"No, I want to do it," I say, keeping my eyes on the kettle, awaiting the whistle announcing the water is boiling. I didn't call James after I finished last night, because I stayed at the hospital much longer than I intended. After the show was over, Maya, one of the girls in the leukemia ward asked me to read her favorite bedtime story so she could fall asleep. How could I say no to a teary-eyed six-year-old?
"Are you sure he's even up at this hour?" Jess asks, hovering around like a drunken bee. She's normally asleep at this hour, but today she woke up early to prepare for her phone interview at nine. She froze in place when she spotted me in front of the stove.
"He said he’s always up by six on weekdays and leaves for his office at seven."
"And you decided to wish him good morning by poisoning him?"
"No, I decided to do something nice for him for a change."
Twenty minutes later, I park Jess's Prius in fr
ont of James's luxurious building, and grab the two plastic cups with trembling hands. They're still warm. And I know the coffee in them is decent enough because Jess gave me her full approval after testing it. She even poured a cup for herself.
I greet Daniel while I practically jog to the elevators, armed with the two coffee cups and a strange sense of bliss. I'm not sure exactly what brings it. Perhaps the fact that I'm wearing my favorite light blue dress or that I had my first culinary success. Oh, who am I kidding? Nothing except the thought of James's kisses can make my entire body tingle this way.
I press the bell with my elbow and wait patiently, afraid my heart will literally burst out of my chest when the door opens. But when it does open, it's not James who looks back at me. It's Parker. A very messed-up Parker. I do my best not to recoil at the sight of his bloodshot eyes.
"Serena," he says, looking even more stunned than when he saw me at the airport. "Hi, how—oh, you brought coffee?"
"I didn't know you'd be here, or I would have brought more," I say, trying to withhold a laugh. "You know what, take mine. You look like you need it more than me. Is James's hangover as bad as yours?" He doesn't take the cup.
"James, no… He didn't drink that much… I mean…" he stutters, and I think I've never seen a person this incoherent, unless they are truly drunk.
"Can we continue the conversation inside?" I ask and push him from the doorway. I was expecting the living room to look as disheveled as Parker, but except for a wrecked blanket on the couch, indicating where he spent the night, everything looks as neat as it did when I was last here.
"James's in his room?"
"Yeah…"
"Excellent," I say and make a step forward toward his room.
"What? No, that's not a good idea."
I raise an eyebrow. "I assure you I can stomach whatever is inside," I say and try to walk past him, thinking that nothing can beat the things I've seen over the years in Jess's room following one of her wild nights out.
To my astonishment, Parker steps in front of me. "Are you serious?" I ask.
"Now is not a good time, Serena. You… maybe you should leave and I'll tell James to call you later." There's no stutter in his voice anymore, and an uneasy feeling is starting to form inside me.
"Why?" I raise my head, trying to look in his eyes for the first time, but now he avoids mine. "Parker?"
“He's not alone," he says in a defeated voice.
There is no air in my lungs. Someone sucked every wisp of it, leaving an unbearable heaviness in my chest. It's a stranger's voice that whispers, "Don't tell him I was here." I swirl on my heels in the direction of the door, determined to get past it before the burning heat behind my eyelids turns to tears.
I'm halfway to the door when the only thing that could make this even more painful happens.
"Parker, are you up?" James calls.
I measure the distance to the door and know I can't make it without him seeing me. So I hide the cups behind my back, grit my teeth and turn around, hoping the pain has numbed me already.
It hasn't.
A thousand blades rip through me at the sight of his beautiful face, now contorted in astonishment. At his side, her red hair wild on the shoulders of an overlarge, baggy T-shirt belonging to James, contrasting with his polished, work-ready appearance, is Sophie.
My first thought is that I'm glad it's not the lark. My second is that I want to disappear from the face of the earth forever.
"Parker, you little devil," she says, "I don't remember seeing your lovely friend here last night."