The Pull of Yesterday

by Gabriella West

  19.

  Everything changed, though, once I got back in the car. I took the phone out of my pocket and dropped it on the seat. It was the first chance I’d had to check if Matt had responded.

  He had. The first text, 11.30am-ish, was what I expected.

  Hey, that sucks about the museum. Good luck at Elsie! I’ll see you soon.

  Then there was another one that had come in about an hour ago, close to four.

  Where are you? Car trouble or something?

  And then a missed call, about thirty minutes ago.

  I picked up the phone, intending to text him, and saw to my horror that I only had a few minutes left of battery life. A warning message flashed, further delaying me. Clumsily I typed, “I’m OK” and sent it. I wanted to add something more, and put my cursor in the message box. The phone went dark in its usual abrupt way, leaving me staring at it.

  It was the first time this had happened in our relationship. Everything had always gone OK before; Matt had always rolled with it. But as I sat there in the dimming light, the useless phone in my hand, I felt a surge of raw fear. What must he be thinking? I knew what he would be thinking. That Aaron had come back, that maybe I had lied to him about Tessa being there. I had lied to him. That’s what it would come down to.

  I’d been careless. I’d be going home to him with alcohol and cigarettes on my breath, and the taste of Aaron’s mouth, though he didn’t need to know that. Still, I would probably have to tell him.

  I threw the phone down on the seat and started up the car, anxious now, desperate to get back. My cigarette pack was near-empty. I hadn’t bought any in Boston. I’d been intending to quit, I remembered. Matt and I had discussed it on Martha’s Vineyard. It was a gift I wanted to give him, but when it came down to it...

  I wasn’t sure that I could.

  I drove erratically. I’d waited too long so the traffic wasn’t good anyway. It was rush hour on a cold February night. Bumper to bumper on Lombard Street, when I finally got there. Slow on the Golden Gate Bridge. I had to keep blinking against the glare of the lights and I finally rolled down a window to help me think straight. The raw air rushed in. Now I was uncomfortable and shivering, but I was glad.

  I’ll be home soon, I kept thinking.

  But something made me pull over at the Vista Point on the Marin side of the bridge. I just wanted to look back at the city, say my goodbyes, if you will.

  The small parking lot was not completely empty—it probably never was—but only a few people were there now. I got out and rather shakily made my way over to a low, solid rock wall which I leaned against as I stared out, first at Alcatraz, the prison island, with the Bay Bridge beyond it, then turning back to look at the bridge, whose north tower loomed over me, studded with glowing lights. Beyond the line of the bridge there was the start of the city and as I let my eyes roam over it, I could see the Sutro Tower blinking from its hill, the very one I’d seen from Aaron’s that afternoon.

  In the dim light I lit the last cigarette of my pack. I crumpled the box and let it fall, not caring who saw. It seemed right that it would go into the Pacific, be swept away.

  I was thinking about the check in my pocket. I could drive on, keep north, never go back to Matt and the boat. It would be more honest, in a way. I didn’t think I could handle the relationship, suddenly. It wasn’t that he was controlling, it was that I wasn’t up to snuff. Slowly, he’d see that. Today was a perfect example. I’d gotten fired, gone to pick up my stuff from my ex-boyfriend’s home, and ended up nearly sleeping with Aaron. Propositioned by his sister, I’d thought about sleeping with her, and she’d seen my answer as so wishy-washy that she’d told me she’d ask me again! Maybe she thought that I’d already be bored with Matt by then. The thought gave me a pang. That wasn’t it. I wouldn’t be bored by him, I knew it, but I would have to face myself in this relationship. Aaron had poor boundaries and had constantly let me off the hook.

  Matt wouldn’t, I thought. I would have to face his anger, disappointment. God.

  I took the last puff of the cigarette I’d barely noticed myself smoking. I stubbed it out against the stones, deciding to throw the butt in one of the enormous trash containers the bridge district provided.

  My last cigarette. Really? Could I do it?

  I stood there against the rock-covered trash receptacle, chilled and frozen. The question went deeper than that, I thought. Could I be faithful to Matt? I had to want to, first of all, because if I didn’t want to, it would never work.

  Aaron hadn’t really aroused me today, but that didn’t mean nobody would. He had aroused my sympathy, and perhaps the remnants of love I felt for him, if that meant anything. Perhaps a little jealousy too, I thought, remembering the mention of his therapist. But it was silly to think that would go anywhere.

  I had to go. Matt was waiting. I was delaying because I didn’t want to face him. I shoved my hands in my pockets.

  I wanted to change. I wanted to be stronger. But it was never going to be easy. I didn’t want to grovel to Matt with false promises. I hoped it wouldn’t go there, but I couldn’t be sure.

  I took a long, shaky breath.

  The road had taken me this far. I’d left the city. I had a lover and a new home. It was all up to me now, because Matt loved me. Any failure would come down to me, and I wasn’t sure I could survive it.

  So why did it seem so likely that I would sabotage myself?

  Shaking my head, I climbed back into the car and drove off. It was that simple. The car was cold and my mouth was dry. The taste of ashes was in my mouth. It was all up to me and the way I handled this now. By being defiant, defensive, I could ruin it. I knew Matt was concerned and probably quite agitated. As well he should be. It had been seven hours since I’d first texted him; I’d gone AWOL. Of course he was thinking of me in bed with Aaron. Of course.

  And technically I had been. I chuckled mirthlessly to myself. Oh, how to do this? I wanted to tell him the truth and have it be OK. Just once, I thought. Just this once, and then I’ll never do anything again that’s going to require me answering to him like this. Tell him the truth and get it over with. Because if you lie about it, he’ll know. He’s very smart and he loves you, but he’s not in denial about who you are. He’ll pick up the lies and evasions.

  I remembered those evenings sitting on the couch at Lake Street waiting for Janine to come home. Matt wouldn’t be in the same kind of stupor—and would I really want that kind of lover anyway? Someone who wouldn’t care?

  He was more the tough love type of guy.

  I was chilled, trembling, as I parked the car in the lot next to the houseboats. It was well after six now, and very dark. I got out of the car and put the CD in my pocket. Nothing else seemed valuable enough to worry about.

  I shut the door quietly.

  ***

  Standing on the walkway, I stared at the front door of our little house. The light was on inside. Our house, not Aaron’s home. Quite the difference, I thought.

  The door opened and Matt leaned out. I didn’t make a sound, just stood there. I was in shadow. His eyes scanned around. Instead of wanting to flee, I felt an immediate impulse to go to him, to walk into his arms. But I held off.

  “Dave?” he called in a slightly anxious tone. “Is that you?”

  I stepped forward, clearing my throat. “It’s me.”

  “What are you doing out here?”

  “Just trying to, you know, get my bearings.” I walked up to him and the closer I got, the more my body craved him.

  “Oh, Dave,” he muttered. We embraced at the door, and I probably hugged him way too tight. All the unshed tears I’d held in seemed to emerge in that long silent moment. He wasn’t angry, I thought. Not yet.

  “Come in,” he said, a slight catch in his throat too. “I made dinner.”

  I could smell it. “Lasagna?” I asked and he said, smiling, “Nope, but along those lines.”

  The room looked beautiful. There were candles on the round
table, which he had covered with a dark red cloth, and he’d been putting books away on the shelves—what looked like all of his books, with college textbooks at the bottom.

  Our eyes met. His flashed with shock as he took me in, tearful and exhausted.

  “Yeah, I know, I look wrecked,” I said immediately, hating the hoarse sound of my voice. “Matt, I’m sorry I’m late.”

  He nodded. I could see he was having a hard time coming up with the next words.

  “I got your texts but my phone died. Did you get mine that said...” I blurted out.

  “That said you were OK? Yeah, I did.”

  But I don’t buy it, his expression said.

  I glanced at his torso, staring at the image on his sweatshirt. I did a double take.

  A small lighthouse.

  “Oh, that’s Point Bonita. It’s in the Headlands,” Matt said. “Have I not taken you there? We should go.”

  I just nodded dumbly.

  Somehow I was washing my hands and face, and then I was eating dinner with him. We were very quiet, and I could feel his unasked questions pushing at me. The food was delicious. I hadn’t had lunch at Elsie Street, just the alcohol that Tessa had pushed on me in what now seemed like a very odd scene, a scene from my past.

  I drank a little red wine with Matt, not much, and he was careful too, but we clinked glasses at one point.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said quietly.

  “Oh, Jesus! No.”

  I had forgotten. Somehow I had arranged to meet Aaron again on Valentine’s Day, a fact he had politely not brought up. I remembered Erica on the plane. She had warned me, in a way, but I’d been too stupid to listen.

  “I’m sorry, Matt. Is it a big deal to you?”

  “Well, we never talked about it,” he said with a smile. “No, it actually isn’t. But I still wanted to bring it up.”

  I gulped. “I should have got you something.”

  Now it all made sense, the candles, the red tablecloth. I really felt wretched. Foolish.

  Matt got up and walked over to the bookcase. “You did, actually,” he said, pulling something out of one of the big books on the bottom shelf.

  “That’s Introduction to Philosophy,” he said, nodding to the book. It was a shared class we’d had.

  “I found this in there today.” He dropped a thick card down on the table. The picture on front was goofy and slightly familiar, a barrel with hearts coming out of it. And some kind of chain around it, with a big lock.

  I opened the card. “I love you: lock, stock, and barrel!” the printed greeting announced. Underneath it I saw my own scribbled, unformed writing.

  “Matt—I really do. Happy Valentine’s Day 2001 from Dave.”

  “I remember,” I said in a dazed voice. I remembered buying it from a trendy little stationery store in Cambridge, where the clerk had smiled nicely at me with bright eyes, a girl, of course, assuming it was for another girl. I hadn’t clued her in, but I remembered being filled with a kind of quiet triumph that afternoon, that I had someone, that it was for Matt, that he would love it. My first V-Day card, and also my last. I’d never given another. Janine had said she didn’t care about cards or gifts, and we’d always been working separately on those evenings and had never even gone out.

  Matt was standing by my chair. I leaned back against him, just slightly, and he touched my hair.

  “I remember too,” he murmured. “I didn’t get anything for you that day and I felt bad, so I took you out to dinner that night.”

  Yes, it had been some French bistro, something that seemed wildly expensive and inappropriate, but the gay waiter had flirted with us and we’d ended up having an amazing time.

  Had it been that night that I’d asked him to fuck me? It could have been. I’d glossed over that so quickly that I didn’t remember it now, couldn’t pinpoint it in time. It would have been so harsh of him to reject me on Valentine’s Day on all days, but he might have.

  I propped the card open on the table and slowly got up. This time, facing him, we kissed.

  “I need to shower,” I said.

  “I know. You smell...”

  “Funky. I know.”

  He sighed into me, not letting me go yet. “Were you with Aaron?” he asked very quietly.

  The moment I’d dreaded was here. “He came home early,” I admitted. “He wasn’t supposed to. It was tense at first. Really bad.”

  “And then not so much,” Matt said. He looked at me coolly, but there was no angry sarcasm in his voice.

  “Then we talked,” I said. “I apologized to him. You know. We had to have that discussion, and we left things on much better terms.”

  “But there’s something you’re not telling me.”

  Matt’s voice was gentle. I looked him in the eyes.

  “Yes. He got emotional. He cried. And ... we kissed. He wanted to sleep with me, but I told him no. But then he asked me to come upstairs and just lie down with him. So I did that. I felt it was safe, you know.”

  “But you kissed,” Matt repeated. I could see a number of emotions flitting across his face. I had never seen him look hurt before.

  “Just kissed,” I said numbly. “That was a mistake. I’m sorry.”

  He gave a deep sigh. “I was convinced you were with him. That he wouldn’t let you go easy, and that you would probably end up in bed. The hours passing with no word from you didn’t help.”

  I shrugged. “Yeah, it all came crashing down on me later, and I worried so much about what your reaction would be. Honestly, I could barely make it home.”

  I blushed then and when I met his eyes, they looked kinder.

  “I even stopped off at Vista Point and smoked my last cigarette,” I blathered.

  “You really didn’t fuck him?” Matt whispered.

  I shook my head. “I didn’t want to. Or couldn’t. Because of you. Would you have forgiven me?”

  “I don’t know,” Matt said. His voice sounded odd, like he was coming from some deeply stunned place. “I told myself that I would, as long as you came home and told me the truth, but... I mean, I kept making excuses for you in my head, I knew Aaron would try something...”

  The raw silence between us was making me very nervous. I craved a smoke. But no, I had shut that door.

  “I don’t think I should go back there,” I said. “For a long time. It just... It has a hold on me, but I don’t want it to.”

  Matt nodded.

  I hated seeing how this had hurt him. “I don’t want to hurt you...”

  “But I hurt you,” Matt said suddenly.

  “Well, yeah, a long time ago...”

  “I hurt you, and I could tell, back then, that you loved me. And I just wasn’t able to receive it. You know that, don’t you?”

  He moved to the table to pour himself some more wine. He poured me a glass. I took it hesitantly, wondering if the alcohol would end up stirring up rage, his rage probably.

  I sipped. “I wasn’t broken back then,” I found myself saying in a detached voice, staring at the glass. “Back when we knew each other first. I loved you, I was totally faithful to you that year, and it was easy.”