Professor Feelgood (Page 37)

“Nothing that concerns you.”

“Considering you’re walking out on our meeting, I’d say it does. We have a ton of work to do.”

“I’ll make up the time tomorrow,” he stops at the coat rack and grabs his jacket. “Just tell me where and what time.”

“Uh … Your place. Eight a.m.” I continue to follow as he walks over to the elevator and pushes the call button. “Jake, what the hell is so important that you have to walk out on your first day?”

“A personal matter.” He jabs the call button a few more times. “I’ll text you my address.”

“I don’t have a phone, remember?” The elevator doors open just as I thrust my notebook at him. “Here, write it down.”

With a huff of frustration, he scribbles down his address then steps into the elevator.

I shake my head. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

He pushes a button, and as the doors close, I hear him mutter, “Can’t wait.”

When I turn around, Devin is standing there with a smug expression. “Your new author has an amazing work ethic. And I’m impressed that it’s only been a few hours, and yet he already has zero respect for you. That has to be a record.” He laughs. “Oh, this is going great.”

“Shut up, Devin.”

I limp back to my desk and collapse into my chair, supremely exhausted and in need of a large glass of wine and a whole-day nap.

“He left?” Joanna says as she sits beside me.

“Yeah. Something came up.”

Joanna grabs the mints dispenser I keep on my desk and helps herself to one. “I feel there’s an erection joke in there, but considering your history with him, I’ll spare you.”

“Thank God.”

“So,” Jo says, leaning forward and lowering her voice. “Were you thinking what I was thinking?”

“That you wanted to murder Jake? Totally.”

“No, I mean about his lady love. What’s her name again?”

“Ingrid.”

“Right! Don’t you want to track her down and see if she did get back with her ex-boyfriend? I mean, maybe she’s pining and miserable like Jake is? And if that’s the case, we have to do something about it.”

“Jo, no. If Jake knew I was meddling in his love life, he’d hit the roof. I don’t need any more tension in our working relationship.”

“Okay,” she says, more subdued. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t do some snooping. In my time off, of course. What else can you tell me about her.”

“Nothing. I literally have zero information other than her name.”

“Well, when you find out more, let me know. I’m determined to give that boy a happy ending.”

I smile. “I feel like there’s an erection joke in there somewhere, but I’ll spare you.”

She stands and hands me my purse. “And now, you should go home and get some rest. And shower. I love you and all, but you smell like gutter water. I’ll let Serena know where you are.”

I take my purse and give her a hug. “You’re the best.”

I limp over to the elevator and press the button.

Okay, so … one day from hell done and dusted. Several hundred to go.

TWELVE

____________________

Broken Hearts and Invisible Walls

AFTER A NIGHT OF RESTLESS sleep and Jake-centric dreams, I try to start the morning with a positive attitude. Sure, my knee and hip hurt like sons-of-bitches, and I’m forced to cover the spectacular bruising with jeans, but at least my head didn’t start bleeding again when I washed my hair this morning, so, you know … I’m calling that a win.

I breathe in the cool October air as I limp-stride down the street toward Jake’s apartment. It’s a gorgeous day in Brooklyn, even with the distinctive roar/thump of cars crossing the bridge providing the most unmusical background noise imaginable. But despite the sunlight glinting off the Hudson, I feel a sense of unease curling through my mind.

Part of it has to do with Jake and his unpredictability, sure. But even without his presence, there’s so much about autumn that puts me on edge.

Fall used to be my mother’s favorite time of year. She loved how the trees all went from boring green to an infinite range of reds and oranges, and she had the uncanny ability to predict the first winter snow by studying the giant tree in Jake’s front yard. I have no idea what type of tree it was, but it was beautiful, especially in autumn. I’d often find Mom on our tiny front porch in the mornings, sipping her coffee and gazing at the shimmering foliage.

“That’s the tree of love,” she’d say every year. “See how she’s all red, like a love heart? Every day, she reveals a little more of herself to us. Each leaf falls like it’s in love with the ground, and then one day, there she is, her barest self, naked and unashamed.” She gazed at me with her kind blue eyes, framed in a face made old before its time by heartbreak and working three jobs to support us. “That’s what it’s like to fall in love.”

I was always surprised by how wistful she got whenever she talked about love. Even as a toddler, I wasn’t blind to how often my parents fought. I heard the mostly-whispered but sometimes-yelled arguments. I knew that they struggled to put on a brave face for me and Eden.

And yet, mom always seemed like part of her was living in a romantic fantasy. One in which dad never disappeared for weeks at a time. One where she didn’t feel the need to close her door at night, so we couldn’t hear her cry.

Even with all her problems with dad, she’d talk about love like she’d never been hurt. She told me that a soul mate is someone who sees all the parts you’re ashamed of, and loves you anyway.

When I asked her if that’s how she felt about Dad, her eyes would cloud over, and she’d say, “The only thing worse than not finding your soul mate, is finding him and realizing you’re two parts of the same train traveling in different directions.”

It was the only time I remember Mom saying anything negative about Dad to me and Eden, and that always infuriated me. We knew how much he hurt her, but she was too damn stubborn to admit it. I guess that’s one thing she passed down to her girls: We Tate sisters aren’t great at admitting our vulnerabilities.

I’m not sure if the way Dad treated Mom is one of the factors that has prevented me having a fulfilling, intimate relationship with a man, or whether there’s part of me that’s just not wired right. I thought I’d finally had a sense of soul-mate-dom when I met my current man, but it evaporated every time we got naked together.

Whenever I see girls my age embracing the power of their sexuality and taking pleasure wherever they can find it, I feel a little more broken; like a walking sexual defect whose body shuts down as soon as a man sees the entirety of it. I keep waiting for that magical moment when I stand naked in front of someone and don’t want to flee the room, but so far, it hasn’t happened. Sometimes, I wonder if it ever will.

As I continue past converted warehouses and too-trendy cafes, I absently go to pull out my phone to check if I’m going in the right direction. Then I remember it was stolen, and the old iPhone Eden loaned me last night feels clunky and ancient in comparison. Guess I’m going to have to save up if I want to replace it in the near future.

I’m about to put it away again, when it buzzes with a text. It’s from my sister.