What We Left Behind

by Robin Talley

  “Your dad knew already?” he asks.

  “Yeah, I guess. Will had this boyfriend guy. They’d tried to keep it a secret, but they didn’t try that hard. Lewis, my other brother, saw them kissing out in front of our building one night.”

  Carroll shakes his head. “This was here? In New York?”

  “In Brooklyn, yeah.”

  “Figures,” Carroll mutters. “New York parents are different.”

  “I think my parents were still a little freaked, actually.”

  I remember how they stayed up talking every night after that. I couldn’t hear what they were saying. They’d just murmur with the door closed.

  “That’s nothing,” Carroll says. “It’s not as if they kicked him out of the house.”

  “No, they didn’t, but I know people that’s happened to. Toni had to go stay with our friend Chris for a week. And this other friend of ours back home, Kiyana, her parents tried to lock her in her house to keep her from going to see her girlfriend.”

  “Huh.” Carroll strokes the stubble on his chin. He never shaves on weekends anymore. “That’s probably about what my parents would do.”

  “Well, but you don’t live with them anymore. They can’t kick you out.”

  “No, but they’d freak out on that same level.”

  I sip my yogurt. “There’s one way to know for sure.”

  “What? You mean telling them?”

  I nod.

  “No way.” He spins his fork in his curry with gusto. “I’m nowhere near ready for that. I still have too much to do first.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like, I’ve never even had a boyfriend. I haven’t had any of the fun parts of being gay yet.”

  I laugh. “Taking me shopping doesn’t count?”

  “Not that you don’t have your charms, but no.” He laughs, too. I’m glad. The normal, happy Carroll is coming back. “You can’t understand. Your whole life is the fun parts.”

  “Oh, come on. I have issues.”

  “Oh, sure. You have perfect parents, you get good grades without trying and you look like a badly dressed version of Jennifer Lawrence.”

  “Whatever.” I roll my eyes at his ridiculousness.

  “Oh, wait, I forgot. You do have one problem. You don’t live in the same city as your beloved girlfriend. You’re a whole thirty-second plane ride away. That’s got to be the most horrifying thing in the world.”

  “It is, actually. Sort of.”

  I know he’s joking, but that hit a nerve.

  “We were both supposed to go to school in Boston.” I don’t know why I’m telling him this. Talking about it just means thinking about it more. “That was the whole plan. I was going to Tufts and Toni was going to Harvard.”

  Carroll slides forward in his chair. “You changed your mind?”

  “No. Well, yeah. Sort of. I didn’t get into Tufts. I got into Boston University, so I was going there, but then NYU let me in off the wait list, and I...” I don’t want to say this. It’s so embarrassing. I’m just so tired of keeping it inside. “I didn’t tell Toni until the night before we left home.”

  Carroll whistles. “Trouble in paradise? Got to hand it to you, babe, I didn’t see that coming. You totally lied to her.”

  “I didn’t lie. I just didn’t say anything.” I shake my head. “We said we’d go visit each other every weekend, but we haven’t seen each other since that night. We talked about me maybe transferring up to BU for the spring semester, but...”

  Carroll doesn’t say anything. He’s watching me, his eyes narrow and steady.

  “I kept thinking it wouldn’t be hard to be apart, because we’d still visit and talk all the time,” I say. “But it’s not the same as it was before. We said we were going to visit every weekend, but Toni keeps canceling. Next week will be the first time all year we’re going to see each other, if that trip actually happens. Plus...there’s stuff Toni doesn’t tell me now. At least, not right away. It used to be we told each other everything the second it happened.”

  I tear off another piece of naan.

  “It doesn’t feel right,” I say. “It’s been so long now since we’ve seen each other. It feels like everything’s changed. Like it’ll be different when we do see each other again. Like now that we’re in different places we’re turning into different people, or something.”

  I stare at the bread in my hand. I don’t know why I just said all that.

  Is that really how it feels?

  Yeah. Kind of.

  “That’s why I’m so excited to go up there next weekend,” I say in a rush, to put all that other stuff I said out of my head. “So all this weirdness can stop and we can go back to normal.”

  “And so you can get laid.” Carroll pops a forkful of curry into his mouth.

  “Yes! Exactly! So I can get laid. That’s all this is really about. I’m just a total sex fiend.”

  “Hell, yeah, you are. Work it.” He cracks a pretend whip.

  I force a laugh.

  “So,” Carroll says after a pause. “Transferring to Boston University, hmm? Next semester? Are you serious about that?”

  He’s trying to sound light, but there’s a hard look in his eyes.

  I shrug, trying to act like I haven’t thought about it much. “I don’t know.”

  “Because you realize you’d be abandoning me to the sketchy men of New York. Without you to rein me in, I’m hopeless.”

  “Right, because I’m doing such a good job of reining you in now.”

  “Why does it have to be you who transfers? Why can’t she transfer to Columbia or something?”

  I shrug again. “I’m the one who lied, remember? Besides, it’s Harvard. I can’t expect T to give that up. It’s always been Toni’s dream.”

  “Sounds like she expects you to give up New York. Far as I can tell, you like it here an awful lot.”

  “Look, it’s fine,” I tell him. “For real. Can we talk about something else, please?”

  Carroll agrees faster than I expected. “Sure.”

  Carroll asks which of the girls on our floor I think would be most likely to drop out of school if they got a chance to star on a reality show and/or YouTube series. We make a list on another napkin, then soak it in yogurt to hide the evidence.

  I need to stop obsessing over when Toni and I will get back to normal. We’re normal now.

  This is the new normal, and it’s fine.

  I wonder if Toni knows about November 1. If Toni looked up the transfer application deadline, too.

  I glance across the table at Carroll, then out the window at the city. At the leaves blowing against the restaurant windows. The taxis darting between delivery trucks while tourists cling to the windowsills of their backseats. The people hurrying by with their shopping bags, their yoga mats, their labradoodles.

  Carroll is watching me with a smile. I take his napkin-poem out of my purse and press it flat to read it again. He stuffs naan into his mouth and turns away as if he’s embarrassed.

  Filling out the application would be a lot of work. There’s only a week left until I’d have to send it in, and I have a paper due on Thursday for my Twentieth Century Hispanic-American Novels class.

  I look out the window again. It’s starting to get dark. I can see my reflection and Carroll’s. We’re both smiling. We look like a picture you’d see in an admissions catalog.

  It makes me want to keep smiling forever. Sitting in this tiny restaurant, on this perfect street, in this perfect city, with my new best friend.

  I don’t want to give this up. Not yet.

  It’s just one more semester. I might as well stay. For now.

  I can figure out the rest of it later.

  7

  OCTOBE
R

  FRESHMAN YEAR OF COLLEGE

  2 MONTHS APART

  TONI

  I’m in downtown Boston waiting for the bus from New York to pull in, and I’m so excited I can’t actually handle it. It’s been two months. Two months.

  In a few minutes I’ll finally see Gretchen again. I can’t believe we waited this long. What a crazy mistake.

  A new bus is unloading, but I can’t see the sign that says where it’s from. A few minutes ago I was sure I saw Gretchen, and I jumped up and down and waved my arms so hard people looked at me funny, but it was only some blond farm-girl type getting off a bus from Albany.

  When I see another flash of yellow across the station, I try to restrain myself, but there’s no way that’s happening. This time it’s Gretchen.

  “T!” Gretchen shrieks.

  My heart skitters in my chest as I push through the crowd. It’s been so long since I actually saw Gretchen, since we actually touched, that I’d somehow convinced myself it would never happen again. That it would be another false start. We’ve had so many of those lately.

  What a dumb way to think. Gretchen’s here. This is real. That beautiful smiling face is right in front of me, laughing, brushing back tears. I hope they’re happy tears.

  “Oh, my God.” I can’t stop grinning.

  “Oh, my God is right.” Gretchen laughs.

  We hug for a long time. I can’t believe how good it feels.

  “You’re here!” I say when we pull apart.

  “I’m here!” Gretchen’s jumping now, too.

  We push through the crowd again and hold hands as we get on the train. It’s hard to talk on the ride back to Harvard.

  I’ve imagined this scene so many times. I have to fix my eyes on the grimy water bottle rolling back and forth across the train floor to remind myself that this isn’t another daydream.

  “What do you want to do?” I ask Gretchen as we come up the steps into the sunshine at the Harvard stop. The dance is still a few hours away. I’m so excited my voice sounds shaky. Like I’m nervous.

  Maybe I really am nervous.

  “I have to leave my stuff somewhere,” Gretchen says. “Can we go to your room first?”

  “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

  Our common room is empty. Joanna and Felicia’s bedroom door is closed, and I can’t tell if anyone’s inside, but my room is definitely vacant. Ebony has already left to stay over in a friend’s room for the night. That’s the deal we made. I’m staying at the guys’ place in a couple of weeks when Ebony’s boyfriend Zach comes to visit.

  “Wow, you weren’t kidding.” Gretchen looks around the common room, taking in the couch, the rugs, the dark wood furniture that looks like it’s been here for a century or more. “This is amazing. You even have a fireplace.”

  “Yeah. We always talk about roasting marshmallows, but you’re not allowed to actually light fires. Supposedly last year some guys tried and they wound up destroying some historic bricks or something. They got, like, two thousand hours of community service. Here, you can put your bag in my room.”

  The bedroom is tiny—just a bunk bed and two dressers we wedged in side by side. I called tails on move-in day, so Ebony has the bottom bunk and I’m stuck with the top. I put Gretchen’s bag down next to my dresser. At first we just stand there, looking at each other.

  Then we kiss.

  It’s been two months since I last kissed Gretchen.

  I can’t believe I lasted that long. I should’ve shriveled up out of frustration and longing and loneliness by now.

  Then we realize we have way too many clothes on, so we take care of that. And then—even though Ebony will kill me for this if she ever finds out—there’s no way we’re going to have the patience to climb all the way up to the top bunk.

  The first time Gretchen and I had sex, I was so nervous. It was my first time, but it wasn’t Gretchen’s, and that made me even more nervous.

  Not so nervous that I didn’t want to do it. I’d wanted to do it since that first night at the Homecoming dance.

  Back then, I was still getting used to the idea that this person—this smart, hilarious, beautiful person, this person who could’ve had anyone—really and truly wanted to be with me. Me.

  Actually, I’m not sure I ever got used to that idea. But I need it. I love it.

  I love Gretchen. I love everything about Gretchen.

  And if there’s anything different about today compared with how it used to be between us, that isn’t even worth thinking about. What matters is that we’re here, together.

  You don’t stop feeling the way you do about someone just because you move to a new city, or make new friends, or start thinking about things differently. Love doesn’t change just because you change.

  “I love you,” I say afterward. I can’t say all of what I’m thinking, but I can say that much.

  “I love you, too,” Gretchen says. “What time do we need to leave?”

  “Soon. We’re meeting the guys first in their room.”

  “I’m so excited to meet the guys. They all sound like so much fun.” Gretchen gets out of bed and sits on the floor, naked, rifling through a giant backpack. “Except Nance. I hate Nance.”

  “You don’t have to hate Nance.”

  “Yes, I do! It’s called loyalty, hello? She doesn’t get to talk smack about you as long as I’m around.” Gretchen pulls a wad of tissue paper out of the backpack. “My dress for tonight’s in here.”

  “Won’t it be all wrinkly?”

  “Carroll packed it this way on purpose. He kept saying something about pleats. I’m gonna need your help putting it on, though. He wrote out instructions.”

  I laugh. “Is that guy a walking gay stereotype or what?”

  “He’s just trying too hard. All his gay role models growing up came from Netflix.”

  I get up and pull on my sweatpants. “If you say so. I’m going to get ready.”

  “Where, in the bathroom?” Gretchen frowns. We’re used to getting dressed in front of each other. Being together for two years will do that.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I have a surprise. Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon to help with your dress.”

  It takes me longer to get ready than I expected. When I come back into the room, Gretchen is half in the dress, half out of it, showing lots of skin and looking more attractive than anyone in such an awkward pose has any right to be. Gretchen squirms and holds out a piece of paper. “You took forever! Hurry, I’m falling out of this thing.”

  I decipher Carroll’s handwriting and follow the instructions. The dress is way more work to put on than any dress should be, but when we’re done it looks fantastic. The black-and-purple fabric shows off every curve, but somehow it still manages to look old-fashioned and classy.

  “You’re so gorgeous.” I wrap my arms around Gretchen’s waist from behind and gaze at the two of us in the mirror. We look perfect. “This dress was an excellent choice.”

  “Carroll said you’d say that.” Gretchen leans back and kisses me.

  “You’re keeping the necklace on, too?” Gretchen’s still wearing the top hat charm. I have my necklace on, too, but mine’s hidden under my shirt.

  “Yeah. I thought it went, you know? Like, I’m an evil witch, and I draw my power from silver top hats.”

  “An evil, sexy, feminist witch.”

  “Totally!” Gretchen beams. “Now let me see this outfit that took you so long to get into.”

  My outfit itself isn’t special. It’s the same black pants and white shirt I wore to almost every high school dance after I calmed down from the craziness of Homecoming. Since it’s Halloween, I also stuck a set of plastic vampire teeth in my pocket in case anyone asked what my costume was. There’s something different about how I look this time,
though, and it only takes a second for Gretchen to figure it out.

  Gretchen’s eyes widen. “Are you wearing a chest binder under that?”

  “Yeah.” I swallow.

  “Do you, um.” Gretchen bites down on a pinky nail. “Do you do that all the time now?”

  “No, this’ll be the first time.”

  Gretchen grins. “It’s sexy. Here, let me see it. Pull up your shirt.”

  “It’s kind of strange looking,” I say, but I undo a few buttons so Gretchen can see the binder. My stomach flips, which is stupid. There’s no reason I should be nervous.

  “Cool.” Gretchen runs a palm down the middle of my now mostly-flat chest. The binder just looks like an undershirt, but it’s supertight and not exactly comfortable.

  It feels weird, having that extra layer, but not that weird. In some ways, it actually feels kind of awesomely normal. Especially with Gretchen touching me like that.

  “You look so different,” Gretchen says. “Hey, your hair’s different, too.”

  “Yeah, I got it cut the other week. I’m not spiking it the same way anymore.” I look down. Gretchen has on black flat shoes with buckles. “Are those the shoes you’re wearing?”

  “Yeah. I wanted to wear my Birks, but Carroll wouldn’t allow it.” Gretchen laughs.

  I frown. I’d thought Gretchen would be totally done up, with pointy heels to match. I’d been picturing how everyone would react to me and my sex-on-legs girlfriend when we walked into the guys’ room. “I’m surprised Carroll didn’t force you into some superhigh heels.”

  “Oh, he tried, believe me.” Gretchen pauses. “What, you don’t like my shoes?”

  “No, they’re fine. Either way, the guys will definitely be impressed when they see you.”

  Gretchen laughs and puts on a purple witch hat. Even with the blond hair, witchy is a look that works for Gretchen. Of course, most looks work for Gretchen.

  “Since when do you care what anyone thinks of how I look?” Gretchen asks.

  “I’ve always cared. Remember in high school how I used to brag about how you were so much hotter than whoever Jess’s current girlfriend was?”

  “I always thought you were joking.”