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Forty-Two
It’s not here.” Nick throws his hands at an empty parking space on the side of the chapel. “I parked it right here, remember?”
There are only so many things that could’ve happened to his beloved Jeep. The most obvious being very, very bad. “You don’t think it was...” My heart sinks the moment I look at him, his worst fear realized. Someone stole the Jeep. This is a disaster.
A total disaster.
“No, no, no. This can’t happen. I locked the doors. There’s an alarm.” Nick shakes his head, stomping toward the space as if the Jeep will appear if he just gets inside the lines. I’ve never seen this look on his face or shade of red on his skin.
“Try not to freak out,” I say, addressing both of us, though my stomach’s tossing and churning as reality sets in.
“Don’t freak out? Don’t freak out!” Uh-oh, he’s about to blow. I brace myself for the fallout. “My Jeep is gone. Our ride is gone! Do you know what that means?”
“Yes, it means we need to find another way to L.A. My audition’s in five and a half hours.”
I can’t give in to any other conclusion. My career and life depend on us finding dependable transportation. Pronto!
Nick pulls a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and lights up. Where’s he been hiding those? “You know, you keep thinking this audition is everything. It’s not everything.”
Why is he being like this?
“Not everything to you. You don’t need to be on late-night television. You have fans and a Comedy Channel special. You have a career. I need this. And right now, there’s nothing we can do about your Jeep besides report it and get moving.” Nothing I say seems to penetrate his clenched jaw or angered heart. “Look, I know you’re upset but it’s just a Jeep!”
“Spoken from the girl who keeps an antique in a storage garage.”
Uh-uh. He’s not bringing my dad’s Jeep into this mess. “That’s not the same thing and you know it.”
“Actually it is, Olivia! Everything that meant anything to me was in that Jeep. Everything I owned. And now what... all of it’s on its way to Mexico to be disassembled and sold for parts?”
Now I’m as lost as our ride. “What do you mean everything you own was in the Jeep? There’s nothing in there but T-shirts with your face on them.”
Nick takes off his sunglasses and rubs his eyes. When he looks up, it’s not fury staring back at me. It’s something else. “I got rid of my apartment in Brooklyn. Sold everything I could replace and took what I couldn’t. I’m not going back to New York. I’m moving to L.A.”
“Wait, what?” I shake my head, processing what he just told me. “Back up. You’re moving to L.A.? To do comedy?” As the words barrel out of my mouth, details of the past couple weeks begin to click. The clinking in the boxes, not wanting to drive me home, shoving off the roommate stuff. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I’m not gonna do comedy anymore. I got a job. A real one.”
Okay, now my head hurts and it’s not just all the champagne we drank last night. “You’re quitting stand-up?” He answers with a look, and I know it’s real. Still, this doesn’t make sense. Something doesn’t add up. “How can you quit after all that stuff you said? Why would you tell me not to give up comedy when you are?”
“I meant that. I did. But for me... it’s more complicated than you know.”
I must be an idiot. Why did I let this guy in? Why did I fool myself into thinking he was the answer I was waiting for?
I scoff. “You’re so full of shit. Stand-up’s so great and I’m so great and you let me think that we could be...” It’s not just comedy he’s walking out on, it’s like he’s walking out on me too. Why am I surprised? Everyone leaves eventually. “Never mind, I get it. You really are born to run, aren’t you?”
“I’m sorry. It’s not personal. I guess I thought it would be easier this way.”
“Easier for you.” Not only does he remind me of my father but now he’s behaving exactly like my mother, sneaking out without a word, avoiding the hard conversations. “You know what, Nick. You’re a coward and a quitter. And I don’t want any more help from you. I don’t want anything from you!”
I grab my suitcase in a rage and stomp off, but the damn thing digs its heels in the ground. And my dramatic exit’s reduced to a humiliating waddle.
“Olivia, wait! Where are you going?” The sound of his boots crunching against the pavement draws closer.
“Don’t follow me!” Using every ounce of strength I have, I keep going.
What a disaster.
