A/N: 05-13-02—Hello, all. I'm sure by now you've learned that I love
dragging things out, but I do have Major Plans for the next chapter, so
bear with me, again. ;) As always, reviews are encouraged and welcome. And
adored. And vital, dammit! :P *looks around at everyone who's staring*
Ahem... uh... yeah. As for my little slash tribute you guys seemed to
enjoy... would you all be happy if I wrote a real tribute someday? LOL. I'm
a closet M/R fanatic, actually—it's my one guilty pleasure. ;) So that may
accidentally manifest itself in a scene here and there. Oops. :P
Aella — Re: Maureen—Thanks, I love writing her, she probably comes easier to me than anyone else. One of these days I'll give her a story all to herself. :)
NYTW Quote-of-the-Week: "Right brain, how do I find the right brain? I lost my map!" ~Roger
Disclaimer: Once again, I am only renting these characters. Trying to work out a lease-to-own deal, but the owner seems reluctant.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
7. [Roger]
I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do when he stormed out. Mark never stormed out. Mark was the one who sat in the corner of the room with his camera while I abandoned him in the middle of an argument. It was our pattern. It worked for us.
Of course, I was kidding myself. It never solved anything. But we liked to think it did. And that, in itself, surely solved something.
I always wondered what he did all that time after I stormed out, because usually when I'd come back to the loft, after cooling off a bit, he'd be in the exact same spot with his camera, looking only slightly less forlorn than he had when I'd left. My returning to the loft was my way of apologizing. That timid half-smile, before turning back to his camera, was his. Although in all honesty, he shouldn't have had to apologize. I knew ninety percent of the time, it wasn't his fault at all.
But now, I was stuck alone in a tiny apartment with no place to go and nothing to take my anger out on.
And he knew why she left.
I couldn't get over that. It was starting to feel like he knew my girlfriend better than I did. Although... I knew I was taking a liberty by still placing that claim on her. In all likelihood, she didn't want anything to do with me. Why else would she have gone? And I couldn't blame her. She had every right to leave. She owed me nothing. Leaving had been my mistake, and I was paying for it.
But that didn't make it any easier.
After at least half an hour of pacing back and forth in the living room, I gave up. I don't know how he did it. How he could sit here quietly for an hour or two hours or three until I came back. How he could keep everything inside like that. I had to get out of there.
As I strode down the street, I did my best to convince myself that I wasn't looking for him; I was just walking around furiously like I always did. I was so obsessed with forgetting about him that I didn't even realize it when my eyes began darting down street corners and into random windows of cafés and restaurants, naively assuming he would have stayed in the neighborhood. He probably knew I'd go looking for him. *I* should have known I'd go looking for him.
At last, I gave up my own pretense and headed to all the places we usually hung out... which came to a rather diminutive sum. There was the loft, and the café, and... well, the loft some more. My huge lack of success only made me more resentful, and I finally surrendered and stomped back up three flights of stairs to our home.
Only to find that I had forgotten my key.
Well, fuck.
As if everything else wasn't bad enough, now he'd get to see firsthand just how terrible I was at role reversal.
As I sat slumped against the door, I was just picturing how much more embarrassed I would be by the time he came back, when there was a shuffling on a flight of stairs below. Soon his head came into view, followed by the rest of him, and then it all disappeared in a blink as he tripped on the top stair and stumbled over onto our neighbor's doorstep.
I stifled a chuckle. "You okay?"
His head shot up, but the rest of him only bothered crawling to a seated position. "What are you doing here?"
"I, um..." I could do this. He never had to know. "I just thought I'd... wait out here for you." Oh, yes, that sounds *much* better.
The usual half-smile that signaled reconciliation had far surpassed what I was used to, and now took on the appearance of a full-fledged, highly amused smirk. "You locked yourself out."
"Er... yeah."
"You're really bad at this."
"I know."
A pause. "You can storm out next time."
"Thanks."
He proceeded to bunch up his coat and make a small pillow for himself on the floor as he sat down across from me. "I, um..." he began, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "I'm sorry about, uh..."
"Yeah, me too."
All right, this sucked. Having broken our usual pattern, apparently the situation now required actual apologies.
He shifted positions on his coat. "Mimi's staying with Maureen and Joanne."
I can only imagine how stupid I must have looked, sitting there with that stark, gawking expression on my face, unable to move or respond, other than, "What?"
"Yeah, for three weeks."
"WHAT?"
"I know."
"And you're just telling me NOW?"
"I just found out!"
I hated myself for even wondering whether or not I should believe him. Of course I should believe him. No matter how many times I stormed out or yelled at him, he was still my best friend, and he had no reason to lie to me. Then again, I wouldn't have thought Mimi had any reason to lie to me either. Or to Mark. Obviously, what did I know?
"Is she okay?" I asked.
"Um... yeah," he mumbled unconvincingly, playing with the zipper on his coat. "She's fine."
"Really?"
"I said she's fine." I paid little attention to anything but my own incessant thoughts, until he gathered his coat from underneath him, climbed to his feet and pulled out a house key.
"Well, wait!" I yanked on a sleeve of his coat until he was forced back to a seated position... which didn't take much, considering our varied degrees of physical strength. "Can I go see her?"
He shrugged. "I'm not your mother, you don't need my permission."
Why, why did he do this? This is what made me want to throw things, this is what kept that tiny little part of me alive, the part that wanted to drive right back to Santa Fe and stay there. Every time the conversation turned to Mimi... or him... or me, or us, or anything involving our lives, he'd shut down. He'd tune out, he'd push me away, he'd...
"Mark..." I wasn't sure where I was going with this, but I knew it couldn't be any worse than where we already were. "Did she... say anything to you?"
"No, Roge, we just sat in silence the whole time I was there."
I had to resist the urge to shoot him a Look. "I just feel like you know her better than I do now."
"I... I'm sorry."
The two stammered words struck the silence with such conviction, such sincerity... so obviously apologizing for much more than something that wasn't even his fault in the first place. I wasn't asking for an apology. It wasn't a crime. So she'd been his best friend for six months while I was away. I couldn't hold that against them. I wasn't quite that possessive.
"It's not your fault," I assured him, but his eyes lost none of the tension they'd been carrying, and the fact that there was nothing I could do to make this easier for either of us only frustrated me further. "I just thought... maybe you'd know whether or not I still have a chance with her."
He scrambled to his feet and found the key again, stuffing it into the doorknob. "I can't answer that," he confessed quietly. "You should go see her."
I stood up as well. "But... Mark, I don't know what to say to her," I whined. "You have to tell me what to do."
Stopping one last time to tend to my insecurities, he pushed open the door but thoughtfully remained planted in the hall beside me. "Do you love her?"
"Well... yeah. Of course."
"Then..." His voice trailed off to near-nothingness as he averted his gaze to the floor. "You should tell her that."
Although I knew he was right, he certainly didn't sound very persuasive. But I shrugged it off, because nothing mattered right now. Nothing mattered except that she was alive, and she was fine, and she was only miles away and if I left now, it would take only minutes before she would be in my arms again.
"I'll be back," I blurted as an afterthought, already halfway down the first set of stairs, having left him standing in the doorway with his jacket and key. After the second flight, I heard our front door click to a close.
It didn't occur to me until I parked my car outside Maureen and Joanne's building, that I should be furious with them both. They kept her here, all this time, without breathing a word of it. They'd lied to us... in keeping with Mimi's wishes, I assumed, but that hadn't made it any easier. I certainly couldn't be angry with Mimi, so they were next up in line. Unfortunately, I was pretty sure Mark had already dealt out a fair share of reproach to both of them.
And also, neither of their cars was anywhere in sight. How convenient.
Their door swung open in response to my tentative knock, and there she stood. As radiant as ever, and... not at all surprised to see me.
A nervous grin was all that altered her expression. "Hey."
"Hey."
This wasn't exactly how I'd imagined it.
On second thought, I should be used to that by now.
"Did you know I was coming over?"
She shrugged, and the sweater she was wearing, which was far too big on her, slipped off one shoulder. I'd missed how most of her clothes did that. She was such a tiny little thing. I watched, entranced simply to be alone with her again, as she absent-mindedly pushed it back up on her shoulder and stepped aside. "I just figured Mark would have told you..."
I nodded and, interpreting the now fully open door as an invitation, walked inside. I'd certainly been to the apartment before, but never under such... well, restricting... circumstances. Usually Mark and I would show up at the door, be quickly greeted by either Maureen or Joanne, who would then promptly return to the argument they'd been having with the other.
So here was something else I could add to my list of things that would probably never be the same again.
I turned back to her, suddenly aware of how unproductive it was of me to stare at various pieces of furniture. "I was so worried about you..." I began.
"I know." Her eyes fell. "I'm sorry."
She sounded just like Mark had when he'd said it less than an hour ago.
"No, *I'm* sorry." I was at her side in an instant, gently resting my hand on her arm, disposed to do anything that might keep her from crying. "I don't know what I did to make you leave, but whatever it is, I'm sorry."
She shook her head firmly, but still refusing to look into my eyes. As a gesture of compensation, she cradled my other hand in both of hers. "You didn't do anything. It's my fault, I just..."
I couldn't resist a smile. "You're giving me the 'It's not you, it's me' speech?"
"Yes." She laughed a small, brief laugh, her eyes never leaving the floor. "No. I don't know. I'm sorry—"
"God, would you stop saying that?" Not fully aware of or concerned with what I was doing, I placed a finger under her chin until she gave up, lifted her head, and allowed her eyes to meet mine. "To be honest... I was afraid to come over," I confessed, now realizing she had been right the first time in keeping our gazes apart. It was harder to say this when I was looking at her. "I didn't know what to say to you, so I asked Mark, and he asked if I loved you, and I said yes, and he said I should tell you that, and...'
...And now I was rambling.
She'd looked away at the mention of his name. "He said that?"
I nodded, inching closer. "I think he believes we still have a chance. And... I believe it too."
As good as these words had sounded in my head, and even as acceptable as they had seemed once they left my mouth, it was soon obvious they'd been a very wrong choice. Tears welled up in her eyes and she crossed the room in a flash. Everything in my head, everything that had made so much sense only seconds ago, suddenly fell apart. My inspiration had fled across the room right along with her.
When I turned around, she was facing away from me, staring aimlessly out a window. My instincts insisted I go to her, but I was no longer listening to my instincts. They'd gotten me in enough trouble already.
And so I stayed, glued to that spot by the door. "Just tell me what to do," I pleaded, beyond desperation. "Tell me how to fix this."
She spun around. "No. You can't just fix this. You don't even know what's broken."
"Then tell me."
Back to the window. "I can't."
"Then just tell me why you left."
"You first."
Tell me you didn't see that coming a mile away.
Damn it.
I needed a window. Why couldn't I have a window to stare out aimlessly, too? I was forced to face her, forced to be the one with any power over the situation. Forced to fix this, despite her claim that repair was impossible unless I knew what was broken. Well, that wasn't always true. Sometimes you just have to jump in and start playing around. Then, if you're lucky, you might find out what's broken. And the rest of the time... everything turns out even more fucked up than it was.
Now all I had to do was figure out how to avoid the latter.
I took a step towards her, and another, and then the space between us was far behind, and I placed my hands on her shoulders. "I'm sorry," I said simply.
I immediately felt that old, once-so-familiar gesture, where she leaned back against me, nuzzling her head just beneath my chin. We fit together so perfectly that way, so much that when we would pull apart, I felt like part of me was detached. It was almost impossible, in that moment, to imagine anything had ever happened to take us away from each other.
Almost.
"Can we just not do this?" she asked softly, finally turning to face me. "Can we just forget about this right now?"
The last thing I wanted to do was make this any worse, so I had no choice but to consent. "If that's what you want."
Maybe it was my imagination, but it looked like a little grin was forming across her lips. "It is."
I took her hands and led her out to the middle of the room, but couldn't go any further before remembering the one thing I'd thought about the entire drive from Santa Fe. That one thing that had so quickly lost all significance over the last three weeks. But now, seeing her, being with her... suddenly it meant something again.
"Hey," I started, finding myself suddenly shy. "There's, uh, something I want you to hear." She looked at me expectantly. "I mean... when I have my guitar with me."
A real grin this time, and more glowing than ever. "You found your song."
I smiled back. "Yeah."
I wasn't expecting it, but she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around my neck. But it was so far beyond a hug, or even an embrace. They way she held me... it was so fragile. So... apologetic. So final. As though it were the last time we would ever be this intimate.
Which, of course, was when Maureen marched through the front door, caught sight of us, and stared shamelessly.
By the time I turned towards her, she was inspecting me as if I had two heads. "Nice to see you too," I commented, grinning.
"I—I'm sorry," was as much as she could manage, and for Maureen, that was frightening. An apology *and* a sentence under twenty words, all in one shot. "I just wasn't expecting..."
Mimi turned back to me. "We're going to a movie."
"Oh." I released her, straightening my coat.
She squeezed my hand. "I'll come see you tonight, okay?" I nodded, and she shot me a wink. "I want to hear that song."
Our eyes locked until she disappeared out the front door, followed by Maureen, who had apparently been rendered mute. (Ah, at last all my prayers had paid off.) She watched me too, though, managing only a weak, confused smile before closing the door behind her.
It wasn't long before I found myself climbing the stairs back to our loft, and I spotted a small piece of paper stuck to the front door. Near the top, a key had been taped to the note, which read:
'Went to work for a bit. Thought you might need this. Unless you'd rather wait outside for me. :) –M'
I couldn't help but smile. He just thought he was so cute, didn't he? Never mind the fact that we did live in New York, and taping your house key to your front door is about the equivalent of sticking a giant 'Intruders Welcome' sign out in the front yard.
What a nut.
Out of habit, I dropped my coat on a chair and pressed Play on the answering machine. What came next all but broke my brief, lighthearted mood. I wouldn't have ever thought Mimi's voice could even have that effect... but her words very quickly proved me wrong.
"Mark... it's me. Call me, I need to talk to you."
Aella — Re: Maureen—Thanks, I love writing her, she probably comes easier to me than anyone else. One of these days I'll give her a story all to herself. :)
NYTW Quote-of-the-Week: "Right brain, how do I find the right brain? I lost my map!" ~Roger
Disclaimer: Once again, I am only renting these characters. Trying to work out a lease-to-own deal, but the owner seems reluctant.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
7. [Roger]
I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do when he stormed out. Mark never stormed out. Mark was the one who sat in the corner of the room with his camera while I abandoned him in the middle of an argument. It was our pattern. It worked for us.
Of course, I was kidding myself. It never solved anything. But we liked to think it did. And that, in itself, surely solved something.
I always wondered what he did all that time after I stormed out, because usually when I'd come back to the loft, after cooling off a bit, he'd be in the exact same spot with his camera, looking only slightly less forlorn than he had when I'd left. My returning to the loft was my way of apologizing. That timid half-smile, before turning back to his camera, was his. Although in all honesty, he shouldn't have had to apologize. I knew ninety percent of the time, it wasn't his fault at all.
But now, I was stuck alone in a tiny apartment with no place to go and nothing to take my anger out on.
And he knew why she left.
I couldn't get over that. It was starting to feel like he knew my girlfriend better than I did. Although... I knew I was taking a liberty by still placing that claim on her. In all likelihood, she didn't want anything to do with me. Why else would she have gone? And I couldn't blame her. She had every right to leave. She owed me nothing. Leaving had been my mistake, and I was paying for it.
But that didn't make it any easier.
After at least half an hour of pacing back and forth in the living room, I gave up. I don't know how he did it. How he could sit here quietly for an hour or two hours or three until I came back. How he could keep everything inside like that. I had to get out of there.
As I strode down the street, I did my best to convince myself that I wasn't looking for him; I was just walking around furiously like I always did. I was so obsessed with forgetting about him that I didn't even realize it when my eyes began darting down street corners and into random windows of cafés and restaurants, naively assuming he would have stayed in the neighborhood. He probably knew I'd go looking for him. *I* should have known I'd go looking for him.
At last, I gave up my own pretense and headed to all the places we usually hung out... which came to a rather diminutive sum. There was the loft, and the café, and... well, the loft some more. My huge lack of success only made me more resentful, and I finally surrendered and stomped back up three flights of stairs to our home.
Only to find that I had forgotten my key.
Well, fuck.
As if everything else wasn't bad enough, now he'd get to see firsthand just how terrible I was at role reversal.
As I sat slumped against the door, I was just picturing how much more embarrassed I would be by the time he came back, when there was a shuffling on a flight of stairs below. Soon his head came into view, followed by the rest of him, and then it all disappeared in a blink as he tripped on the top stair and stumbled over onto our neighbor's doorstep.
I stifled a chuckle. "You okay?"
His head shot up, but the rest of him only bothered crawling to a seated position. "What are you doing here?"
"I, um..." I could do this. He never had to know. "I just thought I'd... wait out here for you." Oh, yes, that sounds *much* better.
The usual half-smile that signaled reconciliation had far surpassed what I was used to, and now took on the appearance of a full-fledged, highly amused smirk. "You locked yourself out."
"Er... yeah."
"You're really bad at this."
"I know."
A pause. "You can storm out next time."
"Thanks."
He proceeded to bunch up his coat and make a small pillow for himself on the floor as he sat down across from me. "I, um..." he began, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "I'm sorry about, uh..."
"Yeah, me too."
All right, this sucked. Having broken our usual pattern, apparently the situation now required actual apologies.
He shifted positions on his coat. "Mimi's staying with Maureen and Joanne."
I can only imagine how stupid I must have looked, sitting there with that stark, gawking expression on my face, unable to move or respond, other than, "What?"
"Yeah, for three weeks."
"WHAT?"
"I know."
"And you're just telling me NOW?"
"I just found out!"
I hated myself for even wondering whether or not I should believe him. Of course I should believe him. No matter how many times I stormed out or yelled at him, he was still my best friend, and he had no reason to lie to me. Then again, I wouldn't have thought Mimi had any reason to lie to me either. Or to Mark. Obviously, what did I know?
"Is she okay?" I asked.
"Um... yeah," he mumbled unconvincingly, playing with the zipper on his coat. "She's fine."
"Really?"
"I said she's fine." I paid little attention to anything but my own incessant thoughts, until he gathered his coat from underneath him, climbed to his feet and pulled out a house key.
"Well, wait!" I yanked on a sleeve of his coat until he was forced back to a seated position... which didn't take much, considering our varied degrees of physical strength. "Can I go see her?"
He shrugged. "I'm not your mother, you don't need my permission."
Why, why did he do this? This is what made me want to throw things, this is what kept that tiny little part of me alive, the part that wanted to drive right back to Santa Fe and stay there. Every time the conversation turned to Mimi... or him... or me, or us, or anything involving our lives, he'd shut down. He'd tune out, he'd push me away, he'd...
"Mark..." I wasn't sure where I was going with this, but I knew it couldn't be any worse than where we already were. "Did she... say anything to you?"
"No, Roge, we just sat in silence the whole time I was there."
I had to resist the urge to shoot him a Look. "I just feel like you know her better than I do now."
"I... I'm sorry."
The two stammered words struck the silence with such conviction, such sincerity... so obviously apologizing for much more than something that wasn't even his fault in the first place. I wasn't asking for an apology. It wasn't a crime. So she'd been his best friend for six months while I was away. I couldn't hold that against them. I wasn't quite that possessive.
"It's not your fault," I assured him, but his eyes lost none of the tension they'd been carrying, and the fact that there was nothing I could do to make this easier for either of us only frustrated me further. "I just thought... maybe you'd know whether or not I still have a chance with her."
He scrambled to his feet and found the key again, stuffing it into the doorknob. "I can't answer that," he confessed quietly. "You should go see her."
I stood up as well. "But... Mark, I don't know what to say to her," I whined. "You have to tell me what to do."
Stopping one last time to tend to my insecurities, he pushed open the door but thoughtfully remained planted in the hall beside me. "Do you love her?"
"Well... yeah. Of course."
"Then..." His voice trailed off to near-nothingness as he averted his gaze to the floor. "You should tell her that."
Although I knew he was right, he certainly didn't sound very persuasive. But I shrugged it off, because nothing mattered right now. Nothing mattered except that she was alive, and she was fine, and she was only miles away and if I left now, it would take only minutes before she would be in my arms again.
"I'll be back," I blurted as an afterthought, already halfway down the first set of stairs, having left him standing in the doorway with his jacket and key. After the second flight, I heard our front door click to a close.
It didn't occur to me until I parked my car outside Maureen and Joanne's building, that I should be furious with them both. They kept her here, all this time, without breathing a word of it. They'd lied to us... in keeping with Mimi's wishes, I assumed, but that hadn't made it any easier. I certainly couldn't be angry with Mimi, so they were next up in line. Unfortunately, I was pretty sure Mark had already dealt out a fair share of reproach to both of them.
And also, neither of their cars was anywhere in sight. How convenient.
Their door swung open in response to my tentative knock, and there she stood. As radiant as ever, and... not at all surprised to see me.
A nervous grin was all that altered her expression. "Hey."
"Hey."
This wasn't exactly how I'd imagined it.
On second thought, I should be used to that by now.
"Did you know I was coming over?"
She shrugged, and the sweater she was wearing, which was far too big on her, slipped off one shoulder. I'd missed how most of her clothes did that. She was such a tiny little thing. I watched, entranced simply to be alone with her again, as she absent-mindedly pushed it back up on her shoulder and stepped aside. "I just figured Mark would have told you..."
I nodded and, interpreting the now fully open door as an invitation, walked inside. I'd certainly been to the apartment before, but never under such... well, restricting... circumstances. Usually Mark and I would show up at the door, be quickly greeted by either Maureen or Joanne, who would then promptly return to the argument they'd been having with the other.
So here was something else I could add to my list of things that would probably never be the same again.
I turned back to her, suddenly aware of how unproductive it was of me to stare at various pieces of furniture. "I was so worried about you..." I began.
"I know." Her eyes fell. "I'm sorry."
She sounded just like Mark had when he'd said it less than an hour ago.
"No, *I'm* sorry." I was at her side in an instant, gently resting my hand on her arm, disposed to do anything that might keep her from crying. "I don't know what I did to make you leave, but whatever it is, I'm sorry."
She shook her head firmly, but still refusing to look into my eyes. As a gesture of compensation, she cradled my other hand in both of hers. "You didn't do anything. It's my fault, I just..."
I couldn't resist a smile. "You're giving me the 'It's not you, it's me' speech?"
"Yes." She laughed a small, brief laugh, her eyes never leaving the floor. "No. I don't know. I'm sorry—"
"God, would you stop saying that?" Not fully aware of or concerned with what I was doing, I placed a finger under her chin until she gave up, lifted her head, and allowed her eyes to meet mine. "To be honest... I was afraid to come over," I confessed, now realizing she had been right the first time in keeping our gazes apart. It was harder to say this when I was looking at her. "I didn't know what to say to you, so I asked Mark, and he asked if I loved you, and I said yes, and he said I should tell you that, and...'
...And now I was rambling.
She'd looked away at the mention of his name. "He said that?"
I nodded, inching closer. "I think he believes we still have a chance. And... I believe it too."
As good as these words had sounded in my head, and even as acceptable as they had seemed once they left my mouth, it was soon obvious they'd been a very wrong choice. Tears welled up in her eyes and she crossed the room in a flash. Everything in my head, everything that had made so much sense only seconds ago, suddenly fell apart. My inspiration had fled across the room right along with her.
When I turned around, she was facing away from me, staring aimlessly out a window. My instincts insisted I go to her, but I was no longer listening to my instincts. They'd gotten me in enough trouble already.
And so I stayed, glued to that spot by the door. "Just tell me what to do," I pleaded, beyond desperation. "Tell me how to fix this."
She spun around. "No. You can't just fix this. You don't even know what's broken."
"Then tell me."
Back to the window. "I can't."
"Then just tell me why you left."
"You first."
Tell me you didn't see that coming a mile away.
Damn it.
I needed a window. Why couldn't I have a window to stare out aimlessly, too? I was forced to face her, forced to be the one with any power over the situation. Forced to fix this, despite her claim that repair was impossible unless I knew what was broken. Well, that wasn't always true. Sometimes you just have to jump in and start playing around. Then, if you're lucky, you might find out what's broken. And the rest of the time... everything turns out even more fucked up than it was.
Now all I had to do was figure out how to avoid the latter.
I took a step towards her, and another, and then the space between us was far behind, and I placed my hands on her shoulders. "I'm sorry," I said simply.
I immediately felt that old, once-so-familiar gesture, where she leaned back against me, nuzzling her head just beneath my chin. We fit together so perfectly that way, so much that when we would pull apart, I felt like part of me was detached. It was almost impossible, in that moment, to imagine anything had ever happened to take us away from each other.
Almost.
"Can we just not do this?" she asked softly, finally turning to face me. "Can we just forget about this right now?"
The last thing I wanted to do was make this any worse, so I had no choice but to consent. "If that's what you want."
Maybe it was my imagination, but it looked like a little grin was forming across her lips. "It is."
I took her hands and led her out to the middle of the room, but couldn't go any further before remembering the one thing I'd thought about the entire drive from Santa Fe. That one thing that had so quickly lost all significance over the last three weeks. But now, seeing her, being with her... suddenly it meant something again.
"Hey," I started, finding myself suddenly shy. "There's, uh, something I want you to hear." She looked at me expectantly. "I mean... when I have my guitar with me."
A real grin this time, and more glowing than ever. "You found your song."
I smiled back. "Yeah."
I wasn't expecting it, but she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around my neck. But it was so far beyond a hug, or even an embrace. They way she held me... it was so fragile. So... apologetic. So final. As though it were the last time we would ever be this intimate.
Which, of course, was when Maureen marched through the front door, caught sight of us, and stared shamelessly.
By the time I turned towards her, she was inspecting me as if I had two heads. "Nice to see you too," I commented, grinning.
"I—I'm sorry," was as much as she could manage, and for Maureen, that was frightening. An apology *and* a sentence under twenty words, all in one shot. "I just wasn't expecting..."
Mimi turned back to me. "We're going to a movie."
"Oh." I released her, straightening my coat.
She squeezed my hand. "I'll come see you tonight, okay?" I nodded, and she shot me a wink. "I want to hear that song."
Our eyes locked until she disappeared out the front door, followed by Maureen, who had apparently been rendered mute. (Ah, at last all my prayers had paid off.) She watched me too, though, managing only a weak, confused smile before closing the door behind her.
It wasn't long before I found myself climbing the stairs back to our loft, and I spotted a small piece of paper stuck to the front door. Near the top, a key had been taped to the note, which read:
'Went to work for a bit. Thought you might need this. Unless you'd rather wait outside for me. :) –M'
I couldn't help but smile. He just thought he was so cute, didn't he? Never mind the fact that we did live in New York, and taping your house key to your front door is about the equivalent of sticking a giant 'Intruders Welcome' sign out in the front yard.
What a nut.
Out of habit, I dropped my coat on a chair and pressed Play on the answering machine. What came next all but broke my brief, lighthearted mood. I wouldn't have ever thought Mimi's voice could even have that effect... but her words very quickly proved me wrong.
"Mark... it's me. Call me, I need to talk to you."