Till it Stops Beating

by Hannah R. Goodman

  We shrug on our jackets and leave Starbuck’s. I pretend to be a tour guide and lead the way to Zabar’s, which is just down Broadway but about a half hour walk. His eyes get big when we walk in. Zabar’s knishes and H & H hot bagels are my favorite parts of the City. Forget all the Broadway shows and shopping and even the restaurants. It’s the little things you can’t get in the suburbs that make the City the City.

  “I want to buy everything!” Noah says as he scans the walls of food. We reach the cold cuts and cheese section “Fresh mozzarella!”

  We spend over a half hour loading up on too much food. A smorgasbord of Jewish and Italian treats. Noah grabs a tomato and mozzarella salad and carved turkey and cranberry sandwich. I put minestrone soup and crusty bread in the basket. We both dive for the vegetarian sushi rolls at the same time.

  “I think I know what school I’m going to.” We laugh.

  “Good reason to choose a school. Forget the Ivy League thing.”

  “Yeah, Ivy League. If I can have a good meal on a regular basis, I’m in…” He snatches a container of Hummus and throws it in his basket. “Are you thinking of the City for school?”

  I don’t know how I avoided the topic all day as we talked about everything, everything except this. My body clenches up like a fist. But Noah is so distracted by all the food he doesn’t notice. “Hey, look, chopped liver! I know this is totally gross, but I love chopped liver.”

  And now, now the lights of Zabar’s and all the tiny containers of mozzarella and chopped liver are moving and spinning. I feel myself losing my breath. Shit. I put my hand in my pocket. Forget the Rescue Remedy. I want the real stuff. How do I pop a pill with him standing right here?

  “Hey—”

  My eyelids flip up like cheap vinyl shades.

  He puts his arm around me, and it’s warm like one of those floppy bean baggy things my mother uses when her neck hurts. “College is totally overrated.”

  Now I laugh. “Oh, yeah. That whole ‘future thing.’ You know ‘getting a job thing’ totally overrated. Would rather live in the basement of my parents’ house and play video games.”

  After we pay for the food. He pays with a credit card, which impresses me. We walk in the early evening setting sun down Broadway. I don’t pay attention to anyone walking by, because he holds the bag in one hand, and my hand in the other. I wonder if it’s a buddy-type hand holding, and is this what he always does? When we were at camp, people held hands all the time on the way to meals or shops. That was the culture, I guess you could say, of camp. But we’re in the New York City, not CIT land.

  “Your hand is so cold,” he says as we walk. “Do you want my jacket? It’ll fit over yours.” He stops and moves over to the side of the sidewalk. We are right in front of one of those grocery stores that reek of Asian food and rotten produce. But that smell dies away as he puts his heavy brown suede jacket over my shoulders. I feel his touch on the top of my arms. He takes his time arranging the jacket and looks in my eyes the whole time. We giggle at nothing, at the kids in puffy jackets that almost knock us over. At the woman on a cell phone carrying a bag of groceries that walks around us.

  And it’s at this moment where the day sort of stops. I look at Noah’s imperfectly beautiful face; slightly cooked, longish nose, slightly larger bottom lip from his top, and teeth straight except one on the bottom turns in slightly. He’s tousled but well groomed. He looks like Columbia or Harvard.

  And as we continue to walk, and he keeps his hand in mine, rubbing his thumb over mine, which— thank God— is not raw and oozing from my biting, I wonder who I am. I never thought of myself as a girl who had fun kissing boys here and there. And I always think of myself as a good girl. A girl who would have a boyfriend…Justin… or nothing. But being in the City and being with Noah makes me forget my life right now.

  We finally get to my mother’s office. I open the glass door and show the security guard my ID and then loop my arm through Noah’s.

  We don’t talk on the ride up the elevator. My stomach flutters. Noah is so much more confident, grown up than at camp. He was bookish and nerdy then. Not really talkative. But by the end of camp, I saw that losing his girlfriend, a girlfriend who helped him out of his shell, who was a cheerleader to his nerd status, losing her must have made him retreat like a turtle. That summer, I know, healed him. He had fun, and he seemed to be more at peace about Mia by the end.

  I unlock the office and flick on the set of lights in the reception/waiting room. It’s dark, dim even with the lights on, curtains closed.

  “Mom has a small kitchen in through here,” I motion to the left.

  “Cool, let’s get our feast set up. I am starving.”

  We talk about indie movies. He loved The Waitress. Books, he’s read The Fountainhead that Barb just gave to me to read. We talk about everything but graduating and our futures. I’m grateful to Noah for understanding and that is the one thing that clicks in my brain about him at camp. When I didn’t want to stay, when I tried to pack up and go home, he came to my bunk and let me cry my brains out. Then he calmly helped me understand how much I needed to stay, but I never felt judged.

  I’m far away from everything that’s stressful. I’m in a bubble where the anxiety and worry are outside and inside it’s just me and this beautiful boy. Part of me worries about this. Am I addicted to beautiful boys? Before I can contemplate that, Noah leans over the spread of food, which is on the floor of the office on a chenille blanket that I know my mother has forgotten she has, Noah leans over and rubs a piece of sushi to my lips. I have just finished a mouth full of potato knish, but it occurs to me that Noah may be making a move.

  I’ve eaten just enough to take the edge off my hunger. It would be smart to stop there if I planned on rolling around with Noah at some point.

  I swallow my knish and kind of arch my body a little and lean into the sushi with my mouth open. I try a sexy smile but then all that rice gets jammed in my throat. I cough a little… and a little more… and then—

  “Hey—Oh shit!”

  I can’t breathe, and Noah leaps up and grabs me so I am standing and he wraps his arms around me and starts to give me the Heimlich maneuver.

  My life is defined by ironic moments. This is how my parents met, at Central Park. My mom was a young single mother to Barb, who was two-years-old. What happens was, Barb choked on a hot dog and my father, then a 32-year-old bachelor, came to the rescue and the rest is history.

  Will this be my “how your father and I fell in love” story?

  The piece of food comes flying out and plops right into an open container of hummus. Noah keeps his arms around me and rests his head on my shoulder.

  “Jesus! It’s a good thing I was a boy scout.”

  And I know it’s sort of, maybe obscene or maybe absurd, but his hot breath near my neck and his body rubbing against me from behind and his hands so close to my boobs…it’s all too much and even though I probably have some food stuck in my teeth and even though my plan was to finish chewing the sushi and excuse myself to brush my teeth in the bathroom with one of the unopened toothbrushes Mom keeps in there, even though all those things, I still want to kiss Noah. Right. Now.

  I put my hands over his, which are large and smooth with a small patch of hair. I find that incredibly sexy, manly.

  “I’m okay,” I say, and I ever-so-barely move my body, press a little tiny bit into him.

  I hear him breathe and then I breathe. My cell phone rings, not too loud. It’s the alarm ring that I assigned to Sean.

  “Do you want to answer that?” Noah whispers.

  I really don’t. I really really don’t. Sean thinks I’m with Barb, having a sisterly weekend. He doesn’t even know about the email
from Noah. I don’t even think I ever told him about Noah.

  There’s another moment where my phone rings again, and Noah and I freeze but now his hands are up a little higher and mine are still on his.

  “No,” I say. “It’s fine.”

  It rings again.

  “Are you sure?”

  I worry that I’m missing the moment, a moment that I probably won’t get again. He will go off to school, and I will... Maybe wind up in a nut house or rocking in my parents’ basement.

  But, screw it.

  The phone rings again and I, Maddie Good Girl Hickman, take beautiful Noah’s golden smooth hands and put them on my breasts, over my sweater, and turn my head to the side. There’s a moment where I worry he might tell me something totally insane like, no or stop.

  But he doesn’t and I, Maddie Good Girl Hickman, cheat on my not-really-boyfriend boyfriend.

  Our lips kind of crash, and it could be awkward, but I think we are equally turned on by the day and the moment. The phone makes its final plea. But I’m turned around now, and we are against one of the maroon walls. My back hits the light switch and— oops— there goes the light.

  We don’t say anything. Not one word.

  I don’t know how much time passes, but we eventually move from the wall to the love seat by the window. He pulls me close by the waist then runs his hand up—not under the shirt but over. I slide my hands around his neck and kiss him back. He rubs the top of my thighs and I stop kissing him for a minute, breathless. His mouth is on my neck while his hand slides up between my legs, again, over my clothes.

  We touch like this for a while. At one point he says, “Columbia is looking better and better.” To which I reply, “NYU is next door,” A few minutes later he says, “We didn’t hook up at camp because…?” I don’t miss beat, “We were grieving widows.” We laugh as we kiss. To anyone else, that would be offensive. I run my hands through his longish soft hair and sigh.

  Then his cell phone rings and, at first, he ignores it but it continues. He reaches over and grabs it from the end table.

  “It’s my mom.” He looks at me and gives me a lopsided smile. “I’m supposed to meet her back at the hotel around 8.” He glances at his cell again. “It’s about quarter of.”

  I stroke his arm and he takes my hand and kisses the palm. “If I decide on Columbia—”

  “—and if I actually make it to college.”

  We laugh again. I tug my clothes back into place, and he runs his fingers through his golden locks. We clean up the remains of dinner and before we walk out the door, he pulls me in for another long kiss.

  When he walks me back to the subway, he stops. “Let me know what happens with college and everything.”

  I nod, and we wrap our arms around each other without talking and then the train bumbles in. We hug until it stops in front of us.

  The doors open, and a clump of people spill out.

  He grabs my hand one last time and I whisper, “Bye, Noah,” and step into the train.

  I sit down in the first empty seat and look out the window. Noah waves to me and I wave back. No reason to tell Sean. No reason at all.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nerdy Hot

  I sit on the couch with a worn copy of Bird by Bird, what I consider the premier writer’s bible. A mug of chamomile tea beside me on the coffee table. What I would do for an over sugared latte right now. I couldn’t fall asleep right away last night. Sean left me three messages. I finally called him back. We made plans for this morning.

  Sean.

  I check my cell phone for the fifth time. Just a few minutes. I run my fingers through my hair and then gather it into a ponytail with the scrunchie from my wrist. I unwrap the blanket from around my shoulders and down the tea, cold from sitting out on the counter where Mom left that and a note for me. She and Dad went into town for breakfast.

  I read one more paragraph from Bird by Bird from the chapter called Some instructions on writing and life. She is supposed to be talking about how you have to “let go” of writing a perfect first draft.

  I circle the passage and scrawl next to it in the margin, “Perfectionism=Walking Dead Person” and then “note to self: have more fun.” I shut the book, kissing it like the Torah, and then head to the bathroom to put my make-up on. I rehearse my greeting to Sean on the way:

  “What did I do this weekend?” I stop at the doorway of the bathroom thinking of a good alibi. Alibi is way too strong of a word.

  I try again in front of the mirror in my bathroom. “Hey babe!” Sean and I are not on that level of pet names. Babe. Really? I yank my ponytail out and fluff my hair, which needs to be washed. It’s lying dull and flat.

  I flash a toothy grin and say in a voice way too loud: “Why didn’t I answer my phone? Oh, I couldn’t get a signal in the City…Yeah, Dad and I went in to the City and we had this great day…”

  Oh God. My face falls. Barb, Barb and I were supposed to be together. I’ve never been a good liar.

  This time I relax and keep my voice even, “I ran into an old camp friend in the City…”

  . . . . .

  “Hi,” Sean says shyly when I open the side door. We smile at each other and my heart surges.

  “Hi.” Those big brown eyes. The guilt creeps in when he kisses me on the lips. But when I kiss him back, the guilt recedes like a tide.

  I shiver from the cold air of the open door. He steps in and closes it behind him.

  “How was the competition?” I say taking his coat and hanging in on a hook in the mudroom.

  “I won best lead actor!” His nose crinkles with his grin. Adorable.

  I hug him. “That’s awesome!”

  He hugs me back, lingering with his face in my neck. “But I missed you. I called you three times.” The tone is not accusing, more embarrassed.

  “I missed you, too. I was in the City all day. Got in late.” Technically, I did miss him...and technically I was in the City...

  He kisses me lightly sending little shivers down my spine. “How are we going to get through my Christmas break?”

  My mouth hovers near his. I smell toothpaste and cologne. “You only live an hour away.”

  He sighs and pulls away a little. “My parents just booked a trip to see my sister in Colorado. Skiing at Crested Butte.”

  I don’t have to force my disappointment. “For how long?”

  “Two weeks.”

  “Then we better make up for any lost time now.”

  He grins and pulls me into his arms for a longer kiss.

  When we break away, we’re both breathing hard. “My parents are gone for a few hours,” I tell him hoping to show him my room for the first time.

  He takes both of my hands. “Actually, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  My heart jumps all over the place in my chest. “Let’s sit,” I say, more for me than him.

  We sit next to each other. He puts an arm over the back of the couch and faces me. My hands rest in my lap.

  “Being away this weekend I had some time to think about…us. It’s been awesome to hang out with you over these last weeks. To be honest, if it weren’t for theater and you...I might be out in Colorado with my sister.”

  I cannot stop my brain from flashing to Noah and I joking about NYU and Columbia next year, but I push it away and focus on Sean.

  “It’s been fun to hang out with you, too.” I squeeze his hand for good measure.

  He keeps my hand in his and looks me in the eyes. “I know this might sound corny and everything…But I want us to be together
, uh…officially.”

  Inevitably guilt, like the tide it is, returns.

  “God, I sound so seventh grade. ‘I like you. Do you like me? Check the box: yes, no, maybe.’”

  I laugh. “Maybe? Maybe I like you? Man, that’s worse than no. I hope you never gave a girl that option in seventh grade. Girls in middle school are bitches!”

  “Tell me about it. Seventh grade was not my year. Buck teeth and braces.”

  “I bet you were adorable.”

  “No, you were adorable. I was a hopeless dork.”

  “Was? Was a dork?”

  He makes a face and then grabs me into his arms. I pretend to fight him and say, “You said it. I’m just agreeing.”

  “Dork it is.” He makes a geeky face and says, “Madeline Hickman will you be my girlfriend?”

  Watching him make his teeth all bucked out and crossing his eyes, he’s still hot not to mention sweet. A little nerdy, but nerdy hot. On paper this is the boy that qualifies the best for position of Boyfriend.

  I do my own geeky face and say, “Of course, Sean. Of course, I will.”

  . . . . .

  My parents come back a little early, interrupting my plan to show Sean how soft my bed is.

  Dad and Sean get a fire started in the family room and sit, enjoying the fruits of their labor. Sean’s only been my boyfriend a few hours and he’s already stepped to the first task, talking about particles and molecules with Dad. That brief stint as a physics major is paying off.

  Mom and I are in the kitchen making coffee.

  “I like this boy,” she tells me pouring cream into Dad’s mug.

  “Me, too,” I tell her dumping sugar into my cup.

  She reaches for a spoon in the drawer behind us. “Fairfield isn’t far from home and it’s a good school.”

  I shoot her an I-don’t-want-to-talk-about-this look.