Page 131 of The Publicity Stunt
He shakes his head. “I was angry, April. And sad and just fucking confused. I regretted everything I said to you that night. You have no idea. I regretted it so much. I tried calling you but you never picked up and then your number changed. And you never called back.
“I made it my life’s sole purpose to convince myself I didn’t need you.” He keeps going like he’s been waiting for someone to ask him this very question. “That if I enrolled myself at Logan’s stunt school, it would make up for everything. I woke up every day telling myself I was happy. Convincing myself that this was it. Convincing myself I’d somehow fixed everything by marrying Shara. That if we both pretended long enough, it would turn into something real. I kept telling myself she was perfect because she had to be. And that I was happy. Because I had to be.” His voice cracks.
“But I wasn’t. I wasn’t happy, and she wasn’t perfect. She wasn’t you. I went ahead and got married to someone because I wanted to get you out of my head. To fix something I had no control over. That’s some fucked-up shit. You don’t think I regret all of it? I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to hate me for everything I already hate myself for. I fucked up, and I’m sorry. I really am. But you have no idea what I went through either. Because you weren’t there.”
My body goes limp.
Parker says nothing. He just watches me as I pick up my bag and my belongings and step out of his door, walking down the first flight of stairs.
I hear his footsteps behind me. “April, please just wait.”
I turn around and look right at him. “Please … please just give me some time to think about this. I’m not mad at you, but right now the only person I need is me.”
He looks at me and swallows. I don’t know if they were the words he wanted me to say, or the ones I wanted to hear. He takes a step toward me, and I hold my hand out.
“Please don’t,” I say. “If you touch me, I’m not going to be able to walk away.”
He exhales and takes a small step toward me. He puts his palms over my shoulders and kisses my forehead. “Then don’t. I need you to stay,” he whispers. “If you need time to think all of this over, that’s okay. Think with me. If you wake up thrashing and screaming, I want to be there to give you a hug. We might not have handled it properly back then, but it’s different now. We’re different now.”
Silence encompasses us. I clamp my eyes shut and tighten my grip around my bag. I should probably go inside. Sit down and have a mature conversation about what I’m feeling and work our way through all the baggage. But that’s so much easier said than done. I don’t even know what it is I’m feeling at the moment: anger, hurt, sadness. I’m not mad that he married Shara. But this incident just hit “play” on a plethora of emotions I’ve spent years trying not to feel. I’m scared that if I go back inside, I’m going to lash out and say the wrong thing, and make it all worse. This is not a conversation I want to have when I’m this explosive.
“I want to stay,” I tell him. “But I don’t think I can. And I’m not leaving you, Parker. I just cannot be around you right now. I need you to understand that.” Maybe if I hadn’t left him in a strikingly similar manner all those years ago, he’d probably still believe me when I say I’m not actually leaving him.
And maybe then I’d believe myself too.
I swallow my tears and walk down the stairs and out the door. As soon as I get onto the street I hear a distant “Fuck!” but I keep walking. I keep walking till his building is no longer in sight. Till his street is no longer in sight.
ChapterThirty
Present Day
APRIL
People say that in New York, you could strut down Times Square butt-naked and no one would bat an eye. People just don’t give a fuck here. And I’ve never felt more grateful for the sense of privacy that this city offers. Because I spent a better part of the morning crying in a taxi on my way to Paramore. I would’ve just taken a day off, but considering that Zawe is back in the office, I can’t afford to.
The elevator doors open and I step out into the heavily air-conditioned office space.
Emotionally drained, and not enough caffeine in my bloodstream.
I walk toward her office and knock on her door twice.
“Yeah?”
“Morning, Zawe.” I open the door and poke my head in. “You asked to see me?”
“Uh-huh, come in,” she says in her classic eyes-glued-to-the-laptop-screen posture.
I walk in, the clicking of my pumps echoing in the room.. Just as I’m about to speak, Zawe points her index finger up in a straight, precise manner.
“Before I start, Kripke told me about some screw-up that happened with regard to Tony. Something about him going missing for a couple of hours?”
Oh, great. As if this day couldn’t get any worse.
“Zawe, about that—we found him well in time for his interview and made sure the—”
She cuts me off. “I’m going to stop you right there. Because Kripke also told me how well you handled the entire situation. He sounded quite impressed,” she quickly adds, her eyes shifting to me. “Good work. It’s not over yet. You still have a week of PR left with Tony, but I thought I should tell you that despite the vague five thousand dollar charge to Paramore, your desk is safe.”
If this was any other day, I would be ecstatic about getting a pat on the back from Zawe Cooper. She doesn’t really dole them out on a regular basis, as evidenced by the eggshells scattered underneath everyone’s feet at Paramore. But this isn’t any other day.
