Meet Me in Manhattan (True Vows)

by Judith Arnold

  THE LAST TIME he'd been in the Denver airport with Erika had been one of the worst days of his life. He'd stood there with a teddy bear in his hand and his heart on his sleeve, and an entirely new version of Erika had appeared with her entirely new friends. He'd left the airport knowing, even though he hadn't wanted to admit it, that their relationship was dead. He'd tried reviving it, performed romantic CPR on it, pressed the paddles to it, and attempted to shock it back to life. But nothing had worked. The love had been gone.

  He probably shouldn't be thinking about that now. But just as he'd sensed ghosts in his childhood home, he sensed the ghost of that ghastly day hovering around him as he and Erika strolled through the concourse in search of a place that might offer palatable food while they waited for their flight back to New York.

  The relationship isn't dead, he told himself. It's the past that's dead. Let the past stay dead.

  They'd flown out to Colorado to attend the wedding of one of Erika's friends in Vail. He had never been to Vail before, and in September the place didn't exactly seem like a ski Mecca. But the mountains were picturesque, and the wedding was fun. And he sensed that Erika hadn't brought him with her just so she wouldn't have to attend the wedding without an escort but because she wanted her friends to meet him. She wanted to present him as the man in her life. She wanted to acknowledge in some public way that the combination of him, her, and a wedding environment worked pretty well.

  It was time to slay the Ghost of Denver Airport Past. Things were going amazingly well between him and Erika. They were together whenever they could be, and when they couldn't be, they communicated in a constant flow of text messages and emails. They spent most nights in her shoe-box-sized apartment, which they had both taken to referring to as the Doll House. They spent most nights tangled up together in her bed, having sex, dozing off, then rousing themselves and going at it again. Making love with Erika was like being reborn. It was like bursting into the world, drawing breath into his lungs, seeing and hearing and feeling everything as if for the very first time.

  Sometimes he felt like the crazed teenager he'd once been, thinking about sex constantly-not just sex but sex with Erika. Thank God he didn't perform like that crazed teenager anymore. As far as he could tell, he was pleasing her a lot more now than he had then.

  "This place looks like it won't give us food poisoning," she said, slowing to a halt in front of moderately upscale eatery. It was enclosed, not part of a food court, and odors of heavy grease weren't emanating from it, so he nodded his agreement and held the door open for her.

  They wheeled their bags over to a table and sat. The menu was heavy on the usual-burgers, sandwiches, steaks, pasta. Aware that there would be no food on the airplane, they ordered salads and entrees. Ted requested a beer, Erika a glass of wine.

  "Didn't you think the wedding was beautiful?" Erika asked as they waited for their food to arrive. "With the backdrop of the mountains? God, I love Colorado."

  He studied her across the table. Her eyes were so animated, shining as she visualized the previous day's extravaganza. He loved everything about her-the beautiful proportions of her features, the flash of her teeth when she smiled, the contours of her cheeks, her blessedly long hair, but especially her eyes, so expressive, so vivid.

  Slay the ghost. "So, you want to get married in Colorado?"

  If she sensed an ulterior question hiding behind his statement, she didn't acknowledge it. "Speaking hypothetically?" she asked, and he gave a little nod because he wasn't ready to take this past hypothetical yet. "Hypothetically ... It would be a pain in the ass," she replied. "I mean, it's beautiful, but planning a wedding long-distance is so hard. And so many of the people I'd want to invite are back east. Family, friends ... I can't see transporting everyone halfway across the continent just so I can have a mountain backdrop. I love Colorado, but I'm a New Yorker now."

  "So you'd rather get married in New York. Hypothetically."

  "But a wedding in Manhattan would have to be small, because, my God, everything costs so much."

  He screwed his courage and pushed to the next level. "What if I'm not talking about a wedding in the abstract, Fred? What if I'm talking about a wedding that would actually take place?"

  She stared at him, clearly stunned. He wasn't sure what she read in his expression, because after a long moment, she gave a flustered laugh and shrugged. The waitress arrived with their drinks and salads, and she took the time to thank the young woman before turning her gaze back to Ted. "You're talking about our wedding?"

  "Well . . ." Was he moving too fast? She looked so rattled. "Sure. Hypothetically."

  "Our wedding." She took a minute to compose herself. "Okay."

  He grinned, aware of the hasty retreat the Ghost of Denver Past was beating. "I mean ... it's not like I asked you to marry me or anything."

  "You asked me to marry you sixteen years ago, in the backseat of the Wagoneer."

  "I think there's a statute of limitations on wedding proposals."

  She managed a smile. He liked how unbalanced she seemed. Erika was always so poised, so confident. Seeing her eyes flash with a glorious combination of uncertainty and hope and yearning tickled his ego and warmed his soul. "Is a Manhattan wedding all right with you?" she asked.

  "It would be perfect." Anyplace would be perfect if Erika was his bride. They could get married at the Waldorf-Astoria. At City Hall. At Grand Central Station, or Central Park. They could get married in the Doll House, although he doubted his immediate family could fit into Erika's apartment, let alone his extended family, her family, and all their friends.

  "So ... I mean, should we discuss this?" she asked.

  "Like you said, I asked you to marry me sixteen years ago. I can't back out now." He tapped his beer glass against her wine glass and took a drink. "Looks like I'm stuck," he said, feigning disappointment.

  "Because the thing is, I'm thirty-four." She sipped her wine, then dug into her salad, sounding a bit more certain now. "If we're going to have children, we're going to have to get started on that right away. We are going to have children, aren't we?"

  "Absolutely." The ghost shriveled into dust and vanished into the dry mountain air. No more Denver Past. Only the utterly amazing prospect of having children with Erika. Little Teds. Little Erikas. Lots of them.

  "Because once we get married, it might take a while to get pregnant, and suddenly my fortieth birthday is breathing down my back. If we're going to do this, we have to work fast."

  "Fine." Fast enough that she couldn't have second thoughts. Fast enough that she couldn't change her mind.

  "I know you've taken care of animals, so I think you can handle taking care of children."

  "Yeah. Those years of practice with Ba Ba and Bunky were excellent preparation. You should have seen how good I was at changing Bunky's diaper."

  Erika swatted at him without making contact. She seemed amused but also serious. "Do we want to stay in the city once we have kids? If we do, are we going to send them to private school? The best private schools have wait lists out the wazoo. Maybe we should get our kids' names on the lists now. This salad isn't half bad, by the way. How's yours?"

  "Half bad. We don't have kids yet," he reminded her. "We're not even married yet."

  "Well, I guess ... we need to get moving on that."

  "I was thinking ..." Actually, he hadn't been thinking, at least not consciously, about this. But if they were going to get married-and apparently, after all these years, they finally were-he wanted to do things right. "I was thinking I should go down to Florida and talk to your parents. Ask them for their permission to marry you.

  Erika fell back in her chair, apparently even more stunned than before. "That's so old-fashioned," she said, and for a moment he feared he'd said the wrong thing. Then her face broke into a radi ant smile. "That's so sweet."

  He recalled her phoning him from Colorado after he'd mailed her the drawing of them and the donkeys, and telling him it was so sweet. At the
time, he'd thought she'd been patronizing. But she'd saved that drawing, framed it, and to this day had it hanging prominently in her apartment. When Erika said something was sweet, she meant it.

  Sweet but also, admittedly, old-fashioned. "I want them to see I'm not the punk pumping gas who gave their daughter a hard time that summer after high school."

  "You didn't give me a hard time. I gave you a hard time."

  He couldn't argue that. "I want them to see that I've turned out okay, that I'll take good care of you. That I can take good care of you. And that there's nothing I want to do more in this world than take care of you. Except maybe for diapering sheep. That's always been one of my favorite activities."

  Her eyes were shining again, and he realized they were glistening with tears. "I'm sure they'd love to hear about how well you diapered Bunky," she said.

  They talked about possible Manhattan wedding venues throughout the rest of their meal, then raced down the concourse to their gate to make their flight. As soon as they were belted into their seats, Erika rummaged through her oversized purse and pulled out a pad and pen. The engines rumbled, the flight attendant pantomimed how to use the oxygen mask, and Erika scribbled on the pad and handed it and the pen to him. He read what she'd written: "If we don't live in the city, what kind of house would you like?"

  The plane lurched away from the gate. The pilot's voice filled the cabin, offering a folksy report about tailwind speeds and clear skies. Ted jotted, "Enough bedrooms for the kids. Enough acreage for animals." He handed the pad back to her.

  "Horses?" she wrote, then passed him the pad.

  "And donkeys," he wrote back.

  She laughed. "How many kids?" she wrote.

  "Not so many that they have to sleep four to a room," he wrote.

  She took the pad from him, read what he'd written and laughed again. "I love you," she wrote.

  He took the pad from her. "Marry me," he wrote.

  "Yes," she wrote.

  The plane sped down the runway and lifted into the air, suddenly quiet, smooth, floating. Ted vowed that the Ghost of Denver Past was gone forever.

  "I've got an idea," Erika said. She was seated on her bed, an oversized T-shirt covering her and brochures and computer printouts arrayed in neat piles around her. Ted teased her about being a neat freak-and really, she wasn't, but she liked organization. She couldn't imagine arranging a wedding without plans, timelines, flow charts, and everything in neat piles.

  That it was the middle of the night didn't faze her. She and Ted had gone out club-hopping, returned to the Doll House after one, and made love. She should have been fast asleep by now, but she was too pumped, her mind humming with adrenaline. She'd recently switched jobs, and every minute she wasn't dealing with her new position in finance, she was plotting the intricate details of her wedding to Ted.

  He seemed happy to leave the planning to her. He could handle the large picture, which in this case was We Will Get Married. But comparing prices per plate at this restaurant and that hotel and analyzing the benefits of cupcakes over a tiered wedding cake did not appeal to him.

  He had returned from Florida a few days ago, after visiting her parents to request their permission to marry Erika and receiving their blessing. He'd barely left their home when Erika's mother had phoned to tell Erika what a courtly gesture he'd made, how impressed she and Erika's father were that Ted was honoring tradition. "I thought you were smart to break up with him all those years ago," Erika's mother told her. "Now, I think you're smart to hang onto him. By the way, I've found some old photos of the two of you, from high school. I'll have Dad scan them and email them to you, if you'd like. You'll enjoy them."

  Across the room from her, Ted sat at the tiny cafe table near the window, sipping a beer. He had on a pair of old jeans and his shirt was unbuttoned, allowing her a tantalizing view of his chest. She should have let him sleep, but her mind was clamoring too loudly for her to sleep, and if she wasn't going to sleep, why should he?

  "What's your idea?" he asked.

  "We should put a photo of us from high school on our wedding invitations. Or our engagement announcements. Or our save-the-date mailings. On something. Don't you think that would be cute?"

  Something darkened in his face. "What, like, our yearbook photos?"

  "A photo of us together. My mother found some pictures of the two of us from Mendham and had my dad email them. Here." She located the folder with the scanned photos in it and extended it to Ted.

  The apartment was so small, he almost didn't have to rise from his seat to reach the folder. As soon as he had it, he settled back into the chair and thumbed through the photos. His silence, and the frown that creased a line into the bridge of his nose, informed her that he didn't think her brainstorm was as cute as she did.

  "What?" she prodded him. "Don't you think those photos are hilarious?"

  He finished flipping through the pictures and tossed the folder onto the table. When he gazed at her, his eyes were the color of a stormy sea. "No, I don't think they're hilarious."

  His anger puzzled her. "Granted, I look kind of gawky in them. But you were always adorable, Ted. You were then, and you are now. I know you were kind of skinny back in high school, but-"

  "Erika." He glanced toward the window, as if analyzing his words before he uttered them. Eventually he turned back to her, looking just as troubled as before. "I don't want pictures that remind me of how you broke my heart."

  Now it was her turn to frown. "That's not what those pictures are. They were taken when we were together. I didn't-I mean, we didn't break up until months later."

  "We never broke up," he reminded her. "You broke us up."

  "Okay, well, that was a long time ago."

  "Yeah." He lifted his beer to drink, all the while eyeing the folder as if it was a venomous spider preparing to spring at him and bite him on the nose. "I look at those photos and remember how much I loved you back then. And how much you didn't love me.

  "I did." She spoke carefully, aware of the ground shifting beneath her, the foundation beneath her sliding, growing soft, cracking into deep potholes that could trip her if she wasn't cautious. "I did love you. I just wasn't ready to make a lifelong commitment back then."

  "And now you are?"

  Indignation flared within her. "Of course I am!" she retorted, no longer cautious. "How can you think I'm not?"

  "I remember..." He thumped his hand on the folder. "I look at those pictures and I remember that you walked away from me. I was ready to lie down and die for you, and you walked away."

  "I was a kid. We both were. Come on, Ted-if I'd agreed to marry you then, we would have been divorced ten years by now. We couldn't have handled marriage then."

  "And you're so sure we can now?"

  Her outrage increased as his seemed to wane, replaced by bleak resignation. What the hell was wrong with him? They were going to get married. He'd gotten her parents' approval. She had folders stacked all around her on the bed. How could he doubt that this was going to work out?

  "You still have no idea how badly you hurt me," he said. His voice was low, tight, as if the hurt was just as acute today as it had been sixteen years ago.

  He was right-she had no idea. She could guess, but no one had ever hurt her that badly. She'd lived a lucky life.

  "I will never hurt you again," she promised, tamping down her fury over his having the nerve to question her devotion to him. "I love you."

  "You loved me then, too. For a while, at least."

  "Comparing then with now isn't fair, Ted."

  "So why do you want to put these frickin' photos of then on our wedding invitations? Christ." He shoved away from the table and stood. "I've got to get out of here."

  "Out of where? It's two o'clock in the morning!"

  Busy buttoning his shirt and stepping into his shoes, he ignored her question. "I need some air."

  "Don't you dare walk out of here!" She leaped to her feet, unsure whether she wanted to block the d
oor or slap his face. "Don't you walk out on me when we're fighting."

  "We're not fighting," he snapped, his voice even lower and tauter, as if emotion was twisting his vocal cords. "You're yelling. I'm remembering that I've always loved you more than you loved me.

  "That's not true!" Forget slapping him; she wanted to throttle him. She wanted to wrap her hands around his throat and shake him until he came to his senses. "Who the hell are you to tell me how much I love you?"

  "Who the hell am l?" He gave her a bitter smile. "I'm the guy you sliced to ribbons sixteen years ago."

  She didn't throttle him. Or slap him. Or stand in front of the door, denying him the chance to escape. Instead, she stood paralyzed with rage, and watched as he swung the door open, stepped outside, and slammed it shut behind him.

  Three a.m. wasn't the best time in the world to be wandering around Manhattan, but Erika's neighborhood was relatively safe. The actual Gramercy Park, a city block enclosed within a tall wrought-iron fence, was kept locked; only residents of the neighborhood had access to it. So it wasn't full of homeless people or thugs. The expanse stood empty, the manicured grass fading to beige and the trees showing the first tinges of color on their leaves as autumn settled over New York.

  Ted stood beside the fence, his hands wrapped around its vertical iron bars as if he were a prisoner pleading for freedom. Of course, he was free. He was on the outside, not trapped in the park.

  You are free, he reminded himself. You are not trapped.

  Unlike SoHo, or Times Square, or even his own semi-gentrified neighborhood in Hoboken, Gramercy Park wasn't exactly hap pening at this hour. In the distance, he could hear the hush of cars cruising up and down Park Avenue, and the buzz of the mercury streetlamp casting a rose-hued glow over the park, and miles away the whine of a siren. But here, on this patch of sidewalk less than two blocks from Erika's building, Ted was totally alone.

  How could she look at those photos and think they were cute?

  When he looked at them, he saw his own blindness and stupidity. He saw the trusting, naive boy he'd once been, a boy so wildly, passionately in love, the universe seemed too small to contain his emotions. He saw a boy so frill of trust, he couldn't have conceived of the possibility that Erika could hurt him.