by Maren Foster
“My mom wanted me to work,” I said. “She thinks it’s really important that women work.”
He nodded.
“She didn’t really have a choice, I guess, because she never got married.”
“I thought you said your parents were divorced.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t say that. They were never married, as far as I know.”
“Hmmm.”
“Anyhow, if I’m ever married and have kids, I think I’ll want to stay home and be a full-time mom. That’s my dream job, I guess, to be a stay-at-home mom.”
He nodded.
I watched seagulls circling above us, white specks soaring against the bright blue sky.
I had gone to college thinking I would be a Fine Arts major. I had always loved dance, art history, and romance languages, but Vi wanted me to study something useful (as she put it) and she was paying my tuition. She wanted me to major in business, or at least be pre-law or pre-med, something that would enable me to be independent and support myself. I pushed back at first but eventually we compromised and I agreed to study Communications with a French minor. I didn’t think it mattered. I really wasn’t interested in having a career like Vi and Ali. I assumed I would work for a while, which would give me a good excuse to buy some chic clothes. And then, who knew. I would get married, have kids, and stay at home with them. Vi had always looked so stressed when she got home from work. There was one thing that I was sure of: I didn’t want her life. But everything had changed that day in June in the frat house, all of my hopes and dreams had been upended and now here I was, on a date with the guy who had ruined my life. I don’t have a dream job because I don’t have the luxury to dream. Instead, I obsess about what it would feel like to get justice. Retribution feels like the only job that matters now.
“Speaking of marriage and kids, is that something you’re thinking about already?” he said.
Oh shit. Did I mention kids too soon? I have to be careful to not seem overzealous. “Um, not yet. I’m so young. I guess I’ve always assumed I’ll have kids someday,” I said. “How about you?”
“Yeah, I guess I’ve just taken marriage and kids as a given too. Once I find the right person, of course.”
He stared past me, his eyes fixed on the landmass in the distance.
“What do you think about the suburbs?” I asked.
“I grew up in the suburbs. I guess I could move back someday.”
“Have you ever been to Greenwich?”
“Of course. That’s just down the road from Westport.” He poked at me playfully. “I see you have good taste.”
“I’ve only been there once but I loved it! I would love to live there someday.” It has to be Connecticut for my plan to work. I’d done my research before moving out to New York, and Connecticut was the only state in the area that still considered fault when it came to divorce and awarding alimony. If I want to be sure he’ll pay for what he did when I catch him cheating, then it has to be Connecticut.
“It is nice.” He agreed.
Before I’d even moved to New York I’d heard that Greenwich made the towns on the North Shore of Chicago, where the public schools looked like private colleges, look ordinary.
“A year from now I should be able to buy a house over there,” he said, “cash.”
What a cocky asshole! “Wow!” I smiled. “I’m impressed.” I imagined touring fancy mansions in Greenwich with him, standing in kitchens bigger than a New York City apartment, debating the merits of wine cellars and steam showers. How far will I have to play this thing out?
“How many kids do you think you want?” he asked
This is going well. Men like Nate don’t ask these questions unless they’re really interested.
“At least three,” I said confidently. “Probably the first before I turn thirty.” I studied his reaction. “What about you?”
“Yeah, two or three would be good I guess. I don’t want to be an old dad.”
I stared out over the Sound, unable to shake the image of him coming home after work in a business suit and exquisite cologne, to a large suburban house in Greenwich. Can I really do this? Can I really keep my cool to play him for as long as I might need to?
He continued, “That way, they are out of the house while you’re still young enough to have some fun. I plan to retire early. I’d like to spend my fifties travelling the world, in style of course.”
I nodded. “Of course. That sounds incredible.”
“Thailand. Japan. Russia. Hong Kong. India.”
“Have you been to Asia before?” I asked.
“Of course, but always on business. You never see a new place the way you should when you’re traveling for business.”
“Hmmm, sure.”
The ferry docked with a bit of a thud. After what seemed like a long delay we were allowed off. Nate wrapped his hand around mine, reminding me of the walk down the hallway in the frat house all those years ago. I shivered.
He led me across a field and up a small hill. It was clear he had a specific place in mind. There were only a smattering of people, basking in the fleeting summer sun. He put the grocery bag down and pulled out a blanket. He spread it out on the side of the hill revealing his company’s logo in the corner. It was a white circle punctuated by a series of perfect squares set in a pattern with varying opacity. It was strong, clean, and authoritative.
I pulled out a small square, flower-patterned, table cloth and placed white cloth napkins, a small wooden cutting board and cheese knife, and the snacks I’d brought in the center of the blanket.
He pulled out a bottle of champagne, two glasses, and a Swiss Army knife and peeled away the foil wrapper. He held the bottle firmly, followed by a loud pop, and poured two glasses. He laid down next to me on the blanket and raised his glass.
“To the future,” he said.
I touched my glass to his, smiled, and repeated, “To the future.” We each took a sip and then he leaned in. Oh God, he’s going to kiss me! I spilled a little champagne as my hand began to shake and I pulled away.
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing. Sorry, I just didn’t…”
In his typical, bold manner, he leaned forward and kissed me, as I fumbled for the right words. I was thankful that his unwavering confidence and decisiveness left me no time to avoid his advance. I have to get used to this if I’m going to succeed. I could taste him through the sweetness of the wine and the memories of our first kiss flooded back. My mind began to recreate the scene in the dark, humid, frat house all those years ago. I quickly forced myself instead to think about the most awkward kiss I’d ever had with another freshman, before I met Nate, whose sizable nose had pushed against my face to the point of distraction. I nearly began laughing at the memory and began to relax as Nate continued to massage my tongue with his. I can do this, as difficult and insane as it is.
We spent the afternoon laying around in the sun. I read my book, he did some work, and then insisted on giving me a back massage. I tried to relax and just as I finally began to, he slipped his hand down under my shirt. I rolled over, sat up, and smiled.
“I’m not a prude, but I do expect some patience. We just met.”
“Sure,” he said and went back to working.
When we finally got back to the dock he invited me to his place. I definitely wasn’t ready to take the next step with him. I know I can’t hold him off for too long or he’ll lose interest, but I’m not ready yet. Having sex with him will be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I just need a little more time, maybe a little more medication. I made an excuse and we parted with another kiss.
On the subway back to my apartment I texted Adam, “Whatcha doing tomorrow? Wanna hang?” I hadn’t seen him much since moving to New York, and I couldn’t help wondering if he was intentionally avoiding me.
Back at the apartment my mind wandered back to Nate. I grabbed my laptop and began to write.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Back in my dorm r
oom I locked the door, undressed, and wrapped a large, plush bath robe around me. I grabbed the bright pink shower tote stuffed with luxury bath products that Adam’s mom, Adrienne, had bought me as a send-off gift. Clearly thoughtful, the five kinds of scented bubble bath were wasted on a communal dorm shower.
I was relieved when I got to the damp shower room and saw that the one stall with a curtain was free. I hung my bathrobe and towel on the nearest hook and let the water run over me. I poured shampoo into my hand until it was overflowing, and then reveled in the feeling of excess soap foaming in my hair and running down my shoulders and my back. I washed and washed my entire body, even as the soap stung where he had forced his way inside me. When I finally got out of the shower, the skin on my fingers and toes was completely shriveled. The wall-to-wall mirrors in the next room were covered in a foggy mist. I walked over to the longest mirror and with my finger wrote, “He must pay!”
I took a step back, looked at the fading words, and just cracked open. I began to heave and tremble as if an earthquake was fomenting deep inside my body. I fell to the floor, overcome, and began to weep.
Two women walked in.
“…I guess he said ‘I love you’ before they had sex, and then days later he won’t even talk to her,” one of them said.
“Asshole,” the other replied.
Then they saw me. “Oh my God! Are you okay?”
I didn’t know what to say. I was curled up in a ball on the tile floor of a dormitory bathroom. I wiped my eyes. “I’ll be okay,” I mustered.
They gently pulled me up off the floor. They were women I had passed many times in the hallway, been introduced to once in a dimly lit dorm room, but we were not friends.
“Seriously. Are you okay?” she asked again.
“You don’t seem okay,” the second opined.
I tied my robe closed and they handed me my tote. “Thanks.”
I made it back to my room without running into anyone else. Thank God, I thought, wrapping another towel around my head and climbing into bed.
I barely made it through finals, every time I sat down to study my mind wandered to the video. I couldn’t help Googling my name and holding my breath as I waited for the worst, bracing for that sinking feeling. So far nothing. I had kept my end of the deal, well at least I hadn’t told the police who he was, so maybe he would keep his.
At the end of finals week, Krista and I packed up our stuff. Krista was moving to the sorority house, but I had agreed to let one of the seniors who wasn’t graduating on-time, live in our room with Krista for the summer quarter. I would move back home since it was close by. Given what had just happened, I was grateful to be going home for the summer. I needed a break from campus, and wanted some space.
Vi and Ali drove over on Sunday to help me move. Ali had just graduated from law school and was about to start a new job downtown. She was living at home temporarily while she looked for an apartment in the city.
She gave me a hug. “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” I lied, avoiding her gaze. “Thanks so much for coming to help me move.”
“Of course. None of the apartments I called about yesterday could be shown today anyhow.”
“When do you start your job?” I asked.
“Tomorrow.”
“Are you nervous?”
“Looking forward to it, actually. The real deal finally begins.”
Ali wanted to be a big time environmental lawyer to save “Gaia”, as she put it, “Mother Earth” to the rest of us. She had decided that the best way to do that was to keep her enemies closest. Her goal was to work for some environmental defense organization eventually, but first she would work at a big law firm that was known for representing conventional energy corporations. She figured that if she learned how the enemy approached its defense it would make her a more adept and prepared defender of “Gaia” someday.
We made quick work of loading my boxes into the back of Vi’s hatchback, drove to the house, and unpacked just as unceremoniously. Standing in my childhood room where nothing had changed, I felt at odds with the rest of the world. Everything around me marched on exactly as it had before, but I would never be the same. Each small reminder of how carefree my life had been, pulled me deeper into regret and despair. Every moment at home that should have been a comforting reminder of my idyllic childhood, made me sad. Sad that I could never go back. Sad that I might never again wake up in the morning full of hope and optimism about the future. The sadness only continued to grow, until it alienated me from my own life, making me feel like an actor in someone else’s story. Over the course of the summer, the sadness would, more and more often turn to anger and I would find myself thinking about him. I can’t let him get away with this. My world is shattered. How can his go on as if nothing has changed?
I awoke to Vi downstairs making the absurd amount of noise that was typical of her cooking. Pots and pans banging, the coffee pot percolating, cabinet doors reverberating. She was the worst in the morning. She was an early riser and always acted as if once she was up there was no explanation or excuse why anyone else should still be asleep. The consolation was that she was an excellent cook and once you were awake the prospect of her smooth coffee and perfectly cooked eggs was too enticing to stay in bed.
“Morning,” she said cheerfully when I got downstairs.
Ali was just finishing a cup of coffee and got up to put her dishes away.
“Eggs are in the pan. Bread is in the box. Coffee on the stove. We should be home around seven.” After a graceful flutter through every room on the first floor she was out the back and off to work, with Ali in tow.
I had a week before my summer internship started, and although the time off was welcome I knew I would be desperate for something to do to keep my mind off of him.
I ate breakfast, got dressed, and went for a walk. It was a beautiful day, warm but not too hot, sunny and dry, rare for Chicago in the summer. I lounged around the house for a bit and started reading a novel off the shelf in the living room from Vi’s extensive collection. She was an avid reader and somehow managed to find time to read for enjoyment despite working all the time.
I fell asleep on the couch at some point and was woken up by the ping of a text message from Adam: “what up? you around?” It was the first time I’d smiled in a week.
“yep”
A few minutes later he walked into the living room.
“Hey!” He looked tired, but his slightly curly blonde hair was recently cut and he had gained a bit more muscle since I’d seen him over winter break.
He walked over and pulled me into his arms. I buried my nose in his t-shirt and breathed in deeply. Home. I tried to shake off the sadness that immediately began to creep in. Not this too. Don’t let what happened corrupt this too.
Eventually, we went to his house because his parents paid for cable, and laid around all afternoon pretending to watch alternating re-runs of America’s Next Top Model and Shark Tank, but really we watched each other. It was a relief to be around someone I could trust.
Vi and Ali were in the kitchen when I walked next door.
“How was your first day?” I asked Ali.
“Mostly paperwork. Lots of compliance. Some HR. No real work.” Ali was sitting at the kitchen counter on a bar stool fingering a bottle of Blue Moon while Vi prepped dinner.
“Bummer. Since when do you drink beer?”
“Since Soren asked me if I prefer beer or wine and then teased me when I said wine.”
“Who is Soren? What kind of name is that anyhow?”
“He’s another clerk who started today. He’s Danish.”
“Since when do you care what some guy thinks?” I said.
“I don’t.”
“You do! Are you even allowed to date someone you work with?”
“Yeah, why not?” she said.
“You need to be careful,” Vi warned. “I’ve seen that backfire and ruin a career more than once. And surprise, surprise, it�
�s never the man’s!”
Ali nodded, acknowledging that Vi was probably right.
Friday, June 22, 2012
A voicemail from one of the detectives that had interviewed me in the hospital was a reminder to go into the station to sign the statement. I still wasn’t sure what to do, so I procrastinated for days. On Friday I finally got up the nerve to go, wanting to get it over with before I started my internship. The police station, just off Main Street, had that late 90s sterile box look and feel. I walked over to the receptionist who was sitting behind a Plexiglas window.
“I need to speak to Detective Cowell,” I said. “He called me about signing a victim statement.”
“Please have a seat and I will see if he is available.”
If I don’t tell them it was Nate, then what? I can’t let him get away with what he did, but I don’t think telling them his name will help right now. He’d find out eventually that I reported him and ruin my life like he promised. I need to make him pay, but not like this, not by exposing myself through the legal system. I’ll take matters into my own hands instead. If he’s proud of his business and the money he’s made then I’ll figure out a way to bleed him dry on my own. Shaking a bit as I waited, I told myself that it was just the blasting air conditioning, but I knew it was really nerves about the path to justice I had resolved to take.