“What do you mean? What’s the matter withyou?”
“You’ve been pronouncing both of our names incorrectly for the last two years. Do you not hear the difference in what you call us versus what everyone else calls us?”
He has the audacity to look taken aback. “Wait, you’re serious? I thought this was a running inside joke we had going.”
When neither of us responds, he shrugs, then says, “Isn’t that why you call me Mr. Facey all the time?”
Anne and I exchange a glance. When we look back at Patrick, I can see a look of realization dawning on him. “It’s Pacey,” he says, enunciating the first letter with a pop of his lips. “Patrick Pacey.”
He stares at us for a moment. Neither of us says a word. It’s the most awkward silence I’ve ever been a part of. It’s Patrick who finally breaks it. “Did you really think my name was Facey?Facey?What kind of name is that?”
“I’m sure it’s a real name,” I say.
Anne isn’t looking at either of us. Her wide eyes are locked onto the far wall between me and Patrick.
“Jesus Christ,” Patrick mumbles. “Anne, get to work. Naomi, I’m sure you need to finish your report before you go on air.”
I think that’s the first time I’ve heard him pronounce my name correctly. He turns around and leaves the room. Only then does Anne look at me again. Her face is almost as red as Patrick’s was when he heard her suggesting I have a threesome.
“You really thought his name was Facey?”
I’m confused. “What do you mean? You thought the same thing.”
She shakes her head, and her mouth widens into a smile. “You really are terrible with names, aren’t you?”
“You thought his name was Facey, too!”
“No, I didn’t. He’s Patrick Pacey. He’s always been Patrick Pacey. That’s what his nameplate says on his office door.”
“Then why do you always call him Mr. Facey?”
“Because that’s what you called him on your first day here, and I thought it was hilarious. I’ve called him that ever since. I think he thought it was funny, too. That’s when he started calling me Anette.”
“You mean this really was a running inside joke, and I just didn’t realize I was a part of it? Are you kidding me?”
She shrugs, then turns toward the door. “I better get to work before he comes in here and yells at me again.”
“Wait. Why didn’t you speak up just now? Why let him think you really thought that was his name?”
“Because you had already embarrassed yourself enough. I couldn’t let you go down alone.”
I feel oddly touched by the sentiment. Anne is almost out of the room when I realize I haven’t responded.
“You’re a good friend, Anne,” I say.
She looks over her shoulder and smiles at me. “Quit messing around and finish your report,” she says, mocking Patrick’s tone.
ChapterTwenty-Seven
DOUBLE LIFE
It’s been a few days, and I still haven’t heard from Luca. I ask Joel every day if there are any new letters, but he shakes his head and pretends to be busy with something else. I wonder if he even gave my last letter to Luca. I haven’t seen much of Jake, either. I spotted him through the window the other day when I was coming home, but by the time I got inside, he was already in the elevator, heading up to the fourth floor.
On Friday I head home after eating lunch with Anne. I’m not really sure what to do. I don’t have any letters to look forward to reading. Anne and I canceled our plan to go back to San Diego. Now that I know who Luca’s dad is, there’s no point in tracking down Ben Toole. I sit on the floor with a laser pointer and send the kittens chasing the little red light around the room.
It’s starting to feel like I’ve lost Jake. I think that maybe he was only after one thing, but that doesn’t seem likely. The time that we spent together isn’t something that can be found in a one-night stand. Maybe he only kept me around so he could trick me into adopting the kittens. It’s a ridiculous thought, and I dismiss it almost as soon as I come up with it. The only other thing I can think of is that Joel told him about Luca and the letters. I can imagine that he would be upset about me keeping that from him, but I wish he would at least talk to me.
I start to type out a text message to him, even though the last two I sent went unanswered. I’m interrupted by a wailing, screaming cry coming from upstairs. I look up at the ceiling. Roland and Phoebe do the same. The godawful sound has to be coming from Jake’s apartment. I try to ignore it. I return to playing with the laser light, but the kittens aren’t interested anymore. Their focus is on the noise upstairs.
