Page 17 of Caleb
With a smile, I walk away, allowing myself to believe, if only for a delusional second, that we might be able to be friends one day.
We arrive at her friend’s house in the sixth arrondissement. It’s a stylish and luxurious townhouse of traditional French architecture. I rush out to get the door for her, and I see she’s nervous when she steps out from the car. Aaron will stay behind, and I will accompany Miss Murphy inside and stay there for the remainder of the party. Keeping my distance, of course. I’ll try to be as invisible as possible to avoid making her uncomfortable with her friends.
She adjusts her purse strap around her shoulder and wrings her hands at her stomach. She’s definitely tense, and I pretend like it’s not something that’s bothering me. I’m not sure it’s a good idea to have come.
Miss Murphy and I walk into her friend’s house after being greeted by a woman who immediately shows us to the coat closet. Miss Murphy shrugs out of her coat and hangs it. Then, I ask the woman, who I assume is one of the birthday girl’s family members, if it’s okay for me to do a quick sweep of the place.
“Oui,oui,oui,” she says with a carefree handwave, walking back to the door after the doorbell rings again.
The music gets louder as we approach the space where the party is being held. Miss Murphy is holding on to the strap of her purse like a lifeline. So before I walk around to check out the place, I tell her, “Text me an SOS, and I’ll get you out of here if it gets too overwhelming for you.”
She frowns and narrows her green eyes at me. “Like just a text saying SOS?”
“That’s right.”
“And you can get me out of here?” She seems incredulous like I might be joking, but I’m most definitely not.
“I can get creative with the excuse to leave and make it fun for you.”
She smiles again, and the warmth of it glides over me. She’s smiled more today than in the entire past three weeks. And I know she’s heartbroken about her mother and probably feeling uncomfortable being here, but at least she’s not crying back home. Alone.
Aaron calls me through my earpiece. He wants to know if everything’s okay. I ask Miss Murphy to give me a second by lifting a finger and narrowing an eye. I shoot a quick “all good” to Aaron and drop my hands back into a single fist in front of me.
“I’ll take it into consideration,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Thank you, Caleb.”
Stunned about her calling me by my first name, I part my lips to reply. But I’m a few beats too late because she’s already walking away toward the girls. I wasn’t expecting her to start calling me Caleb after we “exchanged” names earlier. At least not out in the open. And it’s not like I’m going to call her Billie. Not even Aaron does, nor will he ever. But he is not going to be thrilled if he finds out. As long as I keep calling her Miss Murphy, I’m free of sin. I think.
About fifty minutes later of my presence going unnoticed, I see Miss Murphy grabbing her phone from her purse and resting it on her lap. She drops her gaze to the screen for a long moment but puts the phone away again. She does this several times for the next ten minutes.
Miss Murphy probably wants to leave. She’s socializing a bit more freely than she does at school, but I can tell the smiles she’s bouncing back to her “friends” aren’t genuine. I can now confidently say I know what a real smile from her looks like, andthatis not it.
The doorbell rings again. Aaron’s already telling me through my earpiece that a small group of boys are headed our way. They waltz in, talking in French and taking in the place smelling like the perfume section of a department store. The mix of their colognes hit me all at once. I can’t help but try to sniff out the pungent combination of aromas. I observe each of them as they walk past me as if I were a statue. They all seem harmless and must be around the same age as the girls.
Hormonal but harmless.
The girls take notice of their grand entrance, or maybe they sniffed them from a distance, but some of them begin to whisper and giggle, undoubtedly excited about their arrival. But not Miss Murphy. Her gaze widens. The girl beside her says something in her ear, and she nods and smiles awkwardly but immediately takes her phone out of her purse. She’s not just staring at her screen as she did before. She’s clicking on the annoying little keyboard buttons. And then my phonepings, but it’s not on the group chat. She texts me directly.
Miss Murphy:SOS
Thank fuck.
Cornered
May 14, 2005
LAST NIGHT WAS THE FIRST TIMEI ever got to say goodnight to Miss Murphy. And even if I’m glad she stepped out of her comfort zone and went to that party, I also feel like it wasn’t the best day to do so because today is the anniversary of her mother’s death. Typically, she’s socially awkward and withdrawn, but it was even worse yesterday. It was funny to see her eyes widen when the guys arrived, though. That was probably going to be too much for her to handle, and she knew it.
Thankfully, today is Saturday, so she can take it easy for the rest of the day.
Mass starts at 6 p.m., and her schedule is wide open until then. The weather is great, but I’m sure she’s going to spend it in her room curled up with a book. She could benefit from going out to get some fresh air, but I’m no stranger to the feeling of wanting to be left alone.
Today, I’m not doing any better myself. I smuggled another couple of bottles of vodka to my room a few days ago, and I might’ve drunk more than I should’ve last night when we returned from the party. But aside from the moderate headache, a heaviness inside my chest woke me up early this morning. Somehow, witnessing Miss Murphy’s sadness made me tap into mine, and even if it’s not dangling on the surface like hers, it’s still there. Deeply ingrained in the depths of my soul. It’s easy to ignore but hard to forget. And today, it chose to scrape its way up into my chest, seeking attention. Alcohol helps for a few hours, but it always makes things worse. Makes everything feel raw and tender.
Is that going to stop me from drinking? Definitely not. I’m surprised though that Aaron hasn’t noticed. But I’ve been careful not to go too far with the vodka. I drink enough to take the edge off and forget about shit for a while without going overboard.
A text from my mom pops up.
Ma:Hello! How’s it going over there? Are you adapting quickly? How’s Aaron doing? Are you happy? Are they feeding you well? Yael texted you last night and she called me earlier to let me know you haven’t replied. We’re worried. You haven’t reached out in a while.
