by Amelia Wilde
I shook my head frantically back and forth at the tears that stubbornly seemed to show up all the damn times these days. Again. When would things get back to normal?
“I just can’t,” was all I could say in the low, creaky voice.
I didn’t want to tell him I knew about his payoff to Messina. The less he thought I knew, the better. These people didn’t take kindly to others knowing their business, and even though I knew Brandon would never do me any harm, it was best he could answer truthfully should Messina, or anyone, ask if I knew about him. Plausible deniability. When it really came down to it, we both might need that.
“So all that time didn’t mean shit to you?” Brandon’s tone turned nasty as he kicked a polished toe into the grass, uprooting small tufts.
“Of course it did,” I said, causing a few passersby to peek at us curiously. Furiously, I wiped at the tears that escaped. “It’s just…it’s just too much, Brandon. I told you that!”
Brandon grabbed my hand and yanked me farther down the small slope to the water’s edge, where our voices might be muffled a bit more.
“Obviously, it didn’t mean that much,” Brandon said bitterly. “I meant what I said, Skylar. You’re all I want. But when I tell you I love you, that I want to marry you, you’re out the door the next fucking morning. Did you forget that you said it too? Did you forget how good you felt in my arms, in my bed, up against the wall in your shower, baby? You and I both know that if it weren’t for this, this, bullshit!” He snatched the arbitration agreement from his pocket and shook it wildly. “If it weren’t for this, you’d be flat on your back on my kitchen table, screaming my name so the whole Commons could hear me take you five different ways before dinner!”
My hand flew out and smacked him across the cheek before I could contain the action. He covered the red handprint I’d left, his eyes burning brightly.
“Why the fuck do you keep doing that?” Brandon demanded.
“Why do you keep deserving it?” I spat back. “You don’t get to talk to me like that. Like having me is some right you’re entitled to, you spoiled, selfish prick!”
“Not a right, baby, a need. I need you like I need air to breathe, so I’m fighting for you! For us!”
We were chest to chest, so close that if I had been a few inches taller, our noses might have brushed. He inhaled deeply, and his eyes drifted south to rest on my lips. His fingers twitched impatiently at his sides. He was fighting every instinct he had, as was I, and our bodies were literally vibrating with the urge to collide.
With immense effort, I took a step back.
“This was a mistake. This lunch, this meeting, you, me.” I yanked off the bracelet and dropped it at his feet. It bounced in the wet grass and rolled to the side. “It was all a fucking mistake.”
I hoisted my purse over my shoulder and scrambled back up to the path toward campus before I could be drawn further into his magnetic gaze. Whatever I was looking for by seeing him today, it didn’t matter. I was leaving. Closure accomplished.
“Shit. Skylar! I’m sorry!”
The crack in his voice almost had me turning back around, but his comments still burned in my ears. I tossed an errant hand into the air with more bravado than I felt and continued to stride away, willing myself not to look back. Just a few more steps until I was out of the park and could get lost in the crowded sidewalk. Just a few more steps until I could start the long process of forgetting that Brandon Sterling ever existed.
44
A knock on my bedroom door pulled me out of my daze, the same daze I’d been drifting in all week.
Five days since that explosive fight by the river. “You’re it for me,” he’d said, over and over again. But it was also just six weeks since those monumental words had drifted out of Miranda’s mouth. “His wife.” Who knew such small phrases could pack such a punch?
“Skylar? You ready to go?”
Jane pulled me out of my ugly daydreams, just as she had been doing all week, forcing me to pack and get ready for graduation. I hadn’t even started studying for the bar, with just under two months to go until the exam. I gave the D.A.’s office a verbal commitment directly after seeing Brandon, but I hadn’t had the heart to think about anything law-related since. The new-hire paperwork was in my messenger bag, still unsigned. Two hefty study guides for the bar exam were packed into my suitcases, and the rest of my belongings were shoved into hefty cardboard boxes, ready to ship to a Brooklyn storage unit.
The moving company I’d hired would be here at five. While studying for the bar, I’d be back in my attic in Flatbush, subject to Bubbe’s cooking and the small comforts of home that would help me and my dad recover from our traumatic spring. The knowledge I’d have that kind of solace and space to heal should have been a relief. But my heart felt like lead every time I looked at the brown boxes that said I was leaving Boston for good.
I turned around from the mirror on my closet door.
“Well?” I asked Jane. “How am I?”
Jane looked me over in a way that had become routine over the last week as she made sure I didn’t have any obvious creases in my clothes or crumbs sticking to my face. She pushed a lock of hair behind my ear and reached up to adjust the black graduation cap that matched her own. Then she arranged the tassel so it dangled down the correct side of my face.
“There,” she said. “Perfect. Where are your dad and grandmother meeting you again?”
“On the lawn after the ceremony,” I said. “He had a therapy appointment last night, so they couldn’t leave until early this morning. They should be here in time to see us walk.”
Dad was still taking his therapy seriously, according to Bubbe. He attended group sessions more than once a week and also met weekly for an individual appointment with the psychologist running the rehabilitation program. He’d also started doing physical therapy for his hand, and seemed to be happy with his doctors.
I let Jane tug me out of the room, past several large bouquets of flowers that had been arriving like clockwork all week. There had been no more letters, just a few handwritten notes, usually scrawled with some version of “Forgive me.” I hadn’t looked at them, knowing exactly who they were from, but I didn’t have the heart to throw them out either. Crimson and white peonies to match Harvard colors.
“Tea,” Jane said, handing me a to-go cup.
We had missed the graduate breakfast since neither of us wanted to get up at six in the morning to eat with all the legacy families. Jane’s parents had flown in from Chicago, but had been more interested in sightseeing around Boston than attending stuffy Harvard events. Jane, whose hair had coincidentally been combed respectably for the three days her mother was around, had been happy to oblige.
“Granola bar for later,” she said, handing me sustenance. “And a chocolate lobster tail for right now.”
“Oh, you peach, you went to Mike’s, didn’t you?”
I shoved the bar into the pockets of my graduation gown and immediately tucked into the flaky pastry, careful not to let the chocolate cream on the inside drip onto my gown. We gobbled them down, hunched over the sink to avoid making a mess. The pastries were gone in seconds.
“I feel so official in this getup,” I remarked. “So old-fashioned.”
“I feel like a Harry Potter character.” Jane looked up and down her robes, pulling out the sides at least two feet on either side. “No one in that book ever gets laid, you know.”
“I think that has more to do with them being kids’ books than because of their robes,” I replied with a chuckle. “Besides, Harry gets around in the last few books. Didn’t he have, like, ten girlfriends?”
“True. A few were Asian too. So, for the wizard contingent, I guess these robes might say ‘come hither,’ eh?” Jane reached behind her ear and tipped her glasses up several times, imitating a Groucho Marx impersonator. “Ooh, Harry.”
We fell apart laughing, clutching at the edges of the countertops.
“I’m going to m
iss you, you know,” Jane said. “I can’t believe this is it. After today…we’re done.”
I grimaced. “Aw, Janey, you’re getting all mushy on me, aren’t you?”
She reached out and smacked me on the shoulder. “Don’t be a bitch, Sky. We’ve been roommates for three years, and now you’re one of my best friends. Where else am I going to find the perfect blend of harsh sarcasm and cold observation to chase every piece of tail away once I’m done with them?”
“Well, who’s going to force me to stop working and act my age? If it weren’t for you, I never would have gone to a single bar in Boston, made friends, fallen in love…”
We smiled ruefully at each other. Jane knew how difficult the last month and a half had been. She squeezed my hand, then released it gently to brush one last crumb off my collar.
“Thanks for taking care of me, Janey,” I said, pulling her in for a hug that I knew would surprise her more than anything. “I’ll miss you too when you go back to Chicago. I’ll visit, I promise.”
She returned my tight embrace with equal fervor. “Um, yeah, you will. And New York is full of hot guys, so you know I’m going to be coming there too. Tell your bubbe to make me an extra blintz. I’ll need the calories.”
We spoke lightly, but both of us knew it would be a while before we had anything close to resembling vacation time.
“All right, enough with the sob stories,” Jane said as she set me away from her. “Time to jam. The dean’s going to flip her shit if everyone isn’t in line to march exactly at seven fifteen.”
The double ceremony went exactly as planned, with the typical march, speeches, and walk of the commencement on the carefully maintained lawn of Tercentenary Theater. The weather was the perfect blend of sun and clouds that would make sitting on the lawn for three hours in boiling black gowns halfway tolerable.
Afterward, each school dispersed and made their way to the separate sites for individual diploma ceremonies. By the time I had received my diploma and gone back outside to mingle with my classmates and locate my family, I was both starving and elated by the fact that the day—that the past three years—was finally over.
“Skylar! Bubbela!”
I made my way around the hordes of graduates to find my father and Bubbe at the edge of the lawn. Dad was no longer walking with a cane, and his hand only bore a light splint. His face was finally clear of bruises. At last he was starting to resemble his old self again.
“Hey, Dad. Hey, Bubbe.” I greeted them each with a tight hug and accepted the bouquet of roses that Dad had obviously purchased from the flower vendors temporarily flanking Harvard Square. “When did you get here?”
“Oh, about nine fifteen,” Dad replied. He grinned. “Dang, Pips. I can’t believe we’re here. I’m so proud of you, kid.”
“Come on, come on, come on!” Bubbe waved us together while she held up the camera she had been using since before I was born.
“Bubbe,” I called as I stepped under my dad’s arm. “You sure you don’t want a digital camera? Or just use Dad’s phone? You’ll save a bundle on film, you know.”
“Pips, I’ve been trying to convince her to do that for the last ten years. She ain’t gonna budge now,” said Dad.
“Smile!” Bubbe ordered. “And for God’s sake, Danny, try not to close your eyes.”
We accommodated her through at least four different shots before she beckoned my father to switch places with her.
“So, where is he, bubbela?” she asked as she tucked a small arm securely around my waist and patted her tight gray curls before smiling at my dad. “Take at least four, Danny, just in case!”
“Where’s who?”
“Don’t play stupid with me, Skylar,” she chastised through her bright smile. “Your man, your mensch. A smart girl like you should have figured out how to fix things by now.”
Inwardly I wilted, but outwardly I smiled while Dad fumbled with the camera.
“He’s not here, Bubbe,” I said. “I told you, things didn’t work out.”
I’d had some version of this conversation every week since that night in my bedroom. He’s a mensch, she told me, over and over again. They don’t come around every day. I never told her about the bracelet or the letters. It would have only made her resolve to see us reunite that much stronger.
Dad waved his hand to signal that he was finished and walked back to us.
“If that’s true,” Bubbe said, “then who’s the goy who’s been staring at you from under that tree? He looks eager enough to me. And familiar.”
All three of us turned to one of the large trees that bordered the theater. Brandon, of course, was leaning against it and looking his entire net worth in a slim fit, charcoal-gray suit and blue shirt that looked like it had been dyed to match his eye color. Awkwardly, I raised a hand to wave, completely dumbfounded by his presence.
Bubbe, of course, immediately beckoned him over. “Oy! You there, Mr. Moneybags. Come congratulate my Skylar.”
Brandon made his way over with a shy smile and extended his hand politely to my father. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Crosby. Mrs. Crosby.”
Dad, to his credit, snorted at the gesture and politely refused, holding up his casted hand as an excuse. “Brandon, I told you, the only ones who call me Mr. Crosby are collections agents. It’s Danny.”
Brandon switched the hand to my grandmother, who gladly accepted it, albeit with a close inspection of his wrist.
“That’s a very nice watch you’re wearing,” she remarked. “Nice suit, too. Custom made?”
“Bubbe!” I hissed, but she waved my comment away like she was swatting a fly.
Brandon touched his lapel with a smile. “That’s right. You have an eye for men’s fashion, Mrs. Crosby.”
“In my own way. My own father was a tailor, you see, so I know the difference between a man in a properly fitted suit and off the rack. Hardly anyone gets the inseam right anymore.”
She looked appreciably down at Brandon’s inseam, which made me turn the color of a tomato.
“Bubbe!” I hissed and nudged her shoulder. “Stop looking at his crotch!”
“Don’t say ‘crotch,’ Skylar,” Bubbe said, though she did not stop looking there.
“Ma, what’s wrong with this?” kidded Dad, who was wearing his very best tweed jacket that he had purchased from Daffy’s when I was a kid. It had been patched twice at the elbows, and the interior lining had been shredding steadily for at least five years.
Grateful for the distraction, I linked an arm through Dad’s and kissed his cheek fondly. “I think you look great, Dad.”
“Thanks, kid,” he said.
“I can’t stay long.” Brandon shuffled back and forth on his feet. It was the middle of a workday—how had he even been able to carve out the time to be here? “I know you’d probably like to enjoy the rest of your day with your family, Skylar, and I’ve got to get back to the office. Mrs. Crosby, Danny, could I talk to Skylar privately before I go?”
It was all Bubbe could do not to squeal as she ushered my dad over to a row of hedges, out of earshot (only just), but where they could still watch us easily.
I turned to Brandon. “Hi.”
“Hi, Red,” he said softly. “You did great up there.”
I shrugged, bashful. “I just walked like every other graduate.”
“You finished something important. Something that requires time, energy, and discipline.” Brandon replied with another smile that seemed to reach right around my heart and twist. “You should be proud of your accomplishments, Skylar. I am.”
We stared at each other a moment while his compliments floated in the air. The look on his face—a combination of admiration, worry, and longing—seemed to seal out the rest of the world. I could only see him. My resolve and anger melted all over again.
“I’m so sorry I slapped you,” I blurted out, twisting the thick material of my robe in my hand.
Brandon chuckled. “Which time?”
I blushed a
gain, this time even more. “I was just really...you’re really frustrating sometimes. When you get mad at me. I didn’t like what you said, Brandon, but I never should have hit you. I’m so sorry.”
Brandon waved a hand through the air as if to wave away the entire nasty memory. “Don’t worry about it, Red. I’ve had worse, and frankly, I probably deserved it. I was a complete dick; I’m sorry too.”
He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out something.
“Here,” he said. “This is yours.”
He held out the silver cuff I had tossed at him. I stared at it sadly, then looked back up at him. His expression was open and sorrowful, without much hope. It made me want to wrap my arms around his neck and kiss away his grief––grief I understood because it mirrored mine.
“Please, Red. It’s your graduation gift. I…I know it’s over between us, that you don’t want to see me anymore. I still don’t really understand it, but I’ve accepted it. But I couldn’t leave it like that. I hope you understand.”
“But, the flowers and the notes—”
“They’re done.” Brandon’s mouth curved up on one side in a melancholy half smile. “Anyway, I don’t even know where your new apartment is going to be.”
I smiled back. “Well, they were nice. Thank you.”
“Take it,” Brandon said, holding the bracelet out again. “It’ll just remind me of you, and what am I going to do with a ladies’ bracelet anyway? You have freakishly small wrists, by the way.”
Finally, I accepted the bracelet and placed it on my wrist, admiring the way it gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. “I think my wrists are perfectly sized.”
“Yeah, I guess you are pretty perfect.”
When I looked up, Brandon was gazing at me with a look of such unadulterated love, I couldn’t look away. Tears blurred my eyes, and I immediately reached up to dab them out of the corners with the edge of my sleeve. For someone who rarely, if ever, cried, I really couldn’t seem to stop the waterworks lately. It was getting ridiculous.