Love from Amanda to Zoey

by Ian Mark

  The door opened and I felt a cool breeze. Kevin walked in, Amanda trailing him. Kevin was wearing a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, along with khaki pants and brown loafers. Amanda trailed him cautiously, wearing a sleeveless top with a flowery design and a short blue skirt. Her legs were tanned. I looked at my bare arms. They were a little tanned, but still very pale. I watched her as they sat down.

  “Hello.” I kept my voice neutral. Kevin looked at us nervously.

  “You guys are cool, right?” He watched my face.

  “Yeah,” I said. Amanda relaxed.

  “How’s Zoey?” she looked at me sympathetically. Or maybe it was apologetically. I was finding it harder to read her these days.

  “She’s taking some time to figure out whether or not she trusts me.” Kevin and Amanda couldn’t hide their frowns. I knew how bad it sounded.

  “Did you talk to her today?” Kevin, ever the pragmatist, wanted as much information as possible. I explained my visit to her apartment, emphasizing how apologetic I had been and how unreasonable her demands were. Kevin nodded at each of my points.

  “I think you should wait, man. Give her space.” He leaned back in his chair. He scanned the bar, eager to move on to more interesting activities. I agreed.

  “You’re both idiots.” Amanda hadn’t spoken at all while I talked. Now she leaned forward. I caught myself looking at the mole on her chest and consciously redirected my eyes to her face. “You love this woman, right?”

  “Yes.” I did love her, even if she was being unreasonable.

  “And you want to be with her?”

  “Of course.”

  “So why does it matter who’s ‘right’ in this case?” She paused. I thought about it. “Oh, and by the way, she is absolutely correct. I would be furious if I caught my boyfriend hanging out with an ex without telling me first.”

  “But I would never cheat on her-”

  “I get that.” She cut me off. “You are an excellent boyfriend in many ways. But you’re stubborn and can’t empathize.” I opened my mouth to protest.

  “It’s true man. You are stubborn, almost as bad as Brian was.” Kevin chimed in.

  “She’s probably been cheated on before. A lot of girls have. That betrayal makes it hard to trust again.”

  “Her last boyfriend cheated on her a lot.” I said this quietly. Amanda was hijacking what was supposed to be a man-to-man conversation about the mysteries of women. I sipped my cranberry juice.

  “Exactly. And now you expect her not to react to you hanging out with me?” The question slapped me in the face. I shook my head. I started to get it, to realize how it looked. “Look, I’m not blaming you for us hanging out last night. I never should have agreed to be alone with you. I may still have some feelings for you, but that’s my issue. You need to focus on making this right.”

  “I just want her to realize I would never cheat on her, and that she can’t control me.” I drummed my fingers on the table.

  “She’s not trying to control you, you moron.” Amanda raised her voice. The black guys at the next table looked over. “If you care that much about winning this fight, you’ll probably lose her. You won’t ever remove that little nagging doubt in the back of her head. All you can do is not cheat on her, and treat her right.”

  “So what do I do now? Wait for her to think about it?” Kevin scratched his face and rested his head on his chin. He looked bored.

  “No. The longer you let that fight sit, the more doubts she’ll have. Her friends will tell her all men are scum, to forget about you. I know you made your dramatic speech and what-not, and Hollywood has taught you that that’s all you can do. But it’s not. Go talk to her. Don’t confront her. Don’t make some big romantic gesture. Explain to her that you realize why she’s upset, and that you won’t do anything like that again.”

  “Maybe you should talk to her, explain how we used to be friends-”

  “You want her to think we talked about this? She already thinks we’re too close. If you want to tell her that, fine. But don’t make it sound like an excuse. Tell her unequivocally that you were wrong. And do it soon.” Amanda leaned back. I nodded my head. It made sense.

  “I’ll do it.” I started planning what I’d say and how I’d say it. Then I stopped. I needed to speak from the heart. Murph walked in and came over to our table. He said hello.

  “Who wants to get drunk?” Kevin smiled. Amanda ran her hands through her hair.

  “Me,” she said. “I need to get laid.” Kevin and Murph laughed. I looked at her. For the first time, I wondered about how she had dealt with breaking up with me, with Brian’s death. He had been one of her best friends, I admitted to myself. He had been one of all of our best friends. I looked at Kevin and Murph, who had walked off to buy a pitcher. They had been there for me, even when I hadn’t been there for them. I realized how insensitive I’d been. I started to say something, then stopped. The time for that had come and gone. I resolved to be a better friend. Murph came back with the pitcher.

  “What’s that you’re drinking, Zach?” He nodded at my cranberry juice. I winced, knowing what was coming.

  “Cranberry juice.”

  “What’re you on your fucking period? Have a beer.” I laughed. He handed me a cup. I didn’t need to drink to drown out my feelings or ignore them, but I could drink to enjoy the company of a few close friends.

  “You better get laid,” I said to Amanda. “I don’t want to end up walking home with you.” She laughed.

  “I think I’ll be fine.” She waved to two tourists that were standing at the bar. They looked European. I could tell from the tight shirts and wispy facial hair. They smiled at Amanda and began talking animatedly amongst themselves.

  I had a few beers and took off early after buying a pitcher for our table. I had fun. Amanda left with one of the Europeans, and Kevin and Murph were talking to two very attractive black girls when I left. I wouldn’t be missed. I thought of Zoey. I knew that we would get through this rough patch, that in a week everything would be fine. I just wanted that week to have passed, for everything to be right again. I fell asleep that night thinking of all the things I wanted to do with her.

  Chapter 12

  I strolled casually through the glass double doors and nodded to the security guard. He lifted his cap off his head and ran a wrinkled hand through his thick black hair. A phone rang. He picked up a black headset and began speaking in Spanish. I couldn’t understand a word.

  The walls of the lobby were a deep brown. I stepped onto an intricate rug, it reminded me of the rugs my mother used to have at our house when I was a kid. She had always yelled at my father and me for getting them dirty.

  “They’re on the floor. We’re supposed to step on them,” he’d say. She’d give him a look and he’d go quiet. He never spoke much.

  I went over to the guard. I told him the name of Zoey’s company, and asked what floor they were on. He told me without consulting a book or the monitor in front of him. He went back to talking in Spanish to whoever was on the other end of the line. He had a thick bushy mustache that moved up and down while he talked. I licked my lips, lamenting my inability to grow a mustache of any substance. Whenever I went a few days without shaving my upper lip, I looked like a pedophile.

  I waited for the elevator. There was a large mirror in between the two shafts. I examined myself. I checked my armpits for sweat stains. I was relieved to find I had none. I was wearing a purple golf shirt that didn’t stain easily. I pulled up my jeans as the bell rang to indicate that the elevator had come. I let the three women in suits, talking animatedly, pass in front of me out of the elevator, then stepped on. The doors closed, and I was alone in the silver metallic chamber. I pressed the six button, and it glowed orange. I waited patiently, watching the numbers on the display above the buttons count up as we rose. I jumped and my feet landed quicker than they should have. I’d been jumping on elevators since I was a little kid and I figured out that it changed how h
igh you could jump. I used to do it no matter how many people were on the elevator, but now I only did it when I was alone. I figured that meant I was more mature, an adult now.

  The doors opened on four. Two men got on. One was tall, the other short. The short one was much older. His curly gray hair bounced as he walked. The tall nervous one followed him, listening carefully to everything he said. I didn’t understand a word of it. Quantum this and quantum that and quantum both. He might as well have been speaking Spanish to the guard downstairs.

  We rose to six. The doors opened and the three of us got off. I hesitated. They turned left and walked quickly down the grey-carpeted floors and disappeared out of sight. I watched them. The walls were bare, and as white as could be. It felt like I was in a hospital. I looked for some sort of sign for which way to go. I didn’t know her office number, or if she even had an office. I went left.

  I heard people talking. I turned left at the end of the hallway. There was a conference room with the door slightly ajar. Zoey’s voice carried out into the hallway. I peeked inside. She wore a black and white top and a knee-length black skirt. Her legs were perched on black open-toed heels. She was standing in front of a white board, arguing something with an older man with a beer belly and a large mole under his right nostril. She gestured impatiently at something on the board, and he made a Settle Down gesture with his hands.

  “If we accept this as true-”

  “But I don’t believe that it is true-”

  “But all the evidence-”

  “Is inconclusive.” Zoey stopped arguing. He was clearly her boss, or superior to her in some regard. She closed her mouth and glanced towards the door. I shot back. She hadn’t seen me. I backed up and rested my back against the wall opposite the door. A maintenance man passed by and looked at me. He nodded to me. I looked at his wizened old face and imagined him as a young man, chasing girls and dreaming of a job that he never got. I wondered if he was happy. I nodded back and he continued on with his day. He’d never remember my face, we’d never see each other again. We were just two of the seven billion people on earth all fighting for the same thing; happiness. I wondered if it was possible for everyone to be happy. It seemed to me, at least in that moment, that it wasn’t. There needed to be somebody who was sad, I reasoned, so that the happy people could have something to compare themselves to and realize they were in a better situation.

  Zoey came out about fifteen minutes later. She looked frazzled. Her eyebrows raised when she saw me.

  “I can’t do this now,” she said and started walking quickly down the hallway away from the elevators. I walked after her, dodging all the people walking in the other direction. Zoey cut a path through them easily as she walked, it was as if people just got out of her way. When I tried to follow, the path was closed and I had to swerve around the identical men in their identical khakis, white button-downs, and red ties. They all looked busy and were walking as fast as possible without running.

  “There’s nothing to do.” She shushed me. We passed a water cooler. There was no one standing around it. Zoey grabbed a cup and filled it almost without breaking stride. “I’m not here to make a scene.” She turned and looked at me. I had caught up to her and we walked side by side.

  “Then why are you here, Zach?”

  “I’m here to say I was wrong, and you were right.” Zoey stopped. She smiled.

  “More.”

  “I shouldn’t have been hanging out with Amanda. Especially without you knowing. I see why you reacted the way I did and I’m sorry I didn’t understand before.” She kept walking.

  “Turn here.” She walked into a door with a stick figure wearing a dress on it. I barely noticed.

  “I want us to get through this. I want you to trust me. I made a mistake, and I’m asking you to forgive me. Why are we in the bathroom?” I noticed the white tiled floors and the distinct lack of urinals. A pair of sinks and mirrors showed her step closer to me. She passed from one mirror into the next. Mirror Zoey planted a kiss on Mirror Zach’s lips.

  “Are we…” She nodded. I kissed her back. We went into a stall and I struggled with the lock.

  A few sweaty minutes later, Zoey was pulling her heels back on.

  “So are we good?” I asked, panting. She stood up and kissed me on the cheek, rising to her tippy-toes to do so.

  “We’re getting there.”

  “Let me take you to dinner tonight.” My tone was uncommanding. She considered it.

  “Fine. Where shall I meet you?” She opened the stall and we exited.

  “No, let me take you to dinner tonight. I’ll pick you up at 8:00.” She looked at me, her eyes twinkled.

  “Alright, then, mister boss-man. 8:00 it is.” She poked her head out the door. She stepped out and motioned for me to follow.

  “Weren’t you afraid we’d be caught?” I asked as I stepped out. The walls of the hallway were even whiter than those of the bathroom.

  “You obviously don’t realize how few women work here.” She reached over and buttoned the top button of my golf shirt. “Now, get the hell out of here before I lose my job.” I laughed.

  “Which way?” She pointed me back down the hallway.

  “And I’m this way.” She walked backwards away from me, smiling.

  “I’ll see you at eight.”

  “It’s a date.” I couldn’t stop smiling. I strutted down the hall. On the way out of the building I nodded confidently at the guard.

  “You find what you were looking for?” he asked, barely looking at me.

  “Yes, thank you for your help.” I don’t think he realized the scope of his question.

  * * *

  I made a reservation at the finest Italian restaurant I knew. I went to the barber and got a haircut. I busted out the one suit I owned. I wore a black button-down with white stripes and a silver tie. I spent twenty minutes getting dressed, and twenty more admiring myself in the mirror. I brushed my teeth, taking care not to get any paste on my suit. It was a black suit that I owned and wore to all occasions. The big three: weddings, job interviews, and funerals. I had been to one of them recently and hoped to attend one of the others 9 to 12 months from now. I put the little black box with the soft velvet exterior in my front left pocket. I gave Mirror Zach a pep talk. He looked good. I rubbed my head and looked at the tiny hairs on my hand. I moved the ring to the front right pocket to see how it felt there.

  I leaned over the sink and rubbed my head furiously with both hands. Tiny flecks of black appeared in the bone-white sink. I washed my hands, with my sleeves unbuttoned and rolled up. My jacket hung on the notch in the door normally reserved for my towel. My yellow towel lay on top of the toilet. I took the ring out. I practiced opening the case, revealing the diamond ring beneath. I practiced kneeling, not actually touching my knee to the ground to protect my black pants. I put the ring in the interior jacket pocket. I looked in the mirror again. I was twenty-five years old. I was ready to be a husband. Well, a fiancé at least. Nothing wrong with a long engagement.

  I grabbed the jacket and slipped it on, looked in the mirror one more time, then went to grab my wallet, phone, and keys. I checked my phone. No new messages. My greatest fear was that Zoey would have to postpone, or cancel, and I’d have to go another day with the pit in my stomach. I had thirty minutes to kill before I had to go. I couldn’t sit still. But I was no longer killing time until it was time to go kill time elsewhere. I was killing time to get to an important part of my life, and that was different. Better.

  I sat on the couch. I patted my jacket to make sure the ring was there. I went into the kitchen. I moved the ring to my front left pocket, next to my keys. I tried it in the right pocket with my phone, that didn’t feel right either. I settled on having it in my back left pocket, pressed tight against my upper thigh. I looked in the fridge. I wasn’t hungry. I reached up to close the cupboard door, which had been left ajar. I felt the ring slide, I grabbed at my back pocket. That was out, I wasn’t going to live with
the constant fear of reaching into the pocket and not having a ring there.

  I was sweating. That made me nervous I would look sweaty and gross, which made me sweat more. I dabbed at my forehead with a hand towel. I breathed deeply. I held the ring in my left hand and considered hiding it behind my back for the entirety of the meal. I texted Zoey. Btw, make sure to dress nice. A few minutes later, my leg buzzed. When do I ever not? I read the text from my possibly future fiancé and laughed. It wasn’t really funny.

  I bounced from one foot to the other. I went into the bathroom. I still looked fine. I shadow boxed my reflection, still clutching the ring in my left fist. I considered carrying it in my mouth like a squirrel carrying nuts. I decided against it. I checked the time, still ten minutes before I had to go. I left anyways, figuring I could just walk slowly.

  I walked past Mrs. Johnson and her cat. I crept past, terrified of showing up at Zoey’s apartment with orange hair all over my suit. We exchanged pleasantries. I considered how far I had come since my last wedding proposal. I hoped that this one would end better. I knew it would. It was a Monday night, after all, not a Wednesday. I had learned.

  I put the ring in my left front pocket. I kept my left hand clutched around it as I walked. I noted again to myself how filthy Manhattan was. I wished I had a plastic bubble to prevent my suit from having even the faintest mark of dirt or hair or anything when Zoey saw me. I walked quickly, then reminded myself to walk slowly. A fellow suit wearer bumped past me. He glared at me. I stared at his receding hairline and slight pot belly and imagined myself like that in fifteen years, with a few kids and Zoey. The thought didn’t scare me. I whistled as I walked. Here comes the bride. I told myself to be less of a cliché. I didn’t know how.