“Aw, poor sweetie. Long trip?” he asked, doing his baby voice. It used to make her laugh. Now it just made her feel like a horrible, goddamn monster, cheating slut-bag, fuck, such a horrible person, fuck, FUCK.
“Something like that. What time do you get in?” she asked.
“My itinerary says I should be at your hotel around six in the evening. I can't wait! Did you find somewhere for us to eat? It feels like it's been forever since I've seen you,” he groaned.
“Me, too,” she whispered, wiping at her tears.
“And I should probably tell you something,” he started, and she could hear it in his voice. Another hour long “Misch-doesn't-speak” conversation was in the works. She couldn't handle that, not anymore.
“Oh god. Just wait till you get here. We have a lot to talk about. A lot,” she stressed.
Of course, he ignored her.
“I just want you to know before you come home. My mom has been rearranging. I think you'll really like it, she threw away the old couch and got us -,”
“She threw away my couch!?”
“C'mon, Misch, it was old. And she got us this cool leather sectional,” he went on.
“I hate leather furniture. You know that,” she snapped.
“I know, I know, but you know how she is, and I really think you'll like it. And she took all your clothes to be dry-cleaned. That's nice,” he offered.
What. The ever loving. Fuck.
“She touched my clothes!?” Misch hissed.
“Only the ones in the closet.”
Only my nicest, my most expensive.
“Michael Rapaport. You know, you know, how I feel about this shit. You know. Why would you let her do that!?” Mischa demanded.
“Cause she's been really nice and taking care of me while somebody is on the other side of the world. And everything is fine, you can't even tell. Except for your one suede jacket, I guess that got ruined, but you never wear it anymore,” he said.
Misch worked to control her anger. She never wore the suede jacket anymore because it had been a gift from a high school friend who was now dead. Normally, a huge screaming fight would ensue, with lots of colorful words pointed right at his bitch-face mother. But what he'd said stopped her, “... while somebody is on the other side of the world.” Tag on what she'd really been doing while there, and … she had no right to be mad. About anything. He could set fire to the house, and she'd have to smile and say thanks.
Cause I'm a horrible person.
He rambled on and on about the changes his mom made. Misch pretended to listen, all the way up to her hotel room. She sat on the railing of her balcony and made the appropriate responses at the appropriate points in the conversation. At the end of the phone call, he signed off with his usual “love ya!”; she didn't say it back. She wanted to feel guilty, but as she sat her phone down, another voice swept through her mind.
“... stop thinking you're a horrible person … take care of you, take care of your heart.”
But that was hard to do, when it was somewhere else.
The next day, she woke up feeling a little better. Tal's words were strong in her mind. She'd done a horrible thing, but that didn't necessarily make her a horrible person. She had to be strong. For her. For Michael. And even for Tal. He'd done something amazing for her. She would pay him back.
She spent the afternoon making phone calls. She had two days till Mike got there - after that she knew the shit would hit the fan. His friends were her friends, and vice versa. Her friend Lacey's husband was Mike's best friend, Misch was sure to lose her. And Mischa's own mother loved Mike. Like loooooooved him. She would be beyond upset. Of course, Mike's mom would be upset, but she'd never liked Mischa, anyway.
Maybe she knew something the rest of us didn't.
“Hey girl!” Lacey's voice squealed in her ear.
“Hey! How are you?” Misch laughed, pulling herself up onto the balcony railing. It wasn't so much a railing as a half wall, made of rock. She was able to sit flat on it and cross her legs.
“Good! So good. You'd be so proud, dancer lady, I've kept up with the work outs!”
Dancer lady …
“That's awesome, Lace, congrats.”
“How about you? Has all that Italian food gone to your ass?” Lacey teased.
“A little,” Misch chuckled. She'd actually gained around five or more pounds. She'd been upset at first, but Tal said he liked it. All her weight went to her ass.
“I haven't talked to you in about a week, how're things? Where are you now?” Lacey questioned.
“I'm on the coast, things are good. We go to Istanbul after this,” Misch answered.
“I would kill to be you. And I was thinking, I've been looking at our schedules, and Bob and the baby are going to visit his mom – maybe I can get out of it and visit you! Is there anything fun to do in Istanbul?” Lacey questioned. Misch swallowed a groan.
“I don't know. Let's just put that on pause, Lace,” she said slowly.
“You sound kinda sad. Is something wrong?” her friend asked.
“No. Yes. It's been a long trip,” Misch sighed, running her hand over her face.
“Aw. You miss Mikey, don't you?” Lacey said in a sad voice.
“I … I miss a lot of things. Lacey,” Misch breathed.
“What's up?”
“You love me, right?”