This Love | ✓

Part 3

I was startled awake by an incessant ringing noise. The bedroom was bathed in darkness except for the streaks of streetlights that filtered in through the windows. I looked around, disoriented. It took me a moment to realise that I was in Claire's house in Los Angeles and that my phone was ringing.

Stumbling out of bed, I grabbed my phone off the desk and accepted the incoming call.

"H-hello?" I stuttered.

A soft, familiar voice said, "Leena, hello? It's Rita."

I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at the time displayed on the screen.

Whoa. Did I sleep through the entire afternoon?

"Hi, Rita," I said, bringing the phone back to my ear. "Sorry, I meant to call Dad, but I fell asleep. Could I speak to him?"

"Your father wanted me to call you a few hours ago, but I figured you would be resting," she spoke in a thick, familiar British accent. "I'll put you through to him now."

"Thanks!" I said.

I sat at the edge of my bed, rolling my eyes as corny piano music played while I waited to be connected to my dad.

Put on hold before I can speak to my own father, I thought to myself with a humourless laugh.

"Lee," Dad's voice suddenly boomed through the phone.

"Dad, hi!" I said. "Sorry, I didn't call you sooner. I fell asleep."

"It's all right. You must be exhausted after that long flight. Are you settled in?"

"Yes, Claire's home is amazing. I love my room!"

"Enjoy it, Lee," my father chuckled. "Claire will take good care of you. How is she?"

"She's fine," I answered.

"Good, good," he said. There was no mistaking the feigned nonchalance in his voice when he asked, "Is she living alone . . . ?"

"Yeah, as far as I can tell," I mumbled, picking at a loose thread on my jeans.

"Right, okay," he said, sounding relieved.

I hesitated, remembering Claire's security code and her fleeting comment about my father during lunch.

Do they still love each other? If so, why did they separate?

"Dad, what happened --"

"Oh, sorry! I'm getting another call," he interrupted, a beeping noise punctuating his words. "We'll talk later, Lee."

"Okay," I sighed. "Bye, Dad."

"Take care!" he called before hanging up.

I flopped back onto the bed, wondering what was going on between Claire and my father.

Ever since the divorce, I felt lonely around the flat without Claire. When I first got to know her, I discovered that she had a lot in common with me. She was, like me, a vegetarian. We also shared a love for cheesy horror movies. Claire and I had spent many weekend nights huddled together on the couch with tubs of ice cream, enjoying horror movie marathons.

I was shaken out of my reverie by a knock on the door.

"Come in!" I shouted.

"Hi," Claire called, walking in with a tray that held two steaming cups and a box of biscuits. "I thought you'd like some green tea. And I've made pasta for dinner."

"Thanks for the tea," I smiled, moving over to make room for Claire. "I don't want dinner, though. Did you eat?"

"Not yet," she replied. "Are you sure you don't want anything? You shouldn't go to bed hungry."

"No, I ate so much in the afternoon, I'm good for a week!" I joked. "You go ahead and have dinner."

"Okay," she smiled, taking a sip of her tea. "So, what do you want to do tomorrow? I have to go into the office but I can take you to the Village. There are plenty of shops and cafés. You can hang out there in the morning, and I'll meet you for lunch. Are you okay with being on your own?"

Claire worked in a high-power law firm in Wilshire Boulevard, LA. She would never admit it, but her hectic schedule made it difficult for her to have me over. She had been nice enough to pick me up from the airport and make lunch on the one day that she got a break from work.

So, instead of admitting that the idea of going around the Village alone scared me, I said, "Of course, it's okay! That sounds great!"

I thought back to my conversation with my dad as we sipped our tea in silence.

"Claire," I began with a little hesitation. "I talked to Dad a while ago. Um, what really happened . . . between you two?"

"Oh, Leena," she muttered, averting her gaze to the biscuits. "I'd rather not talk about that now, okay? You need to get some rest. You've got a busy day tomorrow!"

"Okay," I muttered, slightly hurt.

Does she not trust me enough to tell me what happened?

We lapsed into silence again.

After the tray of tea and biscuits had been emptied, Claire said goodnight, and I got ready for bed. My skin tingled with first-day-of-school nervousness. I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror as I brushed my teeth, my face clouded with undisguised anxiety.

I rinsed and said to myself, "Get over it, Leena. You're just another tourist. No one is going to bully you. No one is going to hate you. You're going to have a great time tomorrow."

I attempted to smile at myself, my lips contorting into an uncomfortable grimace instead.

When will I ever stop feeling like everyone hates me?

How long will it take for me to go out without knots forming in the pit of my stomach?

Am I going to feel anxious and scared forever?

Plagued by these questions, I went to bed.