The Girl He Used to Know

by Tracey Garvis Graves

  “My friend Nate—he’s the one I told you about that got divorced recently. He’s got a new girlfriend and asked if you and I wanted to meet them for dinner.”

  “You want me to go to dinner with you and your friends?”

  “Sure.”

  The only double dates I’d ever been on were with Janice and whoever she was seeing at the time, and with Ryan’s best friend and his alcoholic wife. I had enjoyed double dating with Janice, more so after she finally dumped Joe and started dating a cute guy from one of her classes, but hadn’t enjoyed it at all when Ryan and I had done it. But in the end, I’d discovered I really didn’t like Ryan either. I liked Jonathan, so maybe I’d like his friend, too. And he wanted me to come! That had to count for something.

  “That would be okay with me.”

  “I’ll set something up. Will Saturday work for you?”

  “Sure. I don’t have any plans.”

  “I imagine you don’t get to see Janice as often as you used to, but do you have other people to do things with?”

  “Not really.” I hated admitting to Jonathan that I still had difficulty in this area.

  “There are probably a few people you get together with, aren’t there?”

  “I don’t have a lot of friends.”

  “What about your coworkers?”

  “Audrey doesn’t like me. There’s another girl—her name’s Stacy. She seems nice, but whenever I try to talk to her, she usually ends up walking away.” And I never have any clue why, other than whatever I said must have come out wrong. When I was younger, I preferred the company of boys over girls. They usually said what they meant. My role as someone’s girlfriend seemed clearer somehow, and I mostly understood how it worked. But being a friend to someone vexed me. All my life, despite my good intentions, I’d always done it wrong. Women said so many things, often to my face, that I’d later learn they didn’t mean. In some cases, they meant the complete opposite. They were rude when I was able to keep up, and nice when I seemed lost.

  Keeping to myself, where I knew what to expect, was often much easier.

  “Are you lonely?” Jonathan asks.

  How could I tell him that my loneliness was crushing? How it felt awful to be lonely but not know how to reach out to people and fill the time I always had too much of? It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy being alone, because I did, and could spend hours on solitary endeavors like reading or going for long walks without ever wishing for human companionship. I could visit the animals at the shelter or write another play for the children to perform. But sometimes I craved the presence of someone else, especially if I could be myself. A single father lived in my apartment building and occasionally, when he had his six-year-old daughter for the weekend and something unexpected happened that required his presence elsewhere, I would watch her. I relished it immensely and secretly wished he needed me to watch her more. The last time she was here, we spent two hours making paper dolls, and it was one of the most satisfying afternoons I’d had in a long time.

  Shortly after Ryan and I broke up, I returned to the solitude I normally enjoyed, appreciating the simplicity of my life because I no longer had to walk on eggshells around a man. But now that time had passed, the loneliness had started reappearing like a growing tidal wave in the distance. I could feel it building and when it finally reached me, I would spend the rest of the day or night restless and fighting tears. It would eventually pass, but the episodes were becoming more frequent. I tried to fill my days with more social interaction, but that only left me feeling overwhelmed and exhausted. A personal connection with someone was what I craved the most. Someone who understood my needs and was willing to speak my language.

  Someone like Jonathan.

  I avert my eyes as I answer him. “I don’t mind spending time alone, but sometimes I do get very lonely.”

  Jonathan leans over and puts his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close as I fight back tears. “Not everyone can look past their own hang-ups to see what I see. It’s their loss.”

  When Jonathan said things like that, it propped me up and took away a little of the sting from the people who’d tried to tear me down or make me feel like a second-class citizen because I viewed things differently than they did. Ten years ago, I might not have been clear on what Jonathan was saying, but that had changed. Tina had taught me that it was important to surround myself with people who understood me. People who were secure about their own place in the world. It wasn’t always easy to identify who those people were, but I was much better at it now than I had been in the past.

  Around nine, Jonathan tells me he’d better get back to work. I yawn because now I’m really tired. I would never make it if I had to work late as often as Jonathan did.

  “Want me to tuck you in before I head back to work?”

  “Does that mean sex?” I blurt it out without thinking.

  He laughs. “Well, that would be a fantastic send-off, but I really do have to get back.”

  My face flames, and I hang my head. I thought for sure I’d gotten it right. “I’m so embarrassed.”

  “You shouldn’t be. You seemed awfully open to the possibility.”

  When we reach the doorway, he slides his hand behind my head and places a gentle kiss on my mouth. Then he presses me up against the wall and kisses me again, harder this time. No one else’s kisses have ever affected me the way Jonathan’s do. There is a gentleness about them that makes me feel safe, but there is something else now, an urgency. He twists his fingers in my hair, and we kiss for a while. I’m breathless when we finish.

  “Ryan wasn’t a very good kisser. Neither was Monte. Not like you.”

  Jonathan smiles like what I said made him happy.

  “What did it mean?” I ask. I don’t want to get my hopes up, because maybe the kiss doesn’t mean anything.

  “It means I’ve missed you. It means I’ve been waiting a long time to do that.”

  “Are we still going slow?”

  He looks into my eyes and I hold his gaze for as long as I’m able before looking down at the floor. “I don’t know. Maybe I don’t want to go slow anymore.”

  “I’ll be thinking about that kiss for the rest of the night,” I say.

  “Me too,” he says, and then I lock the door behind him.

  20

  Annika

  THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS

  AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN

  1991

  Several volunteers were huddled together talking when I arrived for my shift at the wildlife clinic. Sue was standing with them. “Hey, Annika. Can I talk to you?”

  “Hi, Sue. I can only talk for a second because I want to check on Charlie.” They’d removed the opossum’s splint and had started planning for his release back into the wild. I’d become very attached and would miss him horribly.

  Sue laid her hand on my arm, which didn’t really bother me because I liked her and she only left it there briefly. “I’m so sorry, but Charlie died. He got sick overnight, very rapidly. I know he was special to you.”

  I couldn’t stay there, could not bear the thought of such a tiny living thing suffering the way Charlie must have before he died. I turned on my heel and ran out the door into the cold evening air. Had Charlie taken his last breaths in his cage, or had someone been holding him? I hadn’t thought to ask Sue these questions, and they haunted me now. I pictured his injured arm in its tiny little sling, and I burst into tears.

  It was the only time in four years that I flaked on one of my shifts.

  * * *

  “Annika?” Janice said. “Jonathan’s here. I called him. Is it okay if he comes in?”

  I didn’t answer her. I couldn’t. I was lying on my side facing the wall, but I was under the covers, and I’d pulled them partially over my head.

  The bed dipped a little, and I knew he’d sat down next to me. I felt his hand on my shoulder. “Hey. Is there anything I can do?”

  I wanted to answer him, but I’d shut down and could alread
y feel the pull of sleep and wanted nothing more than for it to take me away. My mom told me that the day she and my dad yanked me out of school midway through seventh grade I slept for almost seventeen hours straight. Sleep was my self-preservation tactic in response to pain. Jonathan said my name again and so did Janice, but I didn’t say anything at all, and sleep took me.

  * * *

  It was pitch-dark in my room when I woke up, and the clock said five thirty. Desperately thirsty after sleeping all the way through until morning, I walked to the kitchen and filled a glass at the sink after making a quick stop in the bathroom. My stomach growled, and I reached into the cupboard for some crackers. Then I remembered that Charlie had died and the crackers got stuck in my throat when I tried to swallow.

  I headed back to my room intending to read until it was time to get ready for class and stopped short as I passed through the living room. Jonathan was asleep on the couch, fully dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, and though I had no idea why he was there, I was happy to see him.

  I stretched out alongside his body, and he stirred. “You’re still here,” I said.

  “I could tell you wanted to be alone, but I wanted to make sure you were okay when you woke up.” He wrapped me sleepily in his arms, and I pressed my face to his chest.

  “I don’t like it when tiny living things die. It hurts my heart.”

  He stroked my hair. That was another thing I’d discovered about Jonathan. There wasn’t any kind of touch from him that I didn’t like, and it was as calming to me as I hoped mine had been to Charlie. We lay on the couch and he held me as the sun rose and filled the room with light.

  “I miss Charlie.”

  Jonathan kissed the top of my head. “I know.”

  21

  Annika

  THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS

  AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN

  1991

  I was from a town called Downers Grove and Jonathan lived in Waukegan, about fifty miles to the north. Jonathan drove us home for winter break the day after we took our last finals. We had celebrated the end of the semester the night before by going out for pizza and beer with Janice and Joe. It had gone better than I thought it would. The pizza place Janice suggested was off campus and catered mostly to families with young children, and I found it to be a huge improvement compared to the noisy, student-filled choices closer to campus. Jonathan and Joe got along really well, which Janice said was likely due to Jonathan’s ability to blend in with just about anyone and also the number of beers Joe drank.

  “Come over here,” Jonathan said as he merged onto I-57 to begin the two-hour drive to my house. The pickup truck had a bench seat, and it was just like the movies I’d watched where the guy wanted his girl to scoot over to the middle so he could put his arm around her, which is exactly what Jonathan did after he told me to fasten the center seat belt. I laid my head on his shoulder and every now and then he would give me a little squeeze. I didn’t know why he liked me, what he saw in me that others had not. But I was grateful and happy that he did.

  When he pulled into the driveway of my parents’ house, they were standing there bundled up in their coats waiting for us. When I saw them, I clapped my hands together excitedly and jumped from Jonathan’s truck the second he put it in park.

  “Annika!” my mom said. She wrapped me in her arms, and I felt the way I always did when she was near: peaceful, secure, safe. Also like I couldn’t breathe because she squeezed me so tight.

  My dad and I shared a stiff hug. He wasn’t big on physical affection, but I never doubted his love for me. From the time I was old enough to understand what the word meant, my mom had been telling me how much my dad loved me. He was a systems engineer and when he wasn’t at work, he was either reading or building something for Will or me in the garage. He spent one whole summer building us that tree house in the towering oak in the backyard. Will eventually grew tired of it and ran off to ride bicycles with his neighborhood friends, but my dad and I used to stretch out on the smooth pine floor and read for hours. The two of us were kindred spirits; at least, that’s what people had been saying about us all my life.

  “Hello,” my mom said, extending her hand to Jonathan. “I’m Linda.”

  I’d completely forgotten Jonathan was there. My dad must not have noticed him either, but when my mom said, “Ron, aren’t you going to say hello to Annika’s friend?” my dad stuck out his hand. “Hello.” He shuffled off into the house after that.

  “I hope you can spend some time with us before the two of you have to head back for the tournament,” my mother said. The chess team had earned a spot in the Pan-American Intercollegiate Team Chess Championship, which would be held in downtown Chicago and begin a couple of days after Christmas. The Pan-Am was a six-round fixed roster with teams of four players and two alternates. I would be filling one of the alternate roles, which meant there was a good chance I would not see any playtime, barring something disastrous happening to one of the other four.

  “I could come back the day after Christmas,” Jonathan said. “Then I thought I’d take Annika home to meet my mother on our way to join the rest of the team at the hotel.”

  “That would be lovely. Maybe you could have lunch with us? Annika’s brother will be home then, too.”

  “Okay. I’ll plan on that.”

  “Would you like to come in?”

  “Sure.” Jonathan picked up my suitcase and we followed my mother into the house.

  Once inside, I plopped down on the living room floor to play with my cat, Mr. Bojangles, whom I’d missed terribly, and became engrossed in our favorite game, which consisted of him batting at a ball that would have had a bell inside it except I’d removed it because I found the jingle incredibly grating. Will said the bell was probably Mr. Bojangles’s favorite part of the toy, but I just couldn’t handle it. Jonathan and my mom stood nearby talking. It amazed me that they could converse so effortlessly after only just meeting each other.

  “Well, I should probably head out,” Jonathan said. “My mom’s waiting for me.”

  “Why don’t you walk Jonathan out, Annika?”

  “Okay.” I rolled the ball toward Mr. Bojangles and he sent it shooting across the floor. As soon as Jonathan left, I would return to the cat and likely spend the next hour playing this game.

  “I’ll call you,” Jonathan said when we reached his truck.

  I wasn’t a big fan of talking on the phone, but it would be the only way for Jonathan and me to stay in touch over the break. “Okay.”

  He reached into the bed of the truck, lifted the tarp that had protected our suitcases, and retrieved something from his. “I bought this for you. But you have to promise not to open it until Christmas.”

  It was a small rectangular box wrapped in red paper and tied with a gold ribbon.

  I remembered Janice reminding me to buy Jonathan a gift a few weeks ago, and I told her I was going to buy him a sweater, because I’d seen a dark blue one at the mall and I’d thought to myself, Jonathan looks really good in blue. I’d forgotten my wallet at home that day so I told myself to come back and buy it, but then I’d completely forgotten to do it. “I didn’t get you anything.”

  “That’s okay. It’s just something small I thought you might like.”

  I still felt stupid, but then Jonathan kissed me, and it didn’t seem like he minded that I’d forgotten. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas.”

  He glanced toward the house and kissed me again. We had slept together almost every day since the first time we had sex, and it was hard for me to describe the feelings I currently had for him. I thought about him all the time. I’d discovered that I did like cuddling with Jonathan once I got used to it, and that the feel of his arms around me was something I never got tired of. I felt anxious when he wasn’t around and at peace when he was near. I’d talked to Janice about it, and she said it meant I was falling in love with Jonathan. I had to take her word for it, because I had no frame of reference fo
r such a thing.

  All I knew as I watched him drive away was that I started missing him before he’d made it halfway down the driveway.

  * * *

  “What is that?” my mother asked when I came back inside the house.

  “It’s a Christmas present from Jonathan. He said I have to wait until Christmas to open it.”

  “Oh, Annika. That was so sweet of him. He seems like such a nice young man.”

  “He has never been mean to me, Mom. Not even once.”

  My mom didn’t say anything right away. But she blinked several times as if there was something in her eye, and then hugged me again. I wriggled away as soon as I could, because this one was so tight I could barely breathe.

  I had my parents to myself for almost two weeks before my brother flew in from New York to join us. Will worked on Wall Street and was always trying to regale my parents and me with his accounts of living and working in the big city as if we couldn’t possibly fathom it on our own. I found it hard to pay attention, because I barely knew my brother. For most of my life, Will had ignored me. He left home for good as soon as he graduated from college, and I overheard my mother complaining that the only way she could get him back here at all was by playing the holiday card, which had something to do with guilt and nothing to do with the actual cards she sent out to our family and friends.

  Now that I was home, I fell into old, familiar patterns of staying up late and sleeping until noon. I puttered around the house and played with Mr. Bojangles. My dad and I spent hours in the den reading our books in companionable silence while my mom baked and wrapped gifts. My dad and I trimmed the tree and we decided to place the lights vertically instead of wrapping them around it, and we grouped the ornaments by category, with all the balls on the top half of the tree, and anything that wasn’t a ball on the bottom. When Will walked into the living room two days before Christmas, the first thing he said was, “What the hell happened to the tree?”