The Tribuo - 38. Part IV, chapter 10

- X -

EMMA

Tara took a single look at me when I came in last night, and without saying anything, she pulled me closer. I just buried my head in her shoulder and started to sob. Every time I thought that I was finally drained of tears, that nothing else could possibly come out, I would hear Russell’s words. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.” And I would weep more. Tara led me into the kitchen, sat me down on the chair, and started making tea, while I kept shaking with sobs. I was waiting for her to start saying something like, “I am so sorry,” or “God, Emma, I feel so bad for you,” and I was dreading that moment. I knew that the minute I heard pity in her voice, I’d lose it even worse.

“Emma,” she said finally after setting a mug full of black tea in front of me, and I immediately tensed up. Here we go…

“Emma,” she repeated and I looked up at her, my tears falling down on my hands. “Do you have any coffee?”

I stared at her. Coffee?

“I am a caffeine addict,” she explained with a small shrug. “And if I don’t get any coffee right now, I’ll probably go on a murderous rampage…”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. And then I cried again. And laughed some more. It wasn’t pretty. But come to think about it, I was never pretty, so I guess it didn’t hurt my image too much.

“Somewhere…” I said finally. “It’s instant though… I don’t even have a coffeemaker…”

“Right now I’ll take anything,” she said seriously and started rummaging through the cabinet above the stove.

A couple of minutes later, she produced a happy grunt and fished out a jar of Taster’s Choice. I winced when strong coffee aroma filled the kitchen -- it immediately reminded me of Russell. He was drinking coffee nonstop while we were at that restaurant.

“Come on the balcony with me,” Tara said quietly, and I grabbed my mug and followed her silently.

She leaned on the wall just like before, and slowly puffed on her cigarette. I looked up.

“Tara…” I said. “I am sorry about being such a mess…”

“Pfft!” she said. “You should’ve seen me the last time I tried quitting smoking… At least you don’t throw anything at me…”

“You actually threw things?” I blinked.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “And since my aim is usually pretty good, my roommate wasn’t very happy with me that day…”

“What did you throw at him?” I drank some of my tea, and to my enormous surprise, I realized that I stopped crying.

“Stuff,” she said darkly. “That was the day when I lost my brand new bottle of Poison…”

“Poison?” I frowned.

“Perfume,” she sighed. “And my roommate had to explain to quite a few people why the hell he smelled the way he did… He didn’t talk to me for three days after that.”

I laughed weakly.

“God, Tara…” I muttered. “I am such a mess…”

She didn’t say anything, she just smoked silently. And then, out of the blue, I just blurted the whole thing out. About me being a fat, unattractive loser, who never even kissed anyone, let alone slept with anyone. I told her about my unhealthy obsession with a guy who was eight years younger than me, and that he was probably terrified by my bluntness and desperation when I invited him in. I told her that I was always a weak person without any willpower; that my mother was the only one who could drive me forward, and that without her I was worse than lost. By the time I finished talking, I almost cried again.

“So, he ran away screaming?” she asked when I finally stopped, and I stared at her.

“What?”

“That guy,” Tara said and lit another cigarette. “After he said that it’s not a good idea… Did he run away screaming?”

“N-no…” I stuttered.

“Then I don’t think he was terrified,” she shrugged. “There could be a bunch of reasons he said that.”

“Like what?” I sniffled.

“Well,” she looked at me seriously. “Maybe he didn’t want to do it so soon… Or maybe he was wearing weird underwear and didn’t want to freak you out…”

“God…” I said and laughed again.

“I would certainly say the same if that was my case,” Tara shrugged. “Maybe he was in a hurry to get home to do something…”

“Or maybe he just doesn’t care about me,” I finished bitterly.

“Or that,” she nodded, and I blinked at her calmness. “But even if he doesn’t feel that way about you, doesn’t mean that you are a fat, unattractive loser… I mean, at least he didn’t lead you on. That would be worse…”

“I just don’t understand,” I said numbly. “I have never seen him before Monday… And the minute I saw his eyes… It was like… How on earth could this happen?”

“There is a great Chinese saying,” she said very seriously. “I use that saying all the time; it’s amazing in its wisdom…”

“What is it?” I looked at her. Now she looked serene.

“Roughly translated it sounds something like…” she looked at me very seriously. “Shit happens,” she finished, and I just stared at her serious expression for almost a minute. Then I howled with laughter.

*****

By the end of the day on Thursday, I felt almost good. For some strange reason, Tara’s words made me feel better. What the hell, I thought on my way home. Maybe everything would be just fine. I mean, even if I never saw Russell again, it’s not the end of the world. I hummed along with the radio, and when I parked my car, my mood was quite good. Then I climbed out, shut the door, and looked up. That was when I saw him. He was sitting on the front steps of the apartment building, smoking nervously. I froze on the spot. What the hell is he doing here?!

He saw me, threw his cigarette away, and got up. He walked towards me and I just wanted to run away. Why would he come here all of a sudden? Why now?!

“Emma,” he said with his usual lopsided smile, and I just stared at him, unable to speak. “Hey, sorry for just showing up, but I tried calling you and it said that your number’s been disconnected.”

“I changed it,” I said finally. “What do you want?”

“I miss you,” he said, and I wanted to scream at him. “Can we talk?”

“No,” I thought. “I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t want to see you, go away…”

“Yes,” I said numbly and started to walk towards the front door of the building. He followed me.

We didn’t say anything to each other until I unlocked my door.

“Emma, is that you?” Tara yelled from the living room.

“Yes,” I said as numbly as before.

“What’s wrong? You sound funny…” she walked out of the living room and stopped when she saw him. “Oh, I’m sorry…”

“Tara…” I took a deep breath. “This is David. My father.”