Page 35 of Succubus

I’m sobbing behind a potted tree in front of the fancy lingerie store I’ll never go into, next to the ice cream place, on an ebullient autumn day.

I feel people looking at us, looking quickly away. Who the hell knows what to do with pain like this?

(Dee does.)

“I really like him,” I whisper.

“Yeah.” She strokes my hair. “He’s really likable.”

A double stroller rolls past, one of those poodle-mix dogs trotting beside it.

“Tell me what you need.” She smells like her favorite coconut shampoo with a swirl of coffee. She will hold me until the bitter end. This is who Dee is.

“I can’t see him again,” I whisper. And then, “Ella’s attached. And the cat. I really messed up.”

I feel her thinking. “I can make Mom take Ella over there instead of you once in a while. How mad will you be if Mom sleeps with him?”

We both laugh; mine sounds just on the edge of medical hysteria.

“But seriously, I’ll take her over on the weekend or something. We’ll make it work.”

“There’s more,” I say.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. What.”

“He’s Adam’s brother.”

“Oh my God, T! That’s not possible!” She never met him. The whole Adam episode only lasted a month. “What is happening?”

“Nothing,” I say. “Nothing is happening.”

“You didn’t, like, track him down or something, did you?”

“No! It was random!”

Her brow pulls in. “That’s too strange. It feels like . . . something.”

I nod. It does.

Ella is waving us over, needing to explain the enormous difficulty of choosing between flavors. PLEASE call me, I text Grub as we walk. Please. I’m really worried.

* * *

Where did you go? I text Dick Face. The text bubble is green.

It’s 10:00 PM. Grub hasn’t responded. I’ve already checked the sites of the local papers in his area, my heart a thwacking mallet, my blood sprinting like it’s trying to flee my veins. But there was nothing.

I call Dick Face. It goes directly to voicemail, the way it did when I called him from his abandoned apartment.

“You are so shitty,” I say. I write: That was so uncool. You’re running away. We aren’t done talking.

I’m too stressed for anything, so I try to sleep. I can’t. But even if I could, I’d be kept awake by Mom having sex with Barry above me. It sounds less enthusiastic these days. I’m guessing Barry is on the way out. I put headphones on, listen to Yo-Yo Ma playing Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1. I imagine Joel playing it, his hand steady on the bow, his other hand moving deftly on the strings, the fluid and powerful vibrato— such skilled fingers. He tilts his head back, closes his eyes. I make myself come.

Then I cry for a while.

The next morning, while Ella is doing Zoo Math, a game-based online program with annoying sound effects, and I am on the forty-first minute of my second hold with the specialty pharmacy trying to sort out a mix-up with Dee’s prescription, I get a message through Reddit from a screen name I don’t recognize.

Hey are you the succubus NazgulFarts27 mentioned? I’m trying to get in touch with someone with that kind of DP. Mine is like that too and I haven’t met anyone else with the same thing. Are you anywhere near NYC? Would really like to meet.