by J. L. White
“He doesn’t belong here,” I say. “I don’t even know what he’s doing at rinky dink Hartman. He has his degree from fucking Juilliard.”
“Hartman isn’t rinky dink,” Sam says, calmly. “You’ve said yourself they have one of the best music programs in the country.”
“Everybody’s rinky dink compared to Juilliard.”
“You’re just being ridiculous and bitter.” Leave it to Sam to call it like she sees it. She’s probably right.
“Hey, hey,” Jack says somewhat jovially and squeezing my shoulders. He’s clearly trying to lighten my mood. I have to admit, it’s past time. I’ve sulked plenty. “It’s okay if Ashley wants to be ridiculous and bitter. That’s why we’re where the booze is.”
I crack half a smile. “We’re here so you can pick up on girls,” I say.
He gives me a mock, insulted look and puts his hand to his chest. “I’m offended!” Sam and I exchange looks and she rolls her eyes amusedly.
“Uh-huh,” she says.
“I didn’t come here to pick up on girls,” he says.
I look at him, waiting for it.
“These girls are here to pick up on me.”
“There it is,” Sam says smiling and I can’t help but smile too. Jack grins at me, satisfied.
I take a deep breath, trying to get myself under control. It’s been a long time since I haven’t placed first in a competition. Maybe I’m just not used to it and feeling a little raw. Maybe I’ll feel better tomorrow.
God, I hope so.
Giving a resolute sigh, I lean against Jack and look at Sam. She smiles at me knowingly and I shrug. “What am I going to do?”
“You’re going to drink another beer,” she says, raising my nearly empty bottle to get the attention of the waiter.
I take the bottle from her and drink down the rest. Sam’s right. For the moment anyway, that’s about all I can do.
The following Tuesday I head to the Gizmo for the first time since I saw Erik there before. It’s my favorite place for coffee, and I’m tired of avoiding it. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I’m going to see Erik plenty of times between now and the end of the year. It probably won’t be the last time he kicks my ass in a competition either. I may as well try to get used to it.
I go three whole times before running into him again. Just as I was starting to get relaxed about being here, I see him waiting at the end of the line at the counter, right as I’m coming in. I briefly consider leaving, but instead I sigh resolutely and come up behind him. I’m a big girl. I can handle this.
I do give myself twice the normal amount of space between us though.
He noticed me when I was coming through the door, and at first seemed like he wasn’t going to try to talk to me either, but after we shuffle forward in line one place, he slowly turns and looks at me. “Hey,” he says quietly.
I pause. I guess I can be civil. “Hey.”
“How’s it going?”
I frown at him. How’s it going?
He sighs at himself. “Sorry.”
I shrug. Whatever. “It’s fine.”
We shuffle forward again.
“Listen...” he says hesitantly, “Could I... buy you a coffee or something?”
I consider saying something smartass about how I can afford my own coffee, but I know that’s not what he means. He wants to talk. Really talk. I don’t know if I want to.
I don’t know if I can.
But there’s that part of me that wants to know, what in the hell happened all those years ago?
We scoot forward. There’s only one person in front of him now. It’s a young undergrad, from the looks of it, and she’s hemming and hawing over the gluten-free baked goods in the display case.
“Please?” Erik asks.
I’m considering giving in, but I’m not ready to commit. Instead I ask a different question that’s been on my mind. “Is it true you’re only a first year grad student?”
He looks a bit taken aback. He almost seems pained. This lasts only for a split second. He nods. “I took a year off.”
“Why?”
His hesitation—and pain—is more obvious now. We’re suddenly pulled into the kind of intimate moment we used to share. My heart softens in spite of myself. Before I have a chance to resist it, he says, “My parents were in a car accident about a month after I graduated from Juilliard. It killed my dad instantly.” My hand flies to my mouth. “My mom’s okay now, mostly, but she was messed up pretty badly. She was in the hospital for six weeks and intensive rehab for several months. She’s still in rehab, but just once a week now.”
“God,” I say stupidly, having to resist the urge to put my hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry.”
He nods slightly in acknowledgement of this. “Is your tomato soup gluten free?” the girl at the counter asks. Erik and I look at each other awkwardly for a moment. “How are you doing?” I finally ask.
He sighs. “I’d really be better if you’d let me get you a coffee.”
We sit at a table in the back corner and sip our coffees in uncomfortable silence. I’m not sure how to begin the conversation. Maybe Erik isn’t either.
Finally, he sets down his cup, leans in slightly on both elbows, and looks me in the eye. “I know it’s a little late for this, but I owe you an apology.”
An unexpected lump forms in my throat but I swallow it down.
“I know it can’t make up for everything that happened. I can’t even imagine what you went through and—” he stops abruptly. He looks down, blinking at the table, apparently suppressing some unexpected emotion of his own.
I try not to let myself be swayed by it. I really do.
He takes a determined sip of his coffee, then looks at me again. I’m captured by his eyes. Maybe I’m a fool, but all I see in him is sincerity and pain and regret.
“I know there’s no fixing it,” he says. “I’m not trying to do that. I just thought you deserved to hear me tell you how terribly, terribly”—and here his voice cracks—“sorry I am. You didn’t deserve any of that.”
The lump in my throat has made a reappearance, but I still refuse to cry. “You promised me I wouldn’t go through that alone.”
He nods and closes his eyes briefly. “I know. I didn’t want you to be alone.”
“Then why was I?” I say earnestly. I realize I said that louder than intended, but I don’t bother looking around. I lower my voice and lean in, still holding his eyes. “Why didn’t you come to me? Call me? Something.”
He looks down and frowns at his cup. He digs his thumbnail into the cardboard at the base. “I don’t want to give you excuses,” he says at last.
I sit back and sigh. “Well, that’s fine for you, but I’d sure as hell like an explanation.”
His eyes fly up to mine. I’m still frowning at him and he seems to be taking me in, like it had never occurred to him that I might just want answers.
“Okay,” he says. He takes a deep breath, then says again, “Okay.”
I slowly cross my arms, not as a sign of anger, but just because it feels safer. Right now it’s the only defense I have.
“After I left your house that night,” he says slowly, our eyes watching each other hesitantly, “I went home and told my mom what was going on. She...” He stops and frowns at the cup again. He takes a deep breath, then looks at me resolutely.
“She said the easiest thing would be for you to get an abortion. When I told her that’s not what was going to happen, she panicked and got my dad involved. I told him I loved you and planned to see things through with you. He said he’d talk to your folks and work things out, but I didn’t understand what he meant by that until he got back and told me what he’d done. Once I realized what was really going on, I kind of kicked myself for ever thinking he was on my side. Looking back I think he didn’t show his cards right away for a reason.” Erik shakes his head a bit and shrugs. “My dad was a lawyer, remember.”
“Yeah,” I say dully. “I r
emember.”
Erik clenches his jaw. “Well, yeah. That’s the thing isn’t it? That’s why he acted so fast. He had to make sure he had everything in motion so I couldn’t fight him on it.”
Erik leans forward more, his face getting earnest. “I did try at first, Ashley. I really did. I fought my dad so hard about it that night, they confiscated my phone so I couldn’t contact you. I didn’t say what my plans were. I was trying to play my cards close to the vest too, but I think my dad, at least, knew they had to get me out of there because if they went to sleep that night, they’d wake up to find me gone in the morning. And you know what?” Erik says, his eyes getting a look of hard determination, “no way was I going to stay with them any longer than I had to. I planned to get the hell out and come to you the second their back was turned.”
He looks down at the table, breathing hard. He’s gripping his cup with both hands now.
So what happened? I want to know, but it’s all I can do to keep my own emotions under control. If I say a word, the lump in my throat will take over. I can’t let that happen. I won’t cry. I refuse.
I watch him as he takes a steadying breath. The muscles in his face are flexing as he clenches his jaw.
“They called the airline to get last minute flights to New York and the next thing I know, my mom’s packing my bags. My dad and I nearly came to blows because at first I refused to leave the house.” His eyes are fixed rigidly on his cup. “ That’s when my dad made it perfectly clear his talk of prosecuting you was serious business. He was more than willing to destroy you and your family and ruin your life. He wanted to. The only reason he didn’t is because—” His voice breaks again, but he takes a hard breath and continues firmly, “because he knew that leverage was the only thing keeping me at bay. And he was right. It did keep me at bay.”
Erik pinches his eyes shut, then looks at me earnestly.
I swallow hard against the lump in my throat. I can’t. I can’t cry with him.
“I backed down,” he says softly. “I just... didn’t know how to protect you from him. The longer things went on, and I thought about what you had to be going through... I knew you had to hate me. And who could blame you?”
He takes a steadying breath and leans back in his chair. “My dad said I lost the privilege of graduating from the Academy. He pulled some strings and got me into a private high school in the city. I finished things out there. By the time they gave me a new phone, it didn’t matter anymore. I knew they would do anything they could to keep me away from you. I wasn’t going to risk him throwing you in jail.”
We sit there in silence. He’s frowning and staring at the table like he’s somewhere else.
I can only look at him and try not to cry for both of us. I feel a twinge of guilt for hating a dead man, but it’s how I feel anyway. I wish I could go back in time and know what Erik was going through. But I can’t. And while there’s part of me that feels a sort of... understanding at least, it doesn’t change the fact that our relationship was shattered beyond repair a long time ago.
“Ashley,” Erik says softly, “I’m really not trying to give you excuses.”
I nod, still unable to risk speaking. My hands are clenched together on my lap. My entire body is clenched. It’s like if I move at all, the dam will burst.
“And I’m not trying to...” he takes another deep breath. “I know it’s too late for us. I just... I just thought you deserved to hear...” He holds my eyes.
God, there he is, the boy I loved so long ago.
“I’m so, so sorry,” he says.
The tears are building in my eyes now, I can’t stop them, so I look down at the hands in my lap and nod. I nod again.
Okay, I think. Okay, I hear you. But I can’t talk.
Slowly but determinedly, I get to my feet.
I brush my fingertips on the top of his hand, the only acknowledgment I can give him, and hurry away.
Chapter 13
I somehow make it to my beat-up old hatchback but cry all the way to Sam’s house. She’s not even home from work yet, so of course Jack isn’t there either. He works from home as a web designer, but practically lives here in his off hours, like I do. Why Sam is the hub of our lives, I don’t know for sure, but she is.
I put on a light movie to cheer myself up—Ferris Bueller’s Day Off—but manage to frown at the screen and leak tears onto the pillow on Sam’s couch the whole way through.
Then, as if I didn’t have enough to process, I get an email that was sent out to all music majors, announcing an upcoming national competition, the Myra Hess Piano Competition. There are going to be three rounds. Each school will hold their own round and send two musicians in each category to one of four regional competitions. The kicker? The top three from each region will compete in the finals at Lincoln Center in New York City.
God, Lincoln Center.
I toss my phone on the pink shag carpet. I can’t hardly think about another competition right now. My mind’s still too busy running over everything that happened when we were teens, looking at it again with fresh eyes. Erik hadn’t been ignoring my texts and phone calls, his parents took his phone and then got him a different one. He didn’t run from me, he was practically taken. Threatened.
I remember how frightened I’d been by his father’s threats, and wonder how I would have handled it if I didn’t have my parents to support me. Erik was still just a kid and didn’t have anyone. He didn’t even have me.
When Sam gets home, I tell her the whole story and, later, listen with a sort of numbness as she relays everything to Jack. I’m too drained to do it myself. I’m lying on my stomach on the couch and Jack is kneeling next to me, rubbing my back in slow, firm motions.
One of my arms is hanging off the couch. Sam is sitting on the floor, holding my hand, and rubbing my arm.
“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” she suggests. I’ve already turned down Sam’s suggestion of ice cream, and Jack’s of hard liquor.
But I don’t answer. I’ve finally found a way to voice the thing I’ve been afraid of since Erik first told me his side of things. “Do you guys think I’d be weak,” I say slowly, “if I forgave him?”
Sam exchanges a glance with Jack before looking back at me. “You mean, so you can get back together with him?”
I shake my head once. “No. It’s too late for that,” I say, echoing what Erik said earlier. He’s probably right. “I just... I kind of feel like I forgive him. Does that make me foolish?”
“No, honey,” Sam says.
“It doesn’t?”
Sam sighs. “It sounds like he was just as much a victim of his dad as the rest of you were. Don’t you think?” she asks, looking up at Jack.
There’s a bit of a pause as Jack continues to rub the aches out of my shoulders. “Yes,” he says at last. “Part of me wants to say he needed to man up but, that’s probably me just feeling protective of you. He was only a kid, like you were. And what would have happened if his dad had pressed charges against you?” Jack rubs his thumbs firmly up either side of my spine. “Ya cradle robber,” he says gently.
I crack a faint smile and Sam smiles back at me. I feel a little lighter, trying my new-found forgiveness on for size.
“So since we’re not mad at him anymore,” Jack says, sighing, “I guess trapping him inside of a piano case is out.”
I don’t even want to know if he’s kidding.
“Though that would still be a way to get him out of the way for the competition,” he says, like he’s trying to tempt me.
“No thanks,” I say, smiling. I had mentioned the competition, but we didn’t discuss it much. It’s funny how even something that huge seems small in the face of everything else going on.
By the time we finally settle in to watch a movie—The Princess Bride, which we’ve all seen about a hundred times—I’m feeling strengthened. At peace almost.
Sam and I are both curled against Jack, whose long legs are draped across the coffee table.
His arms are stretched along the back of the couch. Halfway through the movie, right before Princess Buttercup is about to push Wesley down the hill, Sam keeps her eyes on the screen and asks softly, “Do you still have feelings for him?”
I don’t answer right away. If I’m honest with myself, yes. There’s a part of me that’s always loved Erik, and probably always will. But I don’t think that’s what Sam is asking. Frankly, I think she already knows. I suspect she’s asking about our future, or if I think we even have one.
But five years and that much hurt is an awfully big gap to bridge. It’s been so long, I don’t even know who he is anymore. He doesn’t know me anymore either. I keep hearing the words he said earlier: “It’s too late for us.”
It’s not until Wesley rescues Princess Buttercup from the lightning sand, and she’s hanging onto him and saying, “We’ll never succeed,” that I finally respond to Sam.
“I just... don’t want to be mad at him anymore.”
“Hmm,” she says.
“Then don’t be,” Jack says, rubbing my shoulder reassuringly before putting his arm back on the couch.
“Meanwhile, kicking his ass in the competition might help a little bit in the revenge department,” Sam says.
I smile. “I don’t want revenge.”
She raises her head slightly to look at me. Her short blonde hair is always sticking out in different directions, but one side is extra wonky since she’s been lying against Jack’s chest. “But you wouldn’t mind kicking his ass in the competition right?”
“Sam,” I say, looking at her, “I want to kick everyone’s ass in the competition. That has nothing to do with him.”
She puts her head back down, satisfied. “Well then, you go do that.”
“Just like Wesley is kicking the ass out of that Rodent of Unusual Size,” Jack says.
But I don’t know if I can.
Letting go of my anger seems like a far easier task than outplaying Erik Williams.
In the weeks leading up to the school rounds of the Myra Hess Competition, Erik and I haven’t done more than say hello when we see each other at the Gizmo. We’ve given each other a few tentative smiles, though, and every time, my heart feels a kind of release. I hadn’t realized how hard it was on me, to be mad at him all this time.
