“That’s exactly it. People like your stupid cousin think if you say no to someone they won’t come back. Well, maybe they wouldn’t, for her. But any guy worth anything will come back for you. You hear me?”
I smiled. “Chloe, I love you.”
“You have to promise me you won’t turn out that way. Do you swear it?”
“I take a sacred vow. I, Valerie Hoffman, shall never dump my friends on account of some guy. And since you’re my only friend,” I added, “I swear I shall never dump you on account of some guy. Do you swear it, too?”
“I swear it.”
“Okay, that’s settled then.”
Chloe stood up and picked up her bags. “Listen, I’m sorry but I have to meet my mother. I’m late already.”
“As usual,” I chided, walking her into the hall. She stopped at the door and looked at me, and I could detect fear in her eyes. Is she afraid that she might break her word? I thought. Or afraid of getting older and maybe having to fight to keep it? “Chloe? Remember before I said I was sorry about what happened?” She nodded. “I’m not. I’m not sorry about anything.”
“Me neither.” She paused, and then said, “Val? Wizard of Oz is playing at the MOMA day after tomorrow. Will you go with me?”
“Yes,” I said, letting her out.
I’ve had time to think about the Chloe I knew then and all that she meant to me, but it’s never been something I could define. One hears of love and there are probably people who could give you a list of reasons why they love another person. There were times I made such mental lists myself and wanted to tell Chloe all my reasons for loving her, but I realized I only wanted to do it to somehow justify what we’d done and the attraction we felt for each other, and that the list wouldn’t tell the truth anyway. What we had done was a part of the truth, but only a part; the rest was a feeling too complicated and too strong to explain. It’s hard not to sound heavy-handed when I say all of this; I’ve never tried to explain it to anyone before. I’ve thought so often about the conversations we had, conversations about Patty, and hip size, about school dances, about the most everyday sort of things, and wondered how I could hear love in them, and whether anyone else would if I told them. As we stared at each other that evening at the door before she left, the feeling was so intense and magnified that I wanted to tell her, and tell her in a way that would last and be with her forever. Comforted only by the sense that she, too, wanted to tell me something, I searched myself for words, found none, and she stepped into the elevator waving at me and was gone.
I walked slowly into the living room and stood by the window, waiting to see her come out of the building. I saw her appear on the other side of the street and begin walking toward West End Avenue. As though sensing I was watching, she turned and looked up toward my window, saluting. I pressed my hand against the window, and when she was out of sight I walked into my room and sat where she’d been sitting, to watch the sun set over the river. “Hey, dollface,” I said aloud. “Whatcha cryin’ for? Other things may change, but Chloe and I will never change. Not ever. That’s a promise. Okay, dollface?” I flipped on the light and blinked for a moment, letting my eyes adjust, and noticed Chloe had forgotten her Vogue. I stood still for a minute, and then grabbed a pair of scissors, thinking: She’ll absolutely kill me. And then I began to cut.
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