Page 51 of Torn
When morning came, the sunlight streamed in, illuminating the havoc, the mess.
Boutros rolled over, rubbing his eyes. He looked at me as if shocked. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“You asked me to stay.”
“Until I fell asleep, my dear. I am not one of your one-night stands.”
“And… you’re back.”
He smiled, but there was a bit of fatigue I hadn’t seen before clinging to his features, as though he’d aged a couple of years in the past few days. “Don’t you have to go to work?”
“I don’t have to. I can stay here. I’ll call in.” I mock coughed a couple of times.
“If you stay here, I’ll put you to work cleaning up this mess. Scratch that, I don’t want those hands touching plates I eat off of.” He laughed, and this time it sounded like the old Boutros. I was relieved. I was also relieved at being excused from the daunting task of cleaning up the wreckage of his apartment.
“Fine.” I threw off the covers and swung my legs out of the bed. “If you’re sure you’re okay.”
“Am I ever okay? Do you know me?”
“Point taken.”
I got dressed and headed out. As I reached the front door, Boutros hurried behind me and tapped me on the shoulder. When I turned, his face looked a little panicked.
“Thank you,” he said. “You’re the only one who sees me.”
I nodded. I got it. Now would be a good time to hug, I thought. And I tried.
He shoved me away. “Get out of here.”
“I’ll call you later. Pick up.”
I didn’t wait for him to answer. I trotted down the stairs, hoping this dark stranger, whoever or whatever it was, would never return to plague Boutros again.
Well, I could hope.
Chapter 17
“SO, THISguy in Boston? Is he, like, special?”
I shouldn’t have picked up the phone. I needed to get out to O’Hare, and public transportation in Chicago, on a weekday morning, was nothing close to reliable. Plus I lived in freaking Rogers Park, bordered to the east by the lake and to the west… well, a tangle of local streets. There was no fast and easy route out to the airport from where I lived. The best way was simply to take Touhy Avenue west for miles and miles and miles, through several neighborhoods and suburbs and stopping at endless lights.
I needed to get going. My bag was packed. I was dressed. I’d taken AJ over to my friend Camille’s the afternoon before. I’d had some scrambled eggs and a cup of coffee. I’d called for a cab, since I didn’t want to rely on the CTA.
And then the phone rang.
I stood near my front door, debating. Something, a little presentiment perhaps, told me I should answer it. My mother hadn’t been feeling well lately, and she was getting up in years—plus I would not be reachable by phone for the next several hours. It would take me a full day to get to Logan and then out to New Hampshire via bus. Remember, this was a time, albeit recent, before cellphones were in common usage.
So I was compelled to answer, even though I knew my cab would be pulling up outside any minute.
I grabbed the cordless from its stand and headed outside to the balcony, where I could watch for my cab’s approach.
It was Tom. We’d had a date last night that had started off wonderfully, burgers and beers at Moody’s Pub on Broadway and then back here for the “dessert” neither of us were even beginning to tire of.
I’d put off and put off and put off letting him know about my plans for a long weekend on the East Coast, but last night, because I kind of had to shove him out of bed and send him home, I ran out of excuses.
“Um,” I began, in bed and postcoital. Probably not the best time, but I wondered if there really was a best time to let the man you’re seeing know you’re going off to shack up with another guy for a few days. “I, uh, need you to—” No. What was the best way to tell someone with whom you’ve been spending lots of nights together that tonight would not be one of those nights? There was no best way. I blurted, “It’s, uh, not a good idea for you to stay here tonight.” I smiled, and I’m sure it came out looking more like a grimace. “I have to get up early.”
“So? We both have to get up early. For work. D’uh.” He rolled over and yanked the covers up to his ears. In seconds, he was snoring. Good sex will do that, especially to guys in their twenties, but Tom had an almost superhuman ability to fall asleep at the drop of a hat. I wondered if maybe he didn’t have a touch of narcolepsy.
