The Futures

by Anna Pitoniak

  “What, are you going to Russia for that vodka?” Adam said to Nick, raising his voice over the chatter.

  “Hey.” Nick flashed his white-toothed smile, cutting a lime into wedges. “You want your drink or not?”

  He handed us our glasses a moment later. Heavy cut-crystal tumblers. My hand dropped under the weight. I felt like I was at a party at my parents’ house.

  “So, Julia,” Nick said. “Tell me about yourself.”

  “Oh.” I hated that kind of question. What the hell was I supposed to say? What were the things that made me interesting or special? “Well, right now I’m—”

  “Nick. There you are.” A brunette woman in a red dress appeared next to Nick. She laid her left hand across his chest, and an enormous diamond flashed from her ring finger. “Sweetheart, pass me the seltzer? Someone spilled in the living room.”

  She noticed Adam and me standing there. “Hi,” she said, turning to offer me her other, ringless hand. “I’m Megan. Nick’s fiancée.”

  “Julia. Thank you so much for having us.”

  “You go with him?” She pointed at Adam.

  “She’s my date for the night,” Adam said. “We’re old friends from college.”

  “Well.” She smiled tightly. “Welcome.”

  Fiancée? I thought as Megan walked out of the kitchen. Engaged? I didn’t know anyone who was engaged. When I saw that diamond sparkling on her finger, I felt the gulf that separated me from the rest of the partygoers crack wide open. It made sense. She and Nick had to be in their late twenties. Their kitchen, their artwork, their furniture, their clothes. Poised right on the cusp of bona fide adulthood. Only a handful of years separated us, but I felt further away from them than I did from my childhood self. I was about to turn twenty-three years old, and I couldn’t even begin to imagine it, real adulthood.

  The thing was, it hadn’t always been so impossible to imagine. We had never actually talked about it, never said the word marriage, but that summer Evan and I spent in Europe—hot nights walking around Rome, sunny days on the Greek coast, afternoons in Paris—I thought about it more than once. I held his hand in mine, wrapped my arms around his neck, and felt myself consumed by love. A love that could endure anything. A love that had changed me. I grew dizzy from it sometimes. Of course we would be together forever. Of course we would get married someday.

  But then everything changed. I regarded the Julia from a year and a half earlier with pity. That girl had known so little about what was to come—had been so naive about what it took for a relationship to work in the real world. I could never marry Evan. Never, ever. Evan wasn’t someone I could have a life with. We were too different, and he didn’t care about me. That’s why it felt so natural, sliding into this new thing with Adam. Evan and I were clearly headed for a breakup. It was only a question of time.

  So why didn’t I rip the bandage off? Why keep living with someone for whom I felt nothing? Ending things would have kept me from cheating on Evan. It would have prevented so much of the collateral damage. But that decision would have taken conviction. Planning and execution. And, frankly, it would have required that I find my own place to live, which was annoying and prohibitively expensive. And in that moment, I liked the doing. Abandoning myself to impulse. Besides, I thought. The coming holidays might precipitate a breakup. They always had a way of throwing gasoline on the fire. Evan wasn’t any happier in this relationship than I was. If I waited, he might just do it himself.

  “Let’s mingle a little longer, and then we can go,” Adam said.

  We talked to more of his friends. They were so different from the people at parties I’d gone to with Abby and Evan. A filmmaker working on an indie documentary. A consultant traveling four days a week to Omaha. A literary agent who had just sold a novel for seven figures. But even in this crowd, I could sense that Adam was exceptional. People were drawn to where he stood like iron filings to a magnet. He was as charming and commanding as he’d been in college. In this apartment, in this room full of people, Adam was still the brightest star in the universe.

  And he had chosen me. In the cab afterward, he took my hand.

  “You’re so beautiful. You know that, right?”

  “Come on. Stop.”

  “I mean it. I adore you.”

  He leaned over and kissed me. We were sailing up 8th Avenue, no sign that the cab was going to go across town. Adam must have given the driver his address. My heart sped up. This was it. We stopped at a brick building at the corner of 80th and Riverside Drive. “You have to come up for a drink, at least,” Adam said, giving me an excuse that I didn’t need. “I have a great view.”

  Adam’s apartment was on the twelfth floor. He tossed our coats on an upholstered chair in the foyer and led me to the far end of the living room. Family money: there was no way he could afford this on a journalist’s salary. He steered me to the window and slipped his arms around me from behind. The Palisades looked dark and velvety across the river, and the lights of Weehawken and Hoboken sparkled in the southern distance.

  “Amazing, right?” he said, brushing his lips along my neck.

  “Mmm.”

  “I’ve wanted you to see this for a long time.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  He turned me around, sliding his arms down my back, keeping me tight against him. He kissed me, and for a second it ran through my head like a siren, the last time we’d been here—but then it disappeared. I wanted this. There was no hesitation this time.

  Afterward, we lay facing each other. Naked, sweat cooling, the room dim except for the glow from the streetlamps outside. He had one arm behind his head, and with his other hand he traced a line along my waist.

  “I can’t tell you how long I’ve thought about that,” he said.

  “Me, too.” I moved closer and buried my face in his chest, breathing him in.

  “We fit together,” Adam said. “Look at that.” And it was true. Our bodies were made to be in this very position. He kissed me on the forehead and said, “Do you want to stay over? I make a mean breakfast.”

  “I think I’d better get home. What time is it?”

  “A little after one.”

  “Can I use the bathroom?”

  “Out the door and to your left.”

  I showered, my hair pulled back in a bun to keep it dry. I opened my mouth and tipped my head back, letting the hot water run in. I had to stifle a laugh. Adam McCard. It had finally happened. The steam drifted through the bathroom, and the glass door of the stall fogged over, and everything else disappeared.

  * * *

  Monday, more than two weeks later. A few days after my birthday. I went for a particularly long run that cold November morning. As I came down our block, I remember thinking it strange that there was someone sitting on our stoop. Who had time to linger at this hour? It might be one of the homeless men who sometimes slept in the alcove outside the drugstore. I dreaded having to squeeze past him on my way inside.

  As I got closer, I felt a prickle on my neck. It was Evan. Sitting there, on the stoop. How had I not recognized him sooner? He was staring at his phone and jiggling his knees in a fast bounce, his duffel bag beside him. I’d forgotten that he was getting back from Las Vegas that morning. Adam and I had spent the weekend at his apartment, which was the best birthday present I could have asked for. He cooked, we listened to jazz, and I sat on the couch reading and watching the Hudson flow past. “Evan should go out of town more,” he said when I emerged from the shower wearing one of his button-downs. “Where did you say he was again?” He was in bed, shirtless, wearing his reading glasses. He looked like Clark Kent. It was a Saturday night, and we were staying in. I slid under the covers. “Some conference in Las Vegas. It’s weird. Michael wanted him to go along at the last minute. It has nothing to do with what he’s working on.” Adam nodded, his brow furrowed. Then he relaxed. “Well, it works for me.” I’d finally gone home late on Sunday night. The creaking floorboards in our dark apartment fille
d me with a wretched loneliness.

  I stopped a dozen yards short of our door. Evan still hadn’t seen me. He stood up, picked up the duffel bag, then put it down. He tilted his head to look up at the sky. He checked his watch, then paced a few yards before reversing course. Something was off. I suddenly saw him as any stranger might: unshaved, tired, puffy, anonymous. It’s an odd trick, to consider how different someone looks when you strip away the forgiveness of familiarity. I had always known Evan up close. I encountered him all at once, and that’s what I had always liked about him: no hidden tricks or trip wires. But right then, that November morning, I had the feeling of traveling back in time. Evan was becoming a stranger in front of my eyes. This man sitting on my doorstep was someone I had never met before.

  I shivered. This was how bad it had gotten: I considered turning around to do another lap in the park, waiting for Evan to leave for work. But then he finally looked up and saw me.

  “Julia,” he said, springing to his feet.

  “Hey. How was the trip?”

  He glanced over his shoulder, then up the street behind me. His eyes, when they landed on mine, were brimming with a new emotion. Panic? Fear?

  “I have to tell you something,” he said, and he pulled me inside.

  * * *

  The long-awaited Fletcher Foundation gala had been the week before. I got there early, in charge of checking guests in upon arrival. I peered through the doors into the ballroom, which glowed softly, with white roses and candlelight on every table. Up on stage was Eleanor, clipboard and BlackBerry in hand. She wore a long black gown. Her skin had the slightest dusting of a tan.

  Laurie arrived, looking exhausted. I had overheard snatches of her conversation with Henry Fletcher earlier that day. She was explaining that the gala had cost more than anticipated. Donations had dried up, returns from the endowment were down, and we were tight on cash for the rest of the year. The conversation seemed to go badly. “Yes, of course,” she had said, raising her voice. “Of course I know how bad the market is right now. But I’m telling you that we’re at real risk of—”

  She paused, apparently listening to him. She spoke more quietly, and I couldn’t make out what she was saying. She sighed after she hung up. Then she shut her door, and it stayed shut for the rest of the afternoon.

  “Oh, hello, Julia,” she said distractedly. She dumped her bag and coat on the check-in table. “Can you find somewhere to put these?”

  The guests started arriving in a trickle, then all at once. I kept a smile plastered on my face, answering questions, directing traffic. A corner of my mind worried over Laurie’s mood. If things were as bad as she said, I wondered whether my job might be in jeopardy. A little later, Abby and Jake walked through the door. “Julia!” Abby said, coming over to give me a hug. “Holy crap. Woman in charge.”

  “Hey,” Jake said, jerking his chin in greeting.

  “Hi, guys. Let’s see…you’re at table one. No surprise there, I guess.”

  “You look great,” Abby said.

  “Stop. You look great.” She did, too. I had never seen her so radiant. “Hey, Jake, are your parents here? Laurie is eagerly awaiting them.”

  “Yeah,” Jake said, rubbing his chin and looking bored. “They’re outside. My dad got stopped by some reporter.”

  Adam, I thought, and my heart fluttered.

  “Are we sitting together?” Abby said.

  “What? Oh, no. Laurie is probably at your table, though.”

  Abby and Jake drifted toward the coat check. There was a lull in the arrivals. I took the chance to scoot out from behind the table and survey the red-carpeted sidewalk. Henry and Dot Fletcher were talking to the reporter, a man in jeans and a parka. He held a recorder up toward Henry Fletcher. The parka man turned, catching the light on his face. It wasn’t Adam. Of course it wasn’t. I went back to the table, smoothed my skirt, and resumed my smile. The Fletchers approached the table. Dot, to her credit, remembered who I was.

  “Julia, dear! It’s so wonderful to see you. How are you?”

  “I’m well, thank you. I’m so—”

  She clutched my hand to cut me off. “I was just talking with your mother the other day. You look lovely. So grown up. Doesn’t she, Henry?”

  He turned, distracted, rubbing his chin. He and Jake were so much alike.

  “Of course. Nice to see you.”

  Dot smiled sweetly at me, waving her fingers as they walked away to join the party. Henry, I noticed, had a tan, too.

  Eleanor swept through to check on me as the guests started filing into the ballroom for dinner, after the cocktail hour ended.

  “What time is it?” she said.

  There was a clock on the wall. “Ten past eight.”

  “Good. Stay here till eight thirty, in case anyone trickles in.” She tossed her hair back over her shoulders. “Oh, and Julia, I forgot to say. Laurie doesn’t like junior staff to drink at work events. It’s always been her policy. So just be aware of that.”

  She emphasized the junior in “junior staff” with particular care. I gave the finger to her back as she walked into the ballroom. The event had started at 6:30. Nobody else was going to show up at this point. This was pure spite—Eleanor wanting to remind me that she was the one in charge.

  I texted Adam. How’s the deadline coming?

  It was quiet in the entrance hall, just the muted sound of traffic on Park Avenue and the occasional clatter of silverware from the ballroom. I started counting the number of no-shows for the final tally when I felt my phone buzz.

  Still trying to get this piece done. I don’t suppose you have any comment on the AIG bailout? Or insight into what the Fed is thinking?

  I laughed. No comment. And no insight. Sorry, I’m useless.

  A minute later, another buzz. Not useless. You’re my motivation to get this done. Meet me later for a drink?

  I found my seat in the back as the waiters were delivering the entrées. Everyone was already paired off in conversation, raising their voices against the echo of the big room. My arrival went unnoticed. I cut my chicken and asparagus into small, careful bites, taking up as much time as I could. I buttered a roll and ate it, then buttered and ate another one.

  Thank God, I thought when the waiters cleared our dishes and Henry Fletcher approached the podium on stage. He cleared his throat, and the microphone screeched with feedback. He rattled off a list of thank-yous, then droned on about the importance of supporting young and emerging artists. That during these trying economic times, it was crucial to ensure that arts programs retained funding. It was very dreary. Half the room was checking e-mail by the time he was finished.

  At the end of his speech, Mr. Fletcher paused. He folded up the piece of paper he had been reading from, removed his glasses, and returned both to his pocket. Then he cleared his throat again. “And now, before I turn it over to the formidable Laurie Silver, I’d like to make an announcement.”

  This was a surprise.

  “I’m pleased to say here, for the first time, that Dot and I are making a donation of ten million dollars to the Fletcher Foundation to establish a new series of grants for next year and future years. And for all donations made in the next six months, we will personally match your gifts dollar for dollar.”

  The room erupted in applause. Mr. Fletcher smiled a stiff smile.

  “We want to show our commitment to the vitality and endurance of the great achievements of the foundation during the past decade, and we hope you’ll join us in doing so. And, without further ado, Laurie Silver, president of the Fletcher Foundation.”

  The room rose to its feet, the applause swelling as Laurie ascended the stage. I was relieved. Even if I hated it, I would be able to keep my job until I found something better. Laurie and Mr. Fletcher embraced. She was smiling, but she looked less exuberant than I expected. From the snatches I’d overheard, Laurie had asked for another three or four million to keep things running. Henry Fletcher had just thrown us a lifeline above and beyo
nd what we needed, I was sure of it.

  After Laurie’s speech, I found Abby and Jake by the bar. I ordered a double vodka on the rocks. Eleanor’s rule probably wasn’t real, and I didn’t care. Something about the news of the donation, and Laurie’s reaction, had unsettled me. I suspected that I had very little understanding of what was really happening. It was all occurring under the surface, where I couldn’t see. But a minute later, after the drink, I felt better. Calmer.

  “That was nice, right?” Abby said to Jake. “It’s great that your parents are doing that.”

  Jake shrugged. “Yeah. It’s good.”

  “Did you have fun?” Abby asked me.

  “Sure. It was fine.” I tipped back my drink, the ice rattling in my glass.

  “Let’s get you another one of those.” She waved at the bartender.

  “We’re going out after this, right?”

  “Not me. My alarm is going off tomorrow at six whether I like it or not.”

  “What? Abby!”

  “Do you know what it’s like teaching kindergarten with a hangover? Fucking miserable is what. I learned my lesson the first time. Sorry, Jules, I can’t.”

  “It’s just been so long since we went out together.” I sounded whiny.

  Jake faked a yawn, slipping his arm around Abby’s waist. “Yeah. I’ve got an early day tomorrow, too. Should we go get a cab?”

  “Sorry, sorry.” Abby hugged me. “You look great, though, you really do.”

  When the bartender came over, I ordered another drink. The ballroom was emptying fast, the guests bolting for the coat check and their black cars. I noticed Laurie and Dot Fletcher by the side of the stage. The vodka emboldened me. I ought to go and thank Mrs. Fletcher for the donation. Laurie sometimes seemed to forget that I was a real person, equipped to handle more than the most basic administrative work. This—a chance to sound articulate and thoughtful—might help remind her of that. I was smart, I was interesting, I was capable of intelligent conversation. I deserved more than I was getting. Maybe I just had to take it for myself.