by Jill Knapp
“Whatever this is, we can work through it,” I muttered, through sobs.
Finally looking right at me, Nicholas took a deep breath and said, “No. Honey, it’s too late.”
There was no way I could just give up and accept this.
“Just give it some time, please! I know you’re angry with me for going on my trip but we can talk about it. It’s not like I am moving to Brazil, this can’t just be about me not being there when you start your internship,” I pleaded.
“Why are you even going?” he said, this time looking right at me.
“Because I have always wanted to go,” I said. “I’ve always been honest about how much I want to travel. Obviously I can’t get up and leave the country whenever I want, but that’s why I booked this so far in advance. And honestly, it’s something I am doing, for me.”
“Well I think that sounds really selfish.” he said.
“Please just tell me why you think that’s selfish, and we can figure this out together,” I pleaded. As I listened to myself speak, I knew I was in the right. I didn’t believe what I was doing was selfish at all, but I was willing to put my pride on the back-burner to salvage my relationship.
But it was no use. Nicholas stood up and walked over to the kitchen. He came back to the bed and handed me a box.
“Here, I packed all of your things,” he said coldly.
It suddenly dawned on me that this wasn’t an impulsive decision. Nicholas must have been planning to break up with me for a few days, if he had taken the time to pack up my things.
“What the hell is this? You’ve wanted to be with me for so long, for years!” I cried. “You convinced me to be with you, coerced me into falling in love with you, and now after one fight that doesn’t even have to really do with our relationship, you’re leaving me?”
I was crying, hard. Harder than I had ever cried before. I expected him to listen to me, to consider my words and realize he was being foolish and impulsive. I expected him to grab me and say I was right, that he made a mistake and to forget he had even brought any of this nonsense up, but all he said was, “Yes.”
I let out a whimper. As angry as I was, I couldn’t express it. My anger felt caged and controlled, by my overwhelming confusion and sadness.
“We belong together, we can fix this. We can fix anything,” I uttered with the last drop of fight in me.
But I knew it was useless, that it was over.
“No, Amalia. We can’t.”
Still sitting on the floor, I watched as he walked over to the front door and held it open for me to leave. I peeled myself off the floor and grabbed the box of my belongings. Without any hope of changing his mind, I looked him in the eyes and said, “I love you, and I will never get over this.”
With no emotion or remorse, he looked at the front door and then glanced back at me.
“That’s too bad.”
Chapter 8
Liz
“Amalia?” someone whispered sweetly. “Wake up, please.”
I opened my eyes and found Olivia standing over my bed, holding a mug of what appeared to be coffee in one hand, and a stack of papers in the other.
“Please go away,” I mumbled through sobs, pulling the plush covers back over my face.
The cheap, worn-out mattress was the only comfort I had felt in days, and I certainly wasn’t going to give it up.
“You have to get up,” she said, “You haven’t left this apartment in five days and I’m really worried about you.”
Besides Olivia’s daily check-ins and running into Christina in the kitchen, I hadn’t had contact with anyone in almost a week. Christina had continued to buzz Olivia up, most likely relieved she didn’t have to deal with my melancholy herself. Every grueling moment spent awake was occupied by an influx of thoughts about Nicholas. I had been crying from the minute I woke up, until the minute I went to sleep every day since he left. I had finally found it easier to just stay asleep than deal with the all-consuming pain.
“Listen,” Olivia said, tenderly. “I brought you all of the work you missed during the past few lectures. I also put some hot tea on your nightstand; it’s my mother’s recipe and it always makes me feel better.
“Thank you,” I said, still crying.
Olivia let out a soft sigh. “I have to meet Alex, we are going to study for the exam on Monday. You should really come with us, you’ve missed a lot of work.”
“No,” was the only word I could muster up.
“Alright,” Olivia said as she rubbed my head through the blanket. “If you need anything at all, call me.”
The next thing I knew, it was Monday. I had spent an entire week crying in bed, I felt pathetic and more than a little nauseous. I pushed the comforter off my face, revealing a well-earned pillow crease, and rubbed my stinging eyes.
Through a blur, I looked over at the clock, 9a.m. I couldn’t stay in bed today; today I had a midterm. A midterm covering every minute detail of material we had covered in class starting from the first day. A midterm that I had not spent one minute studying for. Not taking a shower for three days really makes you appreciate one, even with my apartment’s insufficient water pressure. I walked out of the bathroom and almost collided with not Christina but Liz, my other roommate. Liz and Christina “shared” the master bedroom together, but Christina essentially had the entire room to herself, because since we all moved in at the end of August, Liz had spent exactly three nights sleeping here. She spent most of her time in Queens with her much older boyfriend Tim, who was an aspiring musician. Or maybe he was a painter.
I was grateful she was here today because the shock of her presence distracted me from my pain.
“Amalia, darling, I was hoping to run into you,” she said, taking a sip of something from a reusable water bottle.
I found this sentence bizarre, being that we lived together you wouldn’t think your roommate would have to hope to “run into you”. Liz was wearing a dark-green, floor-length cotton dress, shoes made out of a material that I was sure had to have been previously recycled, with black fishnet stockings and a cropped black motorcycle jacket. She was wearing her bright-red hair pulled back into a tight chignon, and her bright-green eyes were rimmed with silver eyeliner, creating an alluring contrast.
“There’s going to be a mixer this weekend, the NYU alumni association is hosting it; as you know I’m on the committee,” she said, even though I had no prior knowledge of this. “You are invited, as well as your friends. I expect to see you there.”
Before I could open my mouth to decline the offer, she had closed her bedroom door. I made a mental note to start looking for a new roommate for next year. Although, I was thankful for her random appearance, and the “Nicholas-free” five minutes she gave me were like a tropical vacation.
The truth was, this wasn’t a feeling that was new to me. I had dated my high-school boyfriend for a year, and when he broke up with me to go away to college a year before I did, I spent the better part of my senior year sulking. I didn’t get the support and kind words from my mother that Olivia offered me. She essentially would just walk into my room, see I was still in shambles, and offer me a guttural sound before turning around and walking back out. It seemed like I was always the one getting dumped, never the one doing the dumping.
Time was moving a lot more slowly these past few days, and even after a lengthy shower, I realized I still had about forty minutes before class. Rummaging through my closet, I felt suddenly exhausted by the task of dressing myself. I grabbed the first pair of jeans I saw and threw them on. They were too big, practically falling off. It was the same with two other pairs. Realizing that my lost week unconscious in bed had prevented me from polishing off a few meals, I settled on an old dress that my mother had given me last year for my birthday. I held the dowdy garment up to the mirror and studied it. It was a pale pink, an inappropriate color for the end of November, falling right above the knee (only now it hung a little lower since I had less to hold it up), with
a light lace embroidery around the waist. All in all, the dress was hideous. I must have lost myself in a daze because as slow as time moved, I realized I would have to leave in ten minutes if I wanted to make it to this shit show of a midterm on time, so I conceded to the frock. I reached for my chocolate-brown cardigan to put over the dress and slipped on a gray, suede pair of knee-high boots. My hair had already air-dried at this point, so I added a head band to help conceal the frizz. The only thing I was pleased about this morning was the look of my skin. Turns out a week away from soot, wind, and free radicals will do wonders for the complexion. I swept on some blush, one coat of mascara, and added some clear lip gloss. I took a step back to examine myself in the floor-length mirror. I looked like a crazy doll.
I was ripped out of my self-critique by the sound of my phone vibrating. It was a text message from Cassandra. It read, “I hope you’re feeling better and you ace your midterm! Also, Christina told me about an affair your other roommate is arranging, sounds like you have fun weekend plans!”
I dropped the phone into my purse and let out a sigh. I was in no condition to go to the mixer this weekend, but it seemed as if I wasn’t going to have a choice. I felt a sudden wave of sadness rush over me when I realized this was the first of many upcoming events that I would be attending solo. Trying to push the thought into the back of my head, I grabbed my coat and braced myself for the walk to school.
When I got to class, I was immediately greeted by Olivia.
“You’re here!” she practically squealed as she threw her arms around me. “And you’re wearing, well, you’re wearing something besides your pajamas, so that’s a step in the right direction.”
She looked my outfit up and down, the whole time keeping a fake smile plastered on her face.
“I was so worried you wouldn’t make it and I’d have to come up with some excuse as to why you weren’t here. I was going to go with death in the family; I feel like no one ever really checks up on that,” she shrugged.
While listening to Olivia’s rant, I felt a tap on my shoulder. As if the universe was single-handedly trying to see how much torture I could take, I turned around to see Michael standing before me, looking handsome as ever.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you in years,” he said, sympathetically cocking his head to the side.
“Well, here I am. I’m here, and ready to fail this exam,” I said, hoping to mask my melancholy with sarcasm.
I looked straight up at him and met his gaze. Even through my somber state, he could still make me weak in the knees. A feeling I would usually resent because of my relationship with Nicholas, I suddenly felt grateful for. I was grateful for any feeling that wasn’t pain.
“Let’s all get a drink afterwards,” he offered. Before I could reject the offer, Alex materialized out of nowhere and chimed in.
He threw his arm around my shoulders and shook me a little bit. “Mike, did you say drinks?” Alex turned me around so I could face him. “Hastings, you’re alive! And you’ve given yourself a make-over!”
I had no energy for a quick retort.
“Yeah, you, me, Amalia, and Olivia, drinks after the midterm. I’m not taking no for an answer,” Michael replied.
“Please take your seats,” a loud voice boomed, following by feedback on the loudspeaker.
“Sure, guys. I’ll be there,” I said, begrudgingly.
I made my way over to the first available seat, which just so happened to be next to Michael. He gave me a warm, reassuring smile that translated to “Everything is going to be fine.” I smiled back and secretly wished I could believe him.
Chapter 9
Fifth Avenue
Nicholas,
You’re gone. Not a moment has passed in the two weeks we have been apart that I haven’t thought of you. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense anymore.
Amalia
I never sent it.
Before I knew it, the week was over and it was Friday, the day before the big NYU dinner that Liz insisted I attend. That afternoon, I had agreed to meet Cassandra for coffee and dress-shopping.
Cassandra always had a way of making me feel better. When we were in high school she was crowned Homecoming Queen, and President of the Student Organization. I’m pretty sure I was crowned “Class Nobody,” or maybe that was just a self-proclaimed title.
“You have to arrive looking fabulous!” she stated when she called me this morning.
I unwillingly agreed and also rationalized that nothing I owned fit me anymore, and I needed to go clothes shopping anyway. I checked my phone; it was now two-twenty, twenty minutes later than we had agreed to meet. She was late once again. Thank God for smartphones, I thought as I pulled up an article from The Huffington Post on my cell.
I looked up just as Cassandra burst through the door. “I’m so sorry! Big meeting, client was late, need coffee now,” she said as she plopped down onto the stool.
“It’s not a big deal, besides you gave me time to do some reading,” I said, switching my phone to vibrate. “Just don’t make a habit of it. You don’t want to end up one of those Manhattan women who are completely obsessed with their jobs and lose all of their friends.”
“Never!”
“Good,” I smiled. “I’d miss you too much.”
“Speaking of work, do you have lot of school work to catch up on?” she asked.
I had barely done any work for school during the past two weeks and the workload was really piling up. I did decently on my midterm, but there was definitely room for improvement. It was to the point where any free moment I acquired had to be spent doing school work.
“Um, it’s a lot of work but I will get it done,” I answered.
We grabbed our coffees to-go, and headed to Saks Fifth Avenue. I wasn’t greatly interested in shopping like most women were, but even I had to admire the beautifully decorated, prestigious department store. I glanced down at my Converse sneakers and wondered if it were possible to be under-dressed to go shopping. Being that Cassandra worked for a well-known fashion magazine, she had an in with nearly every major department school in Manhattan.
“Cassandra, my love!” said a voice from behind us. “John! Come va?” Cassandra said, returning his enthusiasm and throwing in a little Italian.
I turned around to be greeted by a tall, thin, very handsome man. I noticed his outfit and decided I was definitely underdressed. He was wearing black dress pants, a light-blue fitted button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and a navy-blue silk tie to pull it all together.
“Molto bene, Cassandra! Who is your enchanting friend?”
“Amalia,” she said, beaming. She pointed to me and then pointed to him. “This is John. He’s one of the sales associates here and a dear friend of mine.”
“Great to meet you,” I offered a small smile and extended my hand for a handshake. It seemed like a handshake-worthy situation.
One hour, and two glasses of complementary champagne later, I made my way to the register to purchase my brand-new, little black, three-hundred- dollar Nanette Lepore cocktail dress. I didn’t know if it was the store, the champagne, or the nervous breakdown I had been experiencing lately, but spending three hundred on a dress I’d only wear once seemed like a great idea.
I turned to Cassie, who was typing away on her phone. “Thank you for the day out, this is exactly what I needed. I almost felt like my old self today.”
She looked up from what she was doing, smiled brightly and gave me a hug. “You deserve to be happy, sweetie, and that’s why,” she paused for effect. “This dress is on me.”
I starred at her, stunned. “No! Absolutely not, there is no way I could ever accept something this expensive from you. Please, forget about it.”
I playfully tried to grab the dress from her, but she continued to resist.
“Stop it!” she laughed, holding her up her hand for emphasis. “It’s my pleasure. This is the first time I’ve seen a smile on your face in weeks. Besides, they’re going to give
me a huge discount anyway because they’re terrified of my boss.”
It was true. Cassandra worked directly under the Editor in Chief of her magazine, one ill word from Cassie about her shopping experience to her boss and the store would essentially be blacklisted.
“Wear it well and have fun tomorrow,” she said as she grabbed her purse and coat.
I watched with great delight as Cassie pulled out her American Express Gold card and charged the dress.
“Thank you for everything, you truly are a wonderful friend,” I said and hugged her one last time before she walked up to the register. I sat back down on the large white couch outside of the dressing room and spread my arms across the back of it. I could feel the tension leaving my shoulders, and only wished I had an ottoman to put my feet up on.
“More champagne, Miss Hastings?” John said.
I let out a soft laugh and said, “Sure. What the hell.”
Chapter 10
Space between us
When I arrived downtown at the The Millennium Hilton for the dinner the next night, the first person to greet me was Olivia. I was stunned by her appearance. She was wearing a low-cut, dark-burgundy-colored dress, with three-inch Christian Louboutin heels. She had traded in her usual tight pony tail for long loose waves, and the clear lip gloss was replaced by a bright-red pout. This transformation was huge, when compared with her usual dowdy and antiquated appearance. Tonight she gave Audrey Hepburn a run for her money.
“You look absolutely stunning, Olivia,” I said. “Did you come with a date?”
“No. I, um, didn’t come with anyone,” she said, her voice shaking a bit.
I realized that my staring was probably making her uncomfortable, so I turned my gaze to the dining room. Even from far away, I could see the flickering candles on each numbered table.
“Let’s get inside, It’s a little cold in this hallway,” I shivered. It had grown uncomfortably cold outside. Fall had come and gone as a fast blur. It was now December tenth, a mere ten days until the last day of Winter semester, and fifteen days until Christmas. I suddenly had a sullen thought; this would be my first Christmas without a boyfriend in years. I shook my head, determined not to let my thoughts of Nicholas plague me tonight.