Page 41 of The Photo
A shrill bark follows a red blur of fur as my dog, Albert, careens down the staircase, tail wagging frantically. Grey flecks scatter his long muzzle, but his eyes still shine like a puppy when he reaches me. I pat my chest. “Up!” Albert obediently hops to his hind legs and slams his big paws to my chest. “Hey there! I’ve missed you, Bertie Bert.” Dropping my face to his, I stroke, rub and cuddle my big friendly Red Setter. In that silent moment, between owner and dog, he gives me the love I’ve been missing. “I wish you could live with me in the city. I’m not ready to go back there yet. There’s no way to move on from this.”
* * *
I’ve eaten my way through fourteen shortbread rounds over the past week. I’m ill equipped to resist the sugary buttery melt in your mouth delights because I’m skulking in the sitting room with my ankle on a cushion and dibs on the remote control. Mother’s home baked treats taste like childhood and have no association with Noah at all, which makes them easier to digest. Anyway, I’m not doing much else with my time, so why not turn myself into a shortbread savage?
Albert hasn’t left my side. We snuggle on the couch together and binge watch the latest shows on Netflix. He gives me a certain level of comfort in the absence of Noah. It’s not the same, but it’s real and unconditional.
Chelsea called my parents’ house phone and arranged to drop by this afternoon with our college assignments. She suggested I use her phone to reach out to him on social media, except my pride is battered and dented. He didn’t give me the benefit of the doubt.
Noah cut me off the second the photos exploded over the internet. I have to get the truth off my chest, so he understands what I’ve gone through, then I can move on. We’ll never get over this.
He should have trusted me.
One minute I’m sobbing because I’ve eaten another portion of cookies, and the next I’m yelling when half of it plops into my hot cup of tea after I carefully dipped it in. I always double dunk my shortcake. Now it’s disintegrated and floaters are bobbing on the surface like shark devoured limbs. Fuck, life is unfair.
“Did you eat the last shortbread?” Dad strolls into the sitting room with his glasses hooked on the neckline of his t-shirt.
“I may have sampled another.” I shove the last half into my mouth. “Mum made them for me.” I throw him a cheeky smirk and try to chew secretly. “I’m sure she’ll make more. I thought you were on a diet?” I slurp tea from my mug to wash away the incriminating evidence.
“Your mother always says I’m on a diet.” His palms circle a protruding pot belly. “One shortbread won’t make a difference.” He huffs. “Anyway, daughters should save their old man the last shortbread when they buy things like this…” Slow steps bring him in front of me. I hadn’t noticed one of his arms tucked behind his back until it moves. “Here. I can’t afford to replace your camera or even your computer. However, this phone takes high quality images and is equally professional. So they told me in the shop.”
I blink quickly. “You bought me a new phone, Dad?” I choke out. Albert clambers off my lap and stretches his back.
“You’ll need it for college. And your mother and I need reassurance that we can contact you at any time when you’re in the city again.”
My ribs compress when I think about my lonely apartment. I’ve been staying with my parents because I can’t face going back there or being alone. “Thanks, Dad. Next time, I’ll leave you the last shortbread. I’m sorry.” I grin up at him, accepting the second new phone in the space of a few weeks. He grabs my hands and heaves me up. I lift into him and hang around his neck.
“Sort out your email account, and that way you can reset your passwords.” He talks into my hair, holding me close.
“You’re a genius.” I pat his shoulders and kiss his wiry cheek.
“I’m not the one who has a concussion.” His bushy brows pull together, forming a grave expression. “You’ve slept more these past few days than you did as a teenager, and that wasa lot.” He swipes my nose and chuckles softly. “Your mother dropped the little bracelet thingy off at the jewelers to get fixed. It won’t be ready for a few weeks.” My seahorses. I swallow back the thick ball in my throat and grimace. I had no clue the hospital gave it back.
“Thank you,” I choke out.
“Right, then, I guess it’s dry crackers with my afternoon cup of tea.” He sighs out deliberately, droops his posture and pretends to sulk.
“I’ll get mum to make another batch,” I call after him, clutching the phone to my heart. “It’ll be our little secret.”
When he leaves the room, I get to work logging into my email account. I’m filled with a rejuvenated energy, like contact with Noah is imminent.
My excitement scares me. I’m only contacting him to set the record straight, not to get back together. My head hurts every time I play out the conversation in my cloudy mind.
The front door knocks, and I hear Chelsea greet my dad with high-pitched enthusiasm. “Well, how's the patient?” She peers through the gap in the door.
“A lot better now that I have this!” I wave the device in the air, aware of the super-sized grin on my face.
Chelsea saunters in and sets her bag on the floor before taking out pale yellow folders. She’s like Chelsea Poppins. The folders keep on coming. “These are your assignments for next week. I’d like to think you’ll be back to class by then?” I take the pile and toss them to the side, focusing on my email list.
“Uh, I haven't given it much thought. My brain hurts.” I tap the social media app and wait for it to download. “Come on,” I mutter impatiently. I’ve been pining after his face for days. “I’m not too keen on staying in the apartment by myself. My dad is trying to get out of the rental contract.”
“And do what?”
“Finish my course and then find a job.”
“What about, Noah?”
My jaw clenches. I’ve selected the link to reset my password, and now I’m filling out the new one. “What's there to say? I haven't heard from him in over a week. You tried to contact him, and he ignored you.” Chelsea twiddles a curl and raises a brow at me. “We got so close to something wonderful, but this has opened my eyes. Just because he’s Noah Adams, doesn't mean he’s the right man for me.”
