I sighed with happiness and flopped against the back of the couch. “It was the best night of my life,” I said dramatically. “He ordered so much wine, and seriously every tapa on the menu. I’m stuffed. Everything was so nice.”
“I bet,” Angela said. She yawned. “I’ve been trying to have a quiet night.”
I frowned. “What happened?” I glanced around. Our apartment, though not the greatest, wasn’t plagued with some of the common problems in New York City. We rarely had rats, and we weren’t close enough to the subway for it to be too loud…which was both a blessing and a curse, as I’d come to discover over freezing winter mornings of running to work.
“Someone sent up a bunch of messages,” Angela said in a neutral tone. “I assumed they were from Thomas, until I realized that you were already out with him.”
I blushed. “Maybe
he did them for me to find when I got back? That kind of seems like something he’d do.”
Angela shook her head and gave me a wary look. “I wouldn’t get too excited,” she said. “They’re not flowers, if that’s what you’re asking.”
I frowned. Angela pointed to a bunch of small manila envelopes by the door.
“Whoever it was, actually used a courier service,” she said, turning her attention back down to her book and yawning once more. “I didn’t actually know that those were still around.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Weird.”
Angela was clearly finished talking, so I took the envelopes and dumped them in my room, on my bed. Then I went into the bathroom and washed my face, taking a long, hot shower. I couldn’t even touch my own body without thinking of Thomas’s huge, sensual hands…and suddenly, I wished that he were inside that cramped stall with me, covered in soap and water and making love to me until I was blind with passion.
When I was sick of standing in the tepid water, I wrapped myself in a big fluffy towel and braided my hair. The messages were still waiting for me on my bed when I got back to my room, and I sat down, crossed my legs, and opened the first envelope.
“June – where are you? Call me. Andy.”
My stomach twisted into a knot and I frowned, tossing the note away. A slight pang of guilt hit me in the chest and I swallowed, trying to make it disappear.
“June – where the fuck did you go? We had a date, remember?”
“That’s not very nice,” I said under my breath, balling the message up and tossing it away. My slight feeling of sympathy for Andy vanished. What a jerk , I thought as my trembling fingers opened the third message. Thomas would never speak to me like that .
“June – are you fucking with me? Why the fuck would you do something like this? Are you a bitch? Are you trying to fuck with me?”
The bad feeling returned with alarming speed, but this time it wasn’t guilt. This time, I felt nothing more than shame and fear.
“Angela,” I called in a trembling voice.
Seconds later, Angela was standing at the door.
“June, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”
I pointed to the opened notes scattered around my bed. There were still four notes, unopened.
“They’re from Andy,” I said shakily.
Angela picked one of them up and read it. “What the fuck,” she murmured under her breath. “What an asshole! Where the hell does he get off talking to you like this?”
I shuddered. “I don’t know,” I admitted softly. “But I’m scared.”
Angela frowned. “Don’t be,” she said. “He’s probably just fucking with you.”
“I hope so,” I mumbled. “I really do.”
--
The rest of the weekend was quiet. It stormed all day on Sunday, so I curled up by the window and planned my lessons for the rest of the week. Thankfully, there was no word from Andy…but troublingly, there wasn’t word from Thomas, either.
Monday morning felt warmer than it had in weeks. I only wore a light sweater over my knit dress as I took the subway to P.S.151. I wasn’t looking forward to Andy. Angela and I had decided that if he confronted me, the best thing to do would be to lie. Say I was sick, that I forgot, anything. And then I had to be firm with him – I had to tell him that I wasn’t interested, or that I was dating someone else.