Even though Iran this morning, my legs are still restless, the muscles in them twitching like they need to move and release more energy. Before I even get into bed, I know I'll have trouble sleeping. I suppose that's part of the problem. Worrying that I'll have insomnia only makes it more likely that I will. I try to prep myself for a restful night, smoothing so much lavender lotion on my hands that I smell like an old woman's lingerie drawer. After doing a quick ten-minute meditation using an app on my phone, I turn out the light and close my eyes. My mind is unsettled, playing the "what if" game on an endless loop. What if Seth tells Renata what he overheard? What if Isabelle is right, and I'm coming at this situation with Dad from a place of insecurity and immaturity? What if Dan has told Barb about us? What if I lose my job? What if, what if, what if?
As predicted, I have a terrible night, finally falling asleep around one o'clock, then waking up again around three thirty. When it becomes clear I won't be able to go back to sleep, I turn on the light and pull a yellowing copy ofMrs. Dallowayoff a bookshelf in my bedroom. Even this comfortable mattress and Virginia Woolf's stream of consciousness babble can't ward off insomnia. After reading several chapters, of which I remember nothing, I put the book away and draft three texts to Dan before I realize that what needs to be said can't be captured in this medium. I'm going to have to suck it up and call him. It's almost dawn when I fall into a fitful sleep once again.
When I wake up at ten, I'm groggy and ill-tempered. Everything I was worrying about at bedtime comes flooding back to my mind, like a wave I can't outswim. I'm going to have to deal with my personal issues if I ever want to sleep again.
I sit up in bed and gulp down water from the glass on my night table. There's no point in putting off my talk with Barb. Taking a deep breath, I pick up my phone and find her in my contact list. Barb Wicker. She has both a landline and a cell. I try her home phone first, unsure whether or not I want her to answer. On one hand, it would be nice to get this call over with, and on the other hand, I'd rather get a pelvic exam than talk to her right now.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Barb.” I pick nervously at the zit on my chin. "It's Andie Fiarello."
"Andie! How are you? How has your summer been so far?" She sounds genuinely pleased to hear from me, and relief rushes through me. There's no way she would sound this pleasant if she knew Dan and I were sucking each other's faces a few nights ago.
"I'm alright. I'm down in North Carolina visiting my dad right now."
"Fabulous! That sounds like a lot more fun than what I'm doing right now, cleaning out closets and sorting through the things my daughter left here when she moved out. She got married last month."
"That's right," I say, remembering only now that Barb's daughter had a wedding recently. Instead of moving in with her fiancé, she lived with her parents until the wedding, which is incredibly anachronistic by New York standards. Leave it to Barb to have a daughter who didn't want to cohabit until her fiancé officially put a ring on it. "I hope the wedding went well?"
"It was wonderful! We had amazing weather, couldn't have asked for a more beautiful day, and Caroline looked gorgeous. Of course, I'm biased." Barb gives a tinkling little laugh. "But she really did."
"Wonderful! I'm so happy for her!" My anxiety is currently manifesting as over-the-top enthusiasm. "I got your message."
"Yes, yes. We need to discuss next year. We've got a room situation. Have you heard?"
I freeze at the phrase "room situation" and lose all my words, which creates an awkward pause in the conversation. My first thought is that Dan has approached her about switching classrooms to get away from me.
"Andie, are you still there?"
"Yes, I'm still here.” I try to sound normal when inside I'm completely wigging. "Sorry, what's the situation with rooms?"
"The school's enrollment has gone up for next year, and they've hired two more teachers for our department. Not that they asked me about it, but that's neither here nor there. We're stretched for space, and they need teachers to share rooms. I thought since you and Dan are next door to each other, it wouldn't be far for him to move all of his belongings into your space. And you two are good friends already. Would it be a hardship for you if he moved in with you next year?"
I almost laugh out loud at the ridiculousness of this situation. Not only does she have no idea what happened between Dan and me, she's suggesting that we shack up as roomies.
"Have you proposed this to Dan yet?"
"No," she says. "I thought I'd ask you first. I'm fairly certain Dan will be alright with the change. You know how laid back he is about everything."
I'm not sure how to say no without sounding high maintenance and difficult. Then again, there's no way in hell Dan and I can share a room. I have to think quickly if I want to get out of this mess.
"You know what might be a good idea? If I share a room with one of these new teachers. They might appreciate being around someone who knows how the school works."
I peer out the window as we're talking and spot Renata and Seth walking toward the barn. He should be at work right now. Then again paramedics probably have funky schedules like doctors and nurses where they work several long shifts then have a few days off. He's wearing basketball shorts and a t-shirt, and I get another glimpse at his legs. That first night I met him, he was wearing shorts, and I noticed his muscular calves. His legs are paler than the rest of him, most likely because he wears pants at work and probably when he's building the cabin.
"That's an interesting idea," Barb says. "Let me think about that, and we can talk again. You might want to get in touch with Dan and ask his feelings. He may prefer to be with you."
I'm leaning a little too far off the bed to get a better view of Seth and nearly fall on my head when she speculates about Dan's desire to be with me. It's like she's intent on throwing us together. If Barb were less formal and prudish, I'd be tempted to tell her that there's no way Dan and I can room together because there's unresolved sexual tension between us. Scratch that. The tension has been resolved and died an ugly death. Now that I think about it, she's probably the only person in our department who doesn't realize he and I have been flirting. I'm not sure if I'm more ashamed that we've been so obvious or if I let myself be blind to the way we were acting.
"I'll speak with him," I assure her.
"Thanks so much, Andie. I'll check in with you in about a week. Enjoy your time down South!"
"Thanks, Barb. Good luck with the closets, and congratulations to Caroline and..." I realize I don't know her son-in-law's name, "her husband."
Note to self: stop being so self-absorbed and listen to other people.
Barb wants me to contact Dan, and, for my own reasons, I definitely need to talk to him, but I'm still not ready. The room situation actually provides us with a solution to at least part of our mess—one of us will volunteer to move in with a teacher who is on a different hall. That way we can get some physical distance at work. The emotional connection that we need to sever, that's another story. Right now, I need to focus on what's happening with my father though. When I return to New York, I'll deal with Dan. For now, I've got to let him know that I'll be in touch when I get home, otherwise he'll keep texting me. I study the message I've written him, revising it neurotically at least fourteen times.
