Yes, and she’s upset

I walk into my room, close the door behind me, stumble over to the bed, and sit down with a whump. The call from Alyssa yesterday took the wind out of my sails, and then to get the call from my parents that I won’t be able to go home for Thanksgiving—they’re making an unplanned trip out of state because my uncle was in a nasty accident yesterday morning—finished me off. I didn’t sleep well last night, I had a terrible time dragging myself out of bed for my 8 am class, and I bombed a quiz because I couldn’t focus. It’s only a ten-point quiz, so it doesn’t really matter, but it feels like it does. Just like I won’t be the only one in the dorm tonight—there are a few people who aren’t going home for the holiday—but it feels like I will be. I don’t really have everything coming down around my ears, but . . .

The business line rings. Jenna! I answer it, and barely get a word out before I’m snowed under by a blizzard of apologies and self-recriminations. I manage to get her calmed down enough to ask her if she’s in a safe place to talk—I want to be sure there’s no chance of her boyfriend overhearing (or, worse, grabbing the phone). “It’s safe all right,” she snarls. “I kicked him out!”

“What?” I ask, confused.

Silence. Somehow, I can tell Jenna is struggling to get herself under control. “Let me back up,” she says after several long moments. “Andrew, I’m sorry I didn’t call you yesterday. It’s not all my fault I didn’t, but . . .

“Paul came home yesterday and confronted me about seeing you, and told me he’d confronted you. I argued with him; he wouldn’t listen. I said I was sorry and asked him to forgive me; it wasn’t good enough. I promised him I’d never see you again; he said what you were doing was wrong and you needed to pay for it. ‘Besides,’ he said, ‘think of all the money!’

“‘What?’ I said—I couldn’t quite believe what I was hearing. He told me he’d given you a choice—either stop seeing me and give him half your profits, or he would expose you to the Dean. That made me mad. ‘You’re not the man I thought you were,’ I told him. He just gave me a blank look. I told him if he didn’t drop this and leave you alone, we were finished. He sneered at me, told me he could have any girl he wanted, especially once you were paying him off. That did it. It’s my apartment—he moved in with me, it’s my name on the lease—so I told him to take his stuff and get out. That floored him—I don’t think he ever imagined I’d react that way—but he didn’t argue; he did what I said. It took a long time, and I couldn’t call you until he was gone, and then I just laid down and cried, and ended up crying myself to sleep . . . I looked absolutely frightful this morning.”

“Jenna,” I ask, “how did Paul find out? How did he get my number?”

“I don’t know how he found out,” she says in a small voice. “He got your number from my phone. He picked it up when I wasn’t looking and snooped until he found it. It wasn’t really hidden—I never thought he’d do something like that. I trusted him,” she adds forlornly.

“I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”

“Just go home, enjoy your Thanksgiving, and try not to think about any of this until you get back,” Jenna says softly. “I don’t want you to ruin your holiday for my sake; and I’m sure we can figure out some way to deal with Paul. We have time—he’s not going to do anything right away.”

“I can’t even go home,” I say, bitterness leaking into my tone despite my best efforts. “My uncle got half-killed in an accident yesterday and my parents are taking an emergency trip out to be with his family. I don’t even know when they’ll be back—they don’t even know when they’ll be back. I’ll be one of like three people in the dorm. It’ll be like a Simon and Garfunkel song—the sound of silence.”

“If you want,” Jenna says tentatively, “you could come to Thanksgiving dinner at my place.”

“You’re not going home either?” I ask in some surprise.

“Never do,” she says without hesitation. “My parents divorced when I was young . . . Thanksgiving was . . . never a good time. I endured it. Then I got to college and realized it was a good excuse not to go home, so I didn’t. Freshman year, I just stayed in the dorm and caught up on sleep. Last year, I lucked out and was invited to live in an off-campus apartment with a group of seniors I’d gotten to know—I managed to convince my apartment mates to host Thanksgiving dinner. This year, I have a few girlfriends coming over—actually, you know all of them: it’s Fiona, Hope, Harmony, Erin, and Kalei.”

I do indeed know all of them; Jenna referred them all to me, and they’re all steady clients. Hope and Harmony, who are fraternal twins, are the most frequent—sometimes individually, sometimes together, depending on their schedule and their mood—but I’ve seen all of them repeatedly, and I enjoy their sessions. I like them as people, and somehow I don’t think the conversation would be at all awkward. Unless . . .

“Any boyfriends coming?” I ask.

“No,” Jenna says. “Paul was going to be there, but obviously he isn’t. You know Fiona and Kalei’s boyfriends are studying overseas this semester, and Erin and Aaron broke up last week.” (Yes, Erin actually was dating a guy named Aaron. It would have been funny if he weren’t a jerk.) “I know you’ve told her she could do better; we all have. He dumped her, can you believe it?”

“This week, I can believe anything,” I say sourly.

“Well, you will come, won’t you?” Jenna asks, sounding a little anxious. “We’ll all be glad to have you there.”

“It will be my pleasure.”

*******

On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Alyssa usually eat lunch together at the Schnalz. I sit down, lean forward a little, and say, “Jenna called, but I don’t think there’s anything she can do to help.”

“Tell me what she said,” Alyssa says shortly, so I relay the conversation as best I can.

At some point while I’m talking, Alyssa’s expression turns inward, like she’s not really paying attention to what I’m saying. I decide to test her, and finish my recital by saying, “So the doctor said that pickle juice is the best treatment for the Martian flu.”

“Of course it is,” Alyssa says absently. I wait; after a few moments, it hits her what I said. She looks up at me. “Very funny,” she adds dryly. Abruptly, she stands up. “I’ll talk to you soon,” she says over her shoulder as she walks away.