
“Well, I didn’t need—or want—a five-million-dollar house.”
“So what do you need?” I ask, sipping on my brandy.
“Just a game, Elias. Just a normal game.”
“I’m playing wrong?” I ask.
She nods. “You want to buy reactions. Jordan is just himself. I know who he is.”
“Who is he?” I ask this because I’m truly interested. I know him, better than her, that’s for sure. But I’m interested in her perception of him.
“He’s a player. He’s into the game, but only as something on the side.”
“And I’m…” I laugh. “Too involved? You want me to ignore you for days at a time? Keep you hanging? That’s funny since you were pissed off when I was twenty minutes late the other day.”
“Almost thirty. And Jordan would’ve called. Which is why I expect more of you.”
“Oh.” I shake my head in disbelief. “I’m not living up to Jordan’s standard of care?”
“Not even a little bit, Elias. I have no idea who you are or what you want. Jordan is just a guy who likes a lot of dirty sex and wants to play a game with me. You’re… you’re in this for something totally different.”
“What’s that?” I ask, but halfheartedly. I’m losing interest.
“You want to break people.”
“Do I?” I can’t stop the guffaw that bursts out.
“Yes,” she says, wiggling that pinky toe at me. “You want control to prove something. Jordan wants control so he can help me.”
I have no words for how ridiculous that is.
“Why can’t you just enjoy it?” she asks. “That’s the part I don’t get.”
“I enjoy myself plenty.”
“No,” Nadia says. “You don’t enjoy any of it. Maybe you did once. When you were playing with your other friends. The ones you used to love.”
“The ones I still love.” It comes out before I can think to stop it.
“Yup,” Nadia says, picking a piece of lint off her sweatshirt. “The ones you still love. You don’t love Jordan. I can see that now. He’s just a replacement. Like me. I think that’s the biggest difference between the two of you. He’s invested in me. You’re not. Not even a little bit. I know this because if you were, you wouldn’t want to break me. You’d want to help me.”
“Like Jordan does?” I ask, mocking her with my question.
“Like Jordan does.”
Just as that last word leaves her mouth, Jordan walks through the front door calling, “Honey, I’m home!”