This Love Story Will Self-Destruct by Leslie Cohen

Author:Leslie Cohen [Cohen, Leslie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gallery Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

Once the concert was over, we walked to the far end of the space and Eve opened the door to some back room, like it was something she did all the time. “I just want to try to ask the band a few questions! One or two quotes for my article would be a game changer!”

I followed her and we waited for a bouncer to consult a list that Eve and I weren’t on.

“Could you check with Kim?” she said, when he failed to let us in. “She said that it would be okay for me ask the band a few questions after the show.”

The bouncer looked confused but then left to consult with someone.

“Who is Kim?” I asked, once he’d left.

“I have no idea!” She leaned into me to say. “It sounds like it could be someone though, right? Kim?”

I gave her a puzzled look.

“I just thought that if I dropped a name, it would add an air of authenticity to our story.”

“Ah.”

It was freezing in this room. It had a window open. As we waited, Eve started snapping her fingers, tapping her shoes against the ground, which echoed throughout the stairwell.

“Oh, by the way, you left this behind,” I said, taking the business card out of my wallet and handing it to her, testing the waters.

She closed her eyes and took the card and held it against her chest. “Thank you,” she said, and then put it in her wallet. “I was so afraid I’d lost it.”

“Is that . . . was that . . . your mother?” I stuttered out. Feigning ignorance felt like the safest approach. But I also knew that by handing her that card, by asking her that question, I was officially hiding something from her.

“Yep,” she said, and there it was. Simple as that. Thud. She was confirming what I already knew, but it didn’t seem real until this moment. The woman on the card was my father’s secretary, and she had two daughters and one of those daughters was Eve. She continued talking, but I could only half hear what she was saying. It was all fuzzy, like someone had lowered the volume without my permission.

“I was afraid I’d lost it, and I don’t like to lose things,” she said. “I lost a glove once and I was devastated.”

“Over a glove?” I managed to say, though I still hadn’t come back to reality. And then I remembered something else, once she said the word glove. It was a story that my father told me when I was younger. Every now and then, his secretary, Eve’s mother, would come up in conversation. It was a snow day and my brother and I were fighting over who got to use the car, and he wanted us to realize just how stupid our fight was. He told us this story of how his secretary came into work on a cold winter morning and her hands were all red and she was blowing on them.

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