“Yes,” I whispered.
He kissed me one more time before turning to leave. In the doorway he looked back, hooded in silver shadows. “Lucy?”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
I love you. I LOVE YOU. HE LOVED ME. I’d always known he did. It was all I had ever wanted to hear him say.
“I love you, too, Stephen.” Finally, I could say it.
After he left I curled up on my new mattress in my new apartment. Happiness flooded me. I had the feeling that nothing would ever be the same.
42
STEPHEN
JUNE 2014
She sat on a wooden bench in Washington Square Park, her head tilted toward the pages of a book. The sky was still robin’s-egg blue even though it was a quarter to seven and most people had left work for the day. A clashing combination of yuppies, students, hipsters, and homeless people populated the scene. Washington Square Park is overcrowded as far as New York City parks go, but it was right by NYU and close to the spa in SoHo where Alice had just gotten a postwork facial.
Alice’s hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail that made her brown roots extra visible, her skin appeared slightly blotchy from her facial, and she wore a tank top that made her arms look chubbier than they might have in another shirt. I wondered if she would’ve put more effort into her appearance—and perhaps rescheduled the facial—had she known the reason behind this meeting.
I hadn’t wanted to do it in the apartment; outside was cleaner, more final, there was less room for misinterpretation. I studied her from afar and reaffirmed my decision. I couldn’t take it anymore; waiting until the end of July was not an option.
When Alice looked up and saw me, she waved and shifted to make room on the bench. She kissed me hello and, out of habit, I kissed her back easily, the way we always did. It occurred to me that we would probably never kiss again.
“It’s so nice out.” She closed her book and smiled, glancing ahead at the fountain and a group of kids splashing in the shallow water around it. “Summer just changes everything in this city.”
I attempted to smile back but ended up gritting my teeth, something I’d been doing a lot lately. I just wanted to get this over with.
“My facial was fantastic,” she trilled, even though I hadn’t asked. “Just what I needed.”
“Good. Good.” I said it twice, accidentally.
“I missed you today, baby.” Alice placed her hand on my leg.
Rip the Band-Aid.
I removed her hand and placed it on her side of the bench. She frowned.
Next to us a cluster of homeless guys were stretching out their dirty blankets over a patch of grass. A foul stench filled my nostrils.
Alice swatted her hand back and forth in front of her nose. “Maybe we should go get a drink somewhere, babe. B Bar and sit on the patio?”
I studied the details of her face. Her dark, almond-shaped eyes, her rounded chin.
“Alice,” I said carefully. “We need to talk.”
“Talk? Why? What’s going on?” The color—red splotches and all—drained from her face.
“I haven’t been happy lately, in this relationship. I feel that I need to move on.”
The words stuck between us. Alice’s expression told me that they might have come out a bit too harshly. A wet gloss sealed her eyes; they already looked red around the rims, as though she hadn’t been sleeping well. Her voice was squeaky when she spoke.
“What?”
“I’m sorry. This isn’t what I want. I am sorry.”
I watched her collapse, heaving forward like she’d been hit in the gut. When she picked her head up so many tears covered her face that it might’ve scared me if I hadn’t seen girls cry that way too many times before.
I suddenly felt so incredibly exhausted; I couldn’t wait to have some Scotch on the train to Long Island and pass out. I’d already packed some clothes and my laptop and a fifth of Dewar’s in my backpack, and my father was expecting me. I’d crash there and move the rest of my stuff out over the weekend. Commuting would suck, but I could always crash at Luke’s or Carl’s or probably Lucy’s if I needed to.
“Why are you doing this?” Alice’s voice was desperate, rattled. “Do you even realize what you’re saying?”
“Yeah, Al, this is something I’ve been thinking about for a while. I mean, things haven’t been great.”
“We’re having problems, sure, but you can’t just give up like this. We live together. We love each other. You don’t know what you’re saying. Did you sleep with someone else? Is that what this is about?” She was practically yelling.
“No. Jesus. Keep your voice down.”
“Keep my voice down? Is that why you brought me here? So I wouldn’t make a scene in a public place? You’re a piece of shit.”
Another wave of tears dispensed; the endless, endless flood. I rubbed her back. It seemed like a decent gesture.
“Please don’t do this,” she said, choking on her words. “Please. We can work on things. Whatever I’m doing, I can fix it. We can fix this.”
I sank my head down and stared at the overgrown blades of grass between my flip-flops. The problem with girls is that they always think there is something they can do to “fix it,” and there never is. The end is just the end; it doesn’t mean anything and it isn’t necessarily the result of something. It isn’t a decision so much as a natural alteration. Change is instinctual.
“You fucked that girl, didn’t you? Lucy Whatsherface. The one who’s always texting you.”
“No. I’ve never cheated on you. I told you, she’s a girl from school who I exchange notes with.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re not friends with anyone named Lucy on Facebook.”
“Maybe she isn’t on Facebook!” I shouted, even though Lucy was on it, she’d just unfriended me at some point over the contentious years. “Jesus, Alice. You’re acting crazy.”
“I’m acting crazy? You’re so messed up, and the sad part is you can’t even see it.”
Frustration seized me. I had known Alice would try and make me feel like a heartless bastard, just like Jenna and Diana had. Just like Lucy did, when she felt like it. I racked my brain for the right response.
“Alice, it’s not fair for you to be with someone who isn’t fully there for you. You deserve more than that, much more. I’m so sorry for the pain I’m causing you, but I know that soon you’ll see this is the right thing.” This made her cry harder. She sobbed into my shoulder.
We sat on the bench for another hour or maybe it was two, until the sun had dipped below the west side and the crowds in Washington Square Park began to disperse.
Alice and I had a slightly different version of the same conversation about ten times. I wished for once in my goddamn life I could’ve cried to help prove her heartless-bastard theory wrong, but as usual, the ducts remained dry.
I pulled a handwritten letter out of my pocket. It was Diana who taught me the efficacy of handwritten letters, and I thank her for that because they work like magical charms.
“It’s hard for me to say everything I’m feeling in words.” I handed her the folded note.
Tears slipped off Alice’s cheeks in thick streams. I didn’t think it was possible for her eyes to produce more liquid. Passersby in the park were sort of staring at us: the hysterically sobbing girl and the dry-eyed prick next to her.
“I think you should read it after I leave,” I said.
“I bet you already have your stuff packed, don’t you?” She looked up at me, her face pink and swollen.
“I packed a backpack. I’m going to stay in Bayville for a while.”
“I can’t believe any of this,” she moaned. “I don’t understand how you’re not more upset.”
“I am upset.”
“Not like I am. Your fucking heart isn’t breaking.” Her bottom lip quivered. I decided I had to get out of there. It had been over two hours of this and I was starting to feel unbearably ten
se.
“Just read the letter,” I said. “I’ll be back in a few days to get the rest of my stuff and we can talk some more then, if you want. I do have to go now. I need to make the train.”
Alice wouldn’t look at me, and she didn’t budge when I tried to hug her goodbye, so I ended up putting an arm around her awkwardly while she stared into her lap.
I walked through the giant arch at the north end of the park and headed west, my shoes slamming the dirty cement sidewalk. I was angry. It was naive of Alice to act like she hadn’t seen any of this coming, to assume that I’d be there for her indefinitely like some loyal pet. She’d looked at me the way the girls before her had looked at me: broken and defeated at my departure, as though their lives would be forever changed. What they all failed to understand and what aggravated me the most was that none of it had been my fault. That kind of pain was the risk for choosing to rely on another person, and reliance is always a choice.
A bearded man handing out Christianity flyers practically mounted me on the street and I shooed him away. Fucking Jesus chasers. I suddenly didn’t feel at all like catching the subway to Penn and going out to Bayville to spend the night at my dad’s. He would just pester me with questions about the breakup, and the last thing I wanted to do was spend another second talking about any of this.
I turned around at the corner of Waverly and Sixth Avenue, now positive where I was headed. I pulled out my cell and texted my father.
STEPHEN: Too much work tonight. Need to crash at a friend’s. Be home tomorrow.
I stopped at a grocery store and got what I needed. I quickened my pace, continuing east and then south until I reached the corner of Third Street and Avenue B. I rang the doorbell to apartment 4C. She buzzed me up and appeared to be alone when she opened the door.
Her hair was longer than I remembered it being two weeks ago. It fell loose past her bare shoulders, the ends silky and uneven. Her skin was sun-kissed from several weekends at the beach, and her blue-gray eyes popped arrestingly from her face. In a white tank top and cut-off Levi’s she was more perfect than I’d remembered, even though it had been only a couple of weeks ago that I’d seen her out in Sagaponack at her birthday party. I’d tried hard to fuck her again, and succeeded for about three thrusts before she made me stop and said No. No more. Not until you’re out of that apartment.
Well, I’m out of that apartment, honey.
“What are you doing here, Stephen?” Her eyes searched my face.
“Can I come in?”
Lucy hesitated before opening the door all the way. It clicked shut behind me.
“Where’s Bree?”
“In San Francisco for work.”
“Oh. Then you’re here all alone?”
“Stephen, what do you want?” I recognized her quintessential annoyed-but-intrigued tone of voice. She backed into the kitchen and leaned her elbow against the black marble counter. There was a candle burning on the coffee table that made the apartment smell delicious, like vanilla and patchouli.
I set down the bag of groceries I’d just purchased and shrugged. “I bought shrimp and bok choy and white wine. I want to make you dinner, if you’ll let me.”
Her eyes grew large; I could almost see through them into the patterns running wildly inside her brain.
“We talked about this,” she said. “I know we hooked up the other week but I told you in Sagaponack, I want to wait until you move out. I mean it. It’s too complicated for me otherwise, can’t you—”
“It’s over, Lucy.”
“What?”
“I told Alice. I couldn’t handle it for another second. Remember when I told you I loved you? Well, I meant it. I’m going to move back to Bayville and commute until I can find a new place. And I thought maybe I could stay here every now and then . . . if that would be all right with you.”
I watched the news and the second I love you melt into her spongy heart and she nodded, a smile creeping into the corners of her perfect mouth. I was growing hard inside my khakis and had the feeling we wouldn’t get around to cooking the shrimp and bok choy until later.
I pulled her in close, interlacing my hands around the small of her back.
“That’s why I’m here,” I said softly. “It’s just you and me now, Luce. And I want it to work, for real this time.”
43
LUCY
AUGUST 2014
Stephen pressed his foot to the gas and the Ford Explorer accelerated down Montauk Highway. It was the second to last weekend of August and the Hamptons were in their prime. Crowded but still magical, especially during the golden hour around seven. The green cornfields stretched into the distance as the fading light danced on the tips of the stalks, signaling the end of another flawless summer day.
From the driver’s seat, Stephen reached his hand over and squeezed my thigh. After two and a half months of having him fully back in my life, I was still in awe of reality, still astounded by the simplest moments with him. It was as good as it had ever been.
The wind whipped my hair. I wore a white sundress of Georgia’s that I’d snagged from her closet the previous weekend, when I’d been home for the first time since June. I remembered the day Georgia got the dress, because CJ had bought me the same one in navy. It was the summer before I went to Baird, and CJ had taken us to the sidewalk sales in Cold Spring Harbor. I tried not to think about CJ; it only reminded me of the crushing guilt lodged in my gut.
She and my dad had called the night before while I was packing for the weekend, with the news that Hickory was dying. Fifteen was old for a Labrador, and her hind legs had been shot since early spring. For months CJ or my dad would prop her legs up with a sheet—a makeshift harness—and help her stumble outside to use the bathroom. But lately Hickory hadn’t been getting through the night without making a mess on her bed. She’d stopped eating. She could barely drink water.
“Her front legs are gone now, too,” my dad had explained on the phone. “She can’t move. This isn’t a way of life for her. She’s suffering.”
They’d decided to put her to sleep, he said, and the only appointment the vet had was on Saturday afternoon. My parents were going to Bermuda the following week; it couldn’t be put off any longer. Hickory’s death had become something that had to fit into my parents’ schedule.
“Come home this weekend, Sass,” my dad had said. “We’ll all be here together with Hick. She needs us. Georgia Peach is taking the train down from Boston.”
I heard my father’s voice through the phone but didn’t believe what he was saying. I examined the outfit I’d spread out on my bed for Friday night: a cherry-red Reformation dress with side cutouts and an open back. With the beige wedges or gold flats? If I wore the wedges I’d only be two inches shorter than Stephen.
“Lucy?” My dad sounded tired. I pictured CJ next to him on the floor of the kitchen curled into Hickory, her eyes bloodshot from crying, her face pressed into Hick’s warm sand-colored coat as she begged our dog’s forgiveness and understanding.
I remembered the autumn day we got Hickory with crystal clarity. I was seven, Georgia was eight, and CJ had driven us all the way to a farm in Amagansett where a litter of yellow Labs had been born. My father was at work. He’d grown up with yellow Labs and CJ wanted to surprise him.
The puppies were eight weeks old and there were nine of them. They were huddled together in a wooden whelping box in a big barn that smelled like fresh hay. CJ said we could choose whichever puppy we wanted. Georgia and I wanted a girl, of course, and we picked the smallest one, the tiniest ball of pale yellow fur. On the way home Georgia and I sat in the back seat and held her between us on our laps. I remembered the way she nuzzled our faces with her wet nose, and the way she smelled, warm and milky. My seven-year-old self had decided that her name should be Hickory, after the hickory tree that Georgia and I loved to climb in our backyard. Georgia, always the affable big sister, didn’t object.
A colossal hole filled me. Hickory was going to die.
The vet was going to come to our house and inject her with poison that would stop her heart. I had to be there. Not seeing Hickory one last time was not a choice.
But this weekend—why did it have to be this weekend? The weekend I was supposed to go to dinner at Stephen’s grandfather’s house in Westhampton, where I would meet his extended family for the first time. He’d invited me almost a month ago. I couldn’t not go.
The decision was already made up in my mind; it decided itself. I pressed the phone to my ear and tried to avoid thinking of Hickory, constant and loyal on the front stoop; I tried not to feel the depth of a near lifetime with her.
“I can’t, Dad,” I said into the phone. “It’ll just be too sad. I think it’ll be better if I’m not there.” The sound of my own lie disgusted me.
“Don’t you want a break from the Hamptons? You’ve had a nonstop summer.”
“Not really. It’s been fun.”
“Lucy.” There was a tremor of frustration in my father’s voice. He almost never got mad. “This is Hickory. Think about it. There’s a lot of healing in being able to say goodbye.”
I agreed to think about it, even though I knew I would call after work the next day and say that I hadn’t changed my mind, that I thought it would be better to remember a buoyant, lively Hickory instead of watching her die, old and suffering.
A few days later, Stephen and I were driving toward Westhampton from Lydia’s grandparents’ house in Sagaponack, where we’d spent Friday night.
Lydia didn’t have a problem with Stephen. Neither did Bree—not the way Jackie did.
“Weigh the consequences,” Bree had said when I first told her I was seeing Stephen again.
“I have. He makes me happy.”
“Then do what makes you happy. I don’t have an issue with him. I mean, he’s kind of a dick, but he’s funny.”
Unlike me, Bree was generally pragmatic when it came to emotions. Her advice was helpful, a dose of realism from the other side. She didn’t mind when Stephen hung around our apartment. Unlike Jackie, she actually made an effort to be his friend.
Tell Me Lies Page 33
