But then I got older and realized that it was all crap. I was living a lie. Lost in my own delusion. Tristan was not my soul mate. He was just my boyfriend. Someone who had broken my heart. And now, I don’t know if I believe in the whole idea of soul mate.
And for all the reasons that I hate him, that’s the thing that makes me hate him most.
“Hey, hey,” I hear someone saying far in the distance. “Hey, excuse me.”
I turn away from the window and come face-to-face with tall, blonde, blue-eyed hottie.
“Are you my new roommate?” he asks. His eyes twinkle in the sunlight that streams in through the living room’s window. I nod. He gives me a warm hug. Introduces himself as Dylan Waterhouse.
Dylan is from Connecticut. I’ve never been to Connecticut. Immediately, I think of the Gilmore Girls and an old romantic comedy with Julia Roberts called Mystic Pizza. I imagine Dylan growing up in one of those picturesque coastal towns where leaves turn gorgeous colors of red and gold every fall.
“No,” Dylan laughs when I tell him. “I grew up in Greenwich. It’s a bit different. No fishing for me. We spent our summers in the Hamptons and my dad has an apartment on Central Park.
“So, where are you from, gorgeous?” he asks, tilting his chin toward me. His arms hang loosely on his sides, but I can still see that he’s ripped. For a second, I don’t get it. And then, it hits me.
“Are you flirting with me?”
“Yeah, maybe. Why?”
I roll my eyes. I pretend that I’m annoyed, but too effectively. I hate to admit it, but I like the attention. Dylan is very cute. And rich, apparently.
“Because we’re roommates, remember?” I say, pushing him aside slightly. My hand lands on his chest. His pecks are hard and warm. I linger there a little too long.
“Hey! You’re back!” Juliet walks out of our room. “Oh, and you met Dylan!”
I nod. There’s a knock at the door and a man who’s old enough to be Dylan’s father walks in, laden down with expensive looking suitcases. He’s got jet-black hair and serious eyes. He’s clearly out of breath.
“Oh, you must be Dylan’s father. Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” I say when the man puts down his bags. Dylan doesn’t make a move to help him. I wait for his dad to reprimand him, but he doesn’t.
“Oh, no, miss, I’m not Dylan’s father,” he says.
“You can just put the bags in there.” Dylan points to his room.
“He’s not your dad?” I whisper.
Dylan flashes a crooked smile. “No, he’s the chauffeur.”
“You’re chauffeur dropped you off? Shit, and I thought my parents were uninvolved,” Juliet pipes in.
She proceeds to go on a rant about how ridiculous her parents are for not even coming to the school. She’s from Staten Island and apparently taking a ferry over and then a cab all the way up to 116th Street is too much trouble.
“What’s the problem?” Juliet mimics her mom, giving her a raspy smoker’s voice. “You don’t think we’ve been to Upper West Side before?”
“Eh, your parents at least have the ferry as an excuse. My parents are separated and my dad’s been living in his Park Avenue apartment. Still didn’t bother to come by. But he did act like him lending me his chauffeur was a big deal this morning.”
What I quickly learn is that in New York, there’s a big difference between old and new money. Juliet’s dad owns a chain of laundromats and a few apartment buildings. Her dad went to CUNY for a semester, but dropped out to start his business. Her mom is way younger than her dad, and his fourth wife. Dylan’s parents met at Princeton. He’s rebelling by not going to Princeton. His dad runs some sort of pharmaceutical contract company and he’s also a practicing attorney. Graduated from Yale Law School.
I have no idea why both Juliet and Dylan give me a breakdown of their parents’ education and background immediately upon meeting me. Is this an East Coast thing? Probably, I decide. Back in LA, people are different. Education matters less than people you know.
“So, what do you think you’re going to major in?” I ask Dylan. He laughs. I think he knows that I’m just following standard operating procedures of meeting someone new at college. What other way is there to evaluate the person from head to toe and make all sorts of inappropriate assumptions of who they are as human beings?
“Not sure yet. Leaning toward history, I think. I’m planning on going to law school after. So history sounds good, I guess.”
“Hey, me too!” Juliet says. “I just love Roman and Greek civilizations. They’re so fascinating, right?”
Dylan’s unimpressed. “I like 20th century better.”
“Is that history or poli sci?” she asks.
We take a moment to consider the notion. I hate to admit it, but I agree. In school, we didn’t even reach the 20th century. Instead, we kept learning about Columbus, the founding of America, and the 1800s.
My eyes wander over to the back and I see Tristan standing there. His hair is falling slightly into his face. He casually leans on the doorframe the way models do in magazines. Look at me, aren’t I hot? But not in that totally obvious way? I’m hot, but I don’t really know it. Except that I do. That’s what that look says. Even if the guy doesn’t say it out loud. Especially if he doesn’t.
Dylan and Juliet continue their banter, completely oblivious to us. I stare at him. He says nothing. I can’t believe that less than three weeks ago, I could just go over there and plant a big wet kiss on those luscious and utterly kissable lips. And now I can’t. It’s feels so arbitrary. It hasn’t been that long at all and just because our status has changed, suddenly we’re strangers with nothing to say to each other. No. We’re strangers with a million things to say to each other. A million things we can’t or don’t say.
“Oh hey, Tristan! You’re back. Good,” Dylan says. “I was just wondering if any of you are hungry? I know this awesome pizza place down the street. They serve slices as big as regular-sized pizzas at other places. Their pizza’s delicious.”
“I’m starving,” Juliet says.
“Me too,” Tristan says after a moment. I search his face trying to figure out what he thinks I should do. But his expression is blank. Unreadable.
“No, I’m fine. I got a lot to do,” I finally say.
“Awe, c’mon, Alice. Please come.” Dylan puts his arm around my shoulder as if I’m his oldest friend. “Pretty please?”
“Yeah, c’mon,” Juliet says. “It’ll be fun.”
“I don’t know.” I stand my ground.
“This is our first official activity as suite mates and you have to be a part of it.” The tone in Dylan’s voice changes. He’s more serious now. But still joking.
“Listen, if she doesn’t want to go, she doesn’t have to go,” Tristan says. It sounds like he’s taking my side, but something in the way that he says it irks me. He’s the one who dumped me. Why should I be the one staying home and not going out? Fuck him.
“Okay, I’ll go,” I say.
“Awesome!” Dylan jumps up in excitement. He wraps his arms around me and gives me a big kiss on my cheek.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tristan’s crestfallen face. All of a sudden, I feel as light as a feather.
6
Tristan goes to get the elevator and I stay behind and wait for Juliet and Dylan to get their wallets.
“How are you feeling? Are you okay?” she asks when she comes out. I shrug.
“What’s wrong?” Dylan asks. Juliet gives him the broad strokes.
“Tristan is your ex-boyfriend? Holy shit. That’s awkward.”
“Yep.” I nod. “As of two weeks ago. I tried to go change rooms, but there are no other rooms available apparently. So I’m stuck here with him.”
“Hey, hey, hey. I take personal offense at that, girlie. Yes, it’s fuckin’ awkward as hell to live with your ex, but he’s not your only roommate. There’s also Juliet and I. And we’re pretty awesome. I’m sure that you’ll be convinced of t
hat by the end of dinner.”
My mouth salivates at the thought. Though I’ve already officially had dinner with my parents, I don’t count it as dinner. The portions were minuscule and the conversation was treacherous.
When we get to the pizza place, I quickly realize that Dylan was not in fact exaggerating about the size of those slices. They’re huge. Very thin with not too much cheese, but enormous nevertheless. I order one and it looks like a whole 20” pizza at home, only in slice form. Luckily, the plates and tables are equally large and we have room to spread out with our slices.
I avoid Tristan’s gaze practically the whole dinner. And he does well in avoiding mine as well. Instead, we both concentrate on Dylan and Juliet, who have enough to talk about for all of us. Dylan talks about running track in high school and summering in the Hamptons. Juliet moans about her dad’s decision to buy a house on the Jersey Shore instead of the Hamptons.
“The Hamptons aren’t that great.” Dylan tries to comfort her.
“Oh please, don’t give me that.” She waves her hand as if she’s insulted.
“What?” Dylan laughs taking another big bite of pizza.
“I hate people who pretend the Hamptons aren’t that great even more than people who actually summer there! It’s like those girls who pretend that they don’t like diamonds. Am I right?” she turns to me.
I shrug. “Sorry, I’m the wrong person to ask. I’ve never been to the Hamptons. And I don’t really like diamonds.”
Juliet looks at me as if I’m insane. “Oh, you’re impossible!”
“All in all, I think that has been a great first day, wouldn’t you say?” Juliet asks me as she gets undressed. I’m already lying in bed, reading on my phone.
“It could’ve been better.” I shrug. “But I do like you and Dylan.”
She laughs. “I don’t know about Tristan. He’s difficult to read. What’s he like?”
She catches me off-guard. I don’t know what to say.
“You know him really well, right? I was just wondering. He seems quiet.” She puts on a pair of blue pajamas and a tank top and climbs into bed.
“I don’t really know. I don’t really know who he is anymore,” I say. I know she’s waiting for me to elaborate. So I take a moment to consider the question.
“No, he’s not really quiet. Not at all. He’s loud and opinionated. He’s headstrong. I don’t know why he seems quiet. Well, no. I know; it’s because of me. He definitely didn’t expect to find me living here, either.”
“So, what did happen between you two? Tell me everything.”
It would take a whole night to tell her everything.
“We were childhood friends. Best friends, really. For many years. And then in 11th grade, we finally started dating. There was this thing building up within for a few years before that. We told each other everything. Hung out all the time. I had a crush on him forever. But then in 11th grade, he suddenly kissed me. And everything fell into place.
“We dated for two years. It was hard. His family moved to San Francisco the year before our senior year because his dad got a really lucrative job at an education technology start up.”
“His parents made him move his senior year? That’s rough!”
“Yeah, it was. At first, he was going to stay with a friend, but that didn’t work out. But he’s got two little brothers; they’re in elementary school. So it’s not just him that his parents had to consider.”
“So what happened?”
“Well, we decided to continue our relationship. Long distance. He came down for Christmas and then for the whole summer. He stayed at a friend’s house.”
I stopped talking and looked at the ceiling. It was an old popcorn ceiling, and it reminded me of the kind of ceilings they have in shady motels. I couldn’t go any further. I wasn’t ready. But Juliet wanted to know more.
“So?” she asks. I look over at her. She’s lying on her stomach with her arms wrapped around one of the ten throw pillows she piled on her bed. She’s on the edge of her seat. I try to make this quick.
“To tell you the truth, I don’t really know, Juliet. I thought everything was fine. It seemed fine. And then he just came to me one day and said we had to talk. We talked and talked. For like six hours. And the whole time we were talking, I had no idea we were breaking up. Not really. It just felt like I was helping him with something. Like he was feeling insecure, or lost, and I was there to support him. For a couple of hours, I seriously thought we were talking about his problems with his mother. But then at the end, he said that he thinks he needs space. Needs time to figure things out. Wants to be alone.”
“So how did you end up at the same school?”
“We’d wanted to go to New York forever. It was always our dream. We applied to both Columbia and NYU. And when we both got into Columbia, we were both over the moon. There was no question about it really. And so when the breakup happened, I didn’t think it was right for me to change my mind about it. I said to myself, it’s a huge city. Big campus. 30,000 students. There’s no way I’m going to run into him. Little did I know that I was actually going to be assigned to live with him!”
Suddenly, I start to laugh. Juliet joins me. The whole situation is so tragic it’s actually comical.
7
My parents left two days ago. The goodbye was a lot sadder than I’d anticipated. At least for my mom. My mom is a woman who rarely cries. She’s such a positive person that she actually participated in one of those gratitude challenges online last year where you spend every day of the month writing thank-you letters to various people in your life for all the things that you’re grateful for in life. My mom always looks at the bright side of things, or at least tries to, but I could see that saying goodbye to me was really tough on her.
I’d promised to call and text every day and we promised to Skype at least once a week. That seemed to make her feel a little better and it made me happy. I don’t like seeing my mom sad.
My dad on the other hand was much easier to say goodbye to. It’s not that we’re not so close, it’s just that things are more complicated with us. He’s a very regimented person who doesn’t suffer fools easily. Sometimes I think that he thinks that I’m fool for the life choices that I’m making. Especially, when he says things like “why am I spending $50 grand on an education that you can get for free by getting a library card?”
There’s no answer to that. No, there are many valid answers. A humanities education teaches you how to think. It teaches you how to you reason. How to make decisions. I’ve tried many of those in numerous prior conversations. Result?
“If a humanities education teaches you how to think, then why isn’t it clear to you that you need to major in something that will give you some way of supporting yourself in the future? I mean, what are you going to do after graduating with an English Lit degree? Serve coffee in a café?”
That was just one of the brilliant gems of wisdom that I heard in one of our millions of conversations on the topic. For some reason, my college major has been a topic of conversation for over four years of my life already. Even before I started college!
My mom says that he says those things because he cares. But I think if he cares so much, why doesn’t he just support me in pursuing my dreams? That’s what people do who actually care.
“Hey, Alice?” Dylan taps me on the shoulder. I’m standing in line to get my student ID. I should’ve gotten it earlier, but I’ve been dragging my feet for two days trying to avoid running into Tristan.
Dylan was stunningly handsome with full soft lips. He’s even hotter in the light of day.
“I haven’t seen you in two days! Are we roomies or what?” He puts his arms around my shoulders and gives me a big bear hug. He feels warm and comfortable, but strong, too. Definitely works out.
“Yeah, sorry about that.” I look at the floor. I don’t know how to explain what’s been going on.
“Tristan, right?” he asks. It’s amazing the relief that you
can feel when something so complicated and convoluted is suddenly summed up in two words.
I shrug. Look away. I’m embarrassed.
“Listen, it has nothing to do with you. I’d love to hang out sometime. But Tristan…it’s all very weird for me still.”
“Next!” someone yells in the distance.
“I think that’s you,” Dylan smiles.
“Oh shit, you’re right.” I’m frazzled. I wanted to take a look at myself in the mirror before it was finally my turn. I can’t believe I’d waited for two hours in this stupid line and now I wasn’t even ready. I’m not wearing nearly enough eyeliner and my brows are probably all in disarray.
“You look beautiful,” Dylan reassures me, as if he knows what I’m thinking.
Well, here goes nothing. I take a deep breath, flash him a wide smile, and sit down on the chair in front of the camera.
“Smile,” the woman says and clicks flash before I get the chance to put on my best fake smile.
“Take a look. You only get one redo.”
I walk over to the screen. I look like one of those chimps in a wildlife documentary with a large open-mouth smile that is most disingenuous thing you’ve ever seen. The smile makes me look terrified!
“Another one please.”
Focus, focus, Alice. Don’t be such a spaz. Think of something good. I search my mind for funny image of a dog or cat from a YouTube video. But nothing comes to mind. Suddenly, I look behind the photographer and I see Dylan. He’s still here! He flashes me a smile and I can’t help but smile back.
The photographer snaps the pictures. When I look at it on the screen, I’m stunned. It’s one of the most genuine smiles I’ve ever had photographed.
8
Dylan invites me to lunch. I don’t have class for another hour so we head to a local sushi place a block away from campus. One of the perks of going to school in New York!
Auctioned to Him Book 8 Page 106
