The Brooklyn Book Boyfriends

by Kayley Loring

  “I don’t have that kind of feelings for him. No. God, no. Vince—I’m a mess right now. School starts in less than three weeks, and I can’t be an emotional mess when I’m responsible for dozens of small children. Why don’t you understand this?”

  “You said you’d give me the whole summer.” It’s an accusation, the way he says it. He’s getting aggressive, and I’m getting defensive. I honestly didn’t expect him to be like this. He’s usually so open and understanding. I don’t know what I was thinking.

  “I know. I’m sorry. I’m not good at this.”

  “At what? Being with me?”

  “I love being with you. I just don’t know if I’m good at being me when I’m with you.”

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Who are you being?”

  “Vince.”

  “No, tell me. I wanna know. Who were you being? Who did I fall in love with?”

  He says it so quickly, my brain doesn’t even register what that question means. “I’ve booked a flight. I’m going to Bloomington for ten days.”

  “What? When?”

  “Tomorrow. I’m going to stay with my parents.”

  “You already planned this. Without telling me.”

  “I just decided to yesterday. I’m telling you now.”

  He shakes his head. I can visibly see him shutting down.

  “Vince. I didn’t mean for this to be a permanent break. I just need some space. It’s not your fault, but I’m overwhelmed. If I stay here, I’ll just want to keep seeing you, and it’s not… I don’t know what else to do.”

  I’ve lost him. I can see it in his eyes. “What about Charlie?” His voice is so cold, I actually shiver.

  “Well…I can FaceTime with him when I’m gone.”

  He shakes his head. He won’t even look at me. Whatever he’s thinking about, even though he’s physically still here, I can tell that he’s already left me.

  “We can still be friends while we’re working through this. You and me. Me and Charlie. It’s not like with Sadie—I’m just talking about a couple of weeks.”

  “No.” He looks up at me. His irises are so much darker than they’ve ever been. I barely even recognize them.

  “No?”

  “We had a deal.”

  “I’m sorry if you perceive this as some sort of betrayal, but I was hoping you’d be a little more flexible and understanding.”

  “Yeah? I was hoping a good girl like you would be a lot more reliable.”

  “How am I not reliable? You’re the one with the history of lovin’ and leavin’ ’em.”

  “I don’t know what else I could ever say or do to show you that it was different with you.” He keeps shaking his head. “You get everything, or you get nothing.”

  “That doesn’t sound so different to me.”

  He winces, but he’s not budging. He is so stubborn. I never would have expected him to be this stubborn.

  “That doesn’t seem unreasonable to you, Vince?”

  “You know what—don’t talk to me like I’m a six-year-old. Deciding to leave town for ten days before you even give me a chance to talk about this seems unreasonable to me, yeah. It’s pretty immature, too.” He stands up, pulls a twenty-dollar bill out of his wallet, and drops it on the table. “You know what—forget about Charlie. My dad’s started bringing Sharon around a lot. He’ll be fine.”

  “Is there a one-woman limit in the Devlin household? What is that supposed to mean?”

  I can see that he regrets saying that, but I’m so mad at him right now I don’t care.

  “You’re leaving? That’s it?”

  “The difference with you, Nina…so we’re clear…is that I wanted to give you everything. You’re the one who’s leaving. Deal with that.”

  I don’t watch him walk away. I can’t. I already know that even if I run after him, it is way too late.

  26

  Nina

  When Marnie comes over, I literally have to crawl across the floor to buzz her in and unlock my door. Does this make me a drama queen? Perhaps. But my plan for sorting through my feelings in a way that’s not overwhelming has not gotten off to a good start.

  At least I don’t have to force myself to feel something.

  I don’t need a pop or country song to remind me how to feel. I don’t need alcohol to make me feel more or less of anything. I’m feeling everything and nothing. I feel Vince in every pore of my body as much as I feel his absence.

  Eyes closed, I feel Marnie take my hand and place something smooth and squishy into it. I don’t have to see to know that it’s a Capri Sun juice pouch. This may be the last time I smile, even a little bit, for the rest of my life.

  “Sit up,” she says. “Drink up.”

  I do. It’s my favorite flavor—tropical punch. A sweet reminder of what summer is supposed to taste like, instead of tears and self-loathing.

  “Thank you,” I say meekly. “Can I make you some tea?”

  “No. I brought my shoulder to cry on again. It didn’t get used at all the last time around.”

  The last time around. “Oh God. This is my second breakup in two months.”

  “Yer on a roll, kiddo.”

  “I spent three years in a relationship with Russell and didn’t shed a tear when he dumped me. I spend just over a month with this guy, and now that it’s over, I feel like something has died inside. What’s wrong with me?”

  “First of all, there is nothing wrong with you, sunshine. Secondly, you didn’t cry for Russell because you knew exactly what you were going to get with him, and you were relieved you didn’t have to keep getting that shit. It’s sad about Vince because you had a glimpse of how great it could be, and you’re never going to see it come to fruition. And that sucks. It feels like you’re dying inside because your lady parts are never going to rub up against that beautiful man’s body or sweet mouth ever again.”

  “Marnie!”

  “Sorry.”

  “Oh my God. It’s true. He told me he fell in love with me, and I didn’t even respond. It was so unexpected. He must hate me.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. Whether he was into it with Sadie the other day or not, I probably just drove him back to her.”

  “No. No way.”

  “Ugh. I hate me. I can’t believe I blew it.”

  “Honey. You were trying to protect yourself. We all do that.”

  “I’ve been trying to protect myself my whole life, and the only time I’ve ever been really happy was when I stopped doing that.”

  “It takes a lot of practice to get used to a change like that. It’s like learning to ride a bike without the training wheels. Maybe next time you’ll get the hang of it. Find that balance.”

  If I weren’t too tired to cry anymore, that would send me into another humiliating fit of sobs. “I don’t want a next time with someone else,” I whisper.

  “It might not be with someone else.” She rubs my back. “I mean, I’m no shrink, but it seems to me that you’re both pretty similar in really important ways.”

  Sniff. “You mean sexually?”

  “Well. Sure. But also emotionally. You both have abandonment issues.”

  “What? No we don’t. We aren’t needy. I mean, I’m not. He’s definitely not.”

  “It goes the other way too. Emotional distance. Sound familiar?”

  I stare at Marnie for an eternity. How did I not realize what a genius she is? “Dave is the luckiest guy alive.”

  She scoffs. “Oh, I am not this understanding with my husband. He’s wrong about everything. He’s just lucky I stick around long enough to fall in love with him over and over again.” She holds out her hand. I take it and squeeze her hand with more gratitude than I could show with words. “You’ll have that one day too, honey. I know you will.”

  To further illustrate my poor judgment when deciding to come to Bloomington for ten days in August—it has been so humid that when I cry outside on the back porch, my tears never evaporate.
They basically turn to gel and stick to my face.

  My parents, strangely, haven’t been as worried about me as they were several years ago. Maybe it’s because I’m not depressed. I’ve just been so, so sad. Or maybe it’s because my dad has finally figured out how to get his hair to look awesome with the putty that Vince recommended. And that makes both him and my mom too happy to worry about their lovesick daughter.

  Or maybe they’ve noticed that I’m actually starting to get better, even though I haven’t communicated with Vince at all since seeing him at the restaurant.

  The space that I thought I needed in order to sort through my feelings has somehow only been filled with more love for Vince. It’s a cruel joke. Returning to Bloomington a few years after leaving because I didn’t want to be reminded of my first broken heart. And now, trying to escape Brooklyn in order to avoid running into my second broken heart. But there is a difference.

  Probably without planning it, Vince has broken my heart wide open.

  I may have lost him. He might stay mad at me forever. I might never see him again. I may still be mad at him for being so stubborn. But I love love again. I get why people fall in love, even if the relationship doesn’t last. We don’t dread the summer just because we know it doesn’t last forever. We revel in it. I will never regret one second that I spent with Vince. Every single word, kiss, look, feeling, moment that he gave me in the span of weeks will live in me for a lifetime.

  The mess we made really is more beautiful than anything I’ve ever known.

  I’ve never really understood why people get tattoos before, but now I just want—now I need—to have something permanent on my body. To show how I feel on the inside. To show that it won’t change, even when circumstances have. To prove that even though it might hurt at first…what remains will be something that I’ve chosen to define who I am and what matters to me.

  27

  Vince

  “Can you tell me how you’re feeling right now, Vince?”

  Shit, I almost forgot where I was. I just zoned out. I basically just paid sixteen dollars and sixty-five cents for my therapist to stare at me for three minutes.

  “I was just thinking about Charlie” is what I say. Yeah. I know. I told you what I’m thinking about instead of how I’m feeling, Dr. Glass.

  She gives me this look. I know that look. She thinks I’m regressing. I’m not regressing.

  “You think I’m regressing, don’t you?”

  “Do you think you’re regressing?”

  Obviously, I’m going to ignore that bullshit question completely. “Charlie asked when we get to hang out with Nina again.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him she’s visiting her parents out of town. When he asked if we could FaceTime her, I told him she doesn’t get good cell phone reception over there. Which might be a lie, I don’t know. I felt bad about that. I just didn’t want to tell him he might not see her again. Anyway, he asked me to show him where she is. On a map. He’s got this map of the US on his wall because he’s a nerd. And he sticks push pins into the places he wants to go visit. I pointed to Indiana, but the map only has Ft. Wayne and Indianapolis on it, and I don’t even know where the fuck Bloomington, Indiana is… Sorry.”

  She blinks and doesn’t say anything. Because she’s told me a million times that I don’t have to apologize for swearing in here, but I always apologize anyway.

  “Anyway, he stuck a green pin in the center of the state of Indiana. Because green means go. He wants to go there. And all I could think was that I should go there. Find Nina. Tell her I love her. Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her everything she means to me. And then I thought about my appointments with you. And how I’m doing this for her. And after a while, instead of having that panicky feeling that I need to go to her and do something to show her I’m worthy of…her. Like just show up and grab her and fuck her until we’re both too tired to remember all this shit we’ve… Sorry… Instead, I felt…”

  Dr. Glass might slide off her chair if she leans forward any more. “Yes?”

  “I could feel her inside me. In my fucking heart, okay? Jesus, that is so cheesy. But it didn’t even matter all that much that she’s in Indiana, because I still feel connected to her. Fuck, that is corny as fuck.”

  “It’s not corny, Vince,” she says while scribbling in her notebook, and I’m pretty sure I can see her drawing hearts and check marks.

  Yay for fucking me.

  I don’t even wait for her to ask me to go on. “I was feeling really mad before that. At myself. At first, I was mad at her for leaving. And then I felt guilty for being mad at her because it’s my fault.”

  “It’s not your fault, Vince.”

  “Okay. If you’re gonna pull that Good Will Hunting ‘It’s not your fault’ shit with me and try to hug me until I cry, I’m leaving.”

  She purses her lips, trying not to smile or laugh at me. “I promise not to do that. But it’s not your fault if Nina doesn’t trust you. That’s her thing. Not yours.”

  “Well, how the fuck do you decide what’s yours and what’s hers if you’re in a relationship?”

  “That’s a very good question, and that’s one of the things I’d like to work on. We all need to find a way to be our own separate person while we’re in a healthy relationship with someone else. It’s not easy. But self-acceptance is a good place to start.”

  “I accept myself. I’m fucking awesome all the time.”

  “Well, good for fucking you, Vince. I guess my work here is done, then.”

  It takes us both a couple of seconds to realize what she just said.

  She purses her lips again. “Sorry.”

  “You don’t have to apologize for swearing if it’s in that context,” I assure her in the same tone she usually uses with me.

  And then we both laugh. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed in here before. I’m not even sure if people are allowed to laugh in therapy. Are we breaking a rule or something?

  When we finally stop laughing, she just watches me and waits for me to say what comes next. And all I can say right now is, “I miss my mom.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not gonna cry.”

  “You don’t have to. But it’s okay if you do.”

  I check my watch. Only fifteen minutes left in this session. Whenever I get here, it seems impossible that I’ll be able to talk for forty-five minutes, and by the end I’m never ready for it to be over. “I know I only have this slot booked for two days a week, but…”

  “If you need to see me more than that right now, I will find a way to work it into my schedule. If you promise to come to the sessions.”

  “Yeah. I will.” I try to formulate the right sentence in my head before opening my mouth again. Me words. Feeling words. What do I want? Blah fucking blah, whatever. “I’m afraid that I’ll lose Nina if I don’t do something. To show her that I care. I’m not gonna obsess about it, but I want to do something.”

  “Why don’t you send her a brief text? You said she had hoped to stay friends during this break.”

  “Yeah. Before I fucked things up.”

  “Let’s try to reframe that, shall we?”

  “Before I created yet another fucked-up situation to deal with?”

  “Moving on—why don’t you send Nina a brief text. Just to let her know that you’re thinking about her. That it’s not over for you.”

  “I don’t know if I can be brief. And I don’t know if I’m ready to have a big conversation with her. Or if she’s ready for it.”

  “Sometimes, the best thing to say to someone else is the thing that you most need to hear… This can be your homework assignment.”

  It is impossible not to roll my eyes at that.

  “Think about what you most wish someone in your life—from your present or past—could say to you. And then text it to Nina. If it feels right.”

  I let my head fall back and groan, rubbing my eyes. This is so lame.
>
  “I’m very proud of you, Vince. This was good. I trust that you’ll do the right thing.”

  “Stop trying to make me cry, Dr. G.”

  “Okay.”

  I’ve thought about it all day, but I finally know what I want to say to Nina. I’m not going to be the guy who tells a woman “I love you” for the first time ever in a text message. I’m not going to steal from some dead mystical poet, even though he was able to articulate everything I’ve been feeling for her since the day I first saw her. So I type out:

  Hi. You don’t have to write back. I just want to tell you, Nina…

  And then I say the simple things that I’ve needed to hear for fourteen years:

  I’m still here for you. You are not forgotten. We’re gonna be okay. I will see you again.

  28

  Nina

  And before I know it, it’s the first day of school. I’ve got my classroom all decorated, I’ve got my Hello, I’m Miss Parks name tag on. My name is on the chalkboard, my lesson plans for the first week are fully planned out, my teaching supplies are organized, my classroom rules are ready to be explained in a clear and fun manner. I haven’t said a real swear word out loud in two weeks, and I haven’t cried in over a week.

  When I did cry those last few times, it was tears of joy, because Vince Devlin is wonderful. Because he somehow managed to text me the exact thing I needed to hear. And after staring at that text for half an hour, I finally replied with a heart emoji.

  I don’t even regret it. Because we will see each other again, and there will be more time for all the words. The good words. The good bad words. The great bad decisions. I trust that.

  Beside every thought I have about vowels and fractions and the pros and cons of hand sanitizer are two thoughts about Vince. But they’re just there keeping me company; they don’t send me into a tizzy. See, I use words like “tizzy.” I’m officially a dorky first-grade teacher again.