Love the One You Hate

by Grey, R. S.

  “Maren,” he says, greeting me before he goes around the table and does the same to Tori and Mary Anne.

  “Nicky! What are you doing here?” Tori asks excitedly.

  “Hunting down Maren, apparently,” he says, catching my eye.

  My cheeks burn and I look down at my food like it’s the most interesting thing I’ve ever seen.

  “Stay, will you?” Tori asks. “We have room and our food only just arrived. We have more than enough to share with you.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Mary Anne teases, staking claim to her lobster roll.

  “You can have some of mine,” I offer, pushing my plate toward him as he takes the last chair at our square table, between me and Mary Anne.

  “Thanks, but I’ll just order.”

  He waves down our waiter and asks for Georges Bank scallops and a Grey Sail IPA.

  When the waiter’s gone, Nicholas leans back in his chair, cool as a cucumber. I peer over at him, and his entire demeanor throws me off balance. Is he mad at me? If not, why am I so nervous?

  “So you said you were here to hunt down Maren. Now that you’ve got her, what do you plan to do with her?” Tori teases.

  He narrows his eyes on me. “I’m not sure yet.”

  They laugh, but I settle on a forced smile.

  “What do you guys think I should do?” he continues, gaze still on me. “I kept waiting for her to call me this week, but she never did. Now, here I am, showing up uninvited. A guy can only pursue a woman so long before he starts to feel silly.”

  “It’s not as if you called me either!” I protest, trying to stop them from jumping to his side. “Well, okay…once.”

  “I left a message too,” he adds.

  “Sounds like a classic case of one person being more into it than the other,” Tori responds, as confident as a judge presiding over a hearing. “What’s it going to be, Maren? Are you going to put Nicky out of his misery?”

  I laugh as if the notion is completely preposterous. “Believe me, if anyone’s breaking hearts in this scenario, it’s not me.”

  He flinches in surprise. “What do you mean by that?”

  I turn to Tori, looking for backup. “In all the years you’ve known Nicholas, how often has he been the one to break up with a girl?”

  “Umm, let’s see…with Viv, you broke up with her, right?” She looks to Nicholas for confirmation, but he doesn’t offer any. “And then with Lauren, yeah, you did it…and—”

  “All right.” He holds up his hands. “I fail to see why anecdotes about my previous relationships should have any bearing on what’s going on with Maren.”

  Mary Anne nods. “I’m actually on his side on this. It’d be one thing if he cheated on every girlfriend in the past—” She pauses. “Wait, you haven’t, have you?”

  “No.”

  “So yeah, just because he’s been the one to end the relationships doesn’t make him a bad guy or a bad boyfriend.”

  Boyfriend.

  “Does anyone need another drink?” I ask, taking a lengthy swig of mine.

  Tori must recognize my desperation because she carries the conversation off toward a new exhibit at her gallery. I sit silently, trying not to notice the way Nicholas keeps peering over at me, the way his leg inches toward mine under the table.

  This week has been important for me, our forced distance bringing a few things into sharp clarity. Nicholas is a force to be reckoned with, and I didn’t fall for him as much as get swept up in him. It’s why he’s so tempting, even now. I wish I could have answered his calls this week. I wish I could have holed myself up in my room and talked to him on the phone, letting his sexy voice wash over me like a tidal wave.

  I couldn’t though. I had other things to think about, a future to plan.

  When we leave dinner, I ask Tori to borrow her phone so I can call Frank and have him pick me up. I know Nicholas will protest, and he does, but I’m trying to prove a point. He doesn’t have to take me home just because of what happened last weekend. It’s not expected.

  He takes my hand as he leads me to his car.

  “You’re fighting this.”

  “For good reason. For one, you’re too good to be true.”

  “I’m just flesh and blood, the same as you.”

  “It doesn’t feel that way sometimes.”

  “You’re nervous I’ll hurt you?”

  Hurt? No. Obliterate.

  I’m nervous that after he’s done with me, there’ll be nothing left.

  “Maybe.”

  “Well, it’s too late. You can’t be nervous,” he teases, taking my hips in his hands so he can back me up against the door of his car, pinning me there. “I can’t let you go now.”

  “Even if it’s for the best?”

  His lips drop to my neck. “Not even then.”

  * * *

  I spend my night with Nicholas in his bed, forgetting everything I thought was important all week. Nothing else matters when we’re flesh to flesh, mouth to mouth. I dream about him and wake to find him there, over me, pressing inside me. I arch up and beg him for more, and he obliges.

  It’s so overwhelming that I don’t realize until Monday morning, when he’s gone again, that all of those niggling thoughts are still there in the back of my mind. They didn’t go away just because I forgot about them over the weekend.

  I know some of my issues lie in Ariana’s parting words. She issued me a wakeup call, and I feel like I owe it to myself to heed it. I have my whole life in front of me and it’s one big blur, a mess of tangled roads I can’t seem to decipher. I’m sick of living paycheck to paycheck, jumping from one job to the next. I’m sick of pretending everything is okay. It’s not, and it hasn’t been for a long time.

  Rosethorn has been a Band-Aid, not a permanent solution to my problems.

  The knowledge of that fogs my mind while I’m with Cornelia for tea on Tuesday.

  I’m more quiet than usual and she notices, asking me if there’s something troubling me.

  For a moment, I think I might brush away her concern, but then I drop my untouched tea cake back on my plate and look up at her with a question.

  “When you first hired me, did you have any idea how long you’d need me to stay here?”

  She smiles. “Not a clue, my dear. That’s the beauty of this position. It’s open-ended. You can stay through the winter and into next year, or you can use Rosethorn as a stepping stone.”

  “Would you prefer it one way or the other?”

  “Oh yes—I’d like you to stay here forever.”

  I smile, knowing she’s only teasing. Her words from Paris flit back into my mind. I know she wants me to find my own path in life.

  She sets her tea down and studies me for a moment.

  “Do you know why I first hired you, child?”

  I shrug. “I’ve come to terms with the fact that you likely felt bad for me and wanted to give me a helping hand. You knew I was going nowhere at Holly Home.”

  She chuckles. “I wish I were as selfless as that. I’m afraid it was much more for my own sake than it ever was for yours.” She turns to glance out the window, and I watch her narrow-eyed profile as she continues, “In the last year or so, on occasion, I’ve found myself taking account of my life and wondering how exactly I went so wrong. I’ve compared myself to the glorious woman I dreamed of being and discovered I was greatly disappointed.”

  I frown, wanting to jump in and contradict her. She’s the most amazing person I know, truly, but she tips her head down and drags her finger around the rim of her teacup, holding my words captive.

  “So many years spent in the same routine and habits. Be careful there, Maren—too much time spent doing what one ought to do leaves little room for anything worthwhile. Anyway, I took my discontent as a challenge. I didn’t construct anything so cliché as a bucket list, and I’ll resent it if you think so. It’s just that I’ve decided to become a bit unorthodox in my old age, more readily accepting of adventure. I was
scared by the dwindling emptiness waiting before me. No.” Her back stiffens as she sits up straighter. “There’ll be no quiet slip into my elder years. ‘Do not go gentle into that good night.’—a verse by Thomas I’m sure you’ve heard. I took it to heart. I hired a girl I knew nothing about simply because she delighted me.” Her face turns back to me and her blue eyes pierce mine. “You’ve been a gift. Always, a gift. You see that, don’t you?”

  I meet her honesty with some of my own. “I’m leaving, Cornelia.”

  She doesn’t look the least bit surprised. “When?”

  “This week, I think.”

  “So soon?”

  “It’s on purpose. I’m worried if I linger here much longer, I’ll never want to leave. You’ve given me something I’ve never had before…”

  She stands from her seat and rounds the coffee table so she can sit down beside me, takes my hands in hers, and places them on her lap. Her thumbs brush gently back and forth across my knuckles.

  “Well then, we can’t be sad. We’ve both accomplished something great this summer, haven’t we?”

  * * *

  Two days later, I pull my worn duffle bag out of my closet—the one from my old life—and I fill it with the least expensive clothes I can find. I run my hand along the designer dresses, lamenting the fact that I have to leave them behind. The fancy heels tempt me too, but I reach for practical shoes instead and leave the rest behind.

  Chef prepares a dinner with five courses, all my favorite dishes from the last few months. Cornelia and I share two bottles of wine, laughing about memories from the summer as Louis snores at our feet.

  The next day, I cash one of the paychecks and use it to buy a cell phone, a bus ticket, and a train ticket. The rest of the money will help me once I get to where I’m going. All the other checks go into a shoebox.

  My bus to Providence leaves at four PM on Friday, and when I carry my things outside and down the stairs to Frank’s waiting car, I find every member of Rosethorn’s staff arguing nearby.

  Upon closer inspection, they aren’t arguing, they’re playing a game—rock paper scissors—which seems absolutely insane until I realize they’re trying to figure out who will get to escort me to the bus station.

  “Paper covers rock!” Rita says, sliding past Bruce to take her rightful place in the back seat of the Range Rover.

  Cornelia’s already up front in the passenger seat with Louis on her lap. When he sees me, he starts to bark animatedly and draws everyone’s attention in my direction.

  “You guys don’t have to do this,” I say with a shake of my head. “I’ll be back in a few weeks. I promised Cornelia I’d come for Labor Day at the latest. And who knows, maybe I’ll get where I’m going, take one look at the scary world, and hightail it right back here.”

  “Nonsense,” Cornelia says, tutting in disagreement. “The world is your oyster.”

  “She’s right,” Chef says, stepping close to pat my shoulder before making room for Rita.

  She straightens my shirt then brushes some of my hair behind my ear. Tears build up in her eyes, and I hug her tight before saying farewell to everyone else.

  The ride to the bus station is a short one, and I refuse to let anyone linger in the terminal with me. We’ll only sit there crying like fools when there’s no reason for it. This isn’t goodbye!

  I accomplish a Herculean feat in managing not to shed a single tear until I’m sitting on the bus alone as it pulls away from the station. As promised, none of them came inside with me, but there they sit, in the Range Rover, trailing beside the bus and honking to get my attention.

  I wave back, laughing and drying my tears with the back of my hand.

  They follow me all the way out of Newport, and then Frank pulls off to turn back home.

  Once they’re gone, I sit in my seat facing my future with the shoebox on my lap as I try to convince myself I’m doing the right thing.

  28

  Maren

  Other than the day I spent in the city with Cornelia before we flew to Paris, I’ve never been to Manhattan, which I realize is slightly absurd considering I’ve lived so close to it my entire life. A city this size takes some getting used to, and I feel like it’ll dwarf me if I let it.

  My hotel is at 65th and Columbus, and my walk there from Grand Central takes forty minutes with my duffle in tow. The city streets are packed and hot, and I’m sweating bullets by the time I make it into the hotel lobby and give the receptionist my name.

  This place is nothing fancy. I specifically hoped it wouldn’t be considering I don’t have much money to spare. My room is small, the smallest one they offer, and it turns out if you specifically ask for the “cheapest” room in the place, they’re really going to give it to you. I’m down in the basement, right next to where the employees go on break. I can hear their TV blaring through the walls as I set my bag down on the full bed and then sit down beside it.

  I actually don’t mind the noise.

  I’ve never felt so alone in my entire life, and that’s saying something. I suppose it stems from the fact that I’ve always lived in places where I shared a room, especially in the foster homes and at the group home. At Rosethorn, I had my own room, but the house was always filled with so much life, I didn’t seem to care.

  I bounce on the bed, feeling the springs, though I have no idea why I do it. Maybe it’s just from seeing other people do it on TV. I unzip my duffle and start to unpack, but then I stop, unsure of how long I’ll actually be here. A night? A week? Hopefully it won’t be any longer than that.

  On the nightstand, by the bed, I see a notepad and a pen. I use them to jot down my new cell phone number and then I rip the paper off the pad and drop it in the shoebox. I close the lid, stuff it under my arm, and head back out into the city.

  The sun’s down now, but the city’s still bustling. I have a short walk across the street before I arrive at my destination. It’s incredibly close, which isn’t a coincidence. It’s the reason I picked my hotel in the first place. I sit on the concrete steps that face Alice Tully Hall and patiently watch people filing in and out of the building. It’s not immediately clear whether they’re all students or not, but some of them are my age, walking together and chatting. There’s a group of girls in tight leggings and workout gear. One of them has ballet slippers hanging down around her neck, and a few guys pass behind them with guitar cases slung over their shoulders. They walk into the glass atrium of the building, and I find myself wishing I could go in after them.

  “Are you an incoming freshman too?” a voice asks beside me.

  I jerk my attention to my left to see a girl with black hair and almond-shaped brown eyes smiling my way.

  “I just figured,” she continues. “You’re staring all moony-eyed. I wondered if you were starting in the fall too.”

  My throat tightens. “Oh, no. I’m just…”

  “Sitting. Hey, I get it. Why do you think I’m here?” she quips.

  “Are you about to start here?”

  She grins. “Yes. In the drama department.”

  “You want to act?”

  “No. I’ve been accepted into their playwriting program.”

  “Wow. That’s really cool.”

  “What about you? What are you going to apply for?”

  I rear back and shake my head. “I’m not applying for anything.”

  She tips her head as a smile stretches farther across her face. “So, you just sit outside of Juilliard at night for fun?”

  Well, when she puts it like that…

  “I play the piano. That’s what I’d like to pursue.”

  “So then just apply for a Bachelor of Music. I think those guys take some music theory and history classes, but it’s primarily focused on applied training.” Then she laughs, probably at the way I’m looking at her. “Sorry. It’s been my dream to come here for a long time, and I’ve looked into just about every program they have. If I hadn’t gotten into their playwrighting program, I would have
applied for something else, literally anything, though playwriting is what I really want to do.”

  “It’s not all that easy to apply and get in,” I say, looking down at the shoebox.

  “No. Of course it’s not. They accept like no one here. I had to apply three times. My parents wanted me to stay home and go to Michigan State, but here I am, in New York City, finally doing it. Well, not quite doing it—classes don’t start for a few weeks. I’m just here working for a little bit, saving some money up, and…sitting.”

  She chuckles, and I can’t help but smile.

  A guy comes out of the building with a backpack slung over one shoulder. He calls out for her and the girl stands and waves to him, looking down at me before she moves to join him. “Hey, good luck with everything.”

  I nod. “Yeah, you too. Congrats, by the way.”

  She smiles then trots down the stairs toward her friend. He throws an arm around her shoulders and they turn down the street then disappear.

  I continue to sit there as people come and go around me, staring at the school, dreaming about what it would be like to attend and then trying to convince myself it doesn’t just have to be a dream. It’s why I’m here, I remind myself. Well, one of two reasons.

  I stand up and pull a little piece of paper out of my pocket. I look at the address Cornelia jotted down for me this morning.

  Nicholas’ apartment.

  He doesn’t know I’m in the city and I have no idea how he’ll feel when I just show up unannounced on his doorstep, but well…it’s called a leap of faith for a reason.

  It’d be quicker to take the subway from here, but I don’t trust myself to get on a train and successfully arrive at my destination, so instead, I walk through Central Park, over to the Upper East Side. I get turned around once, but eventually, I find my way.

  I check my phone: it’s nearly nine PM. I know Nicholas works a lot when he’s in the city, but surely he’s home by now, right?

  I pass his apartment building the first time I walk by it because I didn’t think to check the address on the awning. I was looking down at the curb.