Love from Amanda to Zoey

by Ian Mark

  “I think having the windows open is somehow making it hotter in here,” I said. I considered getting up to shut them, but I was too lazy and only half-serious.

  “I always told you to get an air conditioner.” She smirked at me. The movie went to commercials. I glanced in her direction. We were closer than we should have been. I scooched away.

  “You always told me a lot of things.” I didn’t say it in a mean way, but I was afraid she took it that way. She frowned. My words were not matching my thoughts.

  “I was kind of bossy.” She laughed, and I joined in. The movie came back on. My balls were ridiculously sweaty. I scratched them, trying to move them to a more comfortable position. Amanda fidgeted uncomfortably.

  The underdogs won, as they always did. We had somehow gotten closer to each other as we each finished yet another beer. Peter Lafleur enjoyed his victory kiss. We looked at each other…

  And the door burst open. Zoey came in. “I am so exhausted. Let’s just go to be-” She stopped talking. Amanda and I were not touching. We were sitting close to each other, but not that close. The sounds from the television covered an awkward pause. I opened my mouth to speak but no words arrived. Amanda popped up.

  “You must be Zoey. So great to finally meet you. I’m Amanda.” She approached, hand outstretched. Zoey shook it slowly.

  “Amanda, as in ex-girlfriend Amanda?” She was looking right at me. I nodded once.

  “Yes.” Amanda stood there smiling.

  “Why are you hanging out and drinking alone with your ex-girlfriend at two in the morning on a Friday night?” I resented the question. I loved Zoey and would never cheat on her. That’s not what I said.

  “Because my current girlfriend works all the time and I never see her.” In my head it sounded like a joke, but even drunk off my ass when I heard it I knew it was bad. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that… We were just watching television-”

  Amanda cut me off. “It was nothing like that, we were all hanging out at the bar and-”

  “You know I love you and would never do anything like what you’re implying-”

  “Just stop!” Zoey seethed. It occurred to me that she was the only one sober. “I don’t want to hear it. Yes, I work all the time. I didn’t realize you couldn’t go a night without female companionship of some kind.”

  “That’s not fair, she was one of my best friends long before I ever met you, and-”

  “How dare you.” She said it quietly, but the look of fury on her face shut me up. “I’ll be leaving now. Don’t call me.” She turned her back to me; her shoulders were taut and tensed like a bowstring ready to fire.

  “Zoey, c’mon I’m drunk, I didn’t mean it like that-” I walked towards her and tripped over a lacrosse stick that was lying on the floor. I stumbled, but regained my balance.

  “I don’t care how you meant it. Enjoy her. He likes it when you pinch his nipples,” she added to Amanda. Amanda looked like she was going to cry. Zoey surprisingly did not. She just looked like she wanted to murder someone. I felt horrible and wanted to vomit. I realized with a start that I had tears in my eyes.

  “No!” I screamed. The weight of my intoxication enveloped me, yet failed to cover the swelling of fear and shame in the pit of my belly. “I don’t! Zoey, stop.”

  Zoey hesitated, glanced at Amanda, then back to me.

  “You don’t what?” She said, her legs still pointed towards the door.

  Time slowed, I felt my legs churning as I approached her. I wanted to hug her, to hold her close so she knew she was it for me. My legs could gain no traction, and the silence stretched onwards. Before I knew what was happening I was filling it with words.

  “I don’t like it when she pinches my nipples I like it when you do! I don’t want you to stop- fuck, no, that’s not… I want- You, I, always… fuck! Zoey, my words, words, words… are not working.”

  “Well put.” Zoey’s sarcasm cut through me. I kept going, hoping to power through the drunken mess to some sober mea culpa, the magic phrase that would put all this tension back in the box and close it up real shut.

  “I love you, Zoey.”

  “Good for you, Zach.” She left.

  “I love her,” I said. Amanda walked over to me and put her hand on my shoulder.

  “I know.” The fear and shame converted to rage. I shook Amanda’s hand off me.

  “I love her, okay?” I glared at Amanda, my ex, Amanda, my friend, Amanda, my enemy. She winced. I grabbed her half full beer off the coffee table.

  “Jesus Christ, Zach. You think I don’t know that?”

  Anger coursed through my veins like heroin, filling every part of me with an urge to erase the past hour, the whole night, Amanda.

  “THEN WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” I roared. I gesticulated with the beer and Amanda flinched like I might throw it. Her eyes were wide but unlike Zoey she wasn’t angry. She was afraid.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. Amanda hung her head. I wasn’t mad at her, I was mad at me.

  “I should go.”

  “She thinks we….” I couldn’t finish the thought. Amanda went over to the door.

  “It shouldn’t be hard to convince her you don’t want me…” she muttered.

  “I don’t want to hurt her.” I barely heard what Amanda said.

  “…I believe you,” she called, and slammed the door. I chugged the rest of her beer as I entered my bedroom. I crushed the empty can and threw it at the window. The exertion threw me off balance and I tumbled onto my bed headfirst. I needed my phone, where was my phone? I felt something in my back pocket and pulled it out. I tossed the ring box on my nightstand and it opened. The diamond ring stared at me.

  “Yuck Fou,” I slurred, my eyelids drooping as the room began to spin. Darkness overcame me.

  Chapter 11

  I awoke gently for once-what time was it? I grabbed my phone off my nightstand and rubbed my eyes. Shit. It was still only 8:00. There was no way I could talk to Zoey yet. I tried to go back to sleep. I was too nervous. I felt a pit in my stomach as I imagined life without Zoey. I had been the happiest I had ever been these past few months, and I was terrified that a misunderstanding would end a relationship that I wanted to last forever. I glanced at the little black box on my night table. It taunted me.

  I lay in bed for over an hour before dragging myself out of bed. I was tired, but restless. I brushed my teeth and showered. I shaved carefully, making sure not to cut myself and mess up my face. Everything seemed dulled, grey. I considered having a beer, but decided it was too early. Alcohol had got me into this mess, I wasn’t going to use it to ignore it. I got dressed, then decided to wear something else. I spent an hour changing outfits and posing in front of my mirror, trying to decide which would do enough to show I cared and remind her of the good times we had together. I rehearsed a speech in front of the mirror in each outfit. I finally settled on a checkered button-down, unbuttoned over a Beatles t-shirt. I paired it with some corduroy pants that she had bought me a few weeks ago. I’d be hot, but I didn’t care. I looked out the window, it looked like it was going to rain. The gloomy skies threatened to ruin everyone’s day. I checked the weather on my phone just to be sure. It agreed.

  I sat in front of the television for an hour or so, but I wasn’t really watching. I fidgeted, waiting for a time when it would be okay to call Zoey. I knew she wouldn’t answer, but I wanted to try before I went over to her place. I pictured her, sitting at home on her plump overstuffed couch, in her short shorts and men’s t-shirt, calling all her friends, gabbing away about me. They had never liked me, I was sure of it. I hated the fact that she had so many male friends that she knew from school. I imagined them comforting her, explaining that physicists and programmers just shouldn’t mix. I seethed. I squeezed the couch. It was 11:30. Late enough. I called Zoey. I lay back on the couch. It rang and rang. I tapped the phone against my head in time with the tone.

  “Hi, this is Zoey, I can’t come to the phone right now, but-” I h
ung up, angrily jabbing the end button with my thumb. I sighed. I was exhausted, and hungover. My muscles ached. I pulled myself off the couch and went into the kitchen. I opened the fridge, there was no food except for some roast beef. I sniffed it. It was spoiled. I chucked it in the garbage. I made a mental note to take the trash out before it stunk up the place. I wished for a joint. I went into the bedroom and looked in my closet. I found a baggie with a little weed. I looked for the vaporizer, then reconsidered. I didn’t want to be high when I went to Zoey’s. The desire to smoke left me. For the first time in a long time, I wanted nothing more than to be sober, to make up for my mistakes. I grabbed an umbrella and headed out the door.

  My stomach rumbled as I walked up Broadway to Zoey’s apartment. I hoped her roommates weren’t there. The less people she had tell her I was an asshole, the better. I cursed myself for talking to her the way I had. I didn’t know what had gotten into me. Sure, it upset me that I didn’t get to see her that much, but I understood. She was in a new job, doing research for some company into weaponizing something or other, it all flew over my head whenever she attempted to explain it to me.

  Neither of us really understood the work the other one was doing. She was terrible with computers, and I had never been able to visualize ideas like that cat being dead and alive at the same time. I thought it helped us. We didn’t talk about our work, we talked about the other stuff we liked. And when we wanted to vent about what was bothering us at work, the other person would just agree with every point they made because they had no idea what we were talking about. I passed a dollar pizza place and decided to eat a slice on the way over. I stepped inside, there was no door. I went over to the register and rested my arms on the green countertop. I leaned forward, putting half my weight on my arms. A short dark-skinned man with wrinkled eyes and a weary grimace asked me what I wanted.

  “Slice of cheese, please.” I handed over a grubby one dollar bill. He grabbed it and slid a piece of pizza out of the rotating display. He handed it on a paper plate to me along with a few napkins. I stuffed the umbrella into my back pocket. I hadn’t brought the ring. I thanked him and set off up Broadway, cautiously holding the plate as close to my mouth as I could. I didn’t want to talk to Zoey with cheese all over my face. I was as nervous for this conversation as I had been before our second first date. More, really. Back then she had just been an idea, a fictionalization of what I thought she might be, someone I might like. Now she was the woman I wanted to marry, to have kids with. And I would lose her if I didn’t say the right things. I picked up a cup of coffee and a croissant from Starbucks. I held the cup and brown paper bag in my left hand and shifted the plate and pizza to my right. I put the slice, which was about half gone, in my mouth and held it.

  I threw out the plate, still covered in melted cheese, as I arrived at Zoey’s apartment. I stood outside and finished the slice. I knew the door would be locked. An old lady with a dog walked up and unlocked the door. I grabbed the door just as it was about to close. The poodle barked at me. It had a little pink bow around its neck instead of a collar. The lady eyed me suspiciously. I gave her my best non-threatening White Guy smile and waited for her to keep walking. She turned around and led her dog up the stairs. I pretended to have to tie my shoe so that I didn’t have to walk right behind her. I took the stairs slowly, one at a time.

  When I got to the fifth floor, I walked over to Zoey’s door and raised my hand to knock. I hesitated. I turned to go, I was too nervous. My heart was beating; my palms were sweaty. I knocked gently with the backs of my fingers. I leaned against the door frame and looked out down the stairs. I held the coffee in one hand and the bag with the croissant in the other. There was no answer. After a minute or two, I knocked louder, banging on the door with my hand balled into a fist. Still no answer. I slid down the wall until my butt hit the floor. I stretched out my legs. I took out the umbrella and threw it off to my side. I could wait. I closed my eyes to clear my thoughts.

  “Zach? What are you doing here?” I awoke with a start. I had slumped over. I was still holding the coffee and bag. The coffee was cold. I looked up. Zoey was at the head of the stairs holding a shopping bag from Lord and Taylor’s and an umbrella. I shook my head, groggy from my unplanned catnap.

  “I came to apologize.” I stood up. She walked over to the door and unlocked it, shifting the umbrella underneath her arm to do so. It wasn’t wet. She waited for me to continue talking. “Uh, I brought you this.” I offered her the bag and cold coffee as I followed her into her apartment. The yellow walls were too happy. I looked at the poster of Ringo Starr she had over the overstuffed couch. He smiled at me. “Sorry if it’s cold,” I added.

  She took the coffee and the bag. She went over to the kitchen and put her foot on the pedal to open the trash can. She threw out the coffee and looked in the bag. She put the bag on the wooden center island. Her kitchen was cluttered, but clean. Everything was painted in light colors. Her refrigerator was a light green, almost blue, with magnet-letters on it. I thought the Z, C, and H were all aligned, but I wasn’t sure. A picture of her and her mother was pinned on the freezer door, which was right above the fridge door. A white landline was set up on the counter next to the fridge, with a legal notepad next to it. The top sheet had been torn in half. The scrap was crumpled and on the top of the recycling bin by the island, right next to Zoey’s boot-covered feet. She took off her boots. Her toenails were painted black. I looked at her feet against the backdrop of the large beige tiles.

  “Thank you.” She looked at me. She didn’t seem too upset. We stood there, her behind the center island and me in the doorway, looking at each other. Yesterday we would have been all over each other, but today there was a tension holding both of us back. Or holding her back, really.

  “Look, Zoey, I’m sorry. I never should have said what I said. I love how hard you work, I think it’s amazing. I was just upset that I don’t ever get to see you. I love you, and I love every minute I spend with you.” I said all this in a rush, eager to get past the tension. Why couldn’t we just pretend it had never happened? I walked towards her. She started to embrace me.

  “Good.” She leaned in. I leaned in. She stopped. “And?”

  “And?” I echoed. She crossed her arms.

  “Are you done apologizing?”

  “What else did I do?” she stiffened. I backed away. I picked up an orange and tossed it from one hand to the other.

  “I found you, alone with your ex-girlfriend, getting drunk and watching a movie at 2:00 in the morning.”

  “Yeah, but nothing happened.” I was confused. I knew she was coming over last night, didn’t she realize that?

  “It’s not what happened, Zach, it’s that you would think that’s okay without telling me.” She frowned at me.

  “Zoey, I knew you were coming over last night, remember? We were waiting for you. I wanted you to meet Amanda.” I approached her, putting the orange on the island.

  “I couldn’t meet her some other time?” her voice got higher. “Zach, you proposed to this girl a week before we met, you can’t really expect me to be okay with you two hanging out.” She picked up the orange and walked around me, her head pointed down and away from me.

  “Oh, so you’re forbidding me to hang out with her? She’s one of my best friends.” A rush of anger flowed through me, replacing the nervous energy from before.

  “I’m not forbidding you to do anything. I’m asking you to be a rational adult and tell me when you’re planning on having alone time with the last woman you slept with before me.” I had no plans to tell her the last woman I had slept with was a girl who I imagined was currently trying desperately to buy a fake id. I didn’t think it would reflect too well on me. I noticed she no longer had her television. A puffy red winter coat was lying on the glass table where the set had rested. Odd.

  “I thought you trusted me.” I raised my voice. Did she really think I would cheat?

  “I thought I did too. And I trusted my ex,
and look where that got me.” I thought back to what she had told me, about how I was the first person she had trusted since him.

  “Zoey, I would never cheat on you. I love you, why isn’t that enough for you?” I softened my tone and stepped towards her.

  “I love you too, Zach, but I don’t know if I trust you. And I can’t be with someone I don’t trust.” She started to cry. She crossed her arms. I wanted to hold her, to comfort her. But I was the problem.

  “What are you saying? You don’t want to be with me?” My voice wavered. I couldn’t believe where this was going. “Because of Amanda? Please don’t do this.”

  “I’m not saying that, okay? I just need some time to think.” Fuck it. I lost. Fine.

  “You take all the time you need.” I snapped at her. I walked out. I heard her scream as the door shut. I felt like yelling as well.

  I walked around, aimlessly wandering. I didn’t get what I had done to lose her trust. Amanda could be waiting for me, naked on my bed and begging for me when I came home, and the first thing I’d do was cover my eyes and tell her to leave. I was done fucking around, I was solidly in stage two, even if Randy no longer remembered what that meant. I texted Kevin and asked him to meet me that night at Brad’s. I needed to talk. I thought of Brian. I was ashamed at how infrequently he crossed my mind these days. I tried to picture him. His face was hazy. I went to his Facebook page on my phone. I stared at his handsome profile picture and wanted to cry. He would have known what to do. Kevin’s advice would be a poor substitute. I wanted to ask Amanda for advice, but I didn’t know what our relationship was anymore, and I didn’t want to risk upsetting Zoey further. As ridiculous as that was. I rubbed my chin with my hand and was dismayed to find I had missed a spot. I scratched irritably at the scruffy stubble and wondered if that was why Zoey hadn’t taken me back.

  * * *

  I sat at the table closest to the door at Brad’s, sipping on cranberry juice. I didn’t feel like drinking. I stirred the drink with a straw and watched the ice cubes circle the perimeter of the glass. The bar was practically empty, it was only 10:00. No one really showed up until 12:00, 11:30 at the earliest. There was a lot more light now, so people could see their food. They would turn down the lights later so people couldn’t see each other. I brushed my hair out of my eyes. I still hadn’t cut it. I had been afraid Zoey wouldn’t like me as much with shorter hair. I had bought a comb for the first time in my life. I rarely used it. I pulled at my NYU shirt, adjusting it. I could feel my armpits starting to sweat. It still hadn’t rained, and the humidity was killing me. My umbrella stood propped against my chair. I touched it with my hand to make sure it was still there.