"Revelation Year"- part 3

Feb 27, 2008 - 10:21 AM PST

The next day I met Adena at the concert hall after work. I was supposed to meet Sam, the guy she wanted to move into the house. I got there just in time for the last part of rehearsal. I
always liked listening to Adena play in the orchestra, even though I couldn’t distinguish her from the rest of the flutes. She wasn’t the first chair or even the second, but she was thrilled to be playing professionally. I was proud of her.

When the rehearsal was over, Adena made her way back to me, trailed by a tall skinny guy with curly black hair. “Hey, friend. This is Sam Snider. Sam, this is Emily Wade, she owns the house I told you about.” We shook hands.

“It’s nice to meet you. So, tell me about this house,” Sam said, sitting down next to me. I gave him the basics- four bedrooms, three baths, yada yada. “The truth is, my brother and I are kind of in a hard place, so it doesn’t really matter what the house is like or what you charge. When can we move in?”

“Well, we’re all moving in next Saturday. There are only four bedrooms, so you and your brother will have to share. Is that all right? You can have the big downstairs bedroom.”
“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Uh, just curious…why were you and your brother kicked out of your old apartment?” I asked. Adena stepped on my foot. I guessed she thought that was rude.

“Oh, it was the dumbest thing,” Sam said. “My brother drives a motorcycle, and he’s a waiter, so he works really late at night. Plus, we’re both musicians and we practice at home. The people who lived around us complained about the noise, so the landlord didn’t renew our lease. We’ve got until next weekend to get out or they’re going to call the cops. So, needless to say, it’s been a kind of stressful month.”

“You can join the club. This house is coming as sort of an ‘eleventh hour reprieve’ for all of us,” Adena said. “Isn’t it awesome how things work out?”

“Yeah, it really is. I can’t promise you that we’ll be the perfect roommates, Emily, but we’ll try. And I can speak for my brother in saying that we’re both really grateful that you’re letting us move in,” Sam said. He really was as nice as Adena said he was.

I didn’t meet Patrick until later, on Saturday when we were moving in. He was about the least likely person you would expect to see on a motorcycle, that was for sure. He was skinny like Sam, and wore glasses. He had red hair and freckles and a big smile. Plus, it wasn’t just his motorcycle that was loud.

“Hey! Are you Emily! This house is so great! You’re so awesome for letting Sam and me stay with you! Wow! Is that our room!” It was like Patrick shouted everything. “My hammock will look great there!”

“You sleep in a hammock?” Adena asked. “What do you sleep in?” She asked, turning to Sam. “A coffin?”

“Nope. The bathtub,” Sam said, completely deadpan.

“It helps my lower back!” Patrick shouted. He came over and gave me a hug, which I stiffly accepted. “Thanks, Emily!”

“Don’t mention it,” I mumbled.

It was a long day of moving. Now that we were doing it, it didn’t seem like such a great idea that all five of us were moving in on the same day. None of us had what you would call a house-load of things, but five people accumulate a lot of stuff. Patrick, Sam, and Adena all had furniture that they owned, so suddenly our living room looked like a warehouse again. “Man, were my roommates pissed that I took the futon,” Adena said. She and Jude were carrying the large frame up the stairs, and Sam and Natalie were behind them with the mattress. “I had to take it. I bought it and it’s my bed. It’s going to need three years worth of airing out. I don’t think Luke ever took a shower.”

“So this was the only real bed in your apartment?” Sam grunted.

“Yeah. We took turns sleeping on it.”

“How exactly does that work?” Jude asked, but I didn’t hear Adena’s response because they were up the stairs by then.

I turned around to see Patrick hanging a giant framed picture over the couch in the living room. He stood back and looked proud of himself. “What do you think!” He shouted. We would have to train him not to be so loud.

“What the hell is that?” Jude asked from the doorway.

“Who, my friend, who,” Patrick said in what almost could be considered an “inside voice.”

“Okay, who the hell is that?” Jude asked.

“That’s Johann Sebastian Bach,” Adena said, following Jude into the room.

“He’s the father of western music,” Patrick added reverently.

“He’s kind of….looking at me,” I said, shifting a little to see if it wasn’t just in my imagination that his eyes were following me.

“Yeah, he is pretty creepy,” Jude said, walking to one side of the room and then walking back to where I stood, as if to test it out.

“As a fellow musician, I respect that he’s the father of western music and everything, but I think he’s scary and that you should take him down,” Adena said.

“No!” Patrick cried, and the “inside voice” was gone.

“Patrick, don’t be a baby. You can put him up in our room,” Sam said, pushing past Natalie to come all the way down the stairs.

“Okay. But he inspires me. I have to have him in a prominent place.”

Later, I sat up in my room and looked out over the front yard, still overgrown. I couldn’t believe everything that had happened in the past week. What Adena had said about it being awesome how things worked out, she had been right. I was aching to start making this house beautiful, a real home. I had a long list of things that needed to be fixed- the faucet in Sam and Patrick’s bathroom sink didn’t work, the lawn still needed to be mowed, the roof needed to be repaired before it rained, and the air conditioning didn’t function at all, among other things. Despite all the work that still needed to be done, I didn’t regret my decision to move in here.

Adena skipped in and jumped up on my bed with me. “I’m so happy!” She squealed, and bounced up and down a little. “This place is going to be awesome! I’m living with you again! Jude and Sam and Patrick are so great!”

“I think you’re starting to take after Patrick, with the outside voice all the time.”

“I can’t help it. I’m just so excited. Do you think we’ll all end up being friends?” Adena asked, laying back and putting her head on my pillow.

“I don’t know. It depends. I like them, too. I just don’t want to have too many expectations of them, that’s kind of not fair. This all fell together at the last minute, we didn’t really interview them to see if we would all get along.”

“What do you think Jude’s thing is?” Adena asked, switching gears a little. “He’s always sort of sad and contemplative.”

“His girlfriend just kicked him out, Adena. I’m sure that’s his thing.”

Just then I heard the doorbell ring. At least, I assumed that it was the doorbell- the noise it made was sort of sounded like a battery-powered toy with the batteries running down. “Should we go get that?” Adena asked. “Before whoever it is does it again?”

“Sam and Patrick are downstairs, aren’t they?” I asked. The doorbell rang again. “For the love of Pete,” I grumbled, and launched myself down the stairs. Adena called that she was going to take a shower.

The doorbell had rung a third time and Patrick was racing for the door by the time I got there. “Sorry. I was on the pot,” he apologized matter-of-factly. I just opened the door.

“Hello!” A cheerful middle-aged woman called. She was holding some sort of casserole dish and looked extremely proud of herself. “Is your mom home?” She asked sweetly.

Patrick snorted. “My mom lives in Warren, Pennsylvania. Where‘s your mom, Emily?”

“Be polite, Patrick,” I admonished. I turned back to the woman, who was starting to look confused. “Hi. I’m Emily Wade, and this is Patrick Snider. This is my house. You must be one of our neighbors.” When she didn’t hand me the casserole dish and walk away, I knew that she was waiting for an invitation to come inside.

“Won’t you come in? The air conditioning doesn’t work and we’re in the process of unpacking-”

“Oh, don’t you apologize,” she said, and stepped inside with a little triumphant smile. Patrick rolled his eyes and walked off. “I’m Patty Silver, I live just next door!” She said, gesturing to her left. “I just thought I’d welcome you to the neighborhood.” She looked around for just a brief second, like she was casing the joint. I looked around with her. In the front hall there were six pairs of shoes on the floor and two bikes propped against the wall. Patrick’s piano was sitting in the middle of the living room, and just then, Sam rode from his room to the kitchen on his bike. Someone in the back of the house (I guessed Patrick) turned on their stereo at top volume and the White Stripes’ “The Hardest Button to Button“ blared out loud enough to rattle the windows of the house across the street. “So! You just moved in! How did that come about? I thought Mrs. Wade still owned this house,” she said nosily.

“My grandmother died a couple of weeks ago. She left me the house and it’s furnishings in her will. Patrick and the rest of them are my new roommates.” That was the condensed version of everything that had happened that week. “We’re all over twenty-one, if that’s what you’re wondering,” I said, cutting to the chase.

“How many of you live here?” She asked. There was no extent to this woman’s rudeness. I told her that there were five of us. “Well! Isn’t that… clever. Anyway, I’ll just leave you this,” she said, handing me the casserole dish, “And I’ll be on my way.” Just then, I heard an ear-splitting scream from upstairs, followed by, “Jude! What the hell?” and “Oh, God! I’m sorry!” and a slamming door. Jude thumped down the stairs. By the look on his face, I could tell that he had accidentally walked in on Adena showering. “I-uh-um, Adena’s in the shower so I’ll just…” he looked from Patty to me and back again. “Who are you?”

“Jude, this is Patty from next door, she brought us a casserole. Patty, this is Jude Watson, he lives here, too.” They shook hands and Jude went on to the downstairs bathroom.

“Well!” Patty said again. “If you have any questions, feel free to just pop on by.” Just then, two things happened: the toilet flushed in the downstairs bathroom and Adena screamed an expletive in the upstairs bathroom. I was guessing that she had just gotten a blast of cold water.
Patty had a quasi-horrified look on her face, but she tried to cover it up with a sick sort of smile. She backed towards the door. “I’ll be seeing you!”

“I’ll bet you will,” I said under my breath as she closed the door.

Jude came out of the bathroom. “Neighborhood spy?”

“Of the worst kind. At least we made a good impression,” I said sarcastically, and looked up the stairs. “I’m guessing we need a rule about no flushing when someone is in the shower. And a new lock on the upstairs bathroom door.”

“Oh, God, I am so embarrassed.”

“It’s all right. I’ll just add that to the list next to ‘fix doorbell’ and ‘install privacy fence.’ By tomorrow morning, Patty Silver will have told everyone that we’ve turned old Mrs. Wade’s house into a hippie commune.” I looked at Jude. “At least you’re used to it.”

“Thanks,” he said, but he smiled. “I’m going to tell those two clowns to turn that music down. As much as I like the White Stripes, I’m going to sleep.”

“Good night,” I said, and he walked to the back of the house.

Before long the house was completely quiet and it was just me, awake, as always. I hadn’t slept well for a long time. It felt like Sleep and I just circled each other like two dogs who didn’t entirely trust each other. I wasn’t a complete freak- sometimes I took naps during the day, and I had gotten pretty good at surviving on three or four hours of sleep a night. It was just that, staying up when the rest of the world was sleeping got to be lonely some nights. And I overslept a lot, so that made me late to early-morning things like work and class and breakfasts with my mother. My mother, who because I was continually late to our six-thirty breakfast dates thought that I couldn’t be trusted with making any appointment on time for the rest of my life. My body’s clock was all out of synch with the rest of the world, and the worst part was that I had done it to myself.

That night, I spent the hours putting books on shelves and breaking down boxes. I had almost three hundred books in my bedroom alone- I knew this because being anal retentive, I counted them as I put them up, all in alphabetical order, all in their appropriate category. I kept a few books out for my nightstand- the ones I needed right by me all the time. Catcher in the Rye, my favorite book. To Kill a Mockingbird, because whenever I was in a bad mood, reading about Scout dressed up as a ham made me feel better. A pocket book of quotes because I never knew when I might want to find out who said something.

I had been an art major in college kind of by default. The truth was, I liked so many different things that I hadn’t known how to make a decision on a major. I had contemplated English because I was obsessed with books. I loved music but I hadn’t had piano lessons since my freshman year of high school and I didn’t think I was good enough or disciplined enough to make that my life. I just started taking classes that interested me my freshman year and by the time my junior year rolled around and I had to make a decision about a major, I had too many art classes to be anything else. Not that I didn’t enjoy art, because I did. It just felt like I was declaring a major to declare a major.

I loved the “creating” part of art. I had never been extraordinary at painting and I was only “okay” at drawing, although I liked to draw and tried to practice whenever I could. My talents definitely were with tactile things, like glass and beading, pottery and textiles. I liked taking everyday things that other people thought were junk and turning them into something special. Even though I loved art and I knew I was good at it, I knew that I would never “grow up” to be an artist. I worked in a library, for Pete’s sake. I was happy there, and I thought I could be happy for a long time there. My school hadn’t had a library science degree, or I probably would have gone with that. Art was something I did to make my life more beautiful. I made plates and cups that I could actually use. I had made the quilt on my bed and at least half of my own clothes. Art made me happy, but it was my passion, not my job.

I finally fell asleep out of pure exhaustion at around four o’clock, only to have my alarm ring in indignation three hours later. It was Sunday, and I was going to church.

I stumbled down to the kitchen in my pajamas. I had forgotten my glasses and I was too lazy to go back up and get them, so everything was kind of fuzzy until I got up really close. I didn’t know why I always forgot my glasses because they were practically part of my body, but I always did.
Patrick and Sam were already sitting at the table, eating cereal I didn’t know we had. “Morning!” Patrick shouted. I winced.

“Keep your voice down. There are other people in this house trying to sleep,” I said, and I realized how “mom-ish” that sounded. “Sorry. It’s early.”

“S’okay,” he said through a mouthful of Captain Crunch. “Besides, Jude’s the only one trying to sleep, and he’s all the way upstairs. Adena already left, she said she was working at the coffee shop this morning.”

I had forgotten that Adena worked at six on Sunday mornings, supplying the God-fearing people of the world with coffee. She went to a Messianic Jewish church on Saturday nights, when she wasn’t at the symphony or moving into her new house. Adena had grown up Jewish but became a Christian as a teenager, and the Messianic Jewish congregation had seemed like a good compromise to her.

“Is there any more of that cereal?” I asked, looking in the cabinet for a bowl. We didn’t have much in the way of dishes or kitchen appliances yet. There were six plates, four cups, and a spoon sitting in the cabinet, and they were all mine. I saw no more bowls.

“There’s plenty of cereal but no more milk,” Sam said. “Because Patrick is a pig.”

“I am not,” he said. I decided to let it go- I would just drop by the coffee shop on the way to church and see Adena. She never failed to hook me up with a free croissant.

Just then I noticed that both Snider boys were dressed to the nines, as my mother would say. Their shirts were tucked in, they both had on ties, and everything seemed to be ironed. It even looked like they had brushed their hair. “You guys look nice,” I said. “Going to church this morning?”

“Yup. Momma always said to give God your best,” Patrick said, dropping his spoon with a clatter and smoothing his tie. He had a piece of cereal stuck to his chin, and it took everything that was within me not to wipe it off for him. That was my anal-retentiveness coming out again.

“Well. I should go get ready. There’s a casserole in the fridge, we can heat that up for lunch.”

“A casserole?” Sam asked eagerly. “Where did that come from?”

“One of our neighbors brought it over last night.”

“I can‘t believe that she is one of our neighbors,” Patrick said scornfully. “She was a total spaz! She must have thought I was about fifteen years old. She asked me where my mom was,” Patrick complained to Sam. Sam looked at me.

“What kind of casserole is it?” He asked.

“Tater tot,” I replied. Sam sighed heavily and closed his eyes. He looked over at Patrick.

“She can say anything she wants to you, as long as she keeps the tater tot casserole coming. I’ll stand you out in the front lawn with nothing but your tighty whities on and a hula hoop in your hand if it means she’ll bring over a tater tot casserole with her concerns that my brother ‘isn’t quite right.’”

“I hate you,” Patrick said contemptuously. Sam smiled and carried his bowl to the sink.

“Time for church!” He said merrily.

When I got back from church that morning, Jude was sitting out on the front porch with a cup of coffee and the Sunday paper. He looked like he had just rolled out of bed.

“Hey. What’s with the porch?” I asked. I sat down next to him on the step.

“It’s like a sauna in there,” he said, and stifled a yawn. “You know, what we need is a porch swing. It costs a lot less than a new air conditioner.”

“That’s a good thought. Hey, I’m going to the grocery store this afternoon. Any special requests?”

“More coffee,” he said. “God, we need just about everything, don’t we? The only things in the fridge are a jar of olives and that casserole Agent Patty brought over last night.”

“Agent Patty?”

“You said she was a neighborhood spy,” Jude said, and looked over toward Patty’s house. “I’ll bet she’s listening.”

I laughed, and looked out across the neighborhood. It was quiet except for the whirr of several sprinklers on lawns down the street.

“Come in with me and I’ll get you some money for groceries.”

I followed Jude up to his room. He hadn’t gotten around to unpacking much, but he didn’t have near as much stuff as Adena, the Snider boys, and I had. Just a few boxes, some clothes hanging in the closet. Nearly every surface in the room was covered with CD’s. “How many CD’s do you have?” I blurted.

“I don’t know, five hundred? Who knows how many CD’s they have?” He asked.

“I do, I have two hundred and fifty-six CD’s,” I said. I knew that because, like I had done with the books, I had counted them all as I took them out of the boxes and put them on my CD tower (in alphabetical order) the night before.

“Wow. Now that’s impressive.” Jude grinned at me to let me know that he was only making fun of me a little bit. He gave me a wad of cash that had been on his desk, held down by his iPod. “If that’s not enough, let me know.”

“This is fine. I think Adena’s beating money out of Sam as we speak, so between the five of us we should be able to eat for a while. I’ll make a big dinner tonight.”

“You cook?” he asked.

“A little. I like to cook, I just haven’t ever had the chance. You’re not a vegetarian, are you?” I asked.

“No way. I love meat too much.”

“I thought that all you hippie-type people were vegetarians,” I said, getting him back a little for making fun of me about the CD’s.

“Well, I haven’t been a hippie for a long time,” he said, and picked up his iPod from the desk. “I’m going back to the porch. I still haven’t sufficiently woke up yet, I need at least one more cup of coffee, even thought it’s officially afternoon.” He led us out of the room. “Have fun at the grocery store.”

Adena and I had just gotten back from the store that afternoon when we got our second neighborhood visitor. I didn’t know how to encourage our neighbors not to just drop in- we didn't have a land line and there was no way in hell I was giving Patty Silver my cell phone number. However, these unexpected visitors were getting a little silly.

Once again, Patrick answered the door. This time, he just led her back to the kitchen, where Adena and Sam and I were putting away the groceries. Adena and I were wearing as little clothing as was appropriate in mixed company- spaghetti strap tops and shorts, no shoes. Sam was wearing a wife beater with a hole at the neckline and a pair of frayed old khaki shorts. We must have looked like the epitome of poor white trash to this perfectly coiffed woman, obviously fresh from church.

“Is now a bad time?” She asked. “I’m Betsy Crittenden, I’m the president of the homeowner’s association here in the neighborhood. Patty Silver told me at church this morning that you all had just moved in, and I thought I’d officially welcome you to the neighborhood.”

“Well… thanks,” I said, putting down the carton of milk I had been holding. “I’m Emily Wade, this is Adena Rowan and Sam Snider. That was Patrick Snider who let you in.” I shook her hand. “Is there anything we can do for you?”

“Oh, nothing in particular, I just thought I‘d come by and see how you’re getting on,” she said, looking around. “So… do you all live here?” She asked.

“Yup. We all live here,“ I replied, and I couldn’t help but stress all. “Our other roommate Jude is around here somewhere.”

“I think he’s filled the bathtub with ice cubes and is laying in it,” Patrick offered.

“Overshare, Patrick,” Sam said like it was for the four hundredth time. “We don’t have AC right now, in case you couldn’t tell,” he said, turning to Betsy apologetically.

“Oh, how miserable for you,” she said sympathetically. “Well, I just wanted to tell you about the homeowner’s association meeting next Monday evening, and to remind you that only two cars are allowed to be parked at the curb,” she finished quickly. I knew that that was the real reason she had come over.

“We’re working on that. We all go to work at different times, so we have to figure out a good system of parking so we can all get out,” I said. “It may take a couple of days. I hope that’s not going to be a problem,” I said, not really giving a rat’s ass whether it was a problem or not.

“Oh, that’s fine, that’s fine. It’s just… we’re a nice neighborhood, a family neighborhood. Surely you understand?” She asked. I did understand. She was concerned that we would wreck their peace and quiet.

I suddenly found myself up to my neck with Betsy Crittenden’s nosiness. “Well, thank you for coming over. We sure do appreciate it,” I said abruptly, walking through the dining room and living room to the front hall. All she could do was follow, otherwise she would have been impolite. “I’m sure we’ll see you around. Have a good afternoon with your family,” I said, and shut the door firmly in her polite face.

The entire house was quiet for about ten seconds, and then I heard laughter erupt from the kitchen. Adena flew into the front hall and jumped at me. “That was hilarious,” she said, pulling me back toward the kitchen.

Jude came down the stairs and followed us back into the kitchen. “Is it safe? Is she gone?”

“Yeah, Emily completely got rid of her. You were so sublimely rude, Emily, I was so proud,” Sam said, throwing a brotherly arm around my shoulders.

“She closed the door right in that woman’s face. The nerve of her, coming over here and insinuating that we were junking up the neighborhood!” Adena said. “ ‘We’re a family neighborhood.’ Give me a break.”

“It makes me want to just totally rebel and go ride my bike across her lawn at ten thirty at night,” Patrick said with a maniacal look in his eye.

“If you do that, I will disown you as my brother,” Sam said.

“Flaming dog crap on her front porch?” Patrick asked hopefully.

“Not a chance,” Sam said.

It was too hot to think about cooking anything for lunch, so Adena and I just made ham and cheese sandwiches and ate them on the front porch. Patrick braved the heat in the living room, explaining that Sunday was his “practicing day” and that he needed to spend some quality time with the piano. I don’t know what Sam and Jude did. I hoped that it didn’t include their respective bathtubs and all the ice cubes in the house.

Monday came and it was back to work as usual. I loved my job at the library. It was like my anti-stress paradise. I had had jobs in college where everyone bitched and gossiped about everyone else. Stuff like that didn’t happen at the library. I think that it had to do with the head librarian, Katherine. She knew everything about books and research, and she worked along with us. She was the best boss I had ever had.

I didn’t see much of anyone else that week. My job hadn’t changed because the school year started, but everyone else’s had. Adena and Sam both had other jobs in addition to the orchestra, which had just gone to two-a-day rehearsals in preparation for their new season starting. Patrick went to school during the day and waited tables several nights a week. Jude was going to grad school on top of his nursing duties, so that left me sitting alone most evenings, working on art projects and watching movies late into the night.

I was sitting up reading later that week when I heard the key in the door. The way our
house was set up, the front hall was open to the living room. I could see the front door from the couch. There was Jude, still wearing his crocs and dark red nurse’s scrubs. He looked exhausted. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey. Long day?”

“The longest.” He shifted his weight uncomfortably and dropped his bag by the coat stand. “You’re up late.”

“Yeah, well the Sandman and I don’t always see eye-to-eye.” Jude looked at me blankly. “I don’t really sleep,” I clarified.

“Oh. Sorry. That’s got to be miserable.”

“It is, sometimes.” I expected him to say something like, “Well, good-night,” but he didn’t.

“Uh, do you want to go get a drink or something?” He asked abruptly. “Since you’re not sleeping or anything.”

“Sure. That would be nice.” I put the book I was reading (the excellent Little Children by Tom Perotta) down on the couch next to me and slipped my feet into my sorry old flip-flops.

“Do you want to just walk?” He asked. “The pub’s only a couple of blocks from here.”

“Sure. It’s a beautiful night.” I had thrown all the windows open on the ground floor, and the breeze had actually made the house tolerable that night. I grabbed my black crocheted shawl from the coat stand and pulled it on over the red spaghetti-strap shirt I was wearing. Jude held the door open for me. Outside the night was still, with a whiff of rain in the air. The breeze made my long black skirt flutter around my ankles.

We didn’t talk much on the way to the pub. I couldn’t believe that Jude and I had lived in the same house for the past week and a half and still had never had a decent conversation. I didn’t count chats on the front porch or making fun of our obnoxious neighbors. The only personal fact I knew about him was that he had been born on a hippie commune.

The pub wasn’t incredibly crowded that night, which was surprising. Usually it was packed on Friday nights. I didn’t see anyone there that I knew, and we were able to sit in a booth at the back instead of having to belly up to the bar. We didn’t actually talk until after we had ordered- a beer for him, a Cosmopolitan for me.

Jude sort of sagged at the table, and I could see the fatigue again in his eyes. “What made the day so long?” I asked.

“I worked a ten-hour shift, and right at the end of it, there was a four-car pileup on the interstate. Three people died. One of them was a six-year-old girl. She was still holding her teddy bear when she-” he choked off, and looked down at the table. The waitress came with our drinks then, which gave him a second. “Seeing someone die… it never gets any easier. Especially when it‘s a little kid.”

“Do you ever think about doing something else?” I asked.

“All the time. That’s why I’m in grad school. It gives me more options. But you know, I really only think about leaving nursing for a second. It’s in my blood now. I know that when I finally get my degree in counseling, it will just make me a better nurse.” He took at drink. “I used to throw up all the time. When I saw the blood and… other stuff. I don’t throw up much anymore,” he said. I thought that his words said more than he meant them to say. He must have recognized that, too, because he changed the subject. “So, have you been to a doctor? A doctor could find out why you can’t sleep and give you something for it,” he said.

“I’ve tried the over-the-counter sleeping pills. I hated them, they made it impossible for me to wake up the next morning. Besides, I know why I can’t sleep,” I said without thinking.

“Really? Why?” He asked. I hesitated. Did I really want to get into this with Jude? We barely knew each other and here I was, ready to lay all my emotional baggage out on the table between us.

I decided to go for it. He’d been honest with me, after all. “My internal clock is all out of whack. In the last part of high school and the first part of college, I had… issues,” I hedged.

“Issues?”

“Yeah. The official title that my doctor put on it was ED-NOS, which means-”

“Eating disorder, not otherwise specified. Oh, God, Emily. I’m sorry,” Jude breathed. I had briefly forgotten that he was a nurse who was earning a degree in counseling and would know what the initials meant. Most people didn’t.

“For me, that meant that I didn’t eat enough, and what I did eat, I would throw up,” I said. “I was also diagnosed with clinical depression, but that doesn’t have anything to do with my current sleep issues. The reason no one found out all that time was because I would wait until everyone else had gone to bed before I threw up. That’s how Adena caught me. She’s the world’s lightest sleeper,“ I said. “I managed to wreck my digestive system and do some serious damage to the lining of my esophagus, but at least my teeth didn’t rot. See?” I said, baring my teeth, which looked pretty nice, if I do say so myself. “All still there?”

“Yup.”

“Since I spent four years puking until three a.m., I got used to only getting three hours of sleep every day. My body’s been all messed up ever since.”

“Wow.” Jude looked flabbergasted. “Are you okay now?”

“You mean, do I still make myself sick? Nope. I’ve been in recovery for two years now.”

“That takes a lot of guts.”

“Not really. I had a lot of help. When Adena found out, she told Natalie and my parents. I really hated her for that for a while, but when I started to get better, I realized what she had done for me. Adena and Natalie have stood by me through everything, I couldn’t have made it without them.”

“What about your parents?” Jude asked. I laughed a little, but even I could tell that it wasn’t a nice laugh.

“Explaining them would take more than a couple of drinks. Let’s save that for another night,“ I said. Jude was studying me intently. “I didn’t tell you all that to… change the way you think about me.”

“It doesn’t,” Jude said quickly. “I’m glad you told me. I’m flattered that you trust me that much.” Until he said it, I hadn’t thought of it that way. I guessed I did trust Jude. There was something that I recognized in his eyes, something that made me think that I could tell him anything about me and he wouldn’t judge me. He had been there.

The waitress came back then to see if we needed another round, and she had gone back for our fresh drinks before Jude spoke again. “I feel like you’ve told me all this personal stuff about yourself and that I should deliver now, too. I feel bad that we haven’t gotten to know each other better.”

“I know!” I said. “I was just thinking that on the way over here! We live in the same house, for Pete’s sake. But really, you don’t have to spill your guts to me just because I told you my pathetic story.”

“No. I want to tell you something. So go ahead. Ask me anything.” The waitress came back then with our drinks and Jude spread his hands out in front of him on the table. “Ask me. My life is an open book to you,” he said.

“Okay, then. Why’d you break up with Ericka?” I asked. Actually, it was more of a blurt.

“Wow, you really go for the jugular, don’t you?” He asked. I shrugged. He smiled, so I knew that he wasn’t upset. “First off, I didn’t break up with her. She broke up with me.”

“Well, I stand corrected. Why, then, did she break up with you?”

His smile was a bit ironic now. “I knew things weren’t working. I hadn’t been happy for a long time, but I was chicken, and weak, and I didn’t want to be the one to break it off. So I acted like an ass, and in the final, supreme act of assy-ness, I slept with someone else. I didn’t even know her, she was just some girl in a bar. I felt so guilty about it that I told Ericka, and she broke up with me, just like I’d wanted.” He had been staring at his beer for most of his story, but now he looked up at me. “I attribute it to Natalie’s strength of character that she’s even still talking to me, much less that she would put a good word in for me with you. Ericka was her friend before I was, you know.”

“Yeah, well, Natalie’s not really like that. She sees the… you in you, if that makes any sense. She doesn’t look at what you do.”

“What about you?” He asked, and I could see his need to please me. “Do you think differently about me now?”

“No, I don’t.” It was the truth.

“Thanks. Really.” he was earnest. “Do you want another drink?” He asked, gesturing to my empty glass.

“No, I think I’ve had enough.” I knew I had. I was already feeling a little tipsy. “Me even the slightest bit drunk is not an attractive sight.”

Jude paid for our drinks and we walked back out into the night. It was like the pub had been our truth place and now we were quiet again, dried up. About halfway home, I stumbled a little. My balance was slightly off from the two pathetic drinks I had had.

Jude took my hand. “You all right? Want to sit down?”

“No, I’m fine. I’m such a lightweight, it’s ridiculous.” I joked, but he didn’t let go of my hand. I figured he just didn’t want me to fall down.

He only let go when I had to unlock the front door. We were quiet going up the stairs and as I turned to him to say good-night, he grabbed my hand again. “Thanks. You saved me from going to bed and thinking about that little girl all night long. And… it was good for me to talk about Ericka.”

“Well. Don’t mention it. I’m here all night,” I joked. “Thank you for listening to me. And for taking up one of my wakeful hours.”

“Will you sleep tonight?” he asked softly.

“I just might,” I said. He looked at me, still holding my hand, and for a brief, irrational moment, I thought he might kiss me.

He didn’t. Instead, he squeezed my hand. “Good-night, Emily.”

“Good-night, Jude.” We walked into our respective rooms and for the first night in a long time, I slid into a sweet, uninterrupted sleep.