Here Without You

Thus began the weeks of what we termed being reckless – and I worry that from my viewpoint, at least, that word defines our entire relationship. Reid lives his life in a reckless way, and ever since his life collided with mine last summer, I’ve been unbalanced. The trajectory of my safe, small orbit cannot contain him, and no amount of wishing will change that.

He told me on Sunday that once news of River breaks, it will be a circus. I’m not sure what he means, not entirely, but I have a better idea than most. The truth will only be what the truth looks to be, not what it is. The media will toss out possibilities, and fans will gobble them down, making up their own storylines. They’ll want to see Reid and his beautiful ex back together, saving their son from the horrors of drug addicts and foster care, and they won’t want a plain-Jane nobody interloper in the mix.

Claudia drives Raul, Afton and me to Zachary’s Pizza to brainstorm ideas for our group project. Afton and I don’t own a car, and Raul’s tiny, ill-maintained Fiat seats two and is forever running on fumes. He and Claudia argued about this all the way here and are still at it.

‘You never drive, even that one time it was just the two of us.’

Raul peruses the menu, his eyebrows arched defensively towards his black spiked hair. ‘So I’d rather bum rides or take public transport everywhere and have a social life than buy gas for my little deathtrap – sue me.’

‘Bum is right,’ Claudia murmurs.

‘You do know pizza can be delivered? We didn’t have to show up in person,’ he says.

‘Not from Zachary’s. And other places are so not the same –’

‘Vraiment!’ Afton interjects in French, though by the looks they give each other, neither of them speaks it. ‘This place is the best. Now stop fighting, you two. God.’ She punctuates this edict with a pout, which ruins the stern mother effect.

Gesturing at her with his menu, Raul objects. ‘We’re not fighting, we’re sparring. It’s what we do. If you don’t like it, turn away.’ He makes a move-along motion with his free hand.

Afton rolls her eyes. ‘I vote thin crust spinach and mushroom.’

Raul is horrified. ‘No way. I’m a man. I need meat and I want it stuffed.’

‘That’s what he said,’ Claudia mumbles.

Before Raul can return fire, I notice one of the girls from my building who saw me with Reid the night he stayed in my dorm – one of the girls on the receiving end of that spontaneous wink of his. She’s sitting at an adjacent table with several other girls, and they’re all leaning their heads together and staring – at me.

‘Uh-oh,’ Claudia tells me quietly. ‘I think your cover is blown.’

‘What cover? What’s going on?’ Afton is wide-eyed and speaking in a whisper that could be heard two tables away.

‘Why. Are. We. Whispering?’ Raul asks, whispering just as loudly.

‘Can we go somewhere else?’ I ask, and they all look at me like I’m insane. There’s a mob of people waiting for tables, and we’ve got one.

A waiter appears, as though Raul’s growling stomach conjured him. ‘What can I get for you guys tonight?’

As Raul and Afton order, Claudia scoots her chair a bit, blocking me from maybe two people at the table of six. ‘Just ignore them.’

Ignore them. Right. I rearrange my silverware, all too aware that they’ve pulled out cell phones now and are taking pictures. Of me. When I was with Reid on Saturday night, and he guided me into the restaurant with one arm around my waist, the paparazzi flashes were different. The photos were of him, and I was merely with him.

Here, I’m alone, ordering dinner with friends, living my average-girl life.

Except for the whole strangers photographing me part.

‘Why is that gaggle of sororstitutes taking our picture?’ Raul asks when the waiter leaves.

Claudia sputters, ‘Don’t call them that, you sexist –’

‘Have you seen the parade of them through my dorm room? No. You have not.’ One of Raul’s roommates is a total man-whore, and is beyond skilled – according to Raul – at locating and successfully propositioning every willing girl on campus. ‘I can sleep through just about anything now. A condition which makes me sad for my lost innocence.’

Claudia barks a laugh. ‘Oh, please. If you’re innocent, I’m the Dali Lama.’

‘Namaste,’ he returns.

‘Excuse me.’ Oh, no. Elevator girl – holding a magazine, folded open to a page splashed with photographs of various celebrities everywhere from fashion shows to deli counters to poolside. Right in the centre: Reid in his grey suit and blue tie, and me, semi-obscured by Reid’s body, in the blue dress. ‘This is you, isn’t it? And when Geneva and I saw you in the elevator – that was him, wasn’t it? I mean, I can understand why you’d want to keep it on the down-low, but come on.’

I cross my fingers under the table. ‘We’re … friends.’ I don’t even know why I’m lying. I hate lying.

She arches an eyebrow. ‘So what’s he doing with Brooke Cameron? I mean – you said the guy you were with was your boyfriend before, when we asked …’

Darn her memory. ‘He just … didn’t want to be recognized.’

‘Because he didn’t want it getting back to her that he was spending nights with you?’

My jaw falls open. Luckily, Claudia says, ‘Hey, look. We’re trying to have a study group session here. She says they’re friends, and she has no comment on what’s-her-name. And please tell your friends that taking pictures of people they don’t know is rude. Tah-tah and buh-bye.’