I pull out my phone as I move toward the sound.
I tried Alexia earlier this morning, and I didn’t get her. Maybe now. Even drunk, I worry when it rings three times—but then she answers on the fourth.
“Brother!”
I’m so relieved I stop and lean against the brick wall of a restaurant.
I chuckle. “Lex. How ya doing?”
“Just fine, and yourself?”
“How was the shoot?” She had a photo shoot for a swimsuit designer in Puerto Rico this past weekend.
“Good. No one asked why I pushed it back last month, like what the family emergency was.”
“That’s good.” Alexia spent three weeks in rehab, her second time there since last October. The first time, she stayed all of November and December, telling her social media followers that she’d be taking a break while she visited family and spent time at an ashram. I did some globe-trotting, snapping landscape shots in Switzerland and India for her Instagram account. The clinic wanted her to stay more than eight weeks, but she didn’t feel like she could leave her work that long, so she left early. She had a relapse this spring. “So—you feeling okay?”
“I am, Captain Obvious. Keeping clean and healthy, thank you. Where are you? I think I hear some Nashville in the background.”
“Yep.”
“You there now for the summer?”
“Yep.”
“And? How’s it going? Do you like the writer intern?”
I clamp my teeth down on my cheek, then let my breath out. “The intern is Amelia. Frank,” I bite out.
“Welllllll…”
“Yeah.”
“Damn, that’s wild. So how’s it going?”
“How do you think?”
“Fucking weird?” she asks.
“Yeah. Fucking weird.” I rub my hand over my face.
She laughs. “Are you drunk?”
“Maybe.”
“Are you out somewhere? I hear a horn honking.”
“Was at a bar.”
“Goddamn, Dash.”
“You’re like a sailor, Lex.”
“I wish.”
I frown down at my shoes. “You wish you were a sailor?”
“Sure. It sounds like fun. Maybe I should call her up… Amelia. Tell her not to wreck my big brother.”
That earns her a snort. “No way. You should definitely not call Ammy.”
“Aw, that was her nickname, wasn’t it? Ammy or Dove. How cute.”
“Shut up, Lexie.”
“Are you going to keep working with her?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“You’re a glutton for punishment, Dashy.”
“You’re dramatic.”
Lexie sighs. “I know. You love me anyway.” I can almost see her making a face at me through the phone line. “Call me soon, okay? I want to hear more but I’m kind of busy right now.”
Before the line goes dead, I think I hear her sniff. I slip the phone into my pocket, tell myself it’s my imagination.
I have the impulse to call an Uber, and for that reason, I don’t allow myself. Why should things be easy for me?
I consider killing time until I’m good to drive, but I don’t feel like pool or trivia or partying. It takes me half an hour to walk to Birchwood Towers. I stall at the revolving doors, thinking she’s here somewhere—and it’s true; I know she is. Imagine puts up everybody here at Birchwood. Short-term workers get a smaller unit on the first eight floors, with a lot of the young, single perma-staffers on the upper four floors.
Amelia is living in my building.
I could probably find out where if I tried.
Fucking nuts.
Upstairs, I chug some water then throw some healthy shit into the blender, shutting my eyes as the thing scrapes and screeches. I take the drink out to the deck and stare down at the city. Still sunny. Benignly busy.
Back inside, I do six miles on the treadmill, relishing the headache I get afterward. I break a couple of plastic sparring boards, kick the bag, and lift as much as I can handle. Nothing satisfies me. Finally—my stroking hand and memories.
It’s wrong. I know that. I don’t fall asleep until the sun comes up.
Eight
Amelia
I arrive at work on Tuesday morning sleep-deprived, over-caffeinated, and irritable—and my morning takes a giant nose-dive the second I step into the gorgeous, circular lobby. Dash is waiting at the elevator bank.
I know it’s him not because I can see him clearly through the sunglasses still perched on my nose, but because my body does this little zingy thing that feels the way I imagine a seizure must.
Ugh.
I take my sweet time walking around the little indoor grove of maple trees, praying that he’ll go ahead and go, but no dice. By the time I make it to him, he’s already pushed the “up” button, so I see no reason to speak or give him more than a slight tightening of my lips when he turns my way.
My goal had previously been to behave neutrally, but since that doesn’t seem to be possible, I’ll settle for rude, same as him.
It will be good for me to be around Dash. This is what I told myself last night. My brain can’t help but think of him the way he used to be, because that’s all I’ve really known so far. The way he disappeared that day, the time I finally broke down and tracked down Lexie on a Friday night when she was snorting coke at some Atlanta club, only to have her tell me, “Just leave him alone,” as if she needed to protect him somehow… These things heightened his mystique and softened my stupid little lovesick heart, even when they should have done the opposite.
For years, I had this imaginary narrative running through my head in which he couldn’t help but skip town. Maybe the mafia was chasing him, or he had some kind of health crisis.
My friendship with Lexie all but dissolved during our senior year: she getting more into coke and pills, me clinging more tightly to my tamer friends: Lucy, Charley, Mags.
The elevator opens, and Dash steps in.
I wait a second before following. The small space feels too tight for both of us. His shoulders seem to fill most of the space. I settle in the back, right corner as he presses the key, hoping I look nonchalant in my black jumpsuit. It has a deep V-neck that’s lined with lace, and I know I look hot in it. I’m five-foot-five, and still as skinny as I was when I was a kid; for some reason, my body type is really suited to these jumpsuits. They’re kind of like pants suits, but weirder. More high fashion.
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and use the second that my hand’s in front of my face to get a peek at Dash. He’s wearing charcoal shorts and a light blue, stripey t-shirt, fitted, like the one he wore yesterday. Also, different sandals. These are brown, and even though the outfit shouldn’t work, it does. He looks casually sexy.