by Lori L. Otto
“Why do you have to do that today? Now?”
“Because I have a life outside of you!” I say before thinking. She glares into the camera, looking more hurt than angry now. I smile sheepishly, preparing a groveling apology. “I’ve been volunteering this week. I’ve been at swim practice. I’ve been reading prerequisite stuff and writing. Look, we spent so much time together over the break, but now it’s time for me to focus on school. You know I signed up for a lot of hours. They made me an editor this semester, so that’s more work for me, too. I’m using the blog for my social media course, so I have to clean it up, which–you’re right–I should have done over the holidays, and I’m behind on posting content–”
“So, what, you’re holding it against me for not getting your things done over Christmas break? Are you regretting hanging out with me? We didn’t spend that much time together, Trey. You didn’t ask me to stay with you–”
“Hold up, Zai, first of all, I never blamed you for not getting my stuff done. Secondly, you did stay over a few nights.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
“I didn’t think your parents would go for that, so the thought never crossed my mind.”
“Never crossed your mind?”
“Well, what? Did you think you’d just move in with me temporarily?”
“Shouldn’t we be at that point? Where you bring me back to your place when I come home, instead of dropping me off at Mom and Dad’s? And why wouldn’t my parents go for that?” she asks with air quotes. “They know of our plans after graduation,” she says. “They adore you.”
“Shouldn’t you have told me of these outlandish expectations before Christmas break and not a week after you went back to school, so you wouldn’t be pissed off at how much I’d let you down without even knowing it?” I respond defensively. “We’ve always excelled at communication, Zai. Why is this suddenly becoming a problem? You change your major from journalism to medicine and all of a sudden you’re elusive and afraid to speak directly to me? Do you need a nurse to be your middleman? Or maybe a prescription pad so you can write shit down?”
“Stop it, Trey, and stop avoiding my question. Shouldn’t we be at that point?”
Living with her–giving up my free time and my privacy–scares me in ways it probably shouldn't. And it wouldn’t be for much of the year. Christmas break, spring break, and a few months over the summer. Even that is too much time for me. I feel anxious just thinking about it.
“I don’t think it’s a matter of should or shouldn’t. Like, based on whose standards? It’s a matter of if that’s what we want and what we’re ready for, and Zai, I’m not. That’s a… uh…” I stutter to think of my reasoning. “A post-engagement step in my mind. And based on the plan, that doesn’t come for a few more years.”
“Well, I don’t agree.”
“With which part?”
“That living together is a post-engagement step.”
“Sorry,” I say, holding my ground.
“Is this one of your super old-fashioned, set-in-your-way things?” she asks in a mocking tone.
“Yeah, I guess it is.” Honestly, I’ve never even thought about this before. It just seems like the quickest way out of the conversation.
“A non-negotiable…”
“Yeah.”
She shakes her head and scoffs at me. “So this is how we celebrate our fourth anniversary. Fighting about our future.”
I stare at the screen, studying her beautiful–yet strained–features. “Why can’t we just remember last weekend as the celebration, Zai? Why does the damn date matter so much? This is just impractical, and it feels forced to me. Last weekend was amazing. Every second of it. We had privacy nearly the entire time. When do we ever get that? And we didn’t squander it. Not a single, private moment, and I remember them all. Don’t take that for granted. I don’t. I loved it. I wrote about it.”
“You did?”
I nod my head. “Just something in my journal. It was my first entry in over a month.”
“Will you read it to me?”
“Maybe someday,” I tell her, thinking about the right moment for that, if there ever will be one. She wouldn’t like what I wrote.
“Take off your tie,” she tells me, “and your jacket. Do you have a vest on, too?”
“I do,” I tell her.
“Take that off. Get comfortable.”
My eyes plead with hers, begging for forgiveness.
“I don’t take you for granted, Tria. Everything you planned for last weekend was perfect. From the hotel, to all the meals, to the sunset yacht ride, and the necklace… and the night we spent together. It was the ideal anniversary. Honestly, I don’t know why this was important to me. I just wanted to make sure I had some of your time today so you thought about me on our actual anniversary because I knew you had a lot going on.”
“I think about you every day, Zai,” I tell her, shirking out of my dress clothes, including my pants. “I don’t know why you’re insecure about that.”
“Because I can tell you have a life outside of me. I didn’t need for you to tell me that with such brutal honesty. I don’t know your friends anymore. You’re learning things I don’t know. Things are happening in your family that you forget to tell me about and I hear about them from Max, who doesn’t even live there anymore.”
“Shit, you talk to him more than you talk to me. I still don’t know how you guys manage to do that with your schedules and the time differences.” Max, my best friend from childhood and my brother-in-law’s youngest brother, had grown close to Zaina through me. Even though he didn't go to school with us, he was a part of our circle of friends. He wasn’t a threat to our relationship–he’d come out to me just before my junior year when he started dating one of my other best friends, Callen. They’d chosen colleges just an hour apart from each other in California, only to break up in June before school started.
“When he gets home from going out, I’m normally just getting ready for classes.”
“I don’t know when he sleeps.”
“I think he’s planning to catch up on that after graduation,” she says with a laugh. “He’s acing all of his classes.”
“I know. I’m proud of him. I think his school’s pretty… easy.”
“Tria…”
“I’m just saying, it’s not Ivy League and it’s not Oxford, but I know he’s working really hard, too. And he’s got two jobs for the hell of it, and I don’t, so that says a lot about his work ethic.”
“You have a job.”
“I write for the school paper and I volunteer and blog for non-profits. Not quite jobs.”
“They take up any time you would devote to jobs.”
“True.”
“Stop downplaying what you do. You have an amazing work ethic and you’re philanthropic. You do things because you care. You write about causes you believe in and you help people.”
“How’d we get on this topic? Are we skirting the real issue? Are you still mad at me? Insecure?”
“I can just sense that things have changed a little. I could sense it last weekend.”
I nod my head. “Me, too. But things are going to change. We’ve always acknowledged they would; that we would change, too.”
She smiles at me. “But we’ll be okay, Trey. Right?” I know she’s serious and concerned.
“Right,” I respond, knowing that whatever happens between us, Zaina Mishra and Trey Holland will be okay.
chapter two
“You got it?” Asher yells out as soon as he recognizes me walking toward him, looking around and pretending to make sure no one’s watching us.
I roll my eyes at him, waiting to answer until I’m standing right in front of him. People are watching us. “In the bag,” I tell him, shoving it into his chest.
“How much?”
“Forty-seven-fifty. You can round it up to fifty for my trouble.” He nods as he reaches for his wallet and produces a crisp one-hu
ndred-dollar bill.
“Got change?”
“Do you ever carry smaller bills?”
“Give me a fifty so I can say yes.”
“I don’t carry cash.” I pocket his money, figuring I’ll just send him what I owe from my banking app tomorrow. It’s not like he’ll be hurting without it. I can tell because of the abundance of other hundreds in his wallet.
“This shit’s big,” he says, finally taking a look at his purchase. “The Landmark Thucydides: A Comprehensive Guide to The Peloponnesian War. Hopefully this helps me explain all the Greek background shit better than my TA did when I was a freshman. I need a refresher; he did such a poor job.”
“You can always come to me,” I tell him with an air of arrogance. “I found it pretty easy to understand.”
“’Course you did. And I know it’s fresh in your little sophomore head. It’s been years since I studied it, so thanks for picking this up for me. The store on campus was out.”
“I’m sure they don’t order that many. Have you checked your calendar lately? What year are you living in? Most people just get the digital versions.”
“And that’s sad to me. It should be sad to you, too. We are writers, Trey. Nothing can replace the feel and smell of a paper book.”
“It’s not sad to save our planet’s resources, Asher.”
“You do all your note-taking on Moleskines! Hypocrite…”
“That’s different, and you know it. I work more efficiently this way because I’ve been doing it for so long and I want a written record of everything. And as for books, the day one of my own books is published, I may decide to get it printed, but until then, I’m sticking with digital. Plus, I don’t like the smell of used books–cigarette smoke, dust, mothballs, granny’s denture cream…”
“It’s our history. Shit, I’m not gonna argue with you. We’ll agree to disagree. But thanks again.”
“It’s no problem. Just don’t lose it at the party. It’s sure to be a hit here.”
“Didn’t you drive? Can’t you keep it in your car?”
“I just live a few blocks away. You watched me walk up, Asher. I’m never gonna drive here.”
“Who's taking me home?”
“A taxi? A girl? Your own two feet? Not me. I don’t like Drunk Asher. He’s too touchy-feely for my taste,” I tease him, although he does get overly friendly after a few drinks. “Can’t you just stay at the Sigma Rho house?” I nod to our fraternity brownstone behind him.
“Not if I want any privacy.”
“Fair enough.” I follow him inside the five-story building where some of our brothers live, and where the spring semester kick-off party is already in full-force.
I was leery about joining a fraternity when I started college. Too many had been embroiled in hazing, discrimination and sex abuse scandals, none of which I wanted any part of. My dad wanted me to keep an open mind, though. He and my uncle Chris met through theirs; my parents would never have gotten together had he not been in Lambda Chi at NYU. Of course, meeting his future wife wasn’t the only benefit. He’d made a lot of great connections that he’s called upon to assist him in his many charitable endeavors. If he ever needs a location for a benefit or additional sponsors for an event, he always knows someone to call. And no one says no to my father. He’s one of the most influential men in the country–plus, he’s just a really nice guy.
After doing a ton of research the summer after high school, I thought I would choose Sigma Chi. During rush week, though, and meeting with the members of the four fraternities that gave me a bid, I decided to pledge Sigma Rho. They had a rich history of community involvement in recent years, had many former members on The Columbia Daily Witness staff, and I really, really liked their mission statement. It was all about ethics, loyalty, friendship, and service. They also had a no-hazing policy, and every member I talked to said it wasn’t just something on the website to ease parents’ nerves.
I was happy and a little relieved when I wasn’t hazed during initiation.
Also, James Dean was a Sigma Rho. I could use a little more rebel in my DNA. The only rebellious thing my conscience allows me to do is to partake in underage drinking–and the subsequent lying to my girlfriend by telling her I don’t–and it doesn’t even feel rebellious because everyone around me does it. My parents know I do it. My brother-in-law buys the bourbon for me. Even my delinquency is mild and rule-abiding: I’ve promised Jon that he will be my only purchaser of alcohol, so he can monitor how much I’m consuming, and I’m not allowed to drive when I drink. I’m smart enough to know better, though. I don’t need rules for that.
I head downstairs to the basement first, saying hello to a multitude of friends and brothers along the way. By the time I make it to the bar, my fraternity big brother already has my drink waiting for me.
“There’s my boy,” he says to me with a smile.
“Thanks, Stanley.” We shake hands across the bar as I take a sip. I cringe. “You went easy on the Coke, huh?”
“It’s a party, Trey!”
My eyes water as I nod my head. “It is now.” After taking a few more gulps, I’m acclimated to the taste. “It’s good.”
“Let me top you off there.” I hand him my cup as he fills it back up, and then leaves his place behind the bar. “How’d your extra-long-distance date go with Zaina?” he asks over the din of the crowd.
“Pretty disastrous,” I respond. “I set my stove on fire, and then she got rather heated with me, as well.”
“I was at the park when the alarms were going off at your building. That was you?”
“Your resident arsonist, in the flesh.”
“Everything okay at your pad?”
“It’ll be fine. Hopefully the smoke smell will be gone by the time I get home tonight.”
“And with your girl?”
I shrug my shoulders. “About as suffocating.”
“You’ve got to get out of that.”
“No,” I say. “I just need some time away.”
He looks at me funny. “Did you hear what you just said? You need some time away from the girl you’ve spent most of the last year and a half apart from. You had three weeks with her over the break?”
“Two,” I correct him. “She went back a week ago, remember?”
“That’s bad, Trey.”
“It is kind of bad, isn’t it?” He nods. “It was nice having her here, though. That’s what matters.”
“Or it was nice having a girl around at all,” he corrects me. I look into my cup. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have that all the time, though? Year-round?”
“It was just so great in high school. We were different. I just keep thinking we’ll find that again.”
“Hate to tell you this, kid, but you’re not that guy anymore. And she’s not that girl. And you can’t go back there. It’ll never be what it was. Already you’ve seen too much and lived too much. This is life. Most people don’t marry their high school… whatevers.”
I finally look up and around the room in front of me.
“Let’s introduce you to some nice girls tonight. No expectations… I know you’re a man of honor.”
“I talk to girls at these parties every time, Stan. That’s not the problem.”
“You never have an open mind about the possibilities, though.”
“I won’t do that while I’m with her. That’s what the honor’s about.” I look him in the eyes to make sure he understands where I’m coming from.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I tell him as I pat him on the back. “Can I grab a beer for Asher?”
“Sure,” he says, leading me to the keg. While I pour a cup of frothy beer for my best friend, Stan fills up mine one more time.
“I went easy on the bourbon this time.”
“Thanks,” I tell him. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
When I find Asher, he’s settled in between two girls on a couch, one arm around each of them. I kno
w one of them from my Wealth and Poverty in the U.S. class, which I took last semester. “It’s the richest boy in the country,” she says, already slurring her words. “You’re not here to sit with us, are you, Jackson Holland, the second?”
“The third,” I correct her as I set my friend’s beer on the coffee table in front of him. “Hence the name Trey. How are you, Paulina?”
“Drunk.”
“I can tell.”
“Why’d you pick that class to take las’smester?” she asks me.
“We had to fulfill a Global Core requirement. It sounded interesting to me.”
“’Cause you know nothing about poverty?”
“What, you didn’t like the contributions I made to the class?” It was one of my favorite courses to date, as there was open discussion about charities and humanitarian ideas that should be adapted to help the impoverished and less fortunate in our country. From the time I was born, my parents had worked with a non-profit they’d formed and other organizations they were involved with that helped people who were in need. It was how my father had chosen to spend the fortune he’d made selling his internet startup. I’d spent considerable time in my volunteer work over the last three and a half years with the underprivileged citizens of New York and felt like I had a unique perspective as someone who understood their needs and had the means to do something about it. I also had grown up with Max, who lived most of his childhood below the poverty line. His stories alone inspired me to want to make sure other children wouldn’t have to grow up like he did. “Our professor is using my final paper to propose an initiative to the city this spring.”
“I jus’always wondered if you signed up thinking we’d be learning about rich people like you instead of poor people.”
“Ahhh,” I say with a nod. “No, I know how to read course descriptions. I’m a writer. Maybe you didn’t realize that, but I am expected to know how to read, as well.”