Rebound

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Rebound - book excerpt

CAROLE

CAROLE WAS MY BEST FRIEND THE MOMENT WE MET. Three months ago, she arrived at my small, West Villagewalk-up like a wayward angel and asked, “Are you, Zoey?” She was looking for an apartment, and I was in need of a roommate when my useless boyfriend of five years stranded me for another woman. After showing her around the apartment, and learning about each other’s lives, I was certain she was a decent person. Without further thought, I offered her the second bedroom.

A day later, she arrived with minuscule possessions—a small bag of clothing, a laptop, and a beautiful bejeweled box, explaining she’d given up worldly possessions for a minimalist lifestyle. “Besides,” she’d said, “I work from home as a remote business consultant, so there’s no need for a large wardrobe.” I soon learned her adoptive parents, who passed away a few years ago, left her financially secure with a large inheritance. That’s when Carole told me her biological mother abandoned her as an infant. She grew up an orphan never knowing her true surname or date of birth. She accepted her plight and never pondered her real family.

Carole and I are total opposites. I’ve been told a constellation of ginger freckles bridging my almond-shaped eyes and nose is my most attractive facial feature which is unusual for a brown-eyed, brown-haired African-American. At five-feet-four inches, I’m dwarfed by Carole’s willowy five-feet-nine-inch frame. Carole’s drop-dead gorgeous. The quiet, mysterious beauty guys fall head over hills for, the type who doesn’t realize her allure until admired by others. Her humility is endearing.

Persistently, rivulets of brunette strands fall about her milky complexion. But there’s something about her features that strikes me strange. In daylight, her eyes turn several shades of gray. At moments, her face shifts in different light, I assume her complexion’s opalescence creates the surreal quality. Sometimes it seems another shape is trying to escape her face. When she’s resting, facial bones fluctuate in odd alignment as if struggling for symmetry. I assume when she’s in deep thought, fleeting emotions account for the anomaly. However, underneath her beauty dwell a modest soul and perhaps the reason we get along so well.

Carole’s spiritual and a little odd at times, but I like that about her. She hangs crystals on the window, drinks copious amounts of green tea, and practices tai chi and yoga. Sometimes at night, I swear I’ve seen her sitting in the dark meditating. She believes in mystical topics I have no interest or belief in, such as spirits, past lives, and fortune-telling. Occasionally, I ponder Carole’s mysterious arrival. She appeared ten minutes after my online advertisement for a roommate, and a day after I ended my relationship with Peter.

MAKO

WHEN CAROLE MOVED IN, I thought her company would lessen Peter’s heartbreaking loss.But it’s been a month and I’m still mourning the breakup. I’d considered online dating until Carole scared the bejesus out of me with talk of maniacs and serial killers. Her eyes colored serious when she found me viewing an online dating service. “You’re on the rebound and hardly over Peter, and online dating is risky with all the crazy people in the world,” she’d said.

I’d sighed deeply and replied, “You’re probably right,” anddropped my head on the back of the sofa. My eyes lingered on the ceiling, sensing Carole’s gray-eyed stare in the corner. I rolled my head sideways, met her slate gray stare and reasoned, “Dating other men is the only way to forget Peter.” Her eyes altered bluish gray, her face hardened in disagreement. I sighed and took Carole’s advice, but failed miserably at forsaking thoughts of Peter.

That was a week ago, now it’s Saturday, which had always been my special day with Peter, and the day I miss him the most.