by Adams, S. C.
Two texts from the same unknown number sit unopened in her messaging app.
“Hey baby,” reads the first one. It’s quickly followed by, “What are you doing tonight?”
My face reddens with anger. Alyssa and I haven’t labeled our relationship per se, but we absolutely established exclusivity. I told her within our first week together that I wanted to see her and only her. Alyssa swore she felt the same way. She’s been completely faithful to me since we started dating. Who is this asshole texting her? Is he an old boyfriend?
The area code matches mine, so he’s definitely someone Alyssa met here in the city. When could she have met someone? This doesn’t make any sense.
There’s no way sweet, innocent Alyssa is cheating on me. She would never do that. She gave me flack for the date with Jasmine before Alyssa and I made it official. Last night, when I was texting David, Alyssa was acting very jealous. She wouldn’t have behaved that way if she was cheating. Unless, of course, she wanted to hide her own infidelity by assuming I was cheating, too.
No, I think. Not my Alyssa.
I refuse to believe she would be capable of deception. She was a virgin when we first got together! Plus, we’ve spent nearly every night either together or constantly talking since we started this relationship.
This guy probably has the wrong number. That’s the only option. In fact, some girl probably gave him a fake number at a bar last night and it wound up being Alyssa’s number by mistake.
Yes, that has to be it.
I’m about to respond as such when another text comes in with a beep.
“Because I would really like to get a taste if you know what I mean.”
That’s it! I nearly throw the phone against the wall, but I force myself to hold onto it.
“Who is this?” I ask the mysterious texter. We have to get this straightened out before Alyssa is finished with her shower. I have no idea how long she’s been in there. With every passing second, my chances of shower sex are getting smaller and smaller. That might have to wait until tomorrow.
“Alyssa, come on, baby. You know exactly who this is. I rocked your world last week, remember? Don’t tell me you forgot.”
The phone falls to the floor. My carpeting prevents it from cracking, fortunately.
My mind races. When could Alyssa have slept with this guy? Then it hits me. There was one day last week when Alyssa and I weren’t together. It was Tuesday night and we had been texting constantly since class ended, but she had a lot of homework (thanks to me), so she didn’t want to hang out. She was completely distracted by me and didn’t get much homework done anyway. She ended up finishing it on the train into class Wednesday morning.
Around eight that night, Alyssa stopped responding to my texts. I panicked at first, but figured she was hunkering down on her homework or something. The following morning, she responded to my frantic messages with an apology. She told me she had just fallen asleep and that I shouldn’t worry too much.
Now I know she was lying. That had to have been the night when Alyssa hooked up with this random stranger.
I’m stunned. Clearly, I didn’t know Alyssa as well as I thought I did if she’s capable of something as horrible as this. What an idiot I’ve been! I was making plans for forever while she made plans to screw other guys behind my back.
The water stops running and I barge into the bathroom to find Alyssa stepping out of my glass-enclosed shower.
“Get out!” I scream at her.
She looks startled. “What’s going on? Is there an emergency?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Alyssa. Get the fuck out of my house.”
“Nate, what’s wrong? What happened?”
I throw the phone at her. “You betrayed me, that’s what happened. I can’t believe I thought…”
“Nate, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Like hell you do!” I shout. “I want you out of my house right now.”
Alyssa unlocks her phone and finds the messages I read. “Nate, I don’t know what this is…”
I can’t help but laugh. “Wow, you’re going to play it like that, then? Whatever, I don’t want to hear any lies from you. You’ve fed me enough already. Get out of my house.”
“Nate, please, let me explain…”
“There is no way you can explain cheating on me, Alyssa. Now. Get. Out!”
She stands frozen for a few seconds. I can tell she’s deciding whether to continue fighting or to retreat. There’s nothing she can say right now to get me to let her stay. Even if she says she’s sorry, I can never trust her again. I can’t be with someone who cheated on me.
“Alyssa, get out of my house.”
Tears fall from her big brown eyes. “Nate…”
“Now!” I scream. She finally gets the hint. With a towel wrapped around her body, she gathers her clothes and runs out of my room, down the stairs, and out of my home.
I collapse onto the bed. Everything was going perfect and now it’s ruined. I was going to buy her a damn restaurant!
David is going to have my head for this. He kept hounding me over the last four weeks to make sure what I had with Alyssa was real. He tried to warn me that the restaurant was a stupid idea. I should have listened to him.
I pull out my phone to dial David’s number, but another call comes in. My assistant, Stephen, is on the line.
“Hey, Nathaniel, did you see it?”
“Stephen, I’m kind of busy,” I snap.
“Then I’ll be quick,” he responds, undaunted. “Last night’s episode had the highest ratings of all time.”
I blink a few times to clear my head. What is he talking about? “What episode?”
Stephen sighs. “Your reality show? Last night, we aired the episode about your restaurant opening. The numbers were incredible, and focus groups LOVE Alyssa!”
“Well, that’s too damn bad, because Alyssa is out of the picture.”
He doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. “Can we get her back in the picture?”
“Absolutely not, and don’t ask again,” I caution. “Ratings were fine before her and they’ll be fine after.”
Stephen pauses again. “You’re right. We can use this, too. I’ll talk to the producers.”
“No. We’re not using Alyssa. We’re pretending she never happened.”
My harsh tone stops the conversation. “Got it, Nathaniel. No Alyssa.”
He doesn’t ask why, which makes him a better conversationalist than David. After we hang up, I know I should call my financial manager, but I don’t want to deal with him right now.
I’ll talk to David later. For now, I need to think about my new restaurant and changes I want to make to the menu.
My mind won’t focus. It keeps running back to Alyssa and how beautiful she looked with nothing but a towel on. I shouldn’t be thinking of her like that now that I know who she really is. I can’t help it. No matter what she did, what we had was different than anything I’ve ever experienced. Our breakup doesn’t change that.
Even if she is a cheater.
15
Alyssa
Monday
My alarm clock shrills beside my bed. It takes everything in me not to throw the annoying machine against the wall.
I should get up. This is already my fifth snooze. If I don’t get out of bed in the next five minutes, I won’t make it to class on time.
I slap the alarm clock so it stops making that obnoxious, high pitched sound. Who decided that the default setting for alarms should be the most aggravating noise ever to exist?
Five minutes pass and I still lay under my blue comforter. There’s no way I’ll make it to class before Nate starts his lecture.
Nate. Just thinking his name brings tears to my eyes. How did things get so screwed up?
I can’t go to class today. Or any day, really. I don’t think I can face that man ever again, not after everything that happened.
Flipping over, I bury my face in my pi
llow, feeling like my heart is breaking into a million pieces. How could I have been so stupid? I never should have gotten involved with my culinary instructor. Now, not only is my dream of becoming a chef destroyed, but my heart is broken, too.
My phone sits neglected on my bedside table. I’ve hardly touched it since I got to my apartment Saturday morning. I blame it for everything that happened with Nate.
In my messages, those awful texts still sit unmistakably clear. Who is this guy? Did I really sleep with him? I don’t remember it happening, but I’ve heard stories about girls having sex with guys and forgetting they ever did it. Usually, drugs are involved. Is that what happened to me? Would I even know if it did?
I try responding to the texts again, asking who the mysterious person is. Since that morning, I’ve sent the same, “who the hell are you?” message twelve times. Each one receives the same response: The number you are trying to reach is no longer in service.
This morning’s attempt is no different.
Clutching the phone against my chest, I finally climb out of bed. I may not be going to class, but I can’t stay here wallowing any longer.
I’ve hardly eaten since Saturday morning. My usually huge appetite has completely disappeared. I want to prepare myself a giant breakfast since cooking usually relaxes me, but I know it’ll go to waste. I decide to throw a couple pieces of bread into the toaster instead.
While I eat, I watch my phone. Class started five minutes ago. Is Nate missing me? He’s probably thrilled that I’m not there so he doesn’t have to face him.
I can’t believe he wouldn’t let me explain the messages. He was so quick to accept that I had to be cheating on him, as if that was the only possible explanation. The person used my name, but that doesn’t mean anything. It could have been a wrong number or someone who took advantage of me.
I don’t know what hurts worse. The fact that Nate didn’t care enough to listen to me, or the fact that even after everything, I still love him. My heart didn’t get the memo that it’s supposed to hate the guy that hurt it.
The buttered toast sticks in my throat as I struggle to swallow it. As soon as it hits my stomach I feel like I’m going to vomit it back on the plate. So much for eating. I don’t know why I bothered.
Moving to the living room, I flip on the small TV I keep in here. The bigger one is in my bedroom for maximum viewing comfort, but I wanted to be able to sit on the couch and enjoy television, too.
The last time I watched it was that first night Nate came over. I’ve been too busy between school and going out with Nate to turn it on again. Which means the channel is already set to a cooking station, and of course Nate’s show is playing right now. I wouldn’t expect anything less.
Quickly, I change the channel to something less gut wrenching. I settle on some crime drama I’ve seen before. It’s easy to get lost in a show like this. I start watching from the beginning and I can’t help but finish because I need to know who the bad guy is. Plus, there’s no chance I’m going to see Nate’s handsome face in this show. He may dabble in cooking shows and reality shows, but he’s never ventured into fiction.
During the first commercial break, my mind wanders. What are they doing in class right now? I bet Samantha is thrilled to have that kitchen all to herself. In fact, she’s probably making up excuses to flirt with Nate in my absence. The thought makes me want to punch her in the face.
Aside from Samantha, I’m jealous of the others in the class. None of them crossed the line I did. They’ll finish the course next year and likely get jobs as chefs in prestigious restaurants. Nate may hire a few himself.
A couple weeks ago, Nate mentioned that NYACA has been struggling to churn out successful chefs and that’s why he was brought on. Apparently, there’s no one better than Nate to teach the class. At the time, I completely agreed. Now I wonder how things would have been different if the teacher was someone less tempting, like an old man or a woman. I certainly wouldn’t be sitting on my couch watching people use psychology to solve murders. I’d be in the kitchen learning how to be the chef I’ve been dreaming of becoming.
That dream is over now.
My phone buzzes from its place on the coffee table. A photo of Grams and me taken over the summer lights up the screen. Without thinking, I answer it.
“Hello?”
“Alyssa?” Grams responds, sounding confused. My brow furrows. Is everything okay with her? She was of sound mind when I left, but I’ve heard memory diseases can come on suddenly and unexpectedly.
“Yeah, it’s Alyssa, Grams. You called me.”
Grams chuckles. “I know that, girly. I’m just surprised you answered. Shouldn’t you be at school?”
Crap. I should have let voicemail take the call. I don’t want Grams to worry about me.
“We’re ahead of the curriculum,” I say, trying to lace as much conviction as I can into the words. “Our instructor gave us a three-day weekend since we’re doing so well.”
“Is that so? I’ve never heard such a thing.”
“It happens all the time, Grams,” I assure her. My high school friends who went to college used to talk about professors cancelling class all the time, so at least this isn’t a lie. “Why did you call?”
“I wanted to tell you that your grandfather and I are coming down to visit!” she tells me excitedly. “We’ve booked seats on an early train Saturday morning and we’ll go home Sunday afternoon. I’ve already got a hotel lined up since I’m sure there isn’t room for two old folks in that apartment of yours.”
I swallow hard. If my grandparents come for a visit, they’ll know something isn’t right. “That’s great,” I lie. “I can’t wait to see you. I’ve missed you.” At least that part is true and it’ll buy me time until I come up with a plan.
“Are you okay, Alyssa? You sound funny.”
“Everything’s fine, Grams. I’m just tired is all. I was up late practicing recipes all weekend.”
“Yeah?” she asks. “What have you added to your repertoire?”
The words stick in my throat. I don’t want to talk about cooking right now. If I want to convince my grandmother everything’s fine, I have no choice. “I learned to make ravioli,” I finally tell her. “It’s delicious. You’ll love it. Maybe I should come home this weekend instead, and I can make it for you?”
“Nonsense! Your grandfather and I want to see your new city. You’ve spoken so highly about it and you know we’ve never been before.”
“But isn’t that a long train ride for you and grandpa? It really would be easier if I just came to you.”
Grams is silent for so long that I worry something happened or she hung up on me. “Alyssa, is everything alright?”
“I already told you it was!” I say, my voice higher pitched than it should be. “I promise.”
“Don’t you dare promise me when we both know you’re lying,” Grams admonishes. “What gives, girly? What happened?”
Her kind words send me into a fit of tears. I should have known I wouldn’t be able to lie to my grandmother. She may be old, but her hearing and intuition are as strong as ever.
I want to lie to her some more, tell her I’m just stressed about school, but it’s no use. She’ll see right through that, too.
So I tell her everything. I start with that first day when I got off the train at Grand Central and was more lost than I’ve ever been. I tell her about Nate helping me get to my apartment and then showing me around Central Park. I share every detail of our relationship, except for the sex parts. She listens silently as I spill my harrowing tale.
“And then,” I choke out. “He saw these texts on my phone from some guy saying we went out last week, but I didn’t go out with anyone last week! If I met the texter, I don’t remember it. Nate didn’t care. He wouldn’t listen to anything I said. He’s convinced I cheated on him when I would never do that!”
I’m sobbing now, wishing I had someone to hold me and tell me everything is going to be okay. More th
an anything, I want Nate to knock on my apartment door and apologize for not believing me. I want to be in his arms again, loving him, like the night before all hell broke loose.
For the first time, I let myself remember Friday night. What happened Saturday morning clouded over our trip to the beach, our salmon preparation, and the movie we watched.
It also made me forget that Nate spent the night texting someone, and he refused to tell me who it was. Could it be that he overreacted about me texting someone to cover up the fact that he was the one cheating? It could have been Nate’s mistress texting me! Maybe she wanted to break us up?
“Where’s your head, Alyssa?” Grams asks. “You’ve been quiet a whole minute.”
“Sorry, I was just thinking about Friday night. Nate and I made dinner together and he kept getting texts. When I asked who it was, he told me it was no one. Now I’m wondering if maybe he was texting some girl behind my back.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry. It sounds like you lost your heart to the wrong man. At least now you know what he’s really like.”
I know my grandmother is trying to help, but her words hurt. I’m still not certain that Nate was the wrong man. Again, my heart won’t let me let him go. It’s really annoying.
“I love you, Grams,” I tell her. I’m not sure what else to say.
“I love you, too, girly. And listen, New York has always been a dreadful city. The people there are cruel and selfish and they’ll do anything to get their way. You’ve always had too good a heart for that city. If you want to come home, you have a place here. You always do. Your grandfather and I will welcome you back with open arms and I’m sure you can get one of your kitchen jobs back. Maybe one of the local restaurants will take you on as an apprentice.”
It’s just like Grams to offer up alternatives when I’m upset. She was the one who convinced me to take a year off after high school. I don’t regret doing it – I think I needed that year to earn money and hone my cooking skills. If her advice worked then, it’ll probably work now, too.
“Thanks, Grams. I might take you up on that. I just… Well, I don’t think New York City is the right place for me. I loved the school, but I’m ready to come home.”
