Authors: Delilah Wilde
"What?" I said, annoyed now. "What's funny about that?"
"Sorry, I'm sorry. No, it's not funny. It's just...well, it's kinda funny," he said, "An art major and a creative writing major. I mean, how were you expecting to support yourselves after college? Not to shit on your dreams or anything."
He was picking on me for my major now? Seriously? He chuckled but when he saw the look on my face he quickly stopped. I could have gotten mad with him, and I probably should have, but I let it go and continued my tale of sorrow and ultimate betrayal.
"Well, we were both really good at what we did. Really, really good. Jeff's writing is like something you'd read in an actual published book. He always got A's," I said. He had written me some beautiful love poems too, but I decided not to mention them. It was embarrassing and way too painful to even think about.
"And your art?" said Nate, with interest. I bit my lip nervously. I wasn't one to toot my own horn usually, but Nate didn't seem like he would mind. He was up himself enough anyway.
"My art was fucking amazing. It still is," I said, bashfully, "We were going to do a book together. Not a kid's book. Like a really literary graphic novel with really deep themes and metaphors and all that stuff. He would write, I would illustrate and we'd make a million bucks."
Nate was uncharacteristically tactful.
"That's quite an ambition," he said.
I appreciated his respect for my former dream but there was no point beating around the bush.
"It was a stupid idea. Like, really terrible. Jeff and I moved in with each other after college, into a shitty studio apartment with no light and barely any air," I paused, before deciding not to mention that I still called this terrible apartment my home, "Jeff insisted that he needed to dedicate himself full time to the story if he was going to get it done. He told me that writing is a lot more difficult than my doodles."
"Doodles?" said Nate.
I shrugged as if it was no big deal but he had obviously picked up on the hurt in my voice. That word still felt like a knife into my back, even when Nate said it. I hadn't been practicing and studying and working my ass off for years to create doodles.
"His word, not mine. But I was stupid. I agreed with him. He told me that it was my job to make the money now because his story would be such a big hit later that he would take care of us then," I said, bitterly remembering the conversation.
"His story? I thought you were doing it together?" asked Nate, raising one eyebrow.
I shrugged again, attempting to look casual though tears were pricking at my eyes. I gave them a quick wipe before continuing.
"Yeah, well it was supposed to be. And I was still doing the drawings. Jeff can't even draw stick people. But I did my drawings on top of a waitressing job, a retail job and whatever freelance work I could get."
The story sounded so much worse when I said it out loud but I knew I had to keep going. Nate was a surprisingly good listener and I didn't come across people like that very often.
"And then, he fucked someone while you were at work?" Nate asked. I shook my head.
"Not quite. There was more to it than that. Fucking is one thing that I maybe could have forgiven. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I didn't. But it wasn't as bad as what he did," I said. Nate was leaning forward now, obviously enraptured. Maybe my story telling abilities weren't quite as terrible as Jeff had made them out to be. "What he did was worse. He fell in love with someone else."
"He did?" said Nate, "How?"
My chest was hurting now. Up until this moment I had done my best to suppress every negative feeling, every shitty emotion that had come with the break up. Now I was feeling it and it was awful.
"My best friend Amy and I used to get together at my place on Thursday nights to drink wine and watch movies and stuff. From what I gather, I drank too much one night and passed out. Jeff and Amy put me to bed and got talking and realized how much that they have in common," I said, trying to keep my voice light and free from bitterness, "They started hanging out while I was at work. I found them together a few times when I got home early but they were always playing video games or chatting or doing something perfectly innocent. And they always looked so happy to see me. Jeff would pass it off as Amy just stopping by to see me."
Nate nodded knowingly. Of course he knew where the story was going but he was diplomatic enough not to interrupt me. I needed to finish it myself, though I could feel myself shaking with anger and sorrow.
"Then one day I dropped by Amy's place uninvited. I'd just been let go from my waitressing job so I felt like total garbage and I just wanted to rant to my best friend. It was the middle of the day and Amy usually works nights so I knew she'd be home. Her roommate left me in and I went straight to her bedroom," I was crying now. Actual tears were running down my face in front of this random guy I had just slept with. Nate took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
"They were having sex?" he said softly, and I shook my head. That would have been easier. If I had seen Jeff slamming into her from behind I could have written him off as a douche bag and her as a slut and moved on with my life. No, it was worse than that.
"They were laying on her bed, fully clothed and cuddling. I saw them and knew straight away that this had been going on forever and it hadn't just been about sex. He loved her," I said, "They didn't even try to deny it. Amy started crying as soon as she saw me and Jeff just said 'I'm so sorry'.
They live together now, and I'm alone."
Nate nodded and looked as if he was going to say something but then there was a knock at the door. "Room service!" called a man's voice. Nate hopped out of bed and pulled on his boxers, grabbing his wallet from where it was laying on the floor. I dove under the sheets so I wouldn't have to interact with anyone. My heart was pounding at the story I had just told. Telling it like that just made it so much more real. I wiped my eyes and vowed that there would be no more crying until I got home.
I listened to the man bring the tray into the room. By the sounds of things, Nate gave him a very generous tip. Then the door closed and I knew we were alone again.
"Breakfast?" said Nate. I forced myself to come out from under the sheets and plastered a smile on my face.
"Yummy," I said, looking at the incredible dishes in front of me. They were all presented on what looked to be very expensive silver trays but they suddenly looked unappetizing to me. Still, I wanted to be polite so I sat up and began to delicately dig in to some waffles. They should have tasted delicious but my mouth was so dry that the first bite took an age to swallow and I couldn't even think of attempting a second one. I thought that Nate might make fun of me or complain about me being ungrateful when he had spent so much money on our breakfast, but he was mercifully quiet. He ate while I poked the food around my plate in total silence. It was a relief at first but quickly became almost unbearable. Perhaps I had shared too much? I did my best to break the silence.
“I wonder what Trisha and her husband are doing right now,” I said, and Nate gave a chuckle. For the first time in about ten minutes, he looked at me and I felt my heart pumping. How could a guy I had just met have this ridiculous effect on me? It wasn't reasonable or rational but I rarely was either of those things.
“Probably sleeping in after fucking all night. I mean, isn't that what newlyweds do?” he asked, and I giggled.
“If I know Trisha she'll have perfectly choreographed the whole thing. I bet she wore glittery panties too.”
I laughed some more at the image. Trisha's poor husband had a lot to handle. Then I remembered the way he was looking at her last night, like she was the most incredible girl in the world and I didn't feel like laughing anymore. Still, after my crying episode I couldn't afford to get emotional. I kept a smile on my face.
“So how do you know...Patrick?” I asked, struggling to remember Trisha's husband's name. There was definitely a P in there somewhere. Whatever his name was, he didn't look anything like Nate but I couldn't help but wonder if they were related. It was even weirder to think that they might be friends.
“I don't, last night is the first time I met the guy. How about you?” he asked. Strange, Nate certainly didn't seem like the kind of friend that Trisha would associate herself with. Her friends were usually girls who got their nails done every other day, went to church on Sundays and bitched about everyone not within hearing distance. Nate didn't exactly fit that profile.
“Same. He's not as bad as he could have been, knowing Trisha's taste in guys,” I gave a comical shudder, remembering all the terrible boyfriends she had gone through during the years.
“That's true,” he said. “Even as a kid the guys she forced to marry her always had lice.”
I had to laugh at that.
“That's so true!” I said, letting out an embarrassing snort of laughter. Suddenly, I realized, “Wait, you knew Trisha as a kid? Did you go to school together?”
I had gone to an all-girls Catholic school as a kid. Trisha had gone to a mixed school on the other side of town. She had always blamed my luck, or lack thereof with the opposite sex on my single sex education. It was weird to imagine Nate as a kid, sitting next to Trisha in class and sharing his crayons with her. But he shook his head in answer to my question and took a swig of orange juice before correcting me.
“Nah,” he said, wiping his mouth on his arm. His table manners weren't exactly that good, “We're cousins.”
I felt the blood drain from my face at his words. Cousins? I was Trisha's cousin. If Nate was Trisha's cousin too then that must mean...
“We're related!” I screamed, pulling away from him. His hand had been resting on my knee so I pushed that away too. Nate looked about as shocked and confused as I felt.
“Wait, what the hell are you talking about Ruby?” he asked.
“You're Trisha's cousin. I'm Trisha's cousin! We're cousins!” I said. He reached out his hands, probably in an attempt to comfort me but I slapped them away, “Don't touch me. Oh fuck, where are my clothes?”
He'd already seen me naked so I let the sheet drop and grabbed my clothes from the floor. I pulled on my dress as quickly as I could as he tried to calm me down.
“Wait! Wait Ruby, Trisha is my stepmother's niece. My stepmother must be your aunt. So it's not blood,” He insisted, but I barely listened. Blood or no blood, it was still fucked up. I shoved my feet back into my heels and grabbed my purse.
“I have to go,” I said, “This is so fucked up, I have to go.”
Nate sighed. He didn't seem nearly as concerned as I was about the nature of our relationship. It was completely immoral. If anyone found out I would be disowned. If Trisha found out I would never live it down.
“At least let me call you a cab,” he said. The idea of getting the bus in my high heels and last night's dress wasn't exactly enticing but I couldn't stay here. I couldn't take anything from him.
“No thank you,” I said and slammed straight out the door. With a little bit of luck, no one would ever find out and I would never have to see Nate Watson again.
Nate
Ruby's anger was like nothing I had ever seen before. Her gentle, pale features had turned an alarming shade of red and she had barged out of my hotel room like I was the most disgusting thing she had ever come across. I had never had a girl treat me that way, especially over something insignificant. To be frank, it pissed me off quite a bit. So my step mom and her real mom were sisters. So what? It didn't mean anything. Maybe the sex was so bad that she just wanted an excuse to leave.
Nah, I'd seen the way she moved and heard her moans last night. There was no way that she hadn't enjoyed herself. I lay back on the bed where we had fucked last night and pulled out my cell phone, hoping to distract myself by answering some work emails. It was to no avail, of course. I couldn't stop thinking about Ruby. It was so stupid, not like me at all. Usually I would fuck a girl and then quickly move on to the next one, but something about this one was different. She was special.