Audrey winces like she’s unsure if it’s a good idea or not, her attention going to the entrance at McNaught’s again. “Maybe. Just text me, and we’ll see if our schedules match up. I still have the same number.” She turns to leave, but before she can step away, I reach out and take her wrist, pulling her to me so that we’re face to face, just inches away.
I make sure she’s looking me directly in the eye when I say these next words, because she needs to hear them, and she needs to hear them from me. I know what she learned about her dad and how she was conceived. I am fully aware of her guilt for the way she was born. I’ve seen firsthand how she wishes she could just stop existing. With her hands in mine between us, I bend a bit at the knees and lower my voice so that only she can hear, “Before you walk away, I need you to know … I want you to know that I’m glad you were born. I’m glad you’re alive. And I’m so glad you’re still here.” Without waiting for her to respond, I lean in and give her a kiss on the cheek, then turn and let her go.
I walk away and leave her behind. I have given her an invitation to come to my apartment when she’s ready so that I can show her what I’ve made for her. If she won’t come to me, I’ll find out where she is staying, and I’ll drop it off at her place. One way or another, she’ll get it.
For now, though, I have a dinner with September and her sister, Thursday.
Three weeks have passed and there’s been no contact at all with Audrey. I haven’t seen her on campus, and she hasn’t called or sent one text since I spoke to her outside the bar that day. Her communication with Cline is growing more strained and comes in smaller amounts as the weeks wear on and as far as I’m concerned, it’s now or never.
I can’t wait for her to come to me any longer.
“Did you ask her dad for the address?” I slip the small disc into its plastic holder and place it inside of a bubble wrap insulated envelope.
Cline nods and quickly taps out a message that vibrates on my phone seconds later. Her address appears as a destination on my GPS. On the table in our living room sits that ugly-ass fedora he used to wear along with a note: “I bought three more. Play this, or I start wearing them outside your building and telling everyone I’m your cousin.”
“It’s not exactly a threat, right?” I ask, taking it in my hands and turning it over to put everything inside.
“I’m not sure of the legality of anything you’re about to do, Elliot Clark. But Godspeed, my good man.” My roommate gives a sloppy salute, and I stop myself from correcting him because I know my dad is chastising him from his resting place anyway.
I slip out into the night and to my car, driving the five miles across town where Audrey’s new apartment is. I know which one is hers, and once I reach the parking lot, I kill the headlights and pull into an empty space that faces her front door from several spaces back, under the cloak of some trees. It’s after 11 p.m., and the lights in the living room are on. I can see two shadows walking back and forth behind the shades, their movements mildly erratic. It makes my skin prickle, and before I can stop myself, I am out of the car and rushing to the stoop to listen for signs of Audrey in distress.
My ear is pressed to the door to listen, and I can hear two female voices, rising and falling in an irregular cadence. One is definitely Audrey, and the other I am not familiar with. But they are both speaking, one after the other, repeating the same thing. Like they’re practicing a play of some sort. But the only words I can make out are about vaginas and flooding.
The hiss and click of a lighter, then smell of a cigarette catches me off guard. I spin in the direction of the sound and smell to see a girl from one of my lecture classes leaning against the door to the left. She has short red hair and bangs that are only about an inch long on her forehead. It’s the only reason I would ever remember seeing her in the first place. That hair.
She has one arm crossed under her boobs and holds the cigarette in the other hand, eyeing me curiously. “It’s loud, right? Nicki is auditioning for The Vagina Monologues, and it’s non-stop around here. If I hear the word vagina one more time …”
The voice that I assume belongs to Nicki screams it again, and the red haired girl rolls her eyes then takes a deep drag on her cigarette before throwing it down and stomping it out with the toe of her shoe. “Want me to bang on the door and tell them to shut up?”
I stare at her for a moment and then hand her the hat along with the note and envelope inside. “Yeah, but can you wait until I’m gone? And make sure this gets to the roommate, Audrey. She’ll know who it’s from.”