The Romantics

by Leah Konen

  “I’m just saying, unless you’ve been dumped out of the blue, you don’t get it.”

  She laughed. Only I could see that she really wanted to cry. Then Sammy repeated the mantra she’d been saying to herself for the last month and a half.

  “Si vous vous sentez seul quand vous êtes seul, vous êtes en mauvaise compagnie.” She said it slowly, her voice all nasally and French.

  (Her accent was actually pretty impressive, not that Gael cared about that.)

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” Gael asked. He had a feeling it was a dig of some sort, knowing Sammy.

  “It’s Jean-Paul Sartre,” she said. “Look it up.”

  And with that, she flipped the lights off, turned on her heel, and pulled the door shut behind her.

  It took him ten full minutes of Googling before he found the translation.

  If you are lonely when you’re alone, you are in bad company.

  Which only led him to one conclusion:

  Jean-Paul Sartre, like Sammy Sutton, had never had a broken heart.

  eighteen candles

  That Friday evening, his mom knocked on his door and poked her head in. “You all set?”

  Gael sat up in his bed, where he’d been lying down, staring at the ceiling, and wishing he didn’t have to go to his stupid birthday dinner.

  As torturous as the thought of ringing in the big one-eight with a sad, three-person dinner was, so was the thought of disappointing his mom. “All right, all right,” Gael said reluctantly. He pulled on his Chucks, squeezing his feet in without messing with the laces.

  His mom walked in the room and leaned against his closet door. Her dark, almost-black hair was pulled into a bun, and she was wearing a black dress with a scarf she’d knitted herself, along with these dangly turquoise earrings that Gael and his dad had picked out a couple of birthdays ago. “I just spoke to your dad, actually. He’s going to come, too.”

  Gael raised his eyebrows. “I thought you said we were going to do stuff separately.”

  “Well, I changed my mind, okay?” Immediately, she forced a smile, as if surprised at herself. Angela Brennan, who made her living raising her voice to young college students, entreating them to open their eyes to the bullshit of the system, was a beacon of cheerfulness at home. He’d gone with his dad to pick her up once, and they’d caught the tail-end of her lecture—it had been crazy to see the petite woman who cut the crusts off his bread talking vehemently about housework being the “second shift.”

  Of course, only now could he really see that her cheerfulness took work. Now that his dad was gone, she was constantly trying to hold it together—Gael wondered sometimes how long she’d been doing that before his dad left.

  (A long time, actually. Longer than even I had realized.)

  She took a deep breath and clasped her hands together. “I just meant, I know this has all been very hard for you, and so I thought, in the transition, that it would be nice to do something as a family.” Her smile fell flat as she waited for his reaction.

  Gael just shrugged. “Whatever.”

  Her smile came back in full force. “Oh, by the way,” she said as she moved toward the door. “I ran into Sammy on campus this morning. I asked her to come, too. We’ll pick her up on the way.”

  Another shrug. “I honestly don’t care who comes, Mom.”

  She tilted her head to the side, smirking. “Whatever you say . . .”

  The truth was, all Gael wanted was to binge-eat cake and Snickers and watch anywhere from two to ten movies.

  But he guessed he should be used to not getting what he wanted by now.

  It was dim inside the sushi place, which was decorated to make you forget you were eating raw fish nearly three hours from the ocean, with earthy colors and paper shades and potted curlicue bamboo plants and waiters wearing all black. Sizzling sounds came from the kitchen, and the place smelled salty and delicious.

  Even though they arrived early, Gael’s dad had beaten them there and was sitting at a big table in the middle. Arthur Brennan was passionate about four things in life: running, Russian history, UNC basketball, and punctuality.

  His dad, easily the tallest person in the room, stood up as they walked in and shifted his weight from foot to foot while nervously running a hand through his meticulously cut and parted sandy blond hair. His dad and his mom proceeded to do an awkward dance of deciding whether to hug (they didn’t) and where to sit (Piper and Sammy ended up taking two spots between them so they didn’t have to be too close). Gael took a seat next to his mom, and it didn’t take him long to realize there were two extra seats, right next to him.

  “What’s with the chairs?” he asked.

  And then—

  “Anika!” His mom stood up, and Gael turned around, already feeling ill, but it wasn’t just Anika. It was Mason, too. Both walked in all smiling, like they hadn’t just mutually broken his heart and ruined his life.

  Gael forced his mouth into a smile as Sammy caught his eyes, her teeth clenched awkwardly, a look of pity creeping its way across her face.

  Gael felt his body tense as Anika gave him a hug. “Happy birthday,” she whispered, and she smelled like she always did, like coconut shampoo. She pulled back way too fast and yet not soon enough.

  Then Mason suddenly clapped him on the back, saying, “Happy birthday, bro. I wasn’t sure if I should show up or whatever, but when your mom called to make sure I was still coming, I was pumped.”

  “My mom?”

  “She arranged the whole thing, dude.”

  The two of them quickly sat down, Anika sandwiched awkwardly between Gael and Mason. Gael wanted to explain that his mom had no idea what had happened between them—and that any calls from her absolutely did not have his blessing—but he couldn’t exactly say anything with everyone there at the table.

  (Just so everyone’s clear on this, Anika and Mason showing up was about the last thing I wanted to happen at this juncture. I did my best to prevent them from coming—I tried to lure Mason to change his plans with a glimpse of a blockbuster action movie poster on the drive home from school, and Anika even had some, ahem, mysterious car trouble. But it was no use. Anika’s mom is a whiz with cars, and Mason cared far more about potentially healing his friendship with Gael than any movie, no matter how many car chases it promised.)

  For Gael, the minutes stretched by endlessly, as his dad began to get anxious about whether the waiter had forgotten about their appetizers. As his mom made a show of unfolding and refolding her napkin and trying to avoid his dad’s eyes. As Piper looked just a touch too happy, probably naïvely hoping that after one joint dinner his parents would actually make up. As Mason made a totally Mason comment about how it was good to see Mr. and Mrs. Brennan together again, and his parents scrambled to say how they had such a good friendship, and it was all going well, and blah blah blah. As Anika caught his eyes, and delivered a compassionate glance that only made him fume inside. If she was really so sorry about what had happened with his parents, she wouldn’t have destroyed him like she did.

  After another agonizing few minutes of placing their orders, his parents fumbling because they always got the “Sushi for Two” special, Anika fiddled in her bag and pulled out a cellophane-wrapped Blu-ray. “I wanted to give you this,” she said quietly.

  He stared at her, shocked. “A birthday present?” he whispered angrily. “I don’t want anything from you.”

  “Just take it,” she said. “I had to order it special.”

  She shoved it into his hands and smiled.

  “What’s that?” his mom asked.

  “Nothing,” he said.

  “Vertigo!” his mom said. “I introduced this to you, Gael, remember?”

  “I know, Mom,” he said.

  She took it out of his hands. “Deluxe edition and everything. What a thoughtful gift. Is this from you, Anika?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Brennan,” Anika said sweetly. She sounded so fake. Had she always sounded so fake? Gael
wondered.

  “Well, you sure know Gael, I’ll say that much,” his mom said. “He loves old movies. Unlike Arthur.”

  In the past, his dad would have responded by delivering an impassioned argument about why new movies were so much better than old ones, but his parents didn’t have those types of playful discussions anymore. His dad just shrugged.

  “I never watched any Hitchcock before Gael got me into it,” Anika said. Her voice was super high-pitched, about an octave higher than normal. Mason, for his part, was staring at his fork, avoiding everyone.

  “It’s not that amazing to buy a movie,” Gael said. “One click on Amazon. Boom. Anyone could do it.”

  His mom gasped. “Gael. I think it was a very thoughtful gift from your girlfriend.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” he spat.

  Everyone went quiet, looking at him like he’d just farted, including perfect little gift-giving Anika. She stared at him like this was somehow his fault.

  Gael didn’t want to do this here, not in front of his family—and Mason and Sammy and the whole freaking restaurant—but he couldn’t stop. “You seriously think a stupid gift will fix everything?”

  “Gael, stop.” Anika’s eyes started to well with tears. “Don’t do this.”

  Gael threw his hands into the air. “It’s not even from the Criterion Collection!”

  “They don’t have Vertigo in Criterion,” Anika said meekly.

  “Well, if you really knew me, you’d know I’d have wanted to wait until it comes out in Criterion,” he said, his voice fully a yell now.

  “Hey, come on, dude,” Mason said, placing a hand on the back of Anika’s chair.

  Anika didn’t look at Mason. Instead, she closed her mouth and put on her saddest, feel-bad-for-me eyes and said: “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

  “Of course you didn’t. You two only think about yourselves.”

  Gael turned to face his audience. “Guess what, family? Since we’re all here together, watching me have a total breakdown, you might as well know that she cheated on me! With him!” He pointed to Mason.

  For the briefest of moments, Gael saw a look of shock pass across his dad’s face—or was it actually guilt? Gael paused. His parents had never given him a reason for why they’d split, and over the past couple of weeks, Gael had started to wonder if it might be his dad’s fault. His dad had taken to running into his bedroom when his phone rang, answering with the door firmly shut, almost like he had something to hide. Maybe his own father was no better than Mason or Anika.

  But he didn’t have time to figure it out. Because that’s when the waiter came out with a caterpillar roll with a lit candle in it, a group of people around him, singing in Japanese to the tune of the “Happy Birthday” song.

  (I’d tried to delay this: In the kitchen, the candle went out no fewer than four times due to a mysteriously overactive exhaust fan, but unfortunately, all the waiters had lighters in their pockets.)

  Gael pushed his chair back and jumped up before anyone could stop him. He tried to avoid the eyes of his parents and Sammy and his little sister, but it was impossible not to see the shock and confusion on their faces. He attempted to make a break for it, but the waiters had surrounded him, their chanting morphing from the birthday song into “Make a wish! Make a wish!”

  Gael glared down at the celebratory sushi roll in front of him. “Fine, sure. I’ll make a wish.” The waiters cut off their refrain, the restaurant suddenly unnaturally silent—other diners had finally caught on that something more interesting was happening than the average birthday party. But Gael was far past caring about making a scene. He squeezed his eyes shut, and with a big exhale, blew out the lone candle. He made a big show of opening his eyes and looking around the table expectantly.

  “Nope,” Gale pronounced. “You’re all still here. Guess it didn’t come true.”

  Then he pushed through the waiters and stormed out of the restaurant.

  (I told you Romantics were dramatic.)

  love and the art of relationship maintenance

  At this point in the narrative, I might as well come clean about my not-so-little mistake. In order for you to understand the gravity of the situation, I must delve ever so briefly into the past.

  In the midnineties, I encouraged the romance of two young intellectual types in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. It was a good relationship, one in which I had utmost faith. These two were freaking perfect for each other.

  I probably don’t have to tell you this, but they were Gael’s parents. One of my favorite success stories, to be honest.

  And maybe that’s where I went wrong. I was too confident. I got lazy.

  The thing is, my work does not simply consist of getting people together. I also check in once every couple of years to see how it’s going. Talk to any couple who’s been together awhile, and they’ll tell you that love ebbs and flows, that there are ups and downs.

  What they don’t know is that a lot of those ups have to do with me. Suddenly, they’ll be flooded with memories of the good times, as tingly and fluttery as if these moments had only just happened. Or they’ll be in the middle of an argument, and one of them will find the strength to be the bigger person, take the high road, and move beyond the fight.

  My maintenance work is just that—maintenance. I can’t save a relationship that’s run its course. But when two people still have a lot of love for each other, I know just how to get them back on track.

  Problem is, with Gael’s parents, I missed my check-in. Actually, I missed three check-ins. I’ve been over it hundreds of times, and I still can’t figure out quite how it happened.

  Was it the slow but steady uptick in my work? (Thanks for nothing, Tinder.) Was it William and Kate’s royal wedding? (You don’t even want to know how many fires I have to put out when the whole entire world witnesses a romance and catches the love bug, many of them pursuing the wrong people as a result.) Was it simply a failure to update my mental calendar?

  Nothing makes sense. I’ve dealt with encouraging love in difficult circumstances before (hello, cholera); it was not my first time tamping down an excess of emotion because two famous people got married; and my mental capabilities are far superior to iCal, trust me.

  But whatever the reason, I messed up. Big time.

  By the time I got my act together and did check in, it was too late. I could only watch as their marriage fell apart. Then I watched Gael (unsurprisingly) dive headfirst into a relationship with Anika in a desperate attempt to feel something other than sadness, to restore his own faith in love. And I watched her break his heart, as I knew she would.

  Now I was watching Gael completely give up.

  I couldn’t just watch anymore. I had to step in more directly.

  His future depended on it.

  this is what i meant about getting creative

  Gael headed alone down East Main Street, and then continued along Franklin, trying to calm himself down and ignoring his mom’s repeated phone calls. When he got to Franklin’s main drag, he turned left into the alley that led to Rosemary Street. The flower lady was there, sitting in her usual spot: “Flowers, one dollar. Flowers, one dollar.”

  She lifted her head to look at Gael and pushed a rose at him. “For you.”

  Gael shook his head. “I don’t have any cash,” he said. “Sorry.”

  “It’s free of charge.” She pushed the flower at him again, her knobby knuckles powerful and insistent.

  “It’s okay,” Gael said.

  But she insisted. “Have a flower,” she said again, shaking it in front of him like some kind of street evangelist.

  He took it. “Thank you,” he said.

  “Whoever she is, she isn’t worth it.” Her wrinkled face looked serious, her eyes wide open like she didn’t have a single doubt in the world that what she was saying was true. For a second, Gael wanted to ask her how she knew, how she could be so sure.

  But then her gaze dropped from his, and she went b
ack to arranging her flowers, calling out her typical refrain.

  Gael continued down the alley, toward Rosemary Street, where he knew there would be far fewer people.

  He walked down Rosemary, and after a few blocks, the acrid smell of spray paint tickled his nose. He turned. Against the brick wall of one of the dirtier dive bars were huge block letters, dripping as if freshly painted: This, too, shall pass.

  He stopped, stared at the words, soaked them in for a second. Then he shook his head, kept walking. Inspirational shit works a lot better, he mused, when your whole life isn’t already ruined.

  In case you’re wondering, I was not simply trying to perfect my tagging skills and give Banksy a run for his money. I was trying to reach Gael by any means possible: whether that meant urging old ladies to give away flowers or hand painting inspirational quotes. If I could only give him a tiny ray of hope, I could help him move past Anika and—eventually—on to Miss Right.

  Of course, I hadn’t anticipated a fatal flaw in my plan.

  A dreaded enemy of True Love since the dawn of freaking time.

  Ladies and gentleman, may I present my nemesis . . .

  The Rebound.

  it (accidentally) happened one night

  Gael was only a few minutes from his house, walking in the road to avoid a mess of spilled beer on the sidewalk, when a girl on a bike suddenly whirled toward him. The bike’s front wheel hit his leg, his knees buckled, and he toppled forward, his hands rising to shield himself.

  For a moment, he lay sprawled out on the sidewalk, clothes covered in the beer he’d been trying to avoid, and then he felt a hand touch his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

  Gael slowly rolled onto his side. Behind him, a black-and-red bike sat on top of a plastic takeout bag tied tightly shut. His flower was miraculously unhurt, stuck through the spokes of the front wheel like some kind of annoying metaphor for resilience.