by Megan Rivers
The old woman clicked her tongue and seemed to be deciding whether or not she should show concern or distain at my sudden disinterest of her. Part of my brain was telling me to snap out of it and finish my sentence—how unprofessional I was being! The other half of me froze as I saw Galvin Kismet enter the same room I was inhabiting.
It was Galvin, all right. Granted his hair was shorter and thinner. He filled out some, but it flattered his frame. He wore a tuxedo, but it looked out of place on him, as if his head was transferred onto another body like a paper doll. Across the wandering bodies in the hall, his eyes swept to mine and he smiled, giving a curt wave in my direction.
Dr. Cooper, aka my boss—my immediate supervisor, swooped in like a vulture. “Hello, I'm Dr. David Cooper.” He swept up the woman's gloved hand in greeting. “I'm the head curator for the Roman Art division. Has Ms. Kelly been entertaining you with the history of this fresco?”
“She was, she seems to be—“
He grabbed his prey by the elbow, gingerly, and led her away from the fresco explaining, “There's more to Mount Vesuvius than this fresco. Please, let me give you a personal tour of some of the art we've uncovered during a recent excavation. Mind you, some of it hasn't been on display yet, so you're getting a behind-the-scenes look...”
Antony approached me with a champagne glass. “Are you okay, tesoro? You look like you've seen a ghost.”
Galvin began walking in my direction and I peeled my eyes from him. There were times in my adolescence I wondered if this moment would ever come and if it did I would say something clever and storm out, or say something hurtful then smack him, but time changes you. Time changes everything.
“Antony, something is about to happen that I can explain.” Time was not on my side right now. “Remember that boyfriend I told you about—the one from high school and we were serious?”
Antony nodded, confusion clouding his eyes.
“He's here. He's also...”
“Hi Christie.” Oh that voice! It had barely changed. I hated how good it sounded.
Antony turned to see Galvin. He stuck out his hand, “Galvin Kismet. How are you?”
“Antony, this is Galvin. Galvin, Antony.” I could barely force the words out of my mouth.
Antony released Galvin's hand. “You look very familiar...” Antony said, his eyes studying Galvin.
“He was the lead singer for Prey for Chance like fifteen years ago,” I offered.
“Christie and I also dated for a while,” Galvin generously supplied.
“Oh,” Antony said, then I could see it all click in his head. “Oh!” After a few moments, he looked at me, raised his eyebrows and simply said, “Hmm.”
A smile melted through my lips at our inside joke. Antony could always do that. “So, what brings you to the MET tonight?” I asked.
“Did Meadow not tell you? I ran into her last night at a record label thing in L.A.” Oh! That explains Meadow's messages. “She told me about your engagement. Congratulations,” he said, tipping his head at Antony.
“But why are you here?” I asked getting a tad bit defensive.
“I would like to talk to you about a personal matter.” He then turned to Antony and added, “If you would be so kind as to allow it.”
Antony raised his free hand in defense. “Christie can do what she wants: she's a big girl and does not need my permission.” Oh, I love that man and his beautiful, honest, bluntness.
A smirk played on my lips as I returned my gaze to Galvin. “I'm going to go look at these statues for a while... where looking at a 2,000 year old naked man is a lot less awkward than standing here,” Antony stated and gave me a wink before he left my side.
“It is kind of awkward,” Galvin admitted, shifting his weight. “It's almost surreal. Except you—“
“—Galvin,” I interrupted him. “I don't want to be rude, but I closed this chapter between us a long time ago. I mean, I hope you're doing well and whatever, but spit it out. What brings you to the MET the day after seeing Meadow?”
“Well, I wanted to apologize for everything that happened between us. I often thought about you over the years, and...”
I was suddenly aware I had my arms folded across my chest as I raised an eyebrow at him.
“Could we meet for lunch or coffee? There are some things I wants to discuss with you.” Hesitation must have painted my face because he quickly added, “I'm not trying to screw things up for you—you seem so happy—I just want to clear the air.”
I bit my lip deciding how I should react. In the end, Antony had opened my heart with so much love, I couldn't react with vile distaste even if I wanted to. I nodded. “Okay,” I said and took a cleansing breath. “I'll meet you on the steps outside the MET tomorrow, one o'clock.”
Galvin tried to hide his smile. “Thank-you,” he simply said and stepped back into the crowd and out of the room.
Antony swiftly returned to my side, his eyes swimming with humor. “So, you dated a rock star,” he said in a playful, mocking tone.
I downed my glass of champagne. “Wait until we cross paths with one of your old girlfriends,” I teased. Then I gave him the highlights of my time with Galvin and said that I agreed to meet him.
“You're going to be okay?” Antony asked, “I mean after all that?”
I shrugged, feeling a little loose from the champagne. “I've got you to come home to and that's all I need.”
VI.
Pizza Confessions
“Better Man” – James Morrison
It had been a long night and too short of a morning when I climbed the steps to the MET in jeans, gym shoes, and a spring jacket. The sun was just beginning to warm the cement stairs, so I sat down and let every pore absorb the warmth.
“Hey Christie.” Galvin's voice was still attractive, but it had a hard coating, like it had seen some rough times.
I opened my eyes and saw him in a pair of dark blue stone-washed jeans and a dark grey zip-up sweater. He held two small pizza boxes in his hands. “I got your favorite: extra cheese, spinach, pineapple, and M&Ms.” He rubbed his stomach with his free hand that carried a plastic bag with what looked like two soda cans around his wrist, and licked his lips for emphasis.
My stomach roared at the cheese and spice scented air that traveled between us. Over the years I started hating pineapple on my pizza, but he was trying so hard, so I let it go. “Pizza sounds good.”
“I know a little place down the way where we can eat,” he said. “Come along.” He motioned with this head for me to follow.
We took a short stroll through Central Park and sat at a bench not far from Belvedere Castle, over looking Turtle Pond. “I love this park,” I said, sitting down.
Galvin handed me a box and I flipped it open. The silence between us was broken by the groaning my stomach was making at the smell rising from the cardboard box. I began eating without an invitation.
Galvin left his box untouched, playing with the corner of it while he thought. Finally, he said, “Thanks for meeting me, Christie. I'll try not to take too much of your time. I just wanted to say I'm sorry.”
I stopped chewing and looked at him closer. He turned to face me and took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry Christie,” he managed to spit out again. I stumbled a little. I’m not sure if I was waiting for those words to come out of his mouth all these years or not. “For everything that happened between us. If I could go back in time, I would never have done it and I want you to know that.” He sighed, still holding his unopened pizza box. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I hope one day you will forgive me.”
We didn’t talk for a long time. I slowly chewed the mouthful of pizza, trying to form a sentence in my head that would describe how I felt. Meanwhile, his gaze danced between me, his feet, and the group of kids playing Frisbee fifty yards from us.
“You know,” he began quietly, testing the waters. “I wanted to contact you six years ago, but I didn’t,” he said absentmindedly tracing a fou
r letter word that was carved into the wood of the bench.
I took a gulp of soda to wash down the mouthful of pizza. “Why not?”
He was silent. I guessed he was deciding whether or not he should say what he felt. He seemed to deflate in size when he started to talk; the mask he wore was torn away and Galvin made himself extremely vulnerable.
“During that time I was in a bad place in my life. I was in Amsterdam when Trey telephoned me. He told me to come home immediately. He didn’t say what was wrong but I could tell it was something bad. I immediately got on the train to Germany.
“When I arrived I found Trey sitting next to Tobias’ bed in the hospital. He looked horrible, Christie. You wouldn’t have believed it was him. There was nothing left to even identify him, except those eyes that had faded in color, like a pair of jeans.
“There was an explosion,” he paused, still looking down at the bench; I stopped chewing and held half a slice of greasy pizza in my hand, listening to his suspenseful tale. “He was at home sleeping when it happened. When Herr Binder pulled him from the house he was badly burned but still conscious.
“When I saw him lying there I was never so scared in my life. He spoke to me that night even though it hurt him so much to talk. In a raspy voice that made my eyes water, he only said, ‘Happy, Galvin.’”
Galvin suddenly became more animated when he talked, frustration creating a rind on his words. “I had no idea what he meant—were they just two words or a description? Was it a question? A command? A comment? I only looked at him with a puzzled look on my face. That was all I did. Nothing else. I didn’t tell him I loved him, that I was sorry, nor did I give him any comforting thoughts. As Trey walked into the room, Uncle Tobias made a pitiful effort to smile and he was gone. Just died, right there in front of us.”
I was silent. I dropped the slice of pizza in my hand at the shock of that man dying in the way that he did and the image of it nearly brought me to tears. I didn’t know what to say or do. I wanted to put my arms around Galvin’s neck for a comforting hug, but it didn't seem right.
“Seeing him die like that sobered me up quickly. For weeks those two words he uttered haunted me. Happy? Me? Almost immediately I checked into rehab. I needed help. I was there for eight months, Christie. Eight months. It was so hard and lonely but I did it.” By now Galvin was hunched over onto his knees, his face buried in his hands by the painful truth he was trying to get off his chest.
“During my time there we had counseling sessions every week and during my third month I was ready to quit. I really couldn’t take it anymore. During our session one night, which I promised myself would be my last one; we had to recall what made us happy. People spoke of the day their children were born or the puppy they got for Christmas when they were eight, but what did I say? When I had to share my story I couldn’t speak. No matter how hard I tried, nothing came out of my mouth. The night that my uncle died kept replaying in my head. ‘Happy, Galvin,’ what did that mean?
“That night I tossed and turned searching my past for a meaning and do you know what I dreamt about that night Christie?” He had finally looked up from his weather beaten shoes and looked into my eyes.
My mouth was slightly open at how easily he was spilling out his soul. For a fleeting moment I suspected this was leading to an ulterior motive, but Galvin actually seemed to be suffering.
“It was you.” His lips turned up on one side into a half smile, but quickly fell. “Do you remember that night in Australia? We were walking in the park and we hopped into that carriage as it began to snow. I remember looking over at you as you looked up at the sky and I wanted more than anything to kiss you and the next thing I knew, you kissed me first. That was when I was happiest Christie. I realized how horribly I treated you and I actually stuck it out in the rehab center for another five months and the whole time I was thinking of you. I’ll finish this for Christie, I thought, or I’ll do this for Christie. I was going to find you and beg for your forgiveness but as soon as I got out, I couldn’t do it. I was too afraid to face you.
“But I never stopped thinking about you. I never stopped caring about you.” He looked down sheepishly at his hands, debating if he should continue. “There were so many times-“ He stopped and restarted his sentence several times and finally sighed. He looked up at me; his eyes searching for something in mine.
“When I first met you, Christie, I didn’t want to let you go. I remember walking to my seat on the plane that day and my breath caught in my throat when I saw you sitting there staring out the window. I sat in my seat, frozen. I could not believe the electricity surging between us. I wondered if you felt it too.
“I tried to come up with something to ask you or to tell you—just to speak with you. I never even realized that the plane took off. I kept sneaking glances at you out of the corner of my eye. Then you began to cry. I don’t know what came out of my mouth, but you turned around and your eyes sparkled—just sparkled. I had to keep talking to you, to look into those eyes. I never lost that for you Christie…. that persistence and determination to make you happy.”
Galvin’s gaze returned to his knuckles and he cracked them one by one. “I don’t know what brought me here, now. I don’t know. Maybe facing Meadow lent me the courage to face you. But I needed to see you. I’ve been wanting to see you for years and I finally did it. I wanted to find you and to say thank you for being there for me, even though you weren’t physically there. You loved me enough—at least at one point in your life—so much that it stuck with me and helped me when I needed it the most.
“I know you were probably having the time of your life in New York, without one thought about me in your head when I left rehab, but I needed to see you, to make sure you were real, that you were still real, that we had once been a reality because those years were the last drop of happiness I had and it’s what I’ve been mourning. I just had to look into your eyes, put my hands on your shoulders and say thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. A million times thank you for seeing the real me and for loving me still. Thank you for the hope and joy and dreams and memories you gave me because they were a life jacket when I was drowning in the coldest, roughest waters of my life.”
After an eternity of silence between us, just the birds chirping and oblivious park-goers having regular, every day conversations, the only thing I was able to muster was a meager, “Oh, Galvin,” and he shook his head not allowing such a statement.
He turned his body so it faced me and took my hand in his. “I want to offer you a million apologies even though it may take you ten lifetimes to forgive me. I know I’m not worthy enough to even be on the same planet with you but I’m trying my hardest to make things right.”
I sighed away my defenses and felt horrible for what Galvin went through—for the pain he was going through right now. I can’t even describe how much pain he was radiating from the look on his face to the tilt of his head. I didn't want to be his lover or his girlfriend, I just wanted to be the friend he so desperately needed.
“Galvin.” I put my hand on his shoulder and tried to find the words I needed to say. “I’m so sorry about your uncle. He was… a wonderful man.”
When Galvin looked at me, my initial instinct was to hold him. I felt awful for him.
We stared at each other, trying to figure out what the other person was feeling and thinking. Seconds passed, perhaps minutes and then suddenly I felt ten years younger. The feelings I locked up ten years ago and buried in old memories began to bubble over the top like water boiling too long in a pot. He was genuinely sorry, I felt that deep inside. “I’m sorry too,” I said as I wiped away the tears that suddenly fell and my eyes ached for sleep.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” His voice was deep and firm.
“There is,” I admitted and kept my eyes on his shoulder, I didn’t want to look into his face with my forgiving eyes just yet. “I don’t belong on the pedestal you put me on. I was awful to you too. That night in front o
f Abbington Cottage—“
“You apologized for that long ago, it’s water under the bridge.” I felt his arm drape across the bench as an anchor to keep facing me.
“No, not for me. I’ve tried to forgive myself for being such a brat that night. I kept replaying in my head how I could have handled it differently, but then my thoughts would go to how my life would’ve been different.” I bit my lip harder than I should have and tasted blood; I wasn’t sure what I was trying to tell him.
I closed my eyes and looked up at his face when I felt ready. I no longer felt my heart pulling at its seams, instead it softened and it made me feel relieved. I smiled faintly then looked down at my hands.
“I never read your letter Galvin.” Chills raced down my spine despite the warm mid-afternoon sun. “I got it, but I couldn’t bring myself to open it. When I left you that night it seemed right, I chose the right path for myself and I couldn’t look back, but I still kept the envelope. I would pull it out once in a while, like a memory, and try to build up enough courage and curiosity to open it, but I never did. Now I wonder what would’ve happened if I had opened it: would I have met you at that restaurant in Melbourne on my eighteenth birthday like we planned? Would we have gotten married? Where would—“
Galvin shook his head with a slight smile. “It doesn’t matter Christie. We’re here, right now. The choices we’ve made over the past decade have led us to where we are today. I thought about it too, but my train of thought was more like: If we had gotten married you would have divorced me, I never would’ve made it through rehab, we would hate each other, you wouldn’t have gone to college and you wouldn't be the smart, successful, beautiful woman you are today. I wouldn’t be who I am today. What happened happened for a reason and it’s why we’re sitting here like this now.”
I took a deep breath and reached out to hug him. “Thank-you,” I said into his shoulder. I felt his hair brush against my cheek and I breathed in his scent. “I do forgive you, Galvin.”