I felt hands shake meawake.
“Finn, wake up.Comeon.”
Somehow I made it into her living room, and sheets magically appeared on the sofa. I remember her hands on me, removing my soiled shirt. I remember my hands on her, attempting to remove her shirt as well. And then I remember her shoving me back against the cushion with enough force that vomit spewed from my mouth. I remember her yelling and the water in the shower and then moreyelling.
And just on the off chance that I might mercifully forget about my early morning escapades, Emma made certain, before going off to work, to leave me an angry note describing every embarrassing detail. Included in her tirade was a list of demands, the vast majority of them cleaningrelated.
After reading and re-reading her note multiple times, I set it down and sank back into the sofa, hands covering my eyes in regret. So much for giving the impression I was doing swell without her. Putting my feet up on her coffee table, I settled in. I knew Emma’s schedule well enough to know she wouldn’t be home for hours, and the pounding in my head needed time to recede before I made my way home to my place. Besides, it felt good to be back, surrounded by her things. If I closed my eyes I could almost fool myself into thinking all was right in theworld.
Cynthia jumped up on my lap, and together we watched game shows. I stroked his silky fur and apologized to him over and over for the ridiculous name he’d been saddled with, even promising him that from now on, I’d be referring to him as Theo. Not that I’d have much opportunity to follow through on my promise, since after last night, I’d never be welcomed hereagain.
Finally, after several hours of procrastination, I got up to tackle Emma’s rather extensive catalog of demands. Why was it that people were leaving me detailed lists lately? Was I really that much of a lazy douche? Was I not entitled to a bad day from time to time? Thinking back, I realized my bad day or two had stretched into a month or two. Richie was right. I had to get my act together. Emma and I were finished, and I couldn’t keep pining over her. I had a life to live, and obviously it no longer included her…orTheo.
The thought occurred to me to leave my mess for Emma to enjoy as a little ‘Welcome home from a long day at work’ and ‘Fuck you’ gift all wrapped into one; but of course, I was too nice for shit like that. My puke, my problem! Unfortunately for the headache splitting my brain in two, Emma had a ridiculously regimented cleaning requirement and had gone so far as to label each cleaning supply to complementeachtask.
Sighing, I got to work and had to cringe at the extent of the mess I’d made. In all honesty, it surprised me that Emma had left it for me to clean up in the first place. The woman I knew would never go to bed with puke splattered on her linoleum floor. After cleaning to her very specific code, I sank my exhausted body back onto her couch and drifted to sleep again. When I opened my eyes several hours later, additional memories of the prior night flooded back into myconsciousmind.
“I love you, Emma,” I remembered saying, slurring my words. “But I really hate yourightnow.”
“I know,” she’d whispered, her tears dripping onto my face as she smoothed myhairback.
“I love you and I miss you,” I’d continuedpathetically.
“I missyoutoo.”
Her words were choked out through sobs. Maybe she hadn’t gotten over me as easily as she’d madeitseem.
“Why did you leave me?” Iasked.
Despite the vomit that had recently passed through my lips, Emma bent down and kissed them gently. The last thing I remember before drifting off was, “Because Iloveyou.”
* * *
Iwas gonebefore she returned. There was no sense rehashing what had already been said. I needed to move on, for both our sakes. I knew Emma, and she was not about to budge. She believed what she was doing was the right thing for me, and maybe it was, but her chosen path to martyrdom was clearly making her miserable, and my showing up at her doorstep hadn’t helpedmatters.
It seemed as though any door I stepped through lately was rife with drama. Entering my place, I was met by an irateRichie.
“Where the hell were you lastnight?”
“What? Are you my mother? Wait, scratch that. Shelby wouldn’t giveashit.”
“Why didn’t you answer yourphone?”
“It’s dead. What’s thebigdeal?”
“The big deal is Martin Houser called my phone looking for you. Apparently he’s been trying your cell for days, and you haven’tanswered.”
“Wait, who is MartinHouser?”
“Really, Finn? You call yourself an actor?” Richie shook his head, getting more agitated with me for every minute my brain fart lingered. “He’s only the biggest agent in Hollywood, idiot, and he calledmyphone, lookingforyou!”
“Oh, shit! Martin Houser? What the hell is he callingmefor?”
“He said he had an opportunity for you. Are you no longer withKelly?”
“She didn’t do shit, so I dropped her a few months ago. Did he say whatopportunity?”
“Some musicvideo.”
