He’s the last Valentine I ever want.
With that entry, there’s a rough sketch of us at dinner. All that time, she was writing. Just not for anyone else but her, like it was in the beginning. The journal is filled to the last line of the very last page. It’s an entry she wrote a few days ago.
April 15th
I still love him. He should have this journal. He knows my heart is this, these pages, these words. And my heart belongs with him, not me.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
A woman waiting for her coffee looks at me.
“This is yours,” I tell her, hoping she’s also in love with some schmuck named Finn. “Right? This is yours.”
She shakes her head, inching away from me.
In the top corner of the last page is a drawing of two black and white coffee cups with a heart around them. They each have Lait Noir logos scribbled in. Where it all began.
She’s here, I know it. I scan the café until I spot her in line, waiting. She must’ve been here the whole time, because there are a lot of people behind her, and she’s next to order.
I don’t hesitate to walk right up behind her. “Is this for me?”
She doesn’t turn around. “If you want it.”
I don’t even try to fight my pull to her. I’ve missed this, her. It sits like a hole in my chest, missing her. “Sit down with me.”
“There aren’t any tables.”
“I know a place.”
“Back of the line, man,” the guy behind me says. “You think I’m standing here for my health?”
“Two black coffees,” I tell the barista. I reach past Halston to put a ten on the counter and get a welcome waft of her shampoo. “Keep the change if you make it fast.”
The barista makes quick work of delivering our drinks.
Halston keeps her back to me as she picks up the coffee, inhales quickly enough that nobody’d catch it but me, and heads for the windowsill.
She doesn’t look at me once, but I don’t remove my eyes from her. “What’s wrong?” I ask and let my half-smile rip. “Are you worried I’ve let myself go?”
“I don’t want to look at you until I know what you’re going to say,” she says.
“I don’t even know what I’m going to say. Are we going to sit back to back?”
“If we have to.”
“I still love you too. How’s that for a start?”
She shakes her head. “I already knew that.”
I get a sense of satisfaction from hearing that. With all the things said between us, how we hurt each other, sometimes on purpose, how I told her I couldn’t let it go that she’d walked out on me, one might think it’d dampen my love for her. Not the case. “Sit,” I tell her.
She does and finally looks up. She’s wearing blue eyeliner. Little minx. With the sun coming in through the window, the blue makes her gray eyes pop. I take the place across from her. “I thought of you the other day,” I say. “Well, I think of you most hours of every day, but, in particular, I thought of calling you.”
She looks at her coffee and flicks the edge of the lid. “I had to delete your number or I would’ve called countless times.”
“Why didn’t you?”
She lifts one shoulder. “It didn’t seem fair. Not until I was ready.”
“So this?” I show her the journal. “It means you’re ready?”
“It means . . . I didn’t want you to forget about me.”
“Never.”
She fails to suppress a smile. “I moved in with Benny.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You have a roommate?”
She nods. “I was nervous to do it, but the alternative was moving to Westchester with Dad or getting my own place again. I bit the bullet and asked if she knew of anyone looking. It turns out her roommate was leaving at the end of the month, and she was actually really excited to have me. I crashed on her couch and officially moved in April first.”
I don’t want to sound like a condescending asshole, so I don’t tell her I’m proud of her, even though I am. “How is it?”
“I don’t mind the smell of sautéed Brussels sprouts. Tuna, on the other hand . . .” She laughs. “Benny has these two cats, and they’re—I mean, they’re just like her friends. Sassy, loud, playful. Her friends are so fun. We meet them after work. We get dinner or drinks or go check out a new neighborhood. Or some of them have side businesses, so we take our laptops to cafés and work side by side. We went to this outdoor movie in a park, where you put a blanket down—”
Her grin fades, probably because I’m staring at her, lapping up every word from her mouth.
“I mean, it’s been hard too,” she says quietly. “Don’t get me wrong. I miss you all the time.”
“I want you to be having fun, Hals. It makes me happy. What do you work on? On your laptop.”
“Oh, nothing. I don’t have a business.” She bites her bottom lip with a smile. “Well, I’ve been doing a little writing. It’s starting to flow again. My new therapist says sometimes, you have to force it, you can’t wait for inspiration to strike because it might not.” A strand of hair falls over her face, and I’m tempted to tuck it behind her ear.
I keep my hands to myself. “New therapist?”
She nods. “Cindy. She got me into journaling in the mornings. It has to be first thing, and it changes my whole day.”
“Is that what this is about?”
She looks lovingly at the journal in my hand. “No. I started that when we met. I had a feeling you and I could fill a book, but I was afraid what you’d think if you knew. I obsessed, Finn. You were my coffee, did you know?”
I bring my drink to my mouth, appreciating its warmth. “I think so.”
Because you were mine.
“I wrote about you when I wasn’t with you. Not all the time, but some days. We only filled it halfway.” She frowns. “So when my therapist suggested journaling, I decided to do it in there some days. So I could look back on my transformation.”
“Shouldn’t you keep it then?”
“Consider it a belated birthday present.”
I grip the book. This gift is better than anything she could’ve bought, and she knows that. It’s just one more way to understand, to know her inside out, the love of my life. Maybe her obsession with me has quelled, I’m afraid to ask, but mine with her is strong as ever.
“Speaking of coffee. Are you still drinking it?”
“In moderation.” She holds up the cup to make a point. “I still have my urges, but now I try to write about it instead of act on it. It doesn’t always work, but it helps. And I’m back on antidepressants, just a different brand and a lower dosage. We’re experimenting. Cindy promises it isn’t forever.”
“Yeah,” I nearly whisper. “Can’t have my girl losing her fire.”
She chews the inside of her cheek, glancing at my lips. “Do you miss it? Us together?”
I make a fist around the leather in my hand. “I thought it couldn’t get any worse than when Sadie left, but this feels like sleeping on a bed knives and waking up every morning with re-opened wounds. You know what it’s like for me to live where you’ve slept, eaten, come?”
She blushes. “I wouldn’t be able to do it. I’d have moved out.”
I can hear the pain in her voice. I didn’t think I could be any more miserable, but seeing her miserable too makes it worse. I know going back to therapy was no easier than leaving her stable relationship with Rich. She could’ve gotten back together with him, gone back to that easy life. Instead, she went outside her comfort zone, made new friends, continued to follow her passion. I tuck the journal under one arm and finally reach out for that lock of hair. It feels like the softest, finest silk between my fingers. I move it behind her ear, grazing the tattoo. “I have Marissa this weekend, but why don’t we get dinner next week? See how it is?”
She takes my wrist. It’s cold, her hand that isn’t holding the coffee, and I want to warm it with my lips. But she pulls my hand away from her face.
“No.”
No. Did I misread her just now? Did I imagine everything backward these past weeks, assuming she was as broken up about this as I was? I make a fist and put it in my lap. “Why not, Hals?”
“Because I still have work to do on myself. And so do you.”
“I know I do. I’ve been taking on more commercial work, trying to see it in a more positive way. Just because it’s not art, doesn’t mean it’s not valuable.” I pause. “And just because something’s right doesn’t mean it’ll come together effortlessly. Like with you. We have to work at it.”
“You’re right, but it’s not enough. I need you to let me into all parts of your life. I want to meet Marissa and maybe even Kendra. If we’re going to do this for real.”
I try not to look as frightened as I feel hearing that. My relationship with Halston is a breeze compared to the mess that is my other life. Just one mess after another, I suppose. Maybe it’s time to meld them all. “I’ll work on it,” I say. “Not this month, and maybe not next, but I’ll start the conversation with Kendra.”
She smiles a little and stands. “I have to go, or I’m afraid I’ll change my mind. I want to meet you again when I’m a better version of myself—my real self.”
“How long?” I ask. “Maybe we can just start now, but take it slow.”
She kisses the tips of her fingers and presses them to my cheek. “Not yet.”
33
When I come out of my room, Benny’s sprawled out on the couch in front of the TV. “Have you watched this show, The Real World?” she asks.
“Um, yes,” I say, “everybody has.”
“No, I mean like the real Real World, back from the nineties, before reality TV. MTV’s doing a special on it. It’s so dope, I can’t believe I never saw it.”
I sigh. “Let’s trade places. Please.”
She sucks Cheetos dust off her index finger. “Nope.”
“But I said please.”
“You’ve been looking forward to this for weeks.”
“Oh, you mean the pacing, nail-biting, and extra-long bathroom breaks? You took that as anticipation?”
“TMI.” She finally glances at me. “You look hot, by the way. Red is a good choice.”
“Thanks.” I know I do. I have to. I spent too much time and money picking out this summer dress, but it’ll only be the second time I’ve seen Finn in two months, and I need everything to go well. If he’s changed his mind about me, I’ll be forced to find a way to move on, and I’m not sure I can.
Benny pauses the DVR. “Don’t be nervous.”
I wonder how she can tell. I’ve been to a dermatologist about my itchy elbow, and she gave me a cream, but recommended I discuss it with my therapist. Cindy and I are working through it. I still get the urge to scratch it, but I’m way better at recognizing and identifying what’s behind the impulse.
“He’ll lose his shit,” Benny says. “Just hope it stays gone long enough for him to forgive you.”
I smirk. Benny knows all the dirty details of my relationship with Finn. It’s how we bonded the first few nights I stayed with her. It feels really good to have it all out there and accepted. “What if he doesn’t show up?” I ask, widening my eyes. “Or worse, what if he’s met someone else? Or fallen out of love with me?”
“He hasn’t.”
“How do you know?”
She hesitates. “I didn’t say anything earlier because you’ve been avoiding it so well, but since you’re going to see him, I’ll tell you. I follow your guys’ Instagram, and girl . . . it’s depressing as fuck. That man has no love in his life.”
My eyes fill with unexpected tears even as my heart soars. I don’t want Finn to be depressed. When he hurts I hurt. But I also don’t want him to not love me anymore. “What does he post?”
“Really sad-looking shit, like old churches, park benches, a pile of leaves.”
“Me?” I ask.
“Never.”
“How many followers do we—does he have?”
She grimaces. “You don’t want to know. Let’s just say it’s less than it was.”
I take a deep breath. It’s okay. There are more important things than being admired by strangers. I pick up my bag of goodies from the dining room table. “Wish me luck.”
“One more thing,” she says as I turn to leave.
I look over my shoulder. “What?”
“Tell him about the offer. Even though you’re not doing it, I think he’d like to know. That’s all. Have fun. If you can’t help fucking his brains out tonight, don’t bring it back here.” She salutes me and returns to her TV show.
I get an Uber to the gallery. There’s one detail I’ve tried hard to overlook, and that’s whether or not Finn actually knows we have a date tonight. I have to believe he does. If he read my journal in its entirety, then he would’ve found the entry dated six days before I gave it to him.
April 12th
I have this idea to show Finn what he means to me, but I’m not sure if it will work. Or if he’ll even want me to do it. Or if I have the guts to do it.
Then, I waited. I staked out Lait Noir for days. On the verge of calling it quits, he finally came in. I left the journal on the ledge after scribbling a note in red pen next to the entry.
Vee Gallery, 8pm, May 4th
Three times, I almost e-mailed Finn to cancel. Once, because the gallery owner tried to tell me he could no longer accommodate that date. And twice because those guts I was hoping to have? They went missing.
The car drops me off on the sidewalk in front of Vee Gallery. It looks all wrong. Through the windows, I see nothing but light and white. Too-bright, empty walls. No person should pass by a gallery and see this, and I remind myself to thank the owner again for letting me do this, even if it’ll be the fiftieth time.
I let myself in and get to work. I have about an hour before Finn—hopefully—arrives. It’s a lot to hang on hopefully, but he’s worth it. When I finish, I dim the lights just a touch so he won’t see what’s inside before I’m ready to show him. After some debate, I decide to wait for him outside on this perfect May night.
And wait . . . and wait.
Twenty minutes past eight, my nerves have the best of me. He isn’t coming. What do I do? If I call him and he saw the note, I’ll look desperate. But if he didn’t, he’ll miss all this. And I don’t want that.
I was so sure he’d come.
I inhale and exhale deeply. I’ve started yoga aimed at people recovering from addiction. The teacher says when we crave something, one of the ways to combat it is to breathe through it. I crave. If I can’t have Finn, I crave something to make me forget him.
I close my eyes and breathe.
I’m watching the street, expecting a car. So when I open my eyes and realize someone’s standing next to me, I nearly jump out of my skin.
Finn looks down at me. “This dress can only mean one thing,” he says. “You brought me here to reconcile. If you break up with me for good in that dress, that’s just the cruelest thing I can think of.”
My laugh is nervous, but his directness helps break the ice. Right off the bat I understand that he’s here to make things work, not let me down easy. Benny was right. The red dress was a good choice.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says. “I was going to catch a cab, but it’s such a nice night and I needed the extra time to . . . prepare.” He squints behind me. “I assumed this was a show or something, so I didn’t think I had to be here right at eight.”
I take his hand, and he looks back at me. “Is this okay?” I ask.
He tucks some of my hair behind my ear. “You tell me.”
I close my eyes a split second to relish the feel of his palm to mine, the brush of his fingers in my hair. Over my feather. “Come on,” I say, pulling him behind me into the gallery.
He steps inside and immediately drops my hand. I watch with bated breath as he takes in the scene around him. “What is this?”
I survey the space with
him. This in and of itself could be an installation, but it’s not. It’s just a sketch of one. I’ve strung Christmas lights along each wall. Taped underneath are small five-by-five prints, ten to a wall. Benny printed them all off for me, and I chose thirty I thought showed Finn’s best work.
“It’s not much,” I say. “I just wanted to show you how it could look.”
He walks along the nearest wall, taking in each print. “How what could look?”
“I know the owner through the agency. I wore him down until he finally agreed to look at your work. He loved it, Finn, and I swear, he’s a hard ass about these things. It’s no favor.”
“What isn’t? I don’t understand.”
“He wants you to have your debut show here. I explained to him the kind of following we had, and after seeing your work, he’s convinced you’re the next big thing. That’s why he let me do this tonight. We want to show you how amazing it could be.”
He runs a hand through his hair, spun gold sprouting from his fingers. “Are you serious?”
I nod. “He’s between shows tonight, so I did some begging to get the space.”
“What about you?” Finn asks. “This is your body. Your boyfriend’s work. Some people will know it’s you.”
I take a breath. The thought of having my dad here makes my heart palpitate. But we’ve been working with Cindy too, and he needs to know this side of me for us to have an honest relationship. He has to meet Finn. “I’m good with it if you are.”
“Will he let us put your captions up next to the photos?”
“I want this to be about your work, not me.”
“They belong together,” he says. “Don’t you think?”
I swallow through the lump in my throat. They do belong together, yes. “I’m sure it could be arranged, but only your name goes on the promotional material. I have something else going.”
He comes over and takes my hand to kiss my knuckle. “Tell me all about it.”
“I’ve put together some of my favorite passages from my journals and submitted them to agents as a book of poetry. It’s a long shot, but—”
Slip of the Tongue Series: The Complete Boxed Set Page 105
