by Jill Knapp
“Well, I could use a smoke,” Olivia said to Alex, attempting to break the tension. “Care to join me?” She could tell I was getting annoyed by him and gave me a small smile. He nodded and stood up, motioning for her to walk in front of him. As obnoxious as he was, he had good manners. I was relieved to have the questions stop, and also to be alone with Michael. I noticed once again how well put together he looked and wondered how he looked when at home, alone, with no one to impress.
“Hey, listen sorry I skipped out last night with just a note,” he leaned closer over the table.
His cologne smelled very masculine, like deep sandalwood and a touch of something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on. He leaned back in his chair and laughed. “It’s just that, you looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Yeah, um, don’t worry about it,” I muttered nervously. I tucked a stray curl behind my ear and sat up a little straighter. “I’m just embarrassed I fell asleep!”
I was definitely more disappointed than embarrassed, having wasted my time with him unconscious. After I ran into him on the street two nights ago, Michael had come back to my apartment to talk. After opening a bottle of Pinot and pouring us both two oversized glasses, I asked him what was bothering him.
“I’d actually rather not discuss it,” he said. “Is it alright if we just sit here?”
I wasn’t quite sure what to say. Our reason for being at my place alone was gone, and I felt even more awkward than before.
“Yeah, sure,” I replied, noticeably confused by the request. “Anything to help.”
The night was, as I told the girls, uneventful. After we finished the wine, we sat and talked about school, applying for internships, and what our lives were like before we moved to New York. Apparently I had been so exhausted that I fell asleep on the couch while we were watching The Daily Show.
I woke up the next morning, still on the couch, with a throw blanket around me and a note on the coffee table that read, “Thanks for the company, see you in class.”
My assumption was right, that Michael had left right after I fell asleep. I looked around and noticed the bar was emptying out. Now this was more like it, no fighting over the bartenders tonight.
“So, um, how’s Marge doing?” I asked, and then immediately regretted the words.
He seemed a little taken back by the question. The only information I had on Michael’s girlfriend was her name, and the fact that she was two years younger. Since she was still in college, a senior at Arizona State, they only saw each other once every month or two.
“She’s doing fine. I spoke to her earlier today on the phone, but it’s not the same,” he said. “Long-distance relationships are hard. Even harder when you’re older. I mean, I’m not an undergrad any more.”
I looked at him surprised. I wasn’t expecting such a detailed answer.
“Anyway, isn’t your birthday coming up? Twenty-three right? Getting old,” he said playfully, obviously changing the subject.
I played along.
“Yeah, next week,” I mumbled. “Don’t remind me.”
“Ha, not a birthday person?” he asked, looking amused, and gave me a poke on the shoulder.
“No, actually I’m not. Does it matter?” I answered, now laughing myself. “You’re all going to make me do something lame anyway!”
“No way! We’re going to have fun,” he motioned to the bartender.
I cocked my head to the side and said, “Michael, every time you say we’re going to have fun, we end up drunk, completely broke, and lost in neighborhoods no one should ever be lost in.”
“Yes, Amalia,” he smiled at me, flashing every one of his perfectly straight teeth. “That is how I define fun.”
Chapter 6
It’s my birthday, and I’ll do what I want to
I looked around Cassandra’s spacious two-bedroom apartment crowded with about twenty of my closest friends. The place was filled with pink and white balloons, plastic martini glasses, and paper decorations including a custom banner that read “Happy Birthday Amalia!”
I thought back to when she and Nicholas had asked me what I wanted to do for my birthday when we were hanging out last week.
“Just a dinner with the two of you, Olivia, and Christina,” I replied. “Nothing too fancy, maybe Max Brenner? Or even somewhere in Little Italy would be perfect. You know, something simple.”
My input, however, had been clearly ignored. Lured to Cassie’s place under the false pretenses of going to said “low key” dinner, I nearly had a heart attack when the energetic guests of my clandestinely planned surprise party jumped out at me.
“Surprise!” everyone yelled in unison.
“What the hell! The two of you are in so much trouble!” I said as I caught my breath. I leaned over the couch, pretending they had given me a heart attack.
“Were you surprised, honey?” Nicholas asked with a sinister smirk on his face.
“Yeah, I mean I thought we were having a small, intimate dinner?”
He leaned in for a kiss and I turned away, playfully pretending to be too annoyed for affection. A few seconds later, I was bombarded with drink offers and birthday wishes.
“Happy Birthday, Hastings,” said Alex as he handed me a glass of champagne.
“Twenty-three!” Olivia enthusiastically threw her arms around me. “It’s about time!”
Since my birthday was at the beginning of October, I was the last of my friends to have a birthday this year. I had been teased by friends for being the youngest essentially my whole life.
“The food is delicious, by the way. I got that vegetarian place Blossom to cater. Great turn-out too; everyone is here,” Olivia said, smiling brightly.
Her eyes were wide and covered in gray glitter eye-shadow.
“I could use some of that food,” I muttered, scanning the room for sustenance.
“Right this way!” she said, leading me by the hand.
I numbly followed Olivia as she led me through Cassandra’s apartment. I swallowed hard and smiled, trying my best to hide the anxiety that this surprise birthday party was causing me. On the way to the kitchen, I quickly scanned the room to see if indeed everyone was here. I saw my one roommate, Christina, in the corner talking to some girl I had never met. Cassandra was on the living room couch kissing her new boyfriend, Bryce. Alex, check. Olivia, check. Nicholas, check. I even recognized a few people from class Olivia must have told Cassandra to invite. Everyone was in fact accounted for; everyone other than Michael.
I swallowed my champagne and grabbed another. I might as well make the best of this situation.
As the night went on, my friends became progressively drunk, which unfortunately included Nicholas. Out of nowhere, he decided now would be a perfect time to discuss my summer trip to Brazil.
“I just don’t understand why you feel the need to leave the country for two months,” he said in a tone I had only heard him use once before.
During the first year of our relationship, his mother passed away during a family weekend in college. It was quick and without warning. She was hit by a drunk driver while crossing the street in downtown New Brunswick, where Rutgers was. Neither of us saw this, but I’ll never forget the acidic taste that filled my mouth that Tuesday afternoon when Nick got a call from Robert Wood Johnson hospital. By the time we got there, it was too late to say our goodbyes. His mom died in the ambulance during transport. For the next few months, Nick was cold to me. The more I tried to support and be there for him, the more he’d pull away. I found myself chasing after what we’d had, desperately clinging to those first nine months together when he thought I was perfect. It took about six more months of me putting up with his callous demeanor until he finally started to come around and act like the guy I knew and loved. He apologized for the way he’d treated me, and I forgave him instantly. I didn’t know what it was like to lose a parent, and couldn’t have understood what he was going through.
But now, as I stood
here in Cassandra’s apartment I felt sick, like I had eaten something bad. My eyes filled up with tears and I quickly turned my face away from the crowd. If Nick was capable of acting the way he did when his mother died, it’s possible that darkness was something that was inside of him, and could crawl out at any moment.
He dragged me into Cassandra’s bedroom, saying we needed to talk more. I felt my heart sink into my stomach, and found myself wishing I hadn’t drank that second glass of champagne. I closed the door to Cassandra’s bedroom and immediately began speaking.
“Baby, it’s not that long,” I pleaded with him.
I shook my head and gave him a weary smile. Anxious to end this argument, I softly took his hands in mine and looked right into his eyes.
“Besides, you’ll be starting an internship around the time I leave,” I said, trying to ease the blow. “You’ll be so busy by the time summer comes along, we’d barely have time to see each other in the first place. That’s why I picked those two months to be there.”
It was true, Nicholas had applied for an internship at Clear Channel in an attempt to find a new job. He would be interning three days a week, without pay, on top of his current workload at his present job. I thought it would be a perfect time for him to get his life together. Just as I thought I was getting through to him, he shook his head, jerked his hands out of my grasp, and started to pace across the room.
“I just expected you to be there for me while I was starting a new position. I’m going to be extremely stressed with all of the new responsibility and it would be nice to be able to come home to my girlfriend, who should be taking care of me,” he was practically shouting now. “Not running off to fulfill some ridiculous fantasy to travel the world.”
I stood there, stunned. Nicholas had a few drinks in him but I couldn’t imagine the alcohol could provoke such a hateful and selfish statement. His eyes, which were normally wide and welcoming, were narrowed. I searched for the words to address this situation calmly.
“Where is this coming from? You’ve known about this trip for a while now. Nicholas, I think you should take a step back and listen to what you are saying to me. I am not running off to fulfill any sort of fantasy. What you’re saying to me is a little selfish.”
I walked over to him and gave him a hug. He stood there still, arms defiantly pressed against his own body.
“Now why don’t we just go back outside and join the rest of the party; people are probably wondering where I am. We can talk about this tomorrow, I promise.”
“All right, Amalia, whatever you want,” he uttered dryly. Nicholas never called me by my name. The formality of it made him seem cold and detached, like a scolding grammar-school teacher. It made me a little nervous.
“So will you come back to the party with me, then?” I asked, hopeful we could still salvage the evening.
Without answering me, Nicholas walked out of the bedroom and made a beeline for the living room.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
He grabbed his jacket off the couch and turned to me and said, “I’m going home. Have a wonderful evening.”
Before I could open my mouth to answer, he had slammed the door and left. Thankfully the music and chatter was too loud for anyone to have witnessed his temper tantrum. Feeling like I could hardly stand, I sat down on the couch, stunned by the events that had just transpired. This was officially the worst birthday in a very long time. I tried to cry, but nothing came.
After a few minutes of sitting and staring at Cassandra’s deep-brown, hardwood floor, I walked back into Cassandra’s bedroom and retrieved my cell phone from my purse. In much need of cheering up, I was hoping for a message from Michael, but there was nothing. Fueled by my accelerating anger and two glasses of cheap champagne, I scrolled down my address book, found his name, and hit dial. I felt the need to know, no, demand, where he was and what was so important he couldn’t at the very least stop by for an hour or two. After all, the rule usually is that on your birthday, you can do whatever you want. You can drink until you vomit, you can have sex with a stranger, hell you can put on a wig and call yourself by a different name if you so fancy, so what was wrong with a harmless phone call?
The phone rang three times before I heard, “You’ve reached the voicemail of Michael Rathbourne. Leave a message at the—”
I didn’t even let the pre-recorded version of him finish before throwing my phone down onto Cassandra’s bed and starting to tear up. I sat on the bed for a few minutes longer and wondering if anyone would notice I was gone, and would come looking for me. No one did. Five minutes later, still sitting on Cassandra’s bed, I felt my phone vibrating. A text message from Michael. Finally, I thought, he’s probably on his way.
I opened the message. “Sorry I couldn’t make it, have a drink for me!”
I read the message again, sure that I was mistaken. That’s it? He didn’t even wish me Happy Birthday. The tears were starting to fall harder and I decided it was time to go home. I crept out of Cassandra’s bedroom, grabbed an unopened bottle of wine from the kitchen, and when no one was looking in my direction, slipped through the front door.
Chapter 7
It’s too late honey, and it’s too bad
For the three days, Nicholas barely spoke to me. After our fight at my surprise-party-gone-awry, I hadn’t been getting much sleep. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was really wrong. The fact was, Nicholas and I never fought, and I didn’t know how to handle it. I hadn’t seen him since he stormed out of Cassandra’s apartment, and our last few phone conversations had been brief and monotonous. His usual “good night” phone call, in which we recapped our entire days to each other, had been replaced with a quick text message, or nothing at all. Although he wasn’t blatantly ignoring me, the usual amount of effort he put into grooming our relationship had fallen short. Very short. It wasn’t until this afternoon when I was in anatomy class that I finally received a text message from Nick, asking me if I could come over to his apartment afterwards.
When I had gotten to class earlier that day, I had made a concerted effort to ignore Michael, positioning myself on the other side of the auditorium-sized classroom. Sure, I was being juvenile, but I was still hurt from his absence at my party. I used to feel so safe and comfortable with my life.
Thoughts of Nicholas flooded my head, making concentration on the lecture extremely difficult. I glanced at my watch and realized class was almost over. I couldn’t wait to see him.
When the professor said, “Until next week, class,” I knew I was in the clear to dart out of the classroom.
I quickly headed outside and hailed a cab to Nicholas’s apartment. Much to my happiness, a cab pulled up immediately.
“Where to, missy?” the driver said, through a thick accent.
“10th Street and Avenue A!” I spat out.
Since I was in the Washington Square area, I probably could have walked to the Lower East Side, but I was too anxious to see Nicholas and to put this whole fight behind us. A short cab ride later, I was outside Nick’s apartment. I feverishly hit the buzzer three times until the door unlocked. I threw open the heavy front door, ran up the four flights of stairs, and burst through his door. Ready to be greeted by a hug and an apology, I was disappointed to see Nicholas sitting on his bed, making no effort to even stand up and give me a proper greeting. Warm beads of sweat rolled down my back as my paranoia accelerated.
Feeling defeated, I slowly closed the door behind me and cautiously made my way over to him, careful not to make any sudden movement.
“Hey,” I said, tiptoeing toward him. “Baby, are you okay?”
Upon closer inspection, Nicholas looked upset, as if he had been crying. He was dressed down even more than usual, wearing nothing but a plain white undershirt and baggy gray sweatpants, which he usually reserved for times when he was too sick to dress himself. A wave of horror flooded over me. Something was really wrong.
“Listen,” he started.
&nbs
p; I braced myself for the bad news.
My mind flooded with a thousand possibilities. Had he gotten fired? Had someone in his family taken ill? Was he being evicted? I sat next to him on the floor and placed my hands on his knees.
“What is it, Nick?” I asked. I folded my hands behind my back, after realizing I had been anxiously peeking at my cuticles for a few minutes.
He still wouldn’t look at me. His brown hair hung over his gorgeous eyes, making it impossible for me to feel connected. I cautiously lifted up my right hand and pushed a few strands of hair out of his face.
Without even looking up to meet my gaze he said, “I can’t be with you.”
The air went out of the room, as though a huge force had hit me in the chest. My head started to spin and I felt more fear than I had ever felt before.
Can’t be with me?
I shook my head and squinted. “What do you mean?” I asked, unable to speak louder than a whisper.
Still not looking at me, he unleashed his well-prepared speech.
“I don’t know what happened, Amalia, but I just don’t feel it anymore.”
His words sounded so cold and formal, he couldn’t have been talking about us like that, not with such emptiness and detachment. He finally lifted his head up, but still refused to look me in the eyes. Anger momentarily replaced my sadness, and with it came a warm pressure behind my eyes that made its way down to my chest. My head was suddenly killing me and I was having a hard time concentrating. I couldn’t recall a time I had ever felt this angry with him. I wanted to tell him what a coward he was being, but I couldn’t form the words.
“You were all I ever wanted, for so long. I even remember what you were wearing the first day I met you,” he said in a breathy voice. “But I don’t feel like that person anymore. I don’t feel like that guy you met back in college. And I think, no I know, I need time alone to figure out what I want out of life.”
Heavy flows of tears streamed down my face. How could this be happening?
