Page 35 of The Girl He Loves
I smile at the thought. The last thing I need to read right now is erotic romance. It would only fuel my obsession with Joel. Definitely a big no-no. “Thanks, but I’m pretty busy these days… no time to read.”
Abigail joins us on Claudia’s cozy sofa. “Guess who we ran into in the lobby…” she says. “Mr. Dark & Mysterious.”
“What was he wearing today?” I ask, full of excitement. Mr. Dark & Mysterious is the gorgeous quiet man who lives in the penthouse upstairs.
“Dark jeans and a sleek long sleeve grey top,” Gretchen says.
Abigail bites her bottom lip. “I think he likes the looks of little Miss Gretchen here. Never looks at me twice, but his eyes always linger on Gretchen for a little longer than necessary.”
“They do not,” Gretchen protests. “You’re imagining things.”
“I think he digs that sweet demure thing you’ve got going on, Gretchen,” Abby teases. “He must like your little polka-dot skirts.”
Gretchen shakes her head. “Stop it.”
I smile. “So, Claudia. How is Colton?” I ask in an attempt to come to Gretchen’s rescue and change the subject. Colton is Claudia’s eleven year old boy, just two years younger than Tristan. That’s one thing we have in common — our boys.
“Oh, he’s okay,” she says. “A little sullen. This separation has not been easy for him.”
My heart sinks for Colton. I can’t imagine what a separation would be like for my boys, a complete upheaval of their lives. That’s the main reason I’ve been in complete denial, why I’ve been avoiding speaking to Brian about Ava, why I’ve been trying to forgive Brian. After all, I’m not perfect either.
“And he plays way too much Fortnite,” she adds.
“Yes,” I say. “Trevor too. Tristan doesn't seem too interested, but Trevor…” my words trail off. Trevor is the most like me. He has OCD tendencies, and Brian and I have had to really put our foot down with the video games.
Claudia asks Gretchen how she’s doing. We’re always checking up on her. None of us can imagine what she must be going through. She tells us the babysitter is with Ethan, and that she’s learning to let go, to gain more independence. The conversation moves on, into Abigail’s unemployment and annoying neighbor, a small elderly woman who plays her TV too loudly and is always knocking on her door to borrow stuff.
I’m still absentmindedly flipping through the fashion images when my heart jerks to a stop. In the flash of a second, I’m taken back to nineteen years ago, summer of 2000. The young model in the photo has long blond hair, blue eyes, daisy duke shorts and very long legs. Her gaze is sad, and it makes you wonder what she’s thinking about. My eyes are drawn to the colorful embroidery across the front of her white peasant blouse. She looks exactly like Renee did at Ryan’s party.
I remember her now.
18
Renee was there, at Brian’s cousin’s fourth of July party. It’s all coming back to me now. She looked as beautiful and as sad as this model, and I remember wondering who this gorgeous, melancholic girl was. Especially when she began to pay a little too much attention to Brian, laughing at his jokes, swaying as he sang and strummed the guitar. I could see lust and desire in her eyes, and I hated it. I was used to it since Brian had quite a few groupies, but she was different — she was stunning, exotic and despite the fact that she was wearing ripped short shorts and a peasant top, there was something sophisticated about her. She was something else.
If I could have glued myself to Brian, I would have, but he wasn’t speaking to me that night. We’d just had a really big fight before the party, and he didn’t even want me there. When Renee ended up on his lap, I was livid. It was cruel of him to do that… he was trying to make me jealous. He was also drunk. He wasn’t quite himself, and I hated seeing him like that.
We were both broken hearted. Me, because I’d been let go from a job I loved. And him, because he’d lost his dad. I suppose his grief was much more justifiable than mine, but that didn't make mine any less significant. This is what we’d been arguing about.
I stormed out of the party, and absolutely no one seemed to care. I called a cab, and cried the whole way home.
My fingers are shaking as I set the image of the beautiful young girl back with the others.
“I don’t really see you in those shorts, Mischa,” Abigail teases. “Not the top either.”
I’m speechless, still looking at the picture.
“You’ve been staring at that photo forever.”
I shake my head, look up at her, and feign a smile. “Oh, she just reminds me of someone. Spitting image…” I grab another torn magazine page and set it on top of the blonde. Now, I’m staring at a brunette in a sparkly short skirt, long black turtleneck, and Doc Martens boots. Much better.
I pick up my tea and take a sip, but I don’t taste it. I listen to the conversation around me but I don’t hear it. All I can think about is Renee and Brian.
The sudden recollection lights a fiery fire in me. I’d been doing so well, but the emotions that this memory brings are more than I can handle. Jealousy consumes me; visions of the two of them together are crystal clear — she’s wearing those slutty daisy duke shorts and cheap peasant top. “It’s from Forever 21,” she says when a tall skinny redheaded girl compliments it. He’s wearing faded jean and a plain V neck tee. I remember the scuffed knees. One of the jeans knees is ripped wide open, revealing the mole on his right leg. At one point in the evening, her hand is on his knee, her sparkly tipped fingers grazing it. His green eyes are gazing at hers, a playful smile tracing his lips. The emotions of that night all come flooding back and I’m already in a vulnerable place.
I’ve already checked out the studio schedule a few days ago — it had been a weak moment. I’d slapped shut my laptop in a huff, berating myself. But not before memorizing the schedule. Having an excellent memory has its upsides, but it also has its drawbacks.
Like right now, I remember there’s a class in exactly an hour. I have no idea if Joel will be there. All I know is that I must be there. It’s a compulsion stronger than logic, stronger than Dr. Russell’s advice, than any common sense I might have left. It’s the need for revenge. Taking this step is a slap in Brian’s face. A slap in hers too.
