by Emily Giffin
Sure enough, he looks decidedly surprised—and disappointed—by my answer. “Well, gee, don’t sugarcoat it,” he says, letting out a little laugh.
“You know what I mean,” I mumble. “I’m just trying to move on.”
“So you don’t miss us at all?”
It feels like a trick question—and in any event, one I don’t want to answer. So I just tell him not to put words in my mouth.
“Well, I miss us,” he says. “We were good together, Cecily.”
I open my mouth to reply, a small part of me wanting to get in a dig, remind him that we couldn’t have been that great given the fact that he never wanted to talk about the future. But I try to take the high road. “We had some good times…but I think we wanted different things, ultimately.”
“How so?”
I hesitate, telling myself that there’s no point in revisiting the past, but I can’t stop myself from blurting out, “I wanted to build a future with you….You wanted to live in the moment.”
It feels a little false, given my feelings for Grant, and the accompanying realization that maybe Matthew and I weren’t right together, after all. Though who knows? Maybe if he hadn’t put up so many barriers, our relationship would have deepened, too.
“That’s not entirely true,” he says. “That’s your convenient spin—”
I cut him off, annoyed. “Look, Matthew, whether you meant to or not…you were stringing me along….And you would’ve kept stringing me along, well into my thirties—”
Now he interjects, his voice rising a little. “You’re only twenty-eight, Cecily. What’s the rush?”
“I never said there was a rush.”
He looks at me, raising one eyebrow in a way that I used to find irresistible, and still gets to me a little.
“I never said there was a rush,” I repeat. “But we dated for more than three years…and I think if you don’t know by that point in a relationship whether it is ‘forever material,’ then you have your answer.”
“You can know that it’s ‘forever material,’ and still not be ready to take that step,” Matthew says, as I feel us going around in the same old frustrating circles.
I sigh, remembering all the red flags and disappointments. His cousin’s wedding, for one. All the nights he chose his friends over me. Knicks games, flag football, or simply a “good night’s sleep,” saying he was just too tired to come over, but it was “fine if you want to come here.” The way he bristled at mentions of the future that extended beyond the upcoming summer Hamptons share. The fact that he still kept in touch with Juliet—his smug Sotheby’s-employed ex-girlfriend—despite knowing how much it bothered me.
“Cecily, don’t you know how much I love you?” he says.
The words take me by complete surprise, and as much as I don’t want to be having this conversation, I have to admit it feels good to hear him say this. I mean, who doesn’t want to be loved, particularly after feeling so rejected?
But overriding all of that is the feeling that it’s too little, too late—and that this entire conversation is disloyal to Grant.
“Can we not do this?” I say. “We made a decision.”
“You made a decision,” he says.
“Fine,” I say, owning it. “I made a decision. But only after you wouldn’t make one.”
Matthew stops walking as we reach an empty bench, putting his hand gently on my forearm. “Cecily. Look at me. Please.”
I stop, too, turning toward him, feeling nauseous.
“Can we sit?”
I say okay and reluctantly take the seat beside him, waiting for him to speak.
“Why couldn’t I make you happy?” he says.
I let out a long sigh, trying to put my emotions into words without sounding pathetic or giving him false hope. What I want to say is that I always had the feeling he was looking around for something better. Someone more sophisticated. Less Midwestern. That I always felt like a placeholder. That I had the sick sense I’d be the girl he dated right before he fell madly in love with the woman he’d quickly marry. Or worse, that he’d propose, while wondering, deep down, if he was settling.
But I don’t say any of this. Instead I tell him that it doesn’t matter anymore. That it’s all a moot point.
“How can you say that?” he asks.
“Because.” I swallow, then force myself to say the rest. “Because I’ve moved on.”
He gives me an incredulous look and says, “After one month?”
“A lot can happen in a month,” I reply, sounding more flippant than I mean to.
“Oh, really?” he says, his eyebrow arching.
“Yes,” I say quietly. “Really.”
“Wait,” he says, his expression changing. “Are you seeing someone?”
I nod a tiny nod.
“Seriously?” he says, looking both wounded and panicked. Yet it doesn’t bring me any satisfaction of the sort Scottie would have predicted. Instead, I’m only uncomfortable—and very sad.
“Who is he?” Matthew says. “Do I know him?”
I shake my head and say, “No.”
He stares at me for several long seconds. “So that’s it? Just like that, you’re over us?”
I look away, feeling a stab of guilt.
“Okay,” I hear him say as I make myself meet his gaze again. “So I’ll take that as a yes. Nice.” He shakes his head, looking pissed.
“Matthew. Stop,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Stop what?”
“Stop trying to make me feel guilty. I honestly didn’t think you’d care that I’m seeing someone—”
“Whatever, Cecily,” he says, cutting me off. “You know what I think?”
I shrug, a little afraid about what he’s going to say.
“I think this is classic projection,” he says. “I think you’re the one who didn’t love me.”
“You know that I did,” I say quietly.
“Did? So you don’t anymore?”
“Did. Do. Part of me will always love you. But—”
“Then give us another chance,” he says, interrupting again. “Come to the Hamptons with me this weekend….” He reaches for my hand as I quickly cross my arms.
“I can’t,” I say, shaking my head, feeling like the kid who closes her eyes, puts her pointer fingers in her ears, and says, La, la, la, la! I can’t hear you.
But I do hear him, loud and clear, when he raises his voice and says, “Because of some guy you’ve known for a month?”
“Yeah. No. Sort of. I don’t know—it’s more complicated than that,” I say, all twisted up inside.
“Is it?” he says. “How?”
“It’s him, yes,” I say, thinking about how effortless things feel with Grant. “But it’s also…I don’t know….Maybe we weren’t right together….Maybe I was forcing something that wasn’t meant to be.”
“You were forcing the timing—not the relationship,” he says.
“Maybe…or maybe you just couldn’t love me the way I need to be loved.”
I start to add more—that maybe I don’t love him the way he needs to be loved, either, but he’s now shouting. “And he does? Some guy you just met? This is insane.”
I look at him, knowing how foolish it sounds. And maybe it is foolish. I guess time will tell.
When I don’t answer, Matthew shakes his head, his face now red. “Wow. Sounds like you found quite the womanizer.”
“Whatever, Matthew,” I say, a little pissed now myself, but determined not to let this devolve into a fight.
“Whatever is right,” he says, getting to his feet and staring me down, his eyes blazing. “Enjoy your summer fling. Don’t come crawling back to me when it’s over by Labor Day.”
I start to reply—to tell him I really don’t want us to end o
n such a sour note—but before I can, he turns and stalks away. As I stare at his back, so straight and stiff, I can’t help wondering why I never saw this kind of passion while we were together.
JUNE 13
Dear Cecily,
Byron and I are at the gate at JFK, about to board. I just wanted to thank you for a beautiful night. I’ll never forget our sunrise and the way you looked in that soft light of morning. I will email you again when I can, on the other side of the pond. Until then…
Love,
Grant
JUNE 13
Dear Grant,
Last night was incredible. I keep replaying every moment, along with all of our moments over the past month. It’s been unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I’m going to miss you so much, but am hopeful for you and your brother. What you’re doing for him is nothing short of amazing. He’s so lucky to have you. And I’m lucky to have you, too. Safe travels.
Love,
Cecily
JUNE 14
Cecily,
I’m really sorry about our last conversation, at least how it ended. What you do and who you see are no longer any of my business. I was out of line and truly do want you to be happy. I was just hurt that you got over us so quickly. I really would have liked another chance because I think we had something special. Maybe one day. Or maybe one day we can at least be friends. I think the world of you, I really do.
Matthew
JUNE 15
Matthew,
Thank you for your note. I think the world of you, too, and will always cherish the years we spent together. We really had some great memories. As for being friends, I would love for that to happen one day, but I think it’s too hard right now. We both need some time. I hope you have a great summer. Let’s talk again in September.
Cecily
JUNE 15
Scottie. See below. Ugh.
JUNE 15
Classic. He’s just trying to guilt-trip you. Don’t fall for it. You have the upper hand! Keep it! Don’t write back!!! Silence is power! Call when you can! Scottie.
JUNE 16
Too late. I already wrote back. And besides, I don’t want power. I just want it to be over. And maybe one day a friendship, too. Matthew really is a great guy; he just wasn’t right for me. I’ll call you later, up against a deadline. XO, C
JUNE 17
Cecily, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write. As expected, my BlackBerry and cellphone don’t work over here, and I’m also having trouble getting a connection on my laptop at the hotel. I’m currently writing to you at an Internet café, surrounded by the most annoying college girls. Anyway, things are good so far. Byron’s trial doesn’t start until Thursday, so we’ve just been hanging out together, getting acclimated. He’s in pretty good spirits, and has been feeling well enough to check a few things out. Yesterday we went to Trafalgar Square for a lunchtime concert at St. Martin-in-the-Fields, then a brief visit to the National Portrait Gallery. Afterward, we just sat in the square by the lion statues at Nelson’s Column, people-watching. I thought of you pretty much the whole time. I’d love to be here with you. I’d love to be anywhere with you. I can’t make it through the summer without seeing your face. Just telling you that right now.
Love,
Grant
JUNE 17
Grant,
It’s SO good to hear from you. I’m happy to hear that things are going well so far and that you’ve had a chance to see some of London. As I think I told you, I’ve never been. But I’ve read a lot of books set there, and I love hearing details, especially through your eyes. Please keep sharing. Where are you staying? What’s the weather been like? Have you seen the queen yet? :-)
As for my world, there really isn’t much to report. Work’s been fine. I’ve been assigned to the Giuliani affair/scandal. He and his girlfriend were apparently using the St. Regis as their love nest. Pretty sordid stuff, although I’m not really covering the affair—more the fact that someone at the St. Regis leaked the information—in other words, the hotel privacy angle. I’ve also returned to my own writing, as my nights are pretty free, and I’m feeling inspired….
Love,
Cecily
JUNE 20
Cecily,
We’re staying at One Aldwych in Covent Garden. It’s a new hotel that just opened in ’98, but the building itself is a historic landmark. With a triangular shape, it reminds me of the Flatiron, with all kinds of old English touches—curved corners, ornate moldings and balconies. It’s really beautiful. As for the weather, it’s been very stereotypically British…overcast, drizzly, and a little chilly. It doesn’t feel like June at all, but I actually don’t mind. It’s sort of comforting. Or maybe it just makes it easier to justify all the hours Byron and I have been spending in pubs. Ha-ha. Our favorite is the Lamb & Flag (formerly known as the Bucket of Blood because it hosted bare-knuckle prize fights in the 1700s). There’s a plaque on the building commemorating an attack in a nearby alley in which Charles II sent men to assault a poet for writing a satirical poem against his mistress. Not even you, a fiction writer, could make this stuff up! Speaking of which—what have you been working on? And what, exactly, has you so inspired?
JUNE 21
Grant,
It’s a young-adult coming-of-age story about a teen girl named Lily who moves from New York to a small town in Alabama while involved in a long-distance interracial relationship. I’ve also been writing some poetry, something I haven’t done in years. As for my inspiration, I think you know the answer to that. Let’s just say that the themes are on the romantic side—stuff about human connections and soul mates.
Much more important, didn’t the trial start today? How is it going? How is Byron feeling? If you don’t want to talk about it—which I understand—then just give me more flavor on London. What do you order at your pub? Fish and chips? Yorkshire pudding? Shepherd’s pie? I want to picture you. I miss your face. I miss a lot of things.
Love,
Cecily
JUNE 22
Cecily,
Thank you for sharing a bit about your writing. Those are some great themes, and can’t wait to hear more. Hopefully you’ll even let me read it one day. (Of course, you won’t have a choice once you’re published and world famous!) As for the trial, yes it has begun. It’s very early, and mostly we’ve just covered administrative details, but I’m feeling hopeful. Will write again soon, but have to run now. Also, we really need to set up a time to talk voice to voice. It’s hard with the time zone difference—and the hotel charges a fortune for long distance—but we will figure something out.
Love,
Grant
P.S. I’m a sucker for shepherd’s pie. And you. : )
JUNE 26
Grant, I hope things are going well. I’m sure you and your brother are both exhausted and overwhelmed, so no pressure to write back. I just wanted to check in and let you know that I’m thinking of you both.
Love,
Cecily
JUNE 27
Cecily,
I never feel pressure when it comes to you. I love writing you, and love hearing from you even more. Things have been very busy in a frustrating hurry-up-and-wait kind of way. But I shouldn’t complain. Everyone is extremely nice and professional. We’ve also had the chance to meet some of the other families in our situation. They’ve set it up as almost a support group in addition to the medical treatment. It’s been nice to connect, and a relief to know we aren’t alone, especially for Byron. But it’s still all so daunting—the outcome is totally unknown. There are risks, including that the drug could make people decline faster than they otherwise would. The doctors are very up front about that. I’ve
tried to stay positive, and I know this is the best shot we have for a miracle, but I’m still scared and second-guessing myself. It’s even occurred to me to pull my brother out of the study and just go travel with him. Who knows how much longer he will be able to do that? There’s so much of the world he will likely never see. I’m sorry to unload all of this on you. I guess I’m just having a moment. It will pass. Tell me something good. Tell me you miss me as much as I miss you….G.
JUNE 27
Oh, Grant, I do miss you. So much. Thank you for sharing all of that. That said, please don’t ever feel like you have to write. I honestly can’t fathom what it must be like to watch your sibling go through something like this. So just do what you need to do, and know that I’m here for you, in whatever way you need.
Love,
Cecily
JUNE 27
Scottie, Grant just wrote me, and he sounds so down. He says he’s thinking about pulling his brother out of the trial so they can go travel. Grant thinks it may be his brother’s last chance to see some of the world. Can you imagine? I cannot even think about being in this situation with my brother or sister or you. I just don’t know what I would do. I wrote back that I was here for him, but he should feel no pressure to be in touch. Do you think that was okay? This is so brutal….
JUNE 30
OMG!!! BEYOND BRUTAL! LIFE IS SO UNFAIR! I think you wrote the right thing; what else can you really say? It’s actually incredible that he’s sharing all of this with you. If the tables were turned, I can’t imagine you keeping in touch with some guy you just met like this. He must be head over heels. Either that, or he’s totally lying and making this whole Lou Gehrig’s thing up, and he’s really in London with another woman. Okay, sorry. That was in really poor taste. But it popped into my head and you know I can’t filter. Calm down. And don’t get all paranoid, either. I don’t actually think that’s a possibility. Thinking of you and LYLAS, Scotté
