But there was no answer as a uniformed officer knocked on my window then and almost gave me a heart attack.
“Miss, are you here for police business?”
“Yes, we were just inside editing our statements or whatever you call it,” I told the officer as I rolled my window down.
“Editing your statements?”
“Adding some revisions, giving notes, punching up our statements?”
“We wereamendingour statements, officer,” David intervened.
“I see,” the officer finally understood, her gaze shrewd. “If you’re done, you should leave. We don’t like people lingering in this area. Someone else may need to park.”
I checked in front of me at the many parking spaces available. “We were having a conversation.”
“The parking area of the LAPD is no place for conversations. It’s the place toparkif you need to conduct police business.”
“It was a possibly life-altering conversation.”
“The parking area of the LAPD is no place for life-altering conversations.”
I drove off then, because I had to admit that she had a point.
17
Idrove down Broadway in silence, still going over the last words David and I had said and not knowing what to do next. The questions,Could we go back to the conversation we were having?and,You said you wanted to get back together?kept writing and rewriting themselves in my mind.
I was just going to let me say them out loud in front of David while he was still in my car, with me, before we got to our destination. Because I felt, otherwise, I’d probably never get to see or talk to him ever again—even if we lived in the same building. I was feelingthat tragic.
He’d just told the cops he had no reason to stay at my place on Wednesday night. He may have been interested in rekindling our relationship in the past. But I doubted he’d be interested now. Perhaps I’d even misunderstood the whole thing about him having been interested before. And, also, why would I care? Wasn’t I supposed to be invested in my relationship with Victor? And even if I wasn’t, since when had I wanted to be back with David?
I hadn’t said a word of what I wanted to voice to David when my phone rang.
Victor’s name displayed on my car’s infotainment screen and—for the first time since my parents had given me the new car—I missed my old, dumb 2008 Toyota Corolla. Good luck trying to sync your smartphone to that.
“Aren’t you going to pick it up?” David asked as my phone continued vibrating and the car’s screen persisted in showing Victor’s name.
“Not while I’m driving.”
“You know he deserves an explanation, right?” David said.
An explanation about what?I’m not proud to admit that it took me a good minute to realize David was referring to that morning’s article and the fact that I was now publicly fucking myex.
“I feel bad for him,” David continued. “Don’t you feel bad for him?”
“Oh my god! Seriously! You really want to talk about Victor right now?” I was, perhaps, yelling a bit.
“Only because for the first time in months, we’re actually talking and you’re not shutting me completely off!”
“Okay, I can’t!” I really couldn’t have that argument with David and drive safely at the same time even if I was only going at 20 mph. So as a car miraculously left a spot on Broadway, I pulled over to park there.
“What do you want to talk about?” I turned to face David and left my car to finish parking itself. My phone had thankfully stopped ringing by then. “I’m very aware that we must be the most LA couple ever as this is the second argument we’ve hadinsidethe car today.”
“Let’s get out of the car then.” He opened the passenger door and got out. I followed suit. “Also, did you just refer to us as a couple?” he added while we stood side by side on a misty Broadway sidewalk.
“Can I actually park here?” I deflected, only partially. I really didn’t want another parking ticket.
“You can, but feed the meter,” David said, diligently reading the parking signal posted on the street. You could always rely on him for bureaucratic matters. “Two-hour limit.”
