The Girl He Loves Page 4

  Life is beautiful for her. How could it not be… she’s still discovering it. I travel down her feed, my heart pumping wildly, my head shouting quietly, without a sound, You shouldn’t be doing this, Mischa.

  I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. I have an uncontrollable desire to know everything. And more than that, I have the right to know.

  As I browse down her feed, I study her photos — there’s something sorrowful about the girl. Perhaps she’s searching for answers, trying to figure out who she is, like most girls her age.

  I hear the front door, followed by Tristan’s laughter. My heart pounds against my ribcage, threatening to steal my breath away. How could they be back already? I check my watch. It’s much later than I anticipated. I’ve been so consumed with Ava, I didn’t even see the time go by. I’m late. Supper will be late. I hurriedly close Facebook, and slap the laptop shut.

  Now I need to figure out how to exit the powder room without Brian spotting me with his laptop. I press my ear against the door and listen carefully. I hear them talking. Tristan is messing with his dad again, calling him old. In other circumstances, I’d smile.

  I’m almost positive that they’re in the kitchen. I quietly unlock the door and turn the handle. I slowly venture out, making sure no one is around. When I see that the coast is clear, I bounce over to the entryway on my tiptoes. I crouch down and quickly stuff the laptop back in Brian’s briefcase.

  “There you are,” Brian cheers, a hint of confusion laces his words. “What are you doing in my briefcase?”

  A wave of nausea hits me. I want to scream, I know all about Ava! But of course, I don’t because I’m the queen at avoiding confrontation. It was discussed at length in my therapy sessions when I was younger. My therapist believed it was one of the reasons I was bullied. That and the fact that I was a weirdo.

  “Uh…” I mumble, at a complete loss for words. “I just wanted to borrow your laptop. Mine’s dead. I just want to Google a recipe.”

  Quick thinking on my part.

  He raises a brow, suspicious. “Why don’t you just use your phone?”

  “Uh… dead too.”

  He smiles. “I think the world has come to an end. The always organized on-top-of-it-all Mischa Lombardi’s phone and laptop are both dead.”

  “I know…” I stammer. “I’m not sure what’s wrong with me.”

  “Nothing’s wrong with you, sweetie. You are human after all.”

  I smile, mildly annoyed. “That I am. And by the way, dinner will be late tonight. About six-twenty or so.”

  He laughs. “Oh no, how will we survive?”

  I roll my eyes, my thoughts brought back to Ava. I’m not done with her.

  This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

  Part II

  Obsession

  5

  I’m stalking her on my own laptop now. It’s much safer this way. Her Facebook feed is public. Someone should really teach this girl about privacy settings. There’s no reason why a psycho like me should be able to access every photo, and every single detail of her life. I know this girl better than I know my own niece. Don’t her parents care? Personally, I am on top of everything Tristan and Trevor are doing on-line. They’re certainly not exposed like this.

  I haven’t worked all day, too obsessed with this girl. Following hours of creeping, I’ve found out so much about her. As much as I’d like to, I don’t hate her. She’s kind of sweet. It’s actually difficult to reconcile this girl with the behavior I’m sure she’s involved in — seduction of an older married man. But I know more than most, appearances are just an illusion. She might want to appear very innocent to her parents and family, despite the fact that she may be anything but.

  She posts relatively often, as most girls her age do. Most of her posts appear to be linked to her Instagram account: mundane things, trivial happenings and lots of depressing quotes. She always wears the same Roots sweater — must be a favorite. Yesterday, she painted her nails purple. The day before, she had a veggie burger at a spot near me. I love the veggie burger there too. Could she be vegetarian? Her cat’s name is Trixie — it reminds me of that colorful cereal I used to love as a kid. I don’t have that kind of food in my house now.

  Trixie is a frequent star on her Facebook feed, and her friends Karla and Jessie. Karla Mendez is darker, most likely of latino descent, and Jessie is a bubbly little blonde. They’re both pretty, but not as beautiful as Ava.

  I wondered if Ava could possibly be a student of Brian’s, but was reassured when I gleaned that she attends Wright College in Humbolt Park. I also discovered that her birthday is April 7th, and she is eighteen years old — older than originally thought. This relieved me immensely because even if my husband is cheating on me, at least he’s not a pedophile.

  In one of the photos, she is standing right next to the sign in front of her college, a silent invitation: Come and kidnap me. You know where I go to school. I know she’s an adult and older than my boys, but I would never, ever let Tristan and Trevor be so easily tracked down on social media. I almost want to reach out to her parents and educate them. Don’t they know any better? Don’t they care? But where would I begin? Um, by the way, I’ve been stalking your lovely daughter on Facebook because I found a hidden photo of her in a frame on my bedroom dresser. I think she and my husband might be sleeping together.

  Even as I say the words quietly in my mind, I still refuse to believe them. It makes no sense. I can’t believe Brian could ever do this. I need to know more. If I were to approach her parents now, Brian’s career might be over forever — the man teaches at a Catholic high school. And I know how he loves his job. Not to mention that we need his salary and work benefits.

  No, I cannot act impulsively.

  I check my watch. I’m meant to meet up with Abigail, Gretchen and Claudia for coffee this afternoon, just a quick one at Abby’s place, a floor above. I don’t want to go. I want to stay glued to my laptop and stalk Ava. My heart bleeds when I hear her perform a sad classical piece on piano. Her fingers dance so skillfully and effortlessly, and she wears a determined look of concentration on her face. The melody sends shivers down my spine. She’s talented, truly talented.

  I knew this already. I knew it because I’ve seen the post of her holding a certificate, stamped with a gold foil. First place for Ava Hall. She’s not only a gifted pianist, she’s also a good student in spite of the fact that she struggles with a reading disorder. And she’s also an athlete (swimming). She has a few friends but she’s definitely not the most popular girl in school, not a cheerleader type. When she’s not busy, she loves to wind down with a book. Last week she read Wuthering Heights, and loved it. So did I when I was a girl. The caption read:

  Books always cheer me up when I’m down. Reading and loving this right now… and it’s not even for school!!! #bookworm #booknerd #wutheringheights #iheartHeathcliff

  The caption was accompanied with a selfie of her, cuddled up with the book in a cozy armchair, and her cat Trixie. Fresh faced, and so innocent, with a small dash of something else, something sad.

  The photo broke my heart. She’s a romantic. She’s completely naive, and could easily be swept up into something not quite right. I know how charming Brian can be, how beautiful he is. If he had failed as a teacher, a career in modeling might have been a real option. I know the girls in his classes all go crazy for him — I’ve seen their faces, heard the whispers and giggles. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. But never, until now, have I ever suspected that Brian might return their affections.

  Her bedroom is white and pink, tastefully decorated with a Paris theme, a little messy for my liking. Small lighted Eiffel towers dangle from her window. Likewise, there are Christmas lights on her upholstered white leather tufted headboard. Are they sleeping together? And if so, where do they do it?

  Ava still lives with her parents and younger sister. Her younger sister’s name is Madison. She’s a little blonde cutie with blue eyes. She loo
ks like their mother, Renee. Renee is stunning, a real life Barbie with long dirty blonde hair, extremely well-dressed, with a Colgate commercial smile. Renee drives a white Audi, and apparently is not a cat person, despite the fact that she has Trixie.

  And then there’s her father, Joel. I’m struck by his gentle gaze and sweet smile. His grin is shy, not quite giving itself to you. His eyes are big and brown, and make you want to know what they see. His hair is stylish, and dirty blond like his wife’s. In the photo I can’t pull my eyes from, they’re huddled together, his arm around her delicate shoulder. They’re at a restaurant, the girls are bookends, smiling widely.

  What a beautiful family. A perfect family.

  What would they all think if they knew what truly lay under the veneer, the perfect picture? If they knew Ava’s secret?

  I glance at the clock on my laptop. I’m shocked to see that I’m running late for my get-together with the girls. I’m never late. This is so unlike me. I rush to gather my things and snap my laptop shut. I dash across the condo, scrambling to make myself look decent. I dab on a quick swipe of lipstick, and hastily slip on my shoes. I’m out the door in a flash.

  I run to the elevator. Abigail is only one floor up, but I’m in a hurry. When the doors ping open, I see him, the man from upstairs. I still don’t know his name. He’s beautiful, but not quite as sexy as Brian of course. He always shoots me a shy smile when I happen by him in the elevator, and then goes right back to staring at the elevator buttons. The girls think he’s a snob, but I think he’s just an introvert, like me. They’re judging him on the little information they have about him; the fact that he lives in the penthouse upstairs, and that he’s always impeccably dressed. That’s it — we don’t even know the man’s name for crying out loud.

  I smile at him again as I exit the elevator. I dash to Abigail’s and when she answers the door, I’m completely flushed.

  “Wow, you’re late,” she says, surprised.

  I peel off my shoes as she closes the door behind me. “Sorry. I got caught up in my work,” I straight-out lie.

  Claudia stands to greet me.

  We exchange a quick hug as Abigail serves me my favorite coffee from her fancy Keurig. I take a seat on the sectional, next to Claudia, and study Abigail’s view of the city — it’s identical to mine; the skyline of buildings, the vibrant life of Wicker Park. Occasionally, I’ll stand close to the windows and look down, and study the pedestrians and cars below, the excitement of so many lives intermingling, from the safety and comfort of my own cozy living room.

  “Where’s Gretchen?” I ask.

  “She had a family thing today,” Abigail tells me.

  “So how have you been keeping, Claudia?” Abigail asks as she takes a seat across us. She’s wearing a long tunic over leggings. Her wavy blonde hair falls carelessly but beautifully over her shoulders. She reminds me of Renee, Ava’s mother. I swallow hard, shaking the thought out of my head.

  Claudia looks completely deflated. “I’ve been better. I really liked him. Is this what dating is like?”

  I’m not really the one to help since I’ve been with Brian forever. Abigail on the other hand, is better equipped — she’s divorced. She smiles kindly. “It’s not easy, especially for women our age.”

  Women our age. Are we really that old? We’re all in our mid thirties, still young and vibrant. Although not quite as perky and fresh as teenage girls. I think of Ava again and my stomach goes topsy turvy. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to finish my coffee. No one seems to notice my unease as they’re both so focused on Claudia’s breakup.

  Poor Claudia is freshly separated, and looking after Colton, a sweet eleven year-old playful boy. And I know for a fact that she still loves her ex husband. Although she’s never said it out loud, it’s just a matter of reading between the lines. He left her for reasons she never really shared with us. And now, Jake, her new guy, cheats on her, and she finds out on Facebook Messenger.

  My heart sinks. I’m suddenly brought back to stumbling on Brian’s browser history. It stung. The pain was sudden and sharp, completely unexpected, as if I were standing on a street corner and a strange little old lady slapped me in the face.

  “The key is to not have expectations,” Abigail explains. “Just go with it and try to have fun. Don’t ever expect it to work out. Don’t be in a rush to get attached.”

  Her words depress me, and I think they have the same effect on Claudia, who looks like she’s just about ready to spend the rest of her days buried under her bed covers. She’s a beautiful woman; long thick dark hair and caramel skin, with almond shaped brown eyes, delicate chiseled features and an hourglass figure. I want to help her, but I’m at a loss. For a brief moment, I consider confessing my current situation, but I’m not ready to do that yet. I need to further investigate and make sure before.

  As soon as I drain my coffee, I rush to leave. “I’m sorry,” I tell them. “I’m swamped today. I need to get back to work. It was nice.”

  They both look at me, stunned to see me leave so early. Usually I stick around for a while, and we chat about everything and nothing.

  My heart is thumping enthusiastically as I hurry down the stairs. I can’t wait to get back to my laptop.

  6

  I settle down at my desk. I don’t need to lock the door because my desk faces the doorway and if anyone makes an appearance, I can just exit my browser window before they reach me.

  I resume my ‘investigation’. This is how I’ve come to think of it.

  A new post. Apparently they’re all going to Montreal to visit Renee’s family this weekend. Interesting…

  When Brian and Trevor go out to pick up a few groceries, I take the opportunity to check his history again. Brian cooks every Thursday and Saturday night — he’s a decent cook. Tonight is wings and pasta. It was one of the things I loved about him when we first met about twenty years ago.

  My friend Charlie (a girl I haven’t spoken to in ages) dragged me to some bar to watch an up-and-coming band play. I like music as much as the next gal, but I wasn’t really into it. I’d had a long week — I was stressed about school and had a part-time job at the Gap. Little did I know that my life was about to change.

  Brian caught my attention straight away. He was wielding a classic guitar and sitting on a stool, his beautiful mouth pressed against a mic. His brand of music was slow and smooth, classic folk meets pop. He peeked at me from under a fringe of dark hair. He’d shoot me a playful grin here and then. I seemed to be the only one he was paying attention to, and I felt like he was singing directly to me. Every single word in the lyrics of his songs hit me hard. I smiled shyly every time our eyes met. Demure, I let my gaze fall to my sparkly mini skirt and tight-fitting t-shirt. The word OBSESSED was printed across my small chest. It was my way of laughing at myself. I had fully come to terms with my OCD and my strange idiosyncrasies.

  “I think the lead singer likes you,” Charlie said to me after the show was done. “We should stick around.”

  I smiled. Never one to stay out too long, I was completely on board. I wanted to meet Brian, get a closer look.

  Charlie knew the keyboard player so it was easy to sneak in backstage.

  “Hey, I’m Brian,” he said sweetly, and as soon as we shook hands, I was a goner. I didn’t say a thing, completely lost in his stunning green eyes, framed by the most amazing dark lashes and brows.

  “And you are….” he went on.

  “Sorry, I’m Mischa.”

  He smiled. “And you’re obsessed… with what?”

  I glanced down at my shirt. “With everything,” I said playfully. He had no clue. “With you now,” I added. “You’re my newest obsession.” The words shocked me — it wasn’t like me to flirt at all. And despite the fact that it seemed like I was joking, I knew I was deadly serious. I was already obsessed with him.

  Luckily, the feeling was mutual. We ended up hanging out, and all getting a little drunk. I was happy and tipsy when he walked
me back to Charlie’s — I was sleeping over at her place. After that, we were inseparable. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that he was extremely sensitive, that he was smart and loved books as much as I did, and that he wrote all his beautiful songs himself. And also, that he was a great cook. His Italian grandmother had taught him to cook when he was younger as she was his primary caretaker when his parents worked — both his parents were teachers.

  We’d only been together two weeks, and I already knew he was the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with.

  Now, as I stare at Brian’s browser history, it feels like a dagger to the heart when I see that just yesterday, he stalked her Facebook page again. Could they really be involved? There’s no indication of a relationship. He’s always with us… he does work late occasionally, and by late, I mean six or seven. Could they be having their trysts then?

  Or maybe he just likes to watch her online. He’s as obsessed with her as I am. Perhaps she doesn’t even know he exists. For some reason, she doesn’t strike me as a little whore. It could be very innocent — just a middle aged man indulging in a common fantasy — the chaste school girl. I know for a fact that’s exactly Brian’s type. I think it’s one of the things he liked about me when we first met, the fact that I was sweet and innocent, still a virgin.

  Our first time wasn’t quite as I had envisioned. For months, Brian and I just kissed and fooled around. We would often lay together on the pink ruffled silk bedspread of my twin bed. The bedside lamp was always on, my family often gone for the night, soft music on the radio, perhaps my favorite album, possibly Alanis’ Jagged Little Pill.