Ink & Interruptions

            Jenna was practically halfway through my bag of Doritos when I returned from my room. I’d found a pair of pajama shorts, mostly clean, bunched up near the foot of my bed, and, knowing Jenna, I opted for those instead of digging through my drawers for something a little cleaner.

            Now, I was standing in the large, framed opening that marked the transition from the dining area to the living area, staring. I’d opened my mouth a few times, but to say or do what I wasn’t sure, so after a few seconds of sucking down air like a fish tossed up on the shore, I’d slammed it shut again. I knew I should move, do something, but I just kept staring—my eyes incapable of sending enough images of Jenna on my couch to my brain for it to believe this was happening. Hadn’t lunch with Kyle and my mom been enough for today? His words were practically on repeat: “It’s always been you”—each one running laps around my mind, slamming into the foundation of my thoughts over and over again. And now, this. Playing host to a vampire wrapped in cashmere while simultaneously trying to process everything that happened earlier.

            “You’re really starting to creep me out.” Jenna’s voice was muffled as she worked her words out from around a mouthful of chips.

            “Oh, sorry.” I muttered, wanting to slap myself. Why am I apologizing to her? This was my house. If I wanted to hover in every doorway and be creepy, I could. Plus, I’m not the one that showed up uninvited to their co-worker’s house, so I think calling me creepy is a bit of a stretch. I let my mind spew venom as I made my way around the other side of the couch. Sandra was in the middle of what had to be one of the most awkward lap dances known to mankind. Well, at least I’m not there. I thought as a shiver ran down my spine, and my cheeks heated with sympathetic embarrassment.

            “Can you imagine?” Jenna asked, leaning over and returning the chips to the table. “I would’ve been on the next flight.” She forced a shudder to roll from her shoulders down to her feet as she squeezed her eyes shut.

            I stared at her. What am I supposed to do? Being nice will make it worse. “Yeah. It’s a crazy scene.” Being mean isn’t an option though. I took a deep breath and held it, letting my eyes flutter close. One. Two. Three. Four. I pushed the air back out for another four seconds. Minimal engagement. Aloof until she leaves. I nodded to myself before pushing my eyes back open and slipping further onto the couch. There were probably only forty minutes left in the movie. Forty minutes and then she would leave, and things could go back to normal. You’ve got this.

            “What do you think?” Jenna turned toward me, her eyes wide, amusement lighting the bright blue that surrounded her pupils.

            “I’m sorry.” I swallowed the lump that was lodged in my throat. “What?”

            “I said,” she turned back to face the TV. “Do you think they had to pay him extra for that scene?”

            “No?” I dragged the word out, my eyebrows pulling together. “Why would they?”

            “Because he’s being an actor and an exotic dancer at the same time.”

            “An exotic dancer?” The words spilled out of my mouth, dragging a laugh behind them.

            “Yes.” She said, her tone becoming firmer as she spun back towards me. “He’s exotic.”

            “In what world?” The laughter was starting to roll off my tongue.

            “Why are you laughing?” Her tone softened—the corners of her mouth ticking up at the edges. “He is.”

            “Is not. He was literally on The Office, you know, the American TV show.” I snorted. “Tell you what, I’ll drink that whole bottle of wine if you can tell me where he’s from right now.”

            Jenna’s mouth stretched so wide, my own hurt just watching. “Cuba.” There was no hesitation or pause, and I felt a pit in my stomach grow as I leaned toward the table for my phone.

            “You’re just guessing.”

            “Google it.” She laughed as she leaned in and snatched the package of Oreos from the table. “You’re about to get so drunk.”

            My fingers tapped against the screen, their movements blurring as I navigated from the lock screen to my browser. Five clicks later, and I struggled to swallow as my mouth went dry, and the words “Oscar Nuñez. Born: Colón, Cuba” stared up at me from the screen.

            “So, what does it say?”

            “Okay, I don’t feel like that was fair.” I dropped the phone onto my lap and looked up to find Jenna holding the wine bottle. “You clearly knew that beforehand.”

            “And?” She wiggled the bottle back and forth. “How does that have anything to do with your self-imposed bet?”

            “Well…I…” I looked from the bottle to her and back to the bottle again. “Jenna, I can’t. I just can’t drink that much.”

            “Oh, don’t get your way too pink panties in a bunch.” She giggled as she began to work the lid off the bottle. “I wouldn’t dream of making you follow up on that bet.” She shot me a look under her eyelashes. “I have no desire to clean puke off you or me tonight, but I’ll call it even if you go get glasses.”

            I nodded and rose from the couch as she pried the lid off with a POP. I shuffled my way from the living room, my feet barely lifting off the ground as I crossed the distance between the rooms. “What the heck happened to minimal engagement?” I muttered under my breath as I opened the cabinet door beside my fridge. I paused staring at the mismatched options before me—an amalgamation of broken sets discarded at Goodwill, waiting on back shelves for someone like me—half a person looking for whole things.

            I’d thought about buying a set of wine glasses, even going so far as to add a set of four colored crystal long stemmed glasses to my Amazon cart, but I could never complete the purchase. Why did I need four of anything? It was just me.  Kyle had taken our engagement set, and as my mind remembered each fine rim crystal goblet, I’d unboxed at our wedding shower, it hit me all over again: the apartment.

            We hadn’t even discussed who would take what. I’d showed up to the apartment a week after our last family dinner prepared for an awkward day of packing, each moment full of too many emotions and not enough words to explain them, but when I’d opened the front door, half of everything was already gone—things torn apart that were never meant to be divided.

            Kyle must have packed the week before. Why hadn’t he told me? I would’ve come. I looked around the apartment, and the lack of wholeness made my heart ache. It felt like everything inside me was straining to burst free, expanding until it touched every surface, every corner of the apartment. I’d seen Kyle the day after his “no” had shattered the last few pieces of my mom.

            He’d come back to the house while Mom and Dad were at work. I’d been lying on the couch, the TV playing an old Western—the noise functioning more as a buffer against my thoughts than actual entertainment. The knock had been soft, the sound scratching lightly against my mind, like the leaves of a tree that rub against a house in the summer breeze—soft and fleeting. It hadn’t been until he’d knocked against the living room window that my warring thoughts paused long enough for me to register what was happening.

            I’d moved quickly from the couch to the door, responding to a feeling that was bubbling up from the depths of my stomach. Why was he here? Did he change his mind? I reached for the doorknob. Was Mom right? The door swung back and into the house, forcing me to step to the side. There he was.

            Kyle was on the porch—his hair stuck out at odd angles, he had the same clothes on he’d worn to dinner, and his brown eyes were surrounded in a sea of red, the skin puffy and swollen. I hadn’t looked in a mirror that morning, but I was sure I painted a similar picture. My clothes wrinkled and clung to me in all the wrong places. My hair piled atop my head, held in place by the long-forgotten hair tie I’d found in between the couch cushions last night. We were a mess—a mirror image of the other’s pain and confusion.

            I closed my eyes as the emotions rose from the pit of my stomach, creeping along the inside of my throat and into my mouth, and as I fought to swallow them again, Kyle reached out and took my hand. Heat shot up my arm, searing every nerve as it flew across my skin and into the base of my skull. I kept my eyes shut, unable to face whatever lay on the other side.

            His “no” from last night had felt like an old firework exploding—some dud from years past coming back to life and taking the shed out with it. But, now, this…this feeling. It was different, like the end of a book being ripped out—the pages sucked away, every character left dangling—their legs flailing as they desperately search for solid ground.

            “Evie.” His voice crawled up my skin, a chill working its way up and along my arm—eating away the warmth from moments before. I peeled my eyes open, something in the brown of his causing my tears to spill over. Do something. I took a step forward and lifted my hand toward his face, the stubble of his chin rough against my palm. Kyle closed his eyes and leaned into my touch, and for a moment, everything felt okay. For a moment, I could breathe. But then he opened his eyes, and I could see it. The “no” still hovering in the black of his pupils.

            I nodded, dropped my hand from his face, and pulled my other from his. Another moment, and I’d placed the ring in his hand and stepped back into the house. I kept my eyes locked with his, retreating another step as I cleared the path for the door. His mouth opened, but before he could say anything, I pushed the door closed—freeing him from whatever declaration he felt he’d needed to make.

            I’d stumbled my way back to the couch, collapsing into the nest I’d made of blankets and pillows. Mom found me a few hours later, noticing my ring’s absence in seconds and firing question after question at me. What had he said? Why’d I give it back? Where did he go? I don’t remember any of my answers, just this unsettling numbness that had seeped into my bones. What was I going to do?

            A week later, I was still asking myself that question as I took stair after stair to our second-story apartment. Mom had dropped me off at the front door, promising to be up after she parked the car. We’d agreed that packing would take no more than two or three hours, and Dad was scheduled to come by in the morning and collect the boxes. I honestly didn’t know how long it would take or what I would say to Kyle. How were we going to decide where everything went? Every single thing in that apartment belonged to both of us. There had never been a me without him, so how were we supposed to find the line between individuals and the Kyle and Evie we’d always been.

            I’d started mentally sorting items into boxes as I reached the door and pushed my key into the lock. “Kyle, it’s just me. I thought maybe we could—” but my words fell apart as I’d taken in the space around me. He was gone. Him. His stuff. My stuff. Our stuff. We were gone. The boxes I’d been holding tumbled out of my hands, and I stood frozen in place until I heard my mother’s footsteps. The sound causing my shoulders to pull back, my features smoothing out readying to go to war.

            “Evie! Hurry Up! You’re missing the best part!” Jenna’s scream ripped me from the past—the present scraping against every inch of my mind as I was yanked back into reality, my eyes struggling to refocus on the cups in my hands. I shook my head, shut the cabinet door, and tucked the glasses against my chest as I scurried back to the living room.

            My jaw unhinged itself from my face and skidded across the floor as I finally stepped into the room. Jenna was bouncing from foot to foot as she moved in circles around the table.

            “From the windoooow to the wall!” She echoed Sandra’s words, giggling in between the lyrics as the movie kept playing.

            “What on Earth are you doing?”

            “Dancing, duh. Come join me.”

            “Not a chance.” I laughed. “I’m actually considering putting the glasses up. There is no way you need to add alcohol to all of that.” I gestured at her as she continued to circle the table.

            She came to an abrupt stop before me. “Fine. I’ll stop dancing, but only because the scene is over anyway.” She lifted the glasses from my arms and moved back towards the couch, pouring the wine before returning to her corner of it.

            “Oh darn.” I snapped my fingers. “I was just about to join too.”

            She laughed and lifted her glass to her mouth. “You do know there’s a rewind feature on Netflix, right?” She took a long sip. “And there’s no way I’m going to let you back out on two bets in one slumber party.”

            “Slumber party?” Her words brought me up short, my feet stopping inches from the couch. Excuse me, what?

            She took another drink from her glass. “Obviously. I can’t drive home this late.” Then why in the world did you come over this late? My mind screamed as all the joy from the moment before rushed from my body.

            “Jenna, I don’t have another bed, and, well, my clothes…” My voice trailed off as I looked from my body to hers. “Well, they won’t fit you.”

            “I’ll just crash here. I really don’t mind.” She wiggled further into the couch as if to prove that she and the couch were already way ahead of me. “And stop all that nonsense about clothes.” She waved her hand at me, her eyes already glued back on the movie. “I brought an overnight bag.”

            “Of course you did.” I sighed and sank into the couch beside her. “Are you ever unprepared?” Jenna cast a sideways glance at me but turned back towards the TV without answering. What was that? I watched her for a moment longer before returning my own attention to the movie.

            The wine was crisp and sweet, sliding down easier with each sip, and Sandra and Ryan were in full romantic tension mode, every interaction charged with the kind of anticipation that made the air in the room tingle. I watched as the scenes played out, each one building to that final moment when they both gave in.

            I emptied the remaining contents of my glass into my mouth and reached forward to refill it as Sandra shuffled out of her office, her eyes snagging on Ryan’s desk before pushing away from that space, distancing herself from the emotions that lingered in his absence.  

            Jenna extended her glass to me, and I filled it as we sat in silence engulfed in the final moments of the movie. My toes curled as I watched Ryan move through the cubicles, panting as the distance between him and Sandra disappeared. And I knew I should have been torn between giggling and swooning as he professed his love in the traditional rom-com fashion, a mixture of punch lines and professions of adoration, but every time, I’m caught in Ryan and Sandra’s eyes—the confusion warring against the feelings—each one battling to the surface trying to claim what little is left of their hearts, urging them to unite—merge together until there is just them.

            “Ugh, why don’t normal guys talk about love like that.” Jenna dropped back, the wine in her glass sloshing back and forth as she draped her arm across her face.

            I laughed—the absurdity of her posture pulling me out of my thoughts. “Probably because they aren’t Ryan Reynolds.” I took a sip from my glass. “Oh, and they don’t have an entire team of writers whose sole job is to make sure the guy gets the girl in less than two hours.”

            She scoffed at me but pulled her arm from her face as the credits moved up the screen, and Netflix flashed to a related titles page. “Well, aren’t you romantic?”

            “Eww, pass.” I shrugged, reaching for the remote.

            “That’s hard to believe.”

            “And why’s that?” I clicked back to the main page and began scrolling, careful to keep my eyes pinned to the screen. Jenna seeing my emotions right now was the last thing I wanted.

            “You have an ex-fiancé. You had to be a romantic at some point.”

            “Did you miss the ex part?” My voice was flat, all emotion pushed down my throat where I was content to choke on it for the rest of the evening. See, this is why letting her stay was a bad idea.

            “No, Ms. I don’t share information, but there had to be a fiancé to have an ex. And people don’t get engaged unless they’re romantics.”

            “Oh, yeah?” My hand tightened around the remote as I tried to control the heat that was crawling up my spine. “And what kind of backwards math did you do to come up with that.”

            “Geez, he messed you up good, huh?” Her question stilled my hand, and the heat from earlier roared to life as the fumes rose to the top, my skin beginning to burn. “Was it the whole ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech, or the ‘I’m doing this for you’ song and dance?” She took another drink from her glass. “I swear if one more guy tells me I’m—”

            “God, give it a break.” The words were harsh—an eruption lit from the flames still licking my insides. She was frozen, glass pressed to her mouth, eyes wide. I sighed, letting the air escape as the tension drained from my body. “Please, okay?”

            She nodded and turned back towards the TV, and silence settled between us. Ignore her. It wasn’t that bad. I turned to look at her, and guilt flooded my system, snuffing out the flames and leaving me choking on the smoke. “Listen. I’m sorry. It’s…um all that stuff is, well, it’s…”

            “Complicated?” She offered as she glanced over at me, her body still stuck against the couch—the distance between us growing with each moment.

            I sighed again, another gust of air puncturing the space between us. “Yeah. Really complicated.” I looked over at her, meeting her eyes for the first time all night. “Like a baboon carrying a cactus while riding a donkey kind of complicated.”

            “I’m sorry, like a what?” The tension eased as she shifted closer, her eyes widening.

            I smiled. “Like a baboon carrying a cactus while riding a donkey,” I said again, moving to fully face her.

            “How would that even happen?”

            “I imagine it’s complicated,” I said, and a giggle tumbled out on the last word.

            “Where’d you hear that?”

            “It’s just something my Aunt Julia used to say when we were baking, and the recipe wasn’t working.” I shrugged, hoping the movement would dislodge the knot that formed in my stomach at the thought of Aunt Julia.

            “Aunt Julia?” Jenna nodded. “Would this be the aunt who goes with Uncle George?”

            “Geez, you don’t forget anything,” I said, the words coming out in a huff.

            “If I did, I wouldn’t be a very good secretary.” She took a sip from her glass. “And we both know how important that job is.”

            I expected her voice to hitch higher as she bragged about her job and connections, but it wasn’t there. Instead, her eyes dropped to her glass, and I watched as she tracked the movement of her wine. That’s new. I felt my eyebrows knit together. Does she not like her job? What happened to Dr. Montgomery’s oh so important schedule keeping?

            “Anyway, that would make her off limits, right?” She cut through my thoughts, glancing up at me again before leaning over for the Oreos.

            “Right,” I said, but the word was soft, lost somewhere between Jenna’s slumped shoulders.

            She nodded, letting the conversation fall away as her eyes fixed on the package of Oreos now in her lap. Do something—fix this. How? I don’t know her. Ask her something? What? Anything.

            “Is Henry one of the guys?” Anything but that.

            “What guys?” She looked up from her lap, eyes narrowing just a little.

            “You know,” I rubbed my hands down my thighs, the friction grounding me as I worked to settle my stomach. “The guys who say that thing you can’t stand.”

            “So, you were listening?” One of her eyebrows hitched up.

            “It’s hard not to. You have a very loud voice,” I said, as I extended my leg just enough to nudge her with my foot before withdrawing it again.

            “Wow, okay. Kinda rude,” she giggled as she pulled apart a cookie, the cream sticking to one side. “And no, Henry is not one of those guys.” She pushed the cookie together again. “Those guys are long gone. Stayed long enough to move me across country before deciding they had better things to do.”

            “That sucks.” The words tumbled out, dragging my own emotions to the surface with them. “You know, the whole starting over somewhere you never planned to be thing.” The fabric of the couch suddenly felt too itchy, rubbing against the underside of my legs—my discomfort running deeper as I glanced around my living room, taking in all the thrifted items thrown together to make a home. “It’s like being dropped into someone else’s story and having to figure out your lines.”

            Jenna looked up from her cookie, the glow from the TV and lamp catching the shimmering tears pooling in her eyes. “Yeah. Exactly like that.” She took a breath, pressing the cookie back together again. “God, I hate weekend nights.”

            Her words came out slowly, like she was forcing them out between her teeth—her body fighting her as she lowered her walls, exposing herself to the unknown. I stared at her—my silence forcing her to pull apart the Oreo over and over again as she worked against whatever thoughts were wrecking her nerves and causing her jaw to tick. One. Two. Three times.

            Now what? I stared at her, my eyes trailing her movements as the cream between the cookies shifted with each pass—the pieces only allowed to touch for a moment before she pulled them apart again. Clearly, this is better—just a nice, awkward evening. I took a breath, counting to four, releasing it, and counting to four again. You’ve got this. You can’t make it worse.

            “You know,” my voice was soft, “now that you mention it, I’ve always wondered how you ended up here. I mean, honestly, who comes here of all places?” Her head snapped up, a mixture of shock and amusement dancing across her features. “No, seriously. I even considered petitioning Dr. Montgomery to have you tested.” I worked to push my features flat, shoving all of my humor behind a moment of faked seriousness.

            “You’re one to talk.” She laughed once before pressing the pieces of the cookie together and taking a bite. “I was stranded here by someone else; you chose to stay here.”

            “Now who’s being rude?” I was laughing. I should’ve been angry. Her words should have stung, pulled up some truth that I didn’t want to think about and set it pulsing under my skin, but they didn’t.

            “You started it.” She shrugged and wiggled another cookie out of the package; this one going straight into her mouth. I think I fixed it. My chest swelled, and happiness trickled down my arms, the sensation causing my fingertips to tingle.

            My phone buzzed—the notification causing it to rattle against the surface of the table.

            “Don’t worry. I got it.” Jenna leaned over and swiped my phone off the table before turning it over and looking at the screen. Annnnnd we’re back to no boundaries. “Oh, my!” She pulled my phone closer to her face.

            “What?” My pulse picked up speed, and I reached across the couch towards her. “Who is it?” Oh my god, what if it’s Kyle? Mom? What if Mom texted and practically summarized my entire pathetic life into two sentences? No, no, no.

            “How could you leave him on read?” She pulled her face back from my phone and pressed the screen into her chest.

            “Leave who on read?” Who texted me? What did it say?  “Jenna, my phone.”

            “I mean it all makes sense now.” She started to fan herself. “Drinks, the avoidance at my car, all of it.” She stopped suddenly and sat back up. “But this does mean that I’m right for the third time tonight.” A grin began to work its way across her face.

            “Jenna, I swear, if you do not give me my phone—”

            “You’ll what?” She cut me off, the action causing her grin to break into a smile. “Leave poor Henry on read again.” A laugh poured from her as she stretched the phone towards me. “I mean, he can only take so much.”

            “What?” I snatched the phone from her, the movement causing the screen to flare to life.

Henry: Left on read. I guess I should look into being a fire fighter instead.

            Henry. Oh my god. I left him on read. I forgot to text him back. How? What? Oh no. My mind was in a full spiral as I opened my phone and clicked into my message center.

            “I’m waiting.” I looked up to find Jenna clutching her knees, her green eyes dazzling as they locked with mine.

            “For what?”

            “For you to admit it.”

            “Admit what?”

            “That I was right.”

            “About?” My voice was several octaves higher, frustration bubbling up as I worked to tamp it down.           

            “You are a romantic.”