"Just come to my apartment to get the keys and we'll talk about it as I get dressed," she said with a sharpness in her voice.
Jordan came back and I was showered and dressed and it was my turn to go get the car. I took the elevator down, crossed through the lobby, and walked to the other side of the building. My sister lived in the building, but lived in a different bank. She was my younger sister. She was the only sibling I had. I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the eleventh floor. As the elevator ascended, my thoughts ran rampant and my emotions were somewhat unrestrained. I knew at that moment how much I loved her and I was lucky that we were such good friends. But I had always loved her. It wasn't just then. I may have loved her because she was my sister but I genuinely liked her too. We had so much to share and could make each other laugh - my life wasn't complete without her. I wasn't sure why but I had quickly become melancholy and tearfully sentimental as well. Nostalgic was probably a more fitting word. The guilt was setting in. I knew it. I was feeling unsure of what I was doing and everything suddenly felt wrong. I had difficulty doing anything when I knew she disagreed, she was almost my inner conscience. Her support wasn't good enough. I wanted her to advocate my every step. I needed to know she would have done the same if she had been in my place. It was like looking at myself and seeing my thoughts as I knew we had been brought up the same way. We shared the same morals. It was just easier to see the thoughts on her when I had difficulty admitting the truth to myself. I no longer felt confident that testing my feelings was really the right thing to do. I had doubts. Her doubts just made me confirm my own. I felt small. I felt vulnerable and alone. She suddenly felt like my older sister, or what I imagined it would have felt like if I had one. Someone who I could have leaned on that had already experienced what I had been going through. The feeling was new and I was a little uncomfortable about needing her in that way. I had been accustomed to going through life's experiences, between the two of us, first. But then I remembered instances from the past and I actually began to laugh. Like when she was in college and I had traveled abroad, I lent her my used, but very good car. I never saw that car again. Or the time that she asked me to type up her resume. And then the cover letters. And then write them. All fifty of them. And print them, and send them out. Or when she decided to visit me in Asia. Last minute. And I had asked her to come four months in advance. And she couldn't commit. Soon after, I made travel plans with a close friend. But then, she wanted to come. She begged me to come. I finally agreed. She always had a way of getting to me. Then to boot, she even brought a friend. Or my apartment in Manhattan, how she managed to move in immediately after she graduated from college. Oh, how the memories were endless. Yes, she was definitely my younger sister. And so, none of us were perfect. I got off at the eleventh floor and suddenly, I regained all of my courage.
We embraced each other, she raced around the floor, and then, she handed me the keys.
"This is the key to the car door," she said, "this one is for the ignition and this little one, is for the bar lock that I have on the wheel."
"Thanks." I said, "I really appreciate it. I promise I'll get it home in one piece."
She looked at me then, straight in the eyes and asked, "Are you sure you still want to do this?"
My heart felt heavy while she packed her bags as she instilled more doubt within me. I actually felt angry at her for raising the issue, but I knew she was giving me an out.
"I can't believe you're bringing this up, now, at the final moment," I shouted. "If you felt this way yesterday, you should have said something then. Don't wait until I'm walking out the door when you know that I'm on my way. Either you're with me or you're not, but don't make me second guess myself even more than I've been doing. I don't feel good about this, but you know that already. I don't need you to make me feel worse. And you also know, that the feelings I have for Tristan, I've been waiting a lifetime to feel," I snapped.
"But he's a German flight attendant that lives in Germany! This isn't something that's real," she said with frustration.
"I don't care what he does or where he's from, it's all about what I feel," I retorted. "I'm not saying that I'm going to marry this guy, I don't even say that it's about him. But I just need to examine my feelings and understand this high." I looked at her, feeling exposed again, and wondered if I trusted my instincts.
"OK," she said. "I just wanted to ask you again. Have a great time and I'll talk to you when I get back. Love you," she said, and smiled. I looked at her and said, "Love you too."
I walked outside and looked for the car and spotted it on the corner. It was cold outside and I could see my breath in the air. I was shivering. But then again, my body had been shaking for days. The decision I was making, or had been trying to make, had really taken its toll on me. I tried the key in the car door. It wouldn't turn. It was the one she had told me to use. I wasn't sure why but it wasn't working. So I tried another one. Still no luck. I was so uptight I had no patience. Finally, after trying all of them, the car door opened. I took the bar lock off of the wheel. The same thing happened when I put the key in the ignition. The key wouldn't turn. I tried all of them. After ten minutes of trying I knew I needed help. I didn't want to bother my sister or raise unnecessary doubt. So I asked one of the doormen from the lobby in my building and he came back to the car with me. He also tried but unsuccessfully and then I had no choice. I had to tell her.
"Hi, it's me again. I'm calling you from the lobby. I can't get the key into the ignition," I said with frustration and trepidation.
"I can't believe you!" she said. "I don't have time for this right now. Just wait downstairs, I'll be there in a minute," she shouted in a huff.
Our relationship allowed for such outbursts at each other, it was strong enough and I knew it. But hearing her shout at me when I was feeling so unsure, made me feel only more indecisive.
When she arrived in the lobby I handed her the keys and said, "Here, take them, I'm not going to go. I'll just go with Jordan."
She looked at me with deeper frustration and said, "Let's just get the car because I really have to go."
We got to the car, she put the key right in and then she asked bluntly, "Are you sure you'll be comfortable driving it, I really need to know?"
Distressed, and filled with tension from the whole scenario, I shook my head and said, "Yes, I'll be fine." I drove us up to our building, I gave her a hug and said, "Thanks again, have a great time."
When Jordan and I were both ready to go, we pulled away from 68th St., one at a time, in our respective cars. I turned on the heat and then the radio trying to make myself comfortable and relaxed. It was a long drive and it was important that I calmed down. It was a clear sunny day but it was cold outside and the wind was blowing hard. From Manhattan, we took the FDR Drive North up to route 87 and headed north on route 95 from there. The wind was still blowing and I felt it in my sister's car. The car was about ten years old and at high speeds the car made noise and shook. I stayed within the speed limit which was 55mph, but preferred going about 50mph. The car drove more smoothly at that speed and didn't sway from the wind. Everything about the trip was making me nervous. The wind. The car. And the reason I was driving up there in a separate car from Jordan. I kept having catastrophic thoughts. I had promised myself that if I saw Tristan, I would punish myself. I wondered if fate would do it for me and in a way that I would regret. Driving my sister's car, such a long distance, in the wind, alone, I was scared. Every time that I slowed down, I knew that Jordan noticed. He was right up in front of me and I had planned to follow him for the entire trip. When I slowed down, he slowed down. But he always liked to drive fast and I knew that he was becoming impatient. At the rate I was driving, we were never going to get there. Sometimes I even slowed down to 45mph. My nerves were shot and every time the wind jolted the car, I reacted by slowing down. He finally pulled up beside me, honked, and motioned that I should pull over to the side of the road. So I did. I knew tha
t he was going to want to know what was wrong and why I was driving so unusually slow. We both got out of our cars and he actually started yelling at me.
"What is wrong with you? You are going to cause an accident the way you keep changing your speed. You are not even keeping the minimum speed. Tell me, what is wrong?" he demanded.
Like a child I answered, "I don't know. The car keeps swaying and because of that I'm not comfortable driving at such high speeds. I don't feel like I have total control in this car."
I didn't feel that I did, but I also knew that those feelings were much deeper rooted. Jordan's car hadn't appeared affected by the wind and I told him so.
"Would it make you feel better if you were driving my car?" he almost shouted at me.
"Yes, but only if you really don't mind," I whimpered.
"Oh, I mind," he said. "But if that is the only way we are going to get there before next year, then I'll do it. If you start slowing down again, we are switching back, understood?"
So we switched cars, pulled back onto the road and I drove at 80mph and never stopped. The car was better, the guilt was overwhelming but the urgency inside me still prevailed. I cried as I drove as I thought about what I was doing. I thought about Jordan and what I was doing to him. He didn't know what I was doing, but I did, and that was enough. And then I thought about Tristan and the reason I was doing it. I wished I had handled it differently but needed to see him despite it. The tears slowed down as I prayed to just get through the next thirty-six hours.
But it didn't get easier. As we pulled up to Jordan's parents’ home, I felt like a fraud. Everything I was feeling was punishment enough. But I kept telling myself not to be so hard on myself. I had always been good at berating myself. I knew that in some ways I had been catering to my own needs as I held on to Jordan during my uncertainty. But I had to be fair to myself. That didn't necessarily make me a selfish person. I had thought about his needs as well. Even if I had really made up my mind, I was waiting for the timing to be right. Or more right. The holidays were not the time to do it. So I was in Cape Cod, with Jordan and his parents, and I was doing it for him. I was trying, desperately, despite the discomfort, to accommodate both of our needs.
We walked into his parents' house and I said hello to everyone. His brother and two sisters and respective spouses were all there. The atmosphere was festive as they had been preparing for Christmas Eve dinner that night. In the spirit of the holidays and as a token of appreciation for having me, I bought his parents a book. It was a book on cooking, country style, as I knew that was a passion of theirs. I had also baked a pie as a small contribution to the dinner. But I felt like a secret agent. Funny as that sounds, it was almost like having two lives. In some ways I was totally immersed in the life of Jordan yet had another life that was totally my own. His family was good. They were different from mine in cultural ways but they made me feel at home with them.
After we arrived and an hour had passed, Jordan seemed a little more relaxed. I no longer felt his anger as it seemed to be replaced with tenderness and warmth. His reaction to me on the drive up north was not very typical of Jordan. But I understood too well what lied behind his force. He was disappointed about my leaving early and everything that was related to it. But more than that, he was dreading the future and what he feared it had in store for us.
The house itself was a spectacular sight and the view and surroundings only enhanced it. It was located at the end of the street which overlooked a canal. The canal spilled out onto the bay which you could also see from the house. From almost anywhere in the house you could see the canal and the boats and docks upon it. The house may as well have been built out of glass with its plethora of windows and panoramic view. It was a country home, with Laura Ashley touches and pillows and dried flowers all around. The kitchen had an island that looked down on the living room and an airy feeling about it. There was no doubt, it was a cozy place but it didn't feel right to enjoy it.
Jordan called me from out on the deck, "Come join me for a few minutes, it's beautiful out here."
The sun was still shining but beginning to set and the chill was starting to bite. I grabbed my jacket and went out to him and sat down on his lap.
"Hey there," he said. "I'm really glad that you came."
"Me too," I said, as I put my arms around him.
And strangely enough I meant it. Jordan may have not been the one for me but I cared about him in a way that was difficult to explain. He handed me a sip of wine and we both stared out at the sea.
It was almost time to get dressed for dinner. I went into the bedroom debating what to wear, but there was something else on my mind. I picked up the phone and called my own number at home. I was calling my answering machine. I needed to see if there was a message from Tristan. I hoped and prayed that there wasn't, because if there was, that meant he wouldn't be able to make it. Well, based on the fact that I suggested he call me only if he couldn't come. And if I wasn't going to see him, then Jordan and I drove to the Cape separately, all that way for nothing.
Jordan was in the kitchen talking to his mother and I trusted that he would be with her long enough for me to make the call. I heard my phone ring. It rang twice. But then it clicked. There was one message. Let it be from anyone but him, I thought. The message rewound.
"Hi, it's me," I heard Tristan say. My heart was pounding as I dreaded his next words. "I got your message and I am very pleeeased that your plans have been changed."
The pounding in my heart eased a little. In such a short time, I had come to appreciate the intonations in his voice and the way that he elongated the word "pleased" when he said it. It put such emphasis on what he said that his excitement became somewhat contagious.
"Yes, of course I am still available and I really look forward to seeing you", he added. "I'm still in Germany and my flight leaves early tomorrow morning, so if you need to call me for any reason, I will be home tonight. Otherwise, I'll take your advice and go to sleep when I arrive in New York and I'll wait for your call to wake me up. OK, I'll see you tomorrow then, and I can't wait. Bye-bye."
I hung up the phone and relief washed over me.
Christmas Eve dinner was elegant and simple. The table was set nicely, the lights were low and candles lit the room. It was a peaceful meal, unlike those at my family functions. Oh, don't get me wrong, I loved my family gatherings. They were just different from those of Jordan's. Aside from the holidays, which were acknowledged with respect, Jewish household meals were never meant to be serene, tranquil or calm. We always fought to get a word in edgewise and completing a story was virtually impossible. The more noise, the better the party. Discussions were possible but seven of them at once. Jokes and humor were usually the theme for a meal. In fact, year after year, the same stories were told. In a way, it was tradition. By dessert, after everyone was pleasantly stuffed, it was usually the time to perform. We went around the table to each and every person, and demonstrated our bodily talents. This one wiggled their ears, and that one crossed their eyes, this one folded their tongue and that one was double jointed, and then we laughed and laughed until no one could breathe. It was silly behavior and we knew it. But it became tradition. And it was a warm and intimate setting, a place we could all be ourselves.
At Jordan's house we had our coffee and enjoyed philosophical talk some more. His family ways contrasted some of my family ways, but sharing was something we all had in common. If only I could feel what I wanted to feel for Jordan, I could see myself being a part of their home. It was natural. But my feelings for him just weren't.
That night Jordan and I went to bed and I knew he was feeling particularly intimate. Anticipating what I did the following day, my needs were not nearly as strong.
"I love you," he said, as he embraced me tightly. "Things are not always going to be easy for us, but I care about you so much. I hope you know that."
My heart was breaking. Emotions welled up inside me. Suddenly, I wondered if I was making a mistake
. Jordan was a real person. Someone that you build your dreams around. Someone that you spend your life with. Tristan was a fantasy. Someone that provided short term excitement.
Think. Think hard. Make a decision and stick to it. Feel good about your decision and don't second guess yourself, I kept telling myself.
"I really care about you too," I responded to Jordan.
And at that moment, a wave of affection overcame me quite forcefully, as I initiated one of the most passionate nights we ever had.
"Good morning," Jordan exclaimed cheerfully.
"And good morning to you," I said to him as I nestled up in his arms. "Oh, and merry Christmas," I added.
"Thanks," he said.
We cuddled for a while in the morning sunlight and I tried to put my mind at ease. I wasn't ready to start thinking about the day ahead and the ramifications of it all. We put on sweat pants and went out to the living room where his family had been awaiting our arrival. There was a big decorated Christmas tree with a million presents around it and wonderful holiday music in the background. There was no religious connotation as it was all so new for me, but I enjoyed the festivities and the spirit.
"Good morning to you both," his mother said. "Now we can start opening the presents."
The presents seemed endless as we performed the ritual of giving. The gifts were both creative and personal. I gave Jordan his gift, the one we had purchased together, but he hadn't seen since Indonesia. It was a Komodo dragon, indigenous of the island, a reptile made out of wood. It truly was a spectacular piece and I knew that he still loved it. But as he unwrapped it the tail caught my eye. The end of the tail had broken. A small piece had been broken off and sat on the floor beside him. It hurt me to see that it had come home less than perfect and I wondered if that was a part of my punishment. Punishment for being in a place that I shouldn't have been and for the deceit I felt guilty of exercising. I found some Crazy Glue and pieced the tail together and it worked surprisingly well. Jordan dealt with the situation OK but I ached over its imperfection.
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