Chapter 8
Kate
The book in my lap wasn’t holding my attention. It was supposed to be one of those popular teen books that got all the movies made about them, but I couldn’t seem to get into the story. But if I was honest, it wasn’t the book that was bothering me—it was my sister. Claire and I had been arguing on and off all day, and the tension was starting to get the better of me.
Right now we were in one of those “off” times where no words were being spoken. She was in her room doing her own thing, and I was out in the living room, trying to clear my head by getting absorbed in a book.
As soon as I heard her movements and the sound of her footsteps growing louder, I knew that “off” time was about to be very much “on.”
Seconds later, she stepped into the living room. She wore a large, baggy, red and black flannel shirt and a pair of leggings. Her hair was uncombed and held up messily in a bun on top of her head, and she was running toward me, skidding over the hardwood floor of the hall in her blue fuzzy socks.
“Kate!” she said with a grumpy tone as she quickly held her phone up and pushed it at my face.
The phone had been the subject of one of our earlier arguments. After the whole “cancelling the therapy appointment” debacle, I’d taken her phone and put it into the kitchen drawer for safekeeping.
Well, she decided to have a little bit too much gumption and take it out, thinking I wouldn’t notice.
In the end, I’d let her have it on the condition that she cleaned that disgusting room of hers.
It wasn’t as clean as I’d wanted it to be, but it was a start. So, I’d let her have the damn thing. Never in my wildest dreams did I think a few hours later it’d be shoved directly in my face.
I put my book against my chest and looked up at her, trying to keep my cool.
She pushed it almost up to my nose. “You got your disgusting, grubby finger prints all over my screen!”
I rolled my eyes, gently pushed the phone away from me, and went back to my book. I wasn’t about to give in to her ridiculous outburst.
She growled. I wasn’t sure if she were mad that I didn’t care enough to respond, or if she was genuinely mad that I’d put a few fingerprints on her screen. Regardless, I didn’t care.
In my peripheral vision, she pulled out a small leather sleeve from her shirt pocket. Despite my best judgment, I looked up and studied her for a minute. In fact, I really couldn’t help but watch her almost anxiously, wondering what she was doing.
“Chill,” she said with a sigh. “It’s just a cloth to clean my damn phone.”
She opened the sleeve and carefully pulled out a small grey cloth. She slowly unfolded it and huffed in frustration.
She wiped in small, deliberate circles at first until she gave another huge sigh. I watched—eyes wide—as she began meticulously scrubbing her phone’s screen. Her swipes were growing in fervor by the second.
“Stop watching me,” she grumbled, not looking up.
“I’ve never seen someone so compulsive about their phone before,” I said. “It’s a little intriguing.”
“What?” she snapped, as she scrubbed and scrubbed at her phone. “You don’t like that I care about my stuff?”
“You’re worried about a few smudges on your screen?” I couldn’t help but laugh some more. “Your room looks like the Loch Ness Monster threw up in it, and you’re worried about finger prints on a cell phone.”
“You aren’t respecting my things,” she said.
“Are you shitting me?” I clenched my jaw tightly and balled my fists. I didn’t know why the comment made me so angry, but it did. I wasn’t sure if it was because I couldn’t believe she had the gall to say something so stupid, or if it was just a mix of everything that’d already happened over the last couple days. If anyone was being disrespectful of someone else in any way, it was her.
I knew I was shooting a death glare right for her as soon as she said that to me. “Sit the hell down and calm yourself,” I said in a low, but serious, tone.
She was so tense that I was a little terrified. I wasn’t terrified of her—I knew she’d never hurt me. She could hiss, shoot death glare after death glare, or push me away. She could even tear at my skin, claw at me, pull on my hair — she could do it all — but I wasn’t scared of her.
I was terrified for her mental state. We still hadn’t gotten to see the therapist, which bothered me because it was in direct violation of her doctor’s orders and hospital requirements. I was supposed to get her to a damn therapist.
Dr. Furhman had recommended a few emergency-case colleagues of his that could take us if it was bad enough. But he hoped that it wouldn’t get to that point. So did I. She already had trust established with Dr. Furhman. Sending her to talk to someone new wouldn’t be productive, and the risk was that it would be counterproductive.
She sat down on the couch, looking at me with unease. I wasn’t sure if she was sorry for the way she was acting, or confused as to why I was pissed off. But whatever it was, I smiled at her. I couldn’t help myself.
Even when she crossed her arms and gave an annoying sigh, I still smiled.
“You don't take me seriously!” she said.
Instead of giving in, though, I scooted closer and placed a hand on her shoulder. She began to cry. First softly, and then harder and harder.
I felt bad. I knew she was fragile, and yet I’d argued with her too.
I considered leaving the situation right then and there — escaping. It was a tempting thought, but all I could hear were my dad’s words, telling me to just bail. I couldn’t, though. I knew I couldn’t. Instead, I whispered reassurances in her ear, trying to calm her, but it didn’t calm her. Instead, she jerked up to look at me, and all I saw were mixed emotions spread all over her tear-stained face.
I didn’t know what she was thinking, until she launched her arm back and threw her phone.
“What are you doing?” I asked a little louder than I had intended, throwing my hands up. I took a deep breath to try to calm my nerves. “How can I help you, Claire? Please, just tell me what you need, because I’m jumping through all the hoops these days, and I don’t know what else to do.”
She froze. “Sorry. I’m just going to go to my room.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Okay, listen. I shouldn’t have yelled. But I do need to get out for a few minutes. Are you going to be okay on your own?”
“Yes.”
“Really. Because I can’t do another hospital trip, and I’m so tired, Claire. I worry, and I love you, and I want you to be well.”
She smirked. “But you also need time to be on your own. I get it. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay. Thanks. But I’m only a phone call away if you need me for anything. Got it?”
“Got it,” she responded as she walked across the room to pick her phone up.
I stood, and as much as I really didn’t want to leave her alone, I knew that I needed to get away for a minute. I was on edge. Not only because of the whole Claire situation, which was enough to even stress a monk the hell out, but also because I hadn’t heard from Ian since yesterday.
He hadn’t been answered any of my texts, or my call. It wasn’t like him. He had texted back before, even though he had been busy. But I knew to leave him alone. Better to leave him alone than to show desperation—desperation wasn’t pretty on anyone.
Still, though, I couldn’t help but growl out in frustration every time I thought about it.
I gathered my things and pounded my way out of the apartment and into the hall. I hated leaving Claire, but I was useless to her if I was on edge.
Once outside, it was only a matter of time before I found myself in the one place that I probably shouldn’t have been—Starbucks.
I cringed as soon as I realized where my feet had taken me. I cringed even more when I wanted nothing more than to go in. I even debated with myself for a full minute before gathering up enough courage to actually pull the door open.
As soon as I stepped in, I was greeted by a giant burst of warm air and the most intoxicating smell in the world: roasting coffee beans. I took a moment to breathe it all in. Then I stopped, abruptly. I thought it’d be impossible to grow tired of that tantalizing scent. Unfortunately, now I couldn’t help but feel a little upset by it, because the smell reminded me of him.
How could it not? This was where we’d met. It was “our” place.
I felt like a crazy person getting so upset about a man not texting me back after one day. Hell, it hadn’t even been a full twenty-four hours. Also, he didn’t owe me anything. We’d had coffee a few times and one lunch date. We weren’t even in a relationship.
I shook my head, freeing myself of the thoughts. I slipped quickly — and awkwardly — between a couple about to embrace, and stood in line.
All the hipsters and businessmen were running in and out. The younger crowd and the older crowd were intermingling and lounging just inches from one another as they read newspapers and books. Some were just sitting; others were typing away on their laptops. They looked peaceful, you know, before the day decided to sink its hooks into them and ruin it all.
It was quiet, but loud at the same time. The sound of feet rustling, the hushed voices of people in line, and the loud clinging of the baristas behind the counter — it all seemed to fuse together to create one sound. It all seemed incomplete, though, without Ian. I missed him. As much as I could miss someone after having just met them. He really had come to mean a lot to me, especially after how he’d been with me in the hospital the day before.
I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d scared him off somehow.
I glanced up at the menu with tired eyes. I’d been up over half the night, sleeping in spurts on Claire’s floor, scared to death to leave her alone. Yet, here I was now, in a coffee shop while she was alone at home shut in her room. And the one person in the world who could make me feel better with just a slight touch or a kind smile—he wasn’t anywhere to be heard from.