Crushing on You

by Jen Trinh

  It was that way with most things. He was always there to help guide me, to help me grow. To support me, no matter what. He did the same with my mom, even though they didn’t see eye-to-eye on everything. He loved his family fiercely, and he would’ve done anything for us.

  So on paper, he may not have lived the most amazing life. He didn’t have many friends, didn’t travel the world or make a name for himself. But he meant the world to me and my mom, and he enriched our lives with every ounce of his own.

  And he was gone.

  Gone.

  Inevitably, eventually, my thoughts drifted back to my fight with Anna.

  The things that Anna wanted, that creative, independent life that she asked for...before, I’d thought it was admirable. Now it just seemed ridiculous, the childish dreams of a spoiled girl.

  I’d truly grasped tonight that wholeheartedly loving people was what gave life stakes...it’s what made things matter. Family mattered.

  Family loves you, no matter what. They are a part of you, and you, a part of them. Someone who could just cut out her own family didn’t understand loyalty, what it really meant to fight for what you love, to cherish people despite their flaws. It was selfish and naive.

  Anna just...didn’t get it. She’d left my apartment after a simple fight. She’d abandoned her family, had left her mother to fend for herself against her shitty situation.

  She wasn’t a fighter. She was someone who gave up and ran away.

  It could never work out between us.

  Some time later, I sent an email to my manager asking for the week off, explaining the situation. Then I turned off my phone and fell asleep on the couch.

  Chapter 19

  -Anna-

  Things had been too good to be true. We’d had three glorious weeks together, week after week after week of sensual pleasure and fairy tale romance. But of course it couldn’t last. Fairy tales weren’t real. I’d simply...forgotten for a moment.

  Outwardly, he’d respected me, treasured me, even made me feel things that I didn’t care to name. But deep down, he’d thought that I was broken. Fucked up. And not worth staying and fighting for. He’d left and slammed the door on his way out, just as Asher had. I hadn’t upgraded. Things would always be the same. Every man I cared for and depended on would just get up, walk away, and slam the door on me. It was inevitable.

  Because the truth was, I was fucked up. I was broken. And I didn’t deserve him.

  Not that this was completely one-sided. He had his issues, too, and I’d meant what I’d said. By any standard, he was a great guy, a dream boat. But he was a dream boat that was sailing nowhere, and I didn’t want to go nowhere. I had aspirations, life goals. Things to do, places to be.

  So while part of me knew that it was rash to leave, that we, like billions of couples before us, had simply had a fight...the other part of me couldn’t bear to stay. I felt trapped, mired in emotions, and I had to get out.

  I called the only other person that I could in New York.

  “Please,” I sobbed, “You can charge me more rent or whatever. I just...I don’t have anywhere else to go right now.”

  I could hear Asher thinking through the phone. Finally, he sighed and quietly asked, “Anna, where are you?”

  I told him the address. Within the hour, he swung by with his band van and helped me haul my crap into the back of it. It took only two trips up and down before we were done. We closed the rear doors of the van and he got into the driver’s seat while I ambled back upstairs to return the key.

  I numbly swept my gaze around Ian’s sleek apartment, one last time. It seemed cold and sterile, with no hint of the warm happiness that Ian and I had shared together. It was merely a place now, no longer a home. No longer my home.

  I closed the door, locked it, and slipped the key under the door. Then I went downstairs and slid into the passenger side of Asher’s van.

  He didn’t say anything, just pulled out of the parking garage and onto the road. We sat silently for a long time, with only the occasional rattle of my things in the back of the van.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, hands fisted in my lap.

  He kept his eyes on the road, but I knew that he was hyper aware of me, of my every word. “Did he hurt you? Did he do something to you?” His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.

  Not physically. I shook my head. “No. We just...we’re too different. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  Asher kept silent, mulling over something. Then, “I’m sorry, Anna. If I hadn’t kicked you out, you wouldn’t have had to deal with this.” He put his right hand on top of mine, glanced at me, then looked back at the road. “I’m glad you’re coming back.”

  “Me too,” I whispered. My heart squeezed painfully at the lie.

  ◆◆◆

  I considered calling in sick the next day. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to see Ian again. I imagined him greeting me coldly, maybe walking by and not meeting my eyes. Or perhaps pulling me into a conference room to talk it out, trying to kiss me and hold me to make up for things. I wasn’t sure which of those possibilities I wanted.

  But none of them happened. He wasn’t at work that day. He never missed work, so where was he? Had he taken my leaving so poorly that he was at home, nursing a broken heart? Was he still angry and just unwilling to face me?

  I thought about calling him. I saw that he’d texted me and left me a voicemail, asking me to call him back. Cassie called me too, but I didn’t pick up—I didn’t want to talk to her about it. But when she called me again in the afternoon, I picked up.

  “Anna, where are you? Are you okay?”

  I slipped into an empty conference room. “I’m okay,” I said quietly, muffling my voice with my hand. “What’s up?”

  “You know that Ian’s been looking for you, right?”

  “Yeah. But I can’t...I don’t think we can be together. We’re just totally different people.”

  “You know, it was just a fight. Couples do that. You might not agree on some things, but you’re supposed to talk about it and figure it out. Michael and I used to fight all the time. We still do sometimes.”

  “Cassie, we can’t agree on this, okay? He is literally just living the life that his parents want him to. I cut my family off because I didn’t want to have anything to do with stuff like that. He stands for everything I reject.” I paused to wipe my tears away. “Besides, I’m pretty sure that he doesn’t want to be with someone as broken as I am. He deserves a happy, healthy, normal person.”

  “Anna! How can you say that! He obviously loves you.”

  I cry-snorted. “We’ve been together for three weeks, and all we’ve done is fuck and fight. How can that be love?” I tried to stifle my sobs and turned away from the glass door so that my coworkers couldn’t see.

  “Anna. Listen to me. You are a happy, healthy, normal person. You’re not broken. You’re strong and beautiful and—”

  “Cassie, stop. Just stop. I know you mean well, but you know what I’ve been through and what I’m like. I don’t want to hear it right now.”

  Her tone hardened. “So what, you just want to wallow in self-pity and let Ian be miserable? He was frantically trying to get in touch with you last night. He’s probably sitting at his desk, try—”

  “He’s not here.” I sniffed. “He didn’t come in today.”

  “Oh,” Cassie said. “That’s...odd. I hope nothing happened.”

  “What do you mean?

  “Ian’s never missed work except because of his mom.”

  Shit. Fuck. I was always thinking about me me me, never about the bigger picture. Guilt set in, and I panicked. “I...do you...should I—”

  “Just call him, Anna. I know he’ll want to talk to you. Good luck.” Cassie hung up.

  I tried calling him right after, but the call went straight to voicemail. I hung up and tried calling again. I left a voicemail that time, telling him that I was staying with Asher for the time being and that he should cal
l me back when he could.

  He never called me back.

  ◆◆◆

  When I came home from work that day, Asher was there, getting ready for a show that night in Hell’s Kitchen.

  “Hey.” He walked up to me and reached out as if to put his hand on my arm, but then thought better of it and dropped his arm to his side. “Can we talk? I just want to make sure that we get off on the right foot this time.”

  I nodded and glanced at the fist-shaped hole in the wall. He hadn’t patched it yet, just like he hadn’t fixed anything else in the apartment. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

  He walked over to the couch and I followed. He turned to me and said, “While you were gone, I did a lot of thinking. I shouldn’t have assumed that we’d just get back together. I know you were trying to work through some stuff, and I shouldn’t have pressured you or held our friendship over your head.” He paused. “I should’ve been more understanding.”

  I smiled. Asher was a good guy. Quick to anger, quick to forgive. But my smile faltered as I forced myself to say, “It’s not your fault. I should’ve been honest with you. About everything. And I will be, from now on.” I meant it.

  “Me too.” He took my hand in both of his. “Anna, I don’t want to pressure you or anything, but I’d like you to know that I would love to get back together with you. I know it might not happen right away, or maybe at all...but you’re welcome to stay here and we can figure it out.”

  I wanted to want to kiss him. I really did. But all I could think about was Ian.

  “Thanks, Asher.” I patted his hand. “I’m really lucky to have you.”

  He pulled me in for a hug, and we held each other for a long time.

  ◆◆◆

  Ian didn’t show up the next day, either, and he still hadn’t called me back. I began to assume the worst and started to panic, so I texted Cassie to let her know that he hadn’t come in. She tried calling him, too. He didn’t pick up her calls, either.

  I saw his manager, Isaiah, later that day, so I stopped him in the hallway. “Hi, Isaiah. Has Ian mentioned anything to you? About...why he’s out?”

  Isaiah gave me a pitying look and patted my arm. “Anna. He didn’t tell you? His father passed away.”

  My ears began to ring, and my vision tunneled into the office carpet. Had I just heard him right?

  Ian’s dad had...died?

  Shocked, I thought back to the argument that we’d had, where I’d told him that he didn’t have a real life, just lived for the sake of his parents. That he didn’t have any passion.

  I thought about his pained look when he mentioned that his parents were getting old.

  We’d fought because I hadn’t wanted to deal with meeting them. Because I’d been so wrapped up in how judgmental they’d be, so offended that Ian couldn’t understand my point of view, and cared more about their comfort than my own.

  And then...his dad had died?

  All at once, my hearing returned to Isaiah calling my name, his hand on my shoulder, asking if I was okay. The tension in my chest burst, morphing into full-blown heartache, and I crouched down and hugged myself as hot tears spilled over. Our coworkers came over to see what was the matter, and soon they were all patting my back and offering me their condolences.

  I hadn’t even met Ian’s father, hadn’t wanted to, and here people were comforting me about his death. But they had it wrong. I was crying for Ian’s father, a little, but I was mostly crying for Ian. And part of me knew, I was also crying for myself, and for our relationship. There was no way that Ian would forgive me now.

  Before this, I’d mentally told myself that it was over between the two of us...but my heart hadn’t really given up. Not yet.

  But now...now it really was over. And I mourned.

  The rest of the day passed by in a blur of tears and condolences. By the end of the day, all I could do was stare mindlessly at my laptop background. It was the photo of us from Cassie’s wedding. I still hadn’t changed it. The way that Ian looked at me in the photo, like I was precious and perfect and not broken or fucked up...I’d seen that look on his face countless times during our weeks together. I could almost believe what Cassie had said. Maybe he did love me, once.

  I sat up straighter, still staring at his expression. What if he did love me? What if he was suffering, alone with his grief, wishing that I were there with him? What if he needed me?

  We’d had a fight, but couples fought all the time. It meant that we were being honest with each other, that we wanted to make things work between us. We’d also had a connection, a bond, one that I knew in my heart was strong. It was wrong of me to give up on us so easily, especially in his time of need.

  I suddenly had to see him, to make sure that he was okay. I checked the time—it was 4:37pm. Close enough, and my coworkers would understand. I packed up my things and rushed to Ian’s place, not remembering a single step of the journey. I smoothed my hair out of my face and knocked on the door, once, twice. There was no answer, and he still wasn’t picking up his phone.

  I found an old receipt in my purse and wrote him a note on the back of it.

  Ian,

  Please talk to me. I’m so sorry for everything. I’m here if you need anything at all.

  I hesitated, then added,

  My heart goes out to you and your mom.

  Love,

  Anna

  I slipped it under his door.

  Chapter 20

  -Ian-

  I was glad that I’d decided to stay for the week. My mom was in terrible shape.

  I had to encourage her to get out of bed, to eat, to do anything other than lie there. If I hadn’t been around, I don’t know what would’ve happened. I gently tried to remind her that she had to eat and keep strong, so that I wouldn’t lose her too. But sometimes she’d just look at me and look away, as if that weren’t enough. As if I weren’t enough to keep her around.

  Those moments killed me inside.

  It helped me to have someone else to care for. I couldn’t wallow in sadness because I had to be strong for the both of us. And while I grieved in private for my father, I could only imagine the pain of losing a partner of 30 years. My brief forays into love were a joke in comparison.

  The hardest part of that week was calling our family and loved ones and telling them the news. Most times, my mom broke down and cried before she could get the words out. She couldn’t even say his name. Eventually, she just turned off her phone and went to lie down in her room. I ended up calling my mom’s sister and my dad’s brother and telling them what happened, and I asked them to spread the word for us. We were tired of talking about it, and of needing to make other people feel better as they tried to console us.

  We decided to bury him in California with the rest of his family. There was nothing special about Princeton or New York. My parents had only moved out there to be close to me during undergrad and after, as I was their only son, and not for lack of trying. Besides, there were more HVAC jobs on the east coast than in California, and the cost of living was lower, so they’d lived in relative comfort. But ultimately, they belonged in California with their loved ones. Both of them.

  I arranged the funeral services and body transport for that week and began contemplating my mother’s situation. She belonged in California, too. I wouldn’t be able to take care of her on my own, and she certainly wouldn’t take care of herself. I was the one who kept her going, who cooked meals for her, who made sure that she actually left the house. Sometimes we’d walk around the neighborhood a little bit, but she was too tired to do much, so we mostly just sat around and watched TV. Her dramas didn’t pull her in or excite her as much as they used to, though, and sometimes she’d just look away and stop watching, or change the channel. She usually switched to the news, even though it was depressing and her English wasn’t that great.

  There was good news in terms of her health, though. I took her to the doctor for her last round of chemo, and they told us that she was
good to go—her next check-up wasn’t for another three months. I was relieved, so relieved that it was over, but she cried, great big sobs racking her tiny body. I couldn’t tell if they were tears of relief, of sadness...or of disappointment.

  ◆◆◆

  In the evenings, I sorted through my dad’s things. The first night, my mom tried to stop me from touching anything. She said that she wanted it all left alone. I told her that we couldn’t leave it there, that it wasn’t good for her to keep seeing his stuff. That he wasn’t coming back. She weakly pounded my chest with her fists until I crushed her to me and let her cry it out.

  The next night, she didn’t say anything, just walked out of the room and let me go through his stuff.

  I sorted them into three piles: trash, donate, keep.

  Most of it went into the donate pile, like his clothes, his shoes, his tool chest, and his old accordion (which, sadly, neither of us could play). I trashed some of the clothes that were too old or worn to donate, as well as some old documents that he’d just kept lying around.

  The keep pile was the smallest. It contained a few items of clothing that I’d bought for him that happened to fit me, too. Some old photos in a shoebox. His favorite watch. A mix cd of songs that he’d asked me to download for him when I was in high school. Most surprising, I found a pocket-sized sketchbook that was filled with little doodles. It seemed to be for work, with some ductwork diagrams and drawings of houses and such. But every few pages or so, there were sketches of other things. A woman who looked a bit like my mom. Hands in different positions. Birds and plants. I smiled sadly at a sketch of a donut next to a bowl of ice cream. The words “Everyday is sweet” were written underneath.