Held A New Adult Romance(65)

A pretty, dark-haired secretary leads me through the house. I notice the gun hasn't been replaced on the wall. John Gillespie is in the next room, reading something on an iPad. He's wearing thin-framed glasses and for the first time looks so much like somebody's dad that I'm startled. Always weird when you remember these people were once like us. And still are.

"Glad you could make it," he says. "You all right?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Has Amber called you?" he asks.

I take the offered seat and shake my head. "I said I'd see her tonight."

“She’s still not talking to me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

He sighs. “Yeah, well. Always the way, I suppose. The last time I interfered with her love life I just drove her further into the arms of that creep.”

My face turns hot. “I’m not a creep, Mr. Gillespie.”

His eyes are like chips of flint, but he looks tired and worried. “I know you’re not,” he says. “And I understand why you don’t want to do this...”

“Do you?” It just pops out before I can stop myself. I’m aware of how defensive I sound, and how young. A kid, who thinks he knows it all, thinks that simple love brings complex wisdom. Full-on Romeo and Juliet stuff.

“I...care for Amber,” I say. It’s fudging the truth but it’s close enough. “I won’t spy on her for you. After everything she’s been through...I just...I don’t know. I can’t be around her unless I can be honest with her, like she’s been honest with me.”

He folds his arms. He has the same freckles as she does, except his upper arms are maybe three times the thickness of hers. “So she told you,” he says. “The whole gory story?”

“Yes.”

John nods. “And you think she’s ready for another relationship?”

I can feel the backs of my eyes burn. “No,” I say, swallowing hard.

He’s taken aback, I can tell. Maybe he was expecting me to argue my case, plead true love or some such bullshit. But it’s the truth. It’s the only thing I can give her. I don’t have a house in Big Sur and a swimming pool. My car is falling to pieces and my bank balance is an embarrassment, but I can love her enough to face the truth; she’s not ready for this.

“I’m going to see her this evening,” I say. “Lay it on the line.”

“Don’t,” he says, surprising me.

“I have to.”

“You’re just going to dump her?” he says. “After she spills her fucking guts to you?” He shakes his head. “Nice. Angel Clare’s got nothing on you, Jimmy-boy.”

“I know my timing sucks...”

“...just a little. What happens then? You wander off with a clear conscience and she ends up locking herself away again? Think about it – there’s nobody to look after her, nobody to make sure she goes to her appointments. You’re going to fuck off feeling virtuous and she’s just going to get worse.”

“She’s not going to get worse. She’s getting better. She’s started going out, she got an apartment...”

“...yes, because she wants what she can’t have. Always has done. Do you think she would have done any of those things if you weren’t involved...” He slows, trails off. He’s dug himself into a hole and he knows it.

“You see?” I say. “She can’t rebuild her life around me. Or any man.”

He leans back in his chair and sighs. “Yeah. All right.”

“You understand?”

“Yep.”

“I’ll let her down as gently as possible, I promise.”

He sighs again. “I’m coming with you.”

“What?”

“I’m coming with you. I’ll wait outside. You persuade her to see me and I’ll go in after you. I’m not leaving her alone.”

I nod. “Okay. Thank you.” I feel a strange, nervous urge to giggle. The situation is so weird as to be comical; after all, it’s not often that you get to discuss dumping your girlfriend with her dad. I wonder what he said to him – the other one – in Vegas? It was probably a very different conversation.

Afterwards I wonder if I should buy her flowers, or is that too much of an obvious consolation prize? I think of the empty space in her apartment and realize she’s lacking more than cut flowers – I don’t think she even owns a vase yet. I find a store and wander into the glassware section. Cut glass, blown glass, shelf after shelf on either side of me. They make me anxious – that kind of weird, OCD worry that you’re going to have some kind of involuntary muscle spasm (even though you’ve never had anything of the sort before) and end up bringing a whole shelf crashing down on the floor.