Auctioned to Him 3: Back to the Yacht

by Charlotte Byrd

  * * *

  Why the hell did you write this book?

  I text Tea even though it’s in the middle of the night. Hopefully, she has her phone off if she’s sleeping. But Tea writes back almost immediately.

  What? You don’t like it?

  No, I fucking love it!!!

  Oh…ok. So, what’s the problem?

  What’s the problem? The problem is that I can’t sleep. I love them. And I want more.

  More?

  More about Tatum and Savannah. Are you writing another one? I can’t type fast enough.

  Um…I haven’t thought about it much.

  Well, think about it! I’m going to try to get some sleep now. Not likely though, thanks to your book. Sorry not sorry.

  After putting down my phone, I still can’t get to sleep. This time my mind doesn’t wander. I know what I want. I want what Tatum and Savannah have. I want their kind of love for me. I want to be in love again. I want to feel butterflies over the possibility of touching someone again. I want to wonder how our first date went, whether it was as amazing for him as it was for me. I want to dance in the rain and kiss in a blizzard. I want to live inside a romance novel. But that’s not possible, right? That’s not reality, right? And yet, reading that book sounded more like the truth than my real life. How is that?

  Three weeks later, Dylan comes into the living room where I’m procrastinating on working on my Victorian Lit paper. I should be doing research on it in the library, but instead, I’m looking up something vaguely related to Victorian times on my phone and hoping that I will stumble on a topic to write about that way. So far, no luck. Juliet and Tristan are also in the room. Juliet is painting her nails and Tristan is doing his Macroeconomics problem set. Tristan and I have entered another period of Cold War. We don’t talk to each other unless absolutely necessary, but we also don’t avoid each other at all costs like we used to. So that’s an improvement in my book.

  Dylan is wearing a wide grin on his face. He flashes me his pearly whites, which do nothing but remind me that I really need to get my teeth professionally whitened. But I’m afraid of dentists and all doctors for that matter so I’ve been avoiding them at all costs.

  “What?” I finally ask. He’s obviously eager to share some news with the room.

  He holds up a thick packet in a manila folder.

  “Guess what this is?” he asks.

  “Your history paper?” Tristan says jokingly. We all know that Dylan did not do very well on his last history paper. And by not very well, I mean that he got a C-. Enough for him to start worrying about passing the class.

  “Ha ha, very funny. No,” he says, rolling his eyes. “No, these are divorce papers!”

  I’ve never thought that I’d be so happy to hear the phrase “divorce papers” in my life.

  “Really? Are you sure?” I ask, grabbing the packet out of his hand and scanning the papers. They don’t make any sense of course; it’s all legalized. All I see are the little stickers by the signature lines.

  “Yep, got them from the lawyer this morning. You will be glad to know that this divorce is the most amicable one that my dad’s Park Avenue attorney had ever dealt with. He said that the two of us were the most mature clients he’s ever had.”

  “Well, that’s nice to hear,” I say. “Given that this is probably the stupidest thing that either of us has ever done.”

  “So all you have to do is sign where those stickers are and we’re done. A courier will come tomorrow to pick them up and take them to the court,” Dylan says.

  “Great! Does anyone have a pen?” I ask.

  I want to get this over with as soon as possible. We look around the room, but there’s no pen to be found. And then suddenly, Tristan hands me his.

  With all the excitement, I had completely forgotten that he was still in the room. Our eyes meet as he hands me his pen and our fingers touch briefly. In that moment, it feels like he can see through me, completely and entirely. Like he knows everything about me that I ever was and ever will be. The feeling leaves me uneasy and scared.

  Chapter 27

  I sign each page as Dylan flips the pages for me. He already signed his portion at the lawyer’s office. When I sign on the last line, a tremendous weight lifts off my shoulders. I give out a big sigh. Suddenly, I’m 300 pounds lighter.

  “We’re divorced!” Dylan grabs me by the shoulders, wrapping his arms around me. “Divorced! Let’s celebrate.”

  “Woohoo!” Juliet says. “Finally.”

  “Who wants a beer?” Dylan asks, getting himself one from the refrigerator.

  “Wait, remind me, isn’t it alcohol that got you into this mess in the first place?” Juliet asks.

  “Oh, whatever, buzz kill,” Dylan waves his arm at her dismissively. “Alice?”

  I shake my head no.

  “I still have some work to do tonight,” I say. “And honestly, given how long it took for all of this to happen, I’m going to pass on partying with you for a while.”

  Dylan is the only one who celebrates our divorce that night, but we all take a rain check. And even for him, it’s not much of a party. He has only one beer and disappears into his room. Juliet disappears into our room soon after to get ready for another date.

  “Congratulations,” Tristan says without looking up from his textbook.

  “Oh, thanks,” I say.

  I wait for him to say something else, but he doesn’t. So I go back to taking a quiz about the decade that I should’ve grown up in on BuzzFeed.

  “I know it wasn’t your fault how long all of this was taking,” Tristan says. This time he looks straight at me.

  “Yeah, I know that.”

  “Okay. Well, I guess what I wanted to say is that I know that, too.”

  “Okay, I guess,” I say.

  I hate the weirdness that exists between us when we’re alone. In fact, I can’t stand it. I’m about to get up and leave when Tristan stops me.

  “So, Kathryn and I aren’t together anymore,” he says.

  “Oh. Okay,” I say. I don’t really know how to respond to that. It’s so out of the blue. “I didn’t really know you were dating.”

  “Yeah, ever since that night…of the party,” he says.

  That’s one way of putting it. Another is since that night when she slept over and you made her coffee in the morning. Or since that night when she slept over and Dr. Worthington came in and made a huge scene.

  “Oh, well, I’m sorry, I guess,” I say.

  “Don’t be. It just didn’t work out,” he says with a shrug.

  “Tristan, why are you telling me this?” I ask.

  Are you trying to hurt me? I want to ask. But I don’t.

  “I don’t know,” he says. The expression on his face tells me that he’s not really trying to hurt me at all. He’s just over-sharing for no reason whatsoever.

  “Did something happen?” I ask. I don’t mean to. I don’t care. Actually, I don’t want to know. But my mouth gets away from me.

  “She cheated on me,” he says quietly.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “But it wasn’t working out even before that. We just didn’t fit right,” Tristan says.

  I’m still sitting on the couch and suddenly he gets up and sits down next to me. Very close. So close that I can feel his breath on my face.

  “I’m not sure if it will ever be right with anyone else,” he says.

  “Of course it will,” I say, waving my hand.

  It sounds like he’s just having a moment. He’s just throwing himself a pity party. But when I look back at him, and I see the way his eyes refuse to leave mine, I know that I’m wrong. He’s serious.

  “What I mean is that I kept trying to make myself feel like I did when we were first together. Not just with Kathryn, but with all the others.”

  “What?” I know I should be focusing on the first thing that he said. The first part of the sentence that’s a compliment to me. But instead, all I focus is on is
the second part.

  “All the others?” I ask, when he doesn’t reply.

  “Well, you know.” He shrugs. “Just all the other girls that I was with this semester.”

  “Oh, okay,” I say with a gulp.

  “Don’t worry, we weren’t serious. Just girls I met at the bar after work. Very casual,” Tristan says. He’s clearly not aware of the fact that I’m screaming on the inside. What girls? You were seeing other girls? How many? Why?

  “Kathryn and I were dating, but we weren’t exclusive. And I just kept meeting these girls downtown. And you know what, at the beginning of the night, I had hope that this was the one that was going to give me butterflies. Like this is the one that will catch my attention. But after a night together, I just felt…flat. Like it was nothing.”

  I can’t stand this anymore.

  “Tristan, why are you telling me all this? Are you trying to hurt me?”

  “No, not at all. I’m saying it as a compliment.”

  “What?”

  “Yes, very inarticulately, I guess. What I’m really saying is that I keep looking for the same connection that we had and it’s just not there. You’re one in a million, Alice. Maybe one in a billion.”

  I take a deep breath. Tristan always had an odd way with words. Just when I think that he’s trying to be mean or is being dense on purpose, he goes out there and gives me the biggest compliment ever. I’m mad at him for saying all the rest, but I can’t stay mad for long because I don’t hear that kind of thing everyday.

  “Well, thank you, I guess,” I say. I turn around to leave, but he stops me again. Seems to be in at talkative mood tonight.

  “So what’s up with you?” Tristan asks. “We haven’t really spoken in ages.”

  “Well, I just got divorced,” I joke. He smiles. And we both laugh about the situation. I figured that it would be years before this happened, but apparently I didn’t have to wait that long.

  “Actually, there is something I’ve been meaning to ask you. I have to do this final speech in public speaking class. It’s going to be in a big auditorium in front of all the sessions of the class. I’m terrified, of course, to say the least.”

  “So you want help with the speech?” he asks, his eyes light up.

  “No.” I shake my head. It hadn’t even occurred to me that he would want to help. “I just wanted to invite you to it. I have something important to say and, if I can get it out, I’d like for you to hear it.”

  “Oh, wow, okay,” he says. “Let me know the time and place and I’ll try to make it then.”

  “Try?” I ask.

  “I’ve disappointed you enough this semester. I don’t want to make yet another promise I can’t keep,” he says.

  “Okay, fair enough.”

  “Wow, look at us,” Tristan says after a moment. “I guess it is possible to be friends even after all that has happened this semester. Hey, here’s a wild idea, want to be roommates again next year?”

  I stare at him. It suddenly occurs to me that he doesn’t know about my plans for USC. I thought that he would find out eventually given the rumor mill that Juliet and Dylan usually operate, but I guess this one fell through the cracks.

  “What? What’s wrong?” Tristan asks me.

  “Well, I thought that you knew already, but I’m not going to be here next year.”

  “What?”

  All the color in his face disappears. His lips start to turn an awful blue tint as if he’s been swimming in freezing water for an hour.

  “I’m thinking about going to USC,” I say. Why do I always do that? Use qualifiers where they don’t belong. “Well, no, not thinking. I’m going to transfer to USC for next year,” I clarify.

  “Why?”

  “Because…because of a variety of reasons. I just think it’s for the best.”

  “How can you say that? Are you doing this because of what happened between us? And you and Dylan? Well, that’s all over. It’s in the past. Let bygones be bygones. You don’t have to go all the way clear across the country because of that.”

  Tristan rambles on for close to twenty minutes about all the reasons that I shouldn’t leave New York City. I listen carefully and not. I’m afraid that if I actually engage in this discussion, I’ll never get to bed tonight. I look at him trying to convince me, fighting for me to stay, and a big portion of me loves it. He’s actually passionate and animated about something and not so reserved and calculated. I can see that he cares about me. I can see it in the way that he’s fighting for me to stay. And I appreciate it, really. But it doesn’t change my mind. It’s all too little too late.

  Chapter 28

  “So, why did you invite Tristan to your final speech?” Dr. Greyson asks me at our next and final meeting.

  The weather has turned from cold to wet, but remained just as grey. It has been drizzling all day today. It feels like each raindrop that falls from the sky sucks me of a little bit of my energy. Dr. Greyson is wearing bright red heels, which compliment her bright red lipstick and stand out nicely against the grayness of her suit. Looking at that splash of color gives me a little bit of a boost.

  “I’m not sure,” I say. “I guess I’m looking for a little closure.”

  “What is the speech about?” Dr. Greyson asks.

  “It’s free form. It can be about anything. So I decided to write something about him. About us. But I don’t even know if he’ll show up.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” she asks.

  I think about that for a moment.

  “You know what?” I say. “It’ll be okay. If he doesn’t show up, that’s fine. This speech isn’t really for him. It’s sort of for me.”

  Dr. Greyson’s face explodes in a wide smile.

  “I’m very proud of you Alice. You’ve come a long way.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Well, I don’t make it a habit to comment like this,” she says, “but since this is our last meeting and you’ve made plans to go elsewhere next year, I might as well go ahead and tell you.”

  I take a deep breath and brace myself. Dr. Greyson is not one to offer up compliments easily. In fact, everything with her is all about being a work in progress. But I guess that’s what life is, isn’t it? A work in progress? You’re never done growing or changing and there’s always room for improvement until that moment when you’re no more. I’ve never thought about it, but that perspective makes Dr. Greyson quite an optimist about humanity. More of an optimist than I am, probably.

  “When you first came here Alice, I saw a broken, hurt little girl. Someone who was afraid to own her feelings. Someone who was afraid to listen to her heart. Someone who was to a large extent not very true to herself. And now, you’re a different person altogether. You have grown into yourself. You have gained self-esteem. You believe that you have worth and your feelings have worth. That makes me very proud, Alice. You’ve become quite a young woman, my dear.”

  I smile. I want to jump out of my seat and hug her. And then…I do. I wrap my arms around her shoulders in a warm embrace.

  “Oh my.” She laughs in a surprise. And then hugs me back.

  “I hate to say it, but I think I’m going to miss you,” I say, sitting back down across from her. “Coming here hasn’t always been my favorite time of the week. But I think I really learned a lot from you.”

  “I’m happy to hear that,” Dr. Greyson says. “But I want you to remember that it’s not me that you have learned a lot from in this office. It’s through the process of reflection. I don’t mean to undermine my own credibility, of course, but it was you who has done all the work. All the work of looking back and examining your feelings and actions.”

  I nod. She’s right, of course. Yet again.

  “Well, I’m going to miss you anyway,” I say with a shrug.

  “And I’ll miss you.”

  I look at the clock. Our last meeting has come to a close.

  “I hope that USC ends up being everything you’re look
ing for,” she says at the end of our session. “And if you ever find yourself in New York City again, don’t be a stranger.”

  Walking back home from Dr. Greyson’s office, I feel like I’m floating on a cloud. My feet don’t seem to be connected to the ground. It’s an amazing feeling to feel like someone, a stranger, is proud of you. My parents have always told me that they loved me and were proud of me, but now hearing it from a complete stranger, I beam with self-confidence. Dr. Greyson is right. I have made a lot of progress this semester. Everything that has happened has made me a stronger and more self-assured person at the end. And that somehow made it all worthwhile.

  I arrive at the auditorium where I’m supposed to give my speech early, as usual. There’s a line of nervous students backstage waiting to go on. The auditorium is filled with five classes of public speaking students. There have been two sessions of this particular kind of torture and this is the second one. Everyone backstage has been assigned an earlier time. And the rest of the people who are going today are waiting in the audience. I make small talk with some of the others, but we’re all focused and not really into it. We’re all too focused and too nervous about the speech that we’re about to make. I’m the third one up and I look over my flash cards. I’ve written the speech in big letters with a lot of spacing in the words to make sure that I could see it well when I’m up there. I did not take anything to calm my nerves and I’m jealous of the two girls and guy behind me who are talking about the anti-anxiety meds that they took to calm theirs.

  “I can do this,” I whisper to myself. “I can do this. I’m going to be fine.”

  Finally, it’s my turn. Everyone is still clapping for the last person who went up. I didn’t hear a word of what he said. I walk out onto the stage and force myself to smile. The lights are blinding and I can’t see a soul. Something about this experience feels different than the intimacy of my previous speeches. They were all in a room of about thirty people where I could see every set of eyes. Here, there are no individuals in the room. They’re just a sea of people. I take a deep breath and clear my throat, quietly. I open the lid of my water bottle so that I don’t have to fumble with it during the speech, if my mouth runs dry.