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“But why?” they all cry out in chorus.
“You know why! He’s going to tell me that it’s over and that his life will be much easier without me!”
“Maybe,” Clem says. “Or he might tell you that he acted like a huge jerk, that he’s going to go to therapy, and that he doesn’t want to lose you.”
“But you won’t know that as long as you refuse to talk to him,” Lily adds.
“They’re right. You’re prolonging the torture, Alma. Just call him back.”
“Shots to give you a little Dutch courage?” Lily suggests, grabbing the bottle of tequila.
I don’t give in.
Two more days pass, and I still haven’t caved. The temptation is terrible, ever-present. Missing him is painful, but I hold out. I want him to be afraid of losing me the way I’m afraid I’ve lost him. And besides, I don’t have the strength to fight, to deal with his accusations, to defend myself, to justify myself repeatedly.
Actually, I’d just like to start all over again. Go back twelve years, not make the same mistake again, never leave him. If it weren’t for a past that still tears us apart, he wouldn’t have doubted me in the present.
***
It’s Saturday night, and no one’s around. Lily is out, Clémentine is hosting her in-laws, and Niels claims to have a cold but is probably hooking up with a guy he met on Grindr. I don’t know which of them had spring rolls, steamed dumplings, and fried noodles for six people delivered to me, or who left the Twin Peaks box set on my TV stand, but these anonymous gestures confirm that, even from a distance, they are there for me.
No one knows how to blow the dark clouds away like they do.
The doorbell rings just as I’m about to get out of the bath after a long soak, my fingers wrinkled like prunes. Curious to know what those three schemers have cooked up this time, I nearly fall over as I jump out of the tub. Steadying myself, I slip on my bathrobe, shake out my wet hair, and trot to the door, leaving wet footprints on the polished hardwood floor.
I open the door a crack… and find myself looking at a tall, dark-haired man with a worried expression.
“Thank fuck, you’re alive!”
With a dark look on his face, Vadim pushes the door wide open and lets himself into my apartment.
“Make yourself at home…” I mutter, instinctively tightening the belt of my bathrobe.
If it’s a fight he wants…
Once in the living room, he tosses his long coat onto the couch, rolls up the sleeves of his gray sweater, and fixes his eyes on mine.
“You really are determined to ruin my life, Lancaster.”
He steps forward, staring me down; I step back, holding his gaze.
“What do you want, Vadim?”
“For you to stop disappearing!”
“You didn’t exactly do anything to make me stay when Kate was there.”
“I’ve called you at least thirty times since then! I left you tons of messages! I came here three times, but you were never around! I thought something had happened to you, dammit!” His low, resonant voice scolds me, but his eyes are doing the exact opposite. “Don’t ever do that to me again, Alma,” he murmurs.
My back is against the wall. Literally. Escaping is out of the question because his body is practically pressed against mine. Vadim closes the remaining distance between us, then digs his hands into my wet hair. He pulls it gently behind my neck and leans in to kiss me. I want this kiss as much as he does, but memories of that scene at work come rushing back. I turn my head away, and he stops.
“You didn’t even try to defend me,” I say.
“Alma, I—”
“You never trust me.”
“I’m trying.”
