CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Now that I’ve chatted with Gavin on Gmail’s chat, I become kind of a stalker. Back at Keystone Property Management, I keep a Gmail window constantly open, watching to see if the little bubble next to his name turns from gray to green, signaling that he’s online.
But his bubble’s never green.
After our first connection, I want to know more. I have to know. Why did he trash his house?
I’m still afraid he’s angry about my accusation but I pretend it never happened. Instead, I send him an email about his crooked couch. It’s clearly expensive—should I find a place to repair it? Does he want me to replace it? Or get something different? I send the message and wait.
And wait.
After work, I take Jasper out for another walk in the park, our rhythm becoming familiar. I’m figuring out when he can go off-leash safely and when I need its added insurance so he doesn’t go tearing after squirrels or other dogs. That dog is fast—when he’s going top speed, his tail uncurls almost straight like a streamer behind him.
We’re back and I dive for my phone to check my email again. What’s gotten into me? I’m supposed to be licking my wounds over Jeff, not fixated on Gavin. I force my mind to recall the state of his apartment when I first got here and revulsion overpowers lust.
That’s better.
But I see an email in my in-box, and my chest does a little fluttery thing when I see it’s from Gavin. Damn.
Gavin doesn’t answer my question about the couch. He does one better. His email says:
Beryl. Chat me. I’ll be here at the café for half an hour or so.
I squeak with excitement and then check the time, dismayed. He sent the email almost an hour ago, and I’ve been gallivanting all over Central Park with his dog. I kick myself for leaving my phone behind, and then kick myself for kicking myself.
How lame is it to be waiting online for a guy? Is this the new version of waiting by the phone?
I ditch my phone because it’s almost out of juice and as my laptop wakes up and Gmail launches, I find myself cheering it on.
“Come on, come on,” I urge.
Me: Gavin. I’m here.
Gavin: Beryl.
Me: How are you?
Gavin: Lost, but in a good way. I went to Njoro.
Me: You did? That’s pretty far from Nairobi.
Gavin: Yeah, it was a few hours, but I wanted to see where the Beryl prototype grew up.
Me: The prototype?
Gavin: Well, I couldn’t call her the “Original Beryl,” since I met you first.
Me: No, you couldn’t. So … are you having fun?
Gavin: Fun’s not the word for it. I’m on a mission.
Me: For?
Gavin: I’ll tell you when I find it. I think I’m getting closer.
Me: Is it something you lost?
Gavin: Yeah.
Me: Someone?
Gavin: Yeah.
Me: Tell me.
Gavin: No. Stop pushing. I just wanted to say you can replace the couch, except don’t get the same kind.
Me: Why not?
Gavin: I need a change. I want things different.
Me: Is that why you were trying to wreck everything you owned?
Gavin: I don’t know. I think I was trying to wreck myself.
I want to ask why but I hold silent.
Gavin: So anyway, just make some changes, OK?
Me: Anything I want?
Gavin: No pink. Or girly frilly crap.
Me: Rats. That’s just what I had in mind.
Gavin: You wouldn’t dare. I take it back. Don’t change anything.
Me: Really?
Gavin: Shit. I’m no good at this. I usually have my assistant to figure this out.
Me: What happened to her?
Gavin: I fired him. So you’re it, Beryl.
Me: OK, then, how can I assist you?
Gavin: Tell me about yourself.
Me: Um, that’s kind of a weird request.
Gavin: No, it’s not. Not for what I have in mind.
A bolt shoots through me, hearing a sensual connotation I’m sure he didn’t intend. But I want it to be there.
Gavin Slater wants to know about me? What could I possibly tell him that would be enough?
Me: OK, then, what do you want to know?
Gavin: Tell me something real. Not something you make up to impress me.
Me: Hello, ego? What makes you think I’ll try to impress you?
Gavin: Because everyone does. It’s kind of gross. People who have no business making moves on me—teenagers and much older women and taken women, and even some men—act like I’m a piece of meat. Or like I’m a lion; if they just dangle a piece of meat out in front of me, I’ll pounce.
Me: Gross.
Gavin: It was awesome at first. But then it got weird. Now it bugs me. A lot.
Me: I don’t believe it.
Gavin: Well, I did earn my bad boy reputation the regular way.
Me: That’s more like it.
Gavin: What about you? Tell me something real. Really real.
Me: I’ve only had one boyfriend.
Gavin: And…
Me: And I love passion fruit gelato and I’m terrified of spiders.
Gavin: You’re stalling.
Me: True. You can Google me. I guess I could Google you to figure out your secrets…
Gavin: DO NOT GOOGLE ME.
Me: Seriously? What are you hiding? Is it juicy?
Gavin: DO NOT. Seriously.
Me: Now I need to know. I need to know what you’re looking for and you won’t tell me. I can’t help you.
Gavin: That’s different.
Me: Like hell it is. Look, Mr. Rock Star, I know you have an exciting life and a pretty carefree one, judging by the way you treat what you have and take things for granted. But you can’t presume to measure your life against mine. You have no idea.
Gavin: Then we’re equal.
Me: And opposite.
The words fly from my fingers before I think about what I’m saying. After a long pause, Gavin types back:
Gavin: Physics. You saw that interview.
Me: Yeah.
Gavin: Beryl, I changed my mind. I really do want you to make my place different.
Me: How different?
Gavin: So I don’t even recognize it. So it doesn’t feel like mine.
Me: What should it feel like?
Gavin: Figure it out. Transform it. That’s what I want you to do for me.
Me: I can do that.
I suck in my breath, not even sure where to start.
Gavin: I’ve got about five minutes left before they close the Internet café and kick me out. So I’ll ask you one more time: tell me something real.
Me: Quid pro quo?
Gavin: Yes. One question, and one answer. Each.
Me: When my dad died, I was 13. I had to become the parent. My mom was no good at it; she enrolled in school and turned into a stranger for, like, years. I don’t know if she would have eaten if I hadn’t cooked for us.
Gavin: Why do I feel like there’s a ‘but’ in there somewhere?
Me: The ‘but’ is that I didn’t always do a good job. Parenting myself. Setting boundaries. Watching out.
Gavin: With your job and your businesslike notes, you seem really responsible. Really capable.
Me: Survival skill. I wasn’t always successful, but I figured it out. Instead of being daring, taking risks like a normal teenager, I had to be more careful. I feel like I missed out. Time’s up, I answered. Your turn. Tell me something real about you.
Gavin: Her name was Lulu. And I couldn’t save her.
Gavin’s bubble abruptly turns from green to gray and I slam my hand on the table in frustration. The connection is gone. Just as he’s telling me about this mysterious someone he lost, I lose him.
But maybe I haven’t.
Maybe I’ve just gained something from this chat. Some thread of a connection.
I vow to do the best job I can making his apartment new. Maybe it’s the seed he needs to start a new life.