Page 4 of Just One Look
More Parts
“Elizabeth,”Jordan Abernathy said the next morning. “Why?” His voice sounded as sprightly as always.
Jordan taught middle-school English. That should have made him jaded and bitter. It would have madeElizabethjaded and bitter, anyway. She remembered middle school. If there was a hell, it was being in middle school forever.
“It’s nine-thirty on Christmas morning,” he told her. “We’ve barely popped the cork for the mimosas. I hope this is just you wishing Clement and me a very merry holiday, because otherwise, I’m worrying, and I hate to worry on Christmas. It’s my very favorite holiday. How can anybody’s favorite holiday be anything else, really? Decorations, cooking, lights, presents, general overindulgence?”
She tried to joke back, but all that came out was, “Can I use your washing machine? I don’t need the dryer. An hour and a half, that’s all, because I’ve got two loads.”
A short silence on the other end, and Jordan said, “Putting you on speaker. Clement, Elizabeth is having a crisis. AChristmascrisis.”
“I am not having a crisis,” she said. “I just have a little problem with my washing machine, and I don’t have any more clean clothes.”
“You’ve had that problem for a month now.” That was Clement’s baritone. “Don’t tell me. You never called the repair guy.”
“I meant to. Haven’t had the time, that’s all.” She tried to make it cheerful. It was hard to be cheerful when you’d downed most of a bottle of wine the night before—the only one in the cupboard, bought for the Thanksgiving dinner you hadn’t had, which meant it was rosé, which Kristoff had loved and she just exactly didn’t—and you only hadn’t drunk the entire thing because you’d fallen asleep in the middle of the last glass while sitting on the floor, and had woken up with your head on the coffee table. Not even with the blinking lights of the Christmas tree washing over your face, the way they’d have done in a movie, because you didn’t have a Christmas tree. You didn’t even have awreath.A fact that had made her cry last night, she was pretty sure.
It was ironic, actually. She’d been able to drink that much because shewasn’ton call today. She had two days off in a row, because Kristoff’s parents were here, so she’d arranged it. She’d planned to make appetizers, too. All right, she hadn’tmadethe appetizers, and had realized too late that the grocery stores would be closed on Christmas, but she’d planned it, at least.
She drew a shaky breath, thought,Less drinking, more thinking,and then immediately followed that up with,Except that I hate thinking. I just need to do my laundry. And watch a movie, maybe. I’m fine. Two days off to fold clothes and reorganize my cabinets or whatever. But I am not buying plants. Plants are stupid. There are plenty of plants outdoors, in public spaces for which I’m not responsible, and that’s where they can stay.She said, “Happy birthday—uh, I mean, Merry Christmas. Some holiday, anyway. I’m in your place five minutes, I promise. Got my own detergent and everything. I push a couple buttons, and I’m out of there. Well, I’ll have to come back for the next load, but that’s all.”
Clement said, in the no-nonsense tone she normally heard with his interns, the one he’d learned back when both ofthemwereinterns, “Why aren’t you doing your laundry at Ken’s? And why didn’thecall the repair guy?”
“Do not call him Ken,” Elizabeth said automatically. “He’s a wonderful, caring person, not a poseable doll. And I had to stop asking him to do me favors like that. It makes him feel emasculated.”
“Uh-huh. Except that he works half the hours you do, and you wouldn’t have been asking him to donate a kidney. And now even his washing machine is closed to you, apparently. Why?”
She sighed and laid her aching face against the cool stone of the kitchen island. The coolwhitestone. Yes, her entire enormous kitchen was white. And shiny. So what? Lots of people liked white. It was clean. Also, that was how the townhouse had come, and it was completely functional. It was fine. “He found a nurse.”
“Ouch,” Jordan said. “OnChristmas?”
“Well, Christmas Eve. In Mandarin House. To be fair, his parents are here for a visit. If you’re planning to break up with somebody, you don’t want to have to pretend you still love them on Christmas, in front of your parents. Hey, does either of you guys want a toilet kit? And a bathrobe? They were on a list.”
“What list?” Clement asked. “He broke up in a restaurant, so you couldn’t make a scene? Ouch. Except that you wouldn’t make a scene.”
“Yeah, that’s me. The amazing bloodless woman. And you know. When you Google the best ones, and they give you a list, and you click on the expensive one, because it’s obviously the best. It’s a waffle robe. That’s a thing, apparently. The reviews are excellent. The only problem is that both items are monogrammed, because you guys told me to do that. Still, you don’t have to look at the monogram. Think of it as a design element.”
Jordan said, “First, it’s a breakup. You don’t have to be fair. Generally, you drink. Also, you torch the robe. Breakup clothes are bad juju, and nobody needs that.”
“There are people out there who havezerobathrobes, though,” she told him, “and it’s a really nice robe. I’ll donate them, I guess. I’ve got a bag somewhere for that. Of course, I have to take it to wherever and drop it off, but I’ll do that at some point. Also, you’d know this how? Seeing as you guys have been together since college?”
“Hello?” Jordan asked. “Tortured closeted adolescence?”
“Also,” she said, “I already drank.”
“Come over,” Clement said. “With the laundry. We have mimosasandbreakfast.”
“I already ate potstickers, too,” she said. “Fortunately, Kristoff broke up with me before our food came, and I got custody.”
“Come over,” Clement said again. “Right now.”
* * *
She didn’t stayfor breakfast. She didn’t want them to look at her that closely, was why, or smell her, either. She felt like she still had alcohol seeping out of her pores. Shedidpromise to come back for dinner, though, because they insisted.
“Rules of gay Christmas,” Jordan said. “Welcome the orphan, and the virtual orphan, too. There are always those people who can’t go home, and in the South, there are more of them. Why did I let Clement talk me into Atlanta?”
“Because I’m a Southerner,” Clement said. “Because Emory’s an excellent hospital, and it’s even better now that I’ve recruited Elizabeth down here, sinceIwas smart and did general, which meant I didn’t have to do those extra two years for neuro and could actually start earning money and sleeping. Sleeping’s good. And because it’s not Alabama. Want to be a sad orphan? Try being part of an interracial gay couple in Selma. And speaking of Southern cities,” he continued smoothly, “have you heard from your dad, Elizabeth?”
