by Jill Knapp
I shook my head to tell her everything was all right, but also in an attempt to collect myself.
“Olivia, please. It happened last year already!” I said trying my best at the obvious joke.
“Yes, good one,” she said giving me a light punch on the arm. “Where’s Michael tonight?”
Alex was making his way toward the men’s room and I figured it was safe to talk.
“He’s in Phoenix,” I said feeling the tears build up again and felt worried that they would stream down my face in the most obvious way. “He’s with Marge.”
Olivia took a step back and looked as if she was contemplating this information. “It’s so weird, he doesn’t even talk about her. If we never asked him if he was single back in the beginning of the year, I bet he never would have even told us about her. I mean he’s one of our best friends, and he didn’t even tell us he was going to Arizona or anything.”
I just shook my head, unable to form words. Of course I had thought about this many times. I had even once thought “Marge” wasn’t real, just a ploy Michael used to stay single so he could focus on his schoolwork without the distractions of dating. It was becoming irrevocably clear that Marge was real, was Michael’s girlfriend, and that I was in fact the other woman.
Cassandra returned, champagne in hand, and asked what we were talking about. I gave her a quick synopsis of the last five minutes’ conversation, and downed my champagne in two gulps.
“Holy crap,” she said taking a long gulp of her own drink. “Good thing tonight’s an open bar.”
Just then Alex reemerged with someone. As they drew closer, I realized it was Bryce. Cassandra had “accidentally” forgotten to mention he would be joining us tonight, and she gave me a sheepish look as she sipped her bubbly. Bryce crossed to Cassandra and gave her a kiss on the forehead.
“Hey, Amalia, how have you been?” He flashed me an over-the-top smile. I wondered if he was high, or already drunk from before.
“I’m great!” I said matching his faux enthusiasm. “Everybody ready to ring in the New Year together? Well not everybody, exactly, one of us is missing.” Great, now I was the one who had too much to drink.
“Who’s missing?” Bryce said to Cassandra.
“Excuse me,” I said placing my champagne flute on the nearest table.
I walked out of the main room of the bar and stumbled into what I hoped was the ladies’ room. I burst through the stall, feverishly locked the door, and began to cry. Someone knocked softly on the door of the stall and said, “Amalia.” I opened the door to see Olivia standing there with pity all over her face.
“I’m fine,” I pushed past her to get to the sink. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My professionally done, smoky eye make-up was now smeared all over my face. I looked like a battered wife. I started to clean up with a wet napkin, but quickly gave up. “I’m going home. I don’t want to be here anymore. I can’t watch Cassandra and Bryce kiss at midnight, I can’t listen to Alex say another sardonic sentence, and I can’t keep wishing Michael was here with me instead of in Phoenix with her.”
I sounded so pathetic, my own voice was irritating me and everyone in this bathroom must think I was either crazy or on drugs.
“Okay, then we’ll leave,” Olivia shrugged.
Without another word, she grabbed my clutch off the sink and held my hand through the crowded dance floor as we made our way to the exit.
When we got outside, Olivia hailed a cab and I sent Cassie a quick text telling her what happened, and that I’d talk to her tomorrow.
“Where ya goin?” the cabbie said with a thick Brooklyn accent.
I was too upset to speak. Olivia gave him my address and ten minutes later, we were outside my apartment. To my surprise, Olivia got out of the cab with me. “I’m coming up.”
“No, I’m fine. Go back to the party,” I pleaded, now feeling horribly guilty for allowing her to leave with me.
She cocked her head to the side and made her way into my building.
“You’re not going up there!” I said.
She just shook her head and said, “Oh, but I am.”
The next thing I knew it was 11:55, and Olivia and I were on my couch in pajamas, sharing a gallon of cookie-dough ice-cream, and watching “Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve.”
“He’s a jerk,” she said, spooning a large bite into her mouth.
“It’s my own fault; I’m an idiot,” I said as I followed suit with my own spoonful of creamy goodness. Who knew ice cream and red wine made such a delicious combination?
“What’s your resolution?” Olivia said to me while still staring at the television.
I had to think about this one. I never had a resolution before, but this year it seemed important, almost necessary. This was the year I lost my true love, the year I started to seriously question my intelligence because of how badly I was doing in graduate school, and the year one of my best friends willingly made me his mistress.
I turned to Olivia, who was now silently mouthing the countdown. “To be stronger.”
She turned to me and smiled approvingly, as Ryan Seacrest said, “Three, Two, One. Happy New Year!”
Chapter 20
Back to normal
“It’s a good thing we registered for this class early,” Olivia said to me as she pulled her laptop out of a hideous over-sized computer bag. “It’s packed!”
She was right. Today was January eleventh, and we were back at school for our second semester. Since this class was a core requirement, Michael and Alex would also undoubtedly be on the roster. I hadn’t seen Michael since our bed-and-breakfast date at his apartment over two weeks ago. I received one text message from him yesterday morning asking if I was ready for classes to begin again. I left it unanswered.
“Good morning, class. This is Intro to Cognitive Psychology, and my name is Dr. Adrienne Bakowski, and this class will be held on Monday mornings from 10 a.m. until 1 p.m.,” said a middle-aged, stocky woman with mousy brown hair and thick round glasses.
She dropped a stack of textbooks on her desk and continued her introduction.
“If you are running late to this class, turn yourself around and go back home. I won’t have anyone walking into my classroom fifteen minutes late and disrupting my lecture. Any questions?” she barked.
The room fell silent. We all looked around at each other like our boat was about to sink and it was time to start deciding who gets the life vests. I opened my notebook and knocked my pen off the desk and watched horrified as it rolled down the atrium stairs. Thankfully, Bakowski didn’t seem to notice; unfortunately it was my only pen. For a moment I honestly considered quitting – just standing up and walking out in a Jerry McGuire-inspired “Who’s coming with me?” fashion. Instead, I took a deep breath and reminded myself that in four short months, school would be over and I would be in Brazil.
I didn’t take a single note that day. Instead I sat in class and thought long and hard about telling Michael I couldn’t see him anymore. I practiced a monologue in my head and imagined different outcomes of the scenario. I quickly realized not seeing each other was impossible, and that we not only went to school together but had the same group of friends, and would inevitably be working together in the somewhat near future. At exactly one o’clock on the dot, Dr. Bakowski dismissed us, and a chorus of relieved sighs filled the classroom.
“Well that was brutal,” Olivia said to me as she packed up her belongings. “I am in serious need of a caffeine fix, you in?”
Before I answered, I skimmed the room and found Alex chatting to Michael. On cue, my heart started to pound. The two seemed to be in a deep discussion, probably discussing in great detail today’s lecture, only furthering my guilt about not taking any notes.
“Yes, absolutely. Let’s get out of here,” I said with urgency partly because I could really use a cup of coffee, but mostly because I didn’t want to run into Michael.
Chapter 21
A concerted e
ffort
I was proud of myself. Two weeks had gone by and I had done my best to put any thoughts of Michael or Nick out of my mind and concern myself mainly with my schoolwork. I was hitting NYU’s Bobst Library almost every night, and even managed to talk one of my professors into letting me do a small extra credit assignment, to guarantee a higher grade in the class. The next step in my valiant effort to detox from all things men was to find a paying internship in the city. Although my parents had agreed to support me while I was in graduate school, I still felt like I was taking charity and that spending their money somehow gave them power over me. Not to mention the added work would get me out of the apartment, in which, besides the library, I had been spending nearly every waking moment. The words “shut-in” had escaped Cassandra’s lips earlier that day when she asked me to meet her for lunch. I declined the offer, saying I had to polish the hardwood floors and make sure my closet was coordinated in accordance to fabric weight.
By two o’clock on this Tuesday afternoon I had already done my laundry, taken a long bubble bath, dusted every inch of exposed space in my bedroom, and unloaded the dishwasher. I didn’t have class today so I prepared myself for my next adventure, which was to tackle the grime in the bathroom which had no doubt taken over the bathtub. I was just about to put on my oversized latex gloves when I heard the door open.
“Christina?” I called out, but heard no response.
I figured she had her headphones on and proceeded to the bathroom, where I was greeted by no less than an hour’s worth of mildew. As I began to spray the sticky tub with Fantastic, I heard the unmistakable clacking of high heels on the hardwood floor and knew it was not Christina arriving home. I dropped the cleaning products and spun around to find Cassandra once again standing in my doorway with her hands on her hips.
“Breaking and entering now?” I asked, as I snapped off my gloves and walked out of the bathroom.
She followed me into the living room and we both plopped down on the sofa.
“No, I am not breaking into your home,” she said with an exasperated sigh. “Your neighbor was leaving, so I asked him to hold the door for me because I had forgotten my key.”
I unscrewed the cap of my much-needed water bottle. “You don’t have a key. You do realize you don’t actually live here, right?”
“Very funny, Amalia. Had you left the apartment in the past two weeks, I wouldn’t have had to take such drastic measures to see you.” She kicked off her Louboutins.
I knew she made a good amount of money, but I was always stunned when I saw her wearing seven-hundred-dollar shoes.
“I’ve left the apartment—” I started to say, but she quickly put her hand up and cut me off.
“Leaving the apartment to go to your boring class and to the boring library does not a social life make.” She stole my water bottle and took a large gulp. “Now I am giving you exactly one hour to get your shit together and come with me to Alfangi Salon, where you will be getting a haircut because, let’s face it, you need one. Followed by an early dinner at Morandi, and then we are meeting Bryce and his friend Hayden for drinks at The Rusty Knot.”
Everything she said sounded wonderful enough, well maybe except the part about spending the evening with Bryce and his no doubt pretentious friend, but I still had my reservations about emerging back into the social scene. Since it was the first time people would be seeing me out in a while, I thought I should still make an effort to look good.
Before I could answer, Cassandra tossed the water bottle onto the couch and clicked on the television. “Go get dressed, I’ll wait here.”
Exactly one hour later, I re-emerged as a fully-dressed, fully made-up, somewhat put together woman. Cassandra dropped the back issue of Elle she was reading and stood.
“Well it’s nice to see you can still dress yourself.” She brushed a piece of lint off my black knit top. “Now let’s see what we can do about that hair.”
I once read that January is the coldest month in New York, but I have to disagree and protest that February has it beat. The twenty-degree wind slapped me in the face as we hailed our cab up to midtown, and I quickly regretted allowing Cassandra talk me into leaving the house.
When we finally got to the salon, I was bombarded with over-friendly, and overly thin, employees who quickly offered me everything from a bone-dry cappuccino, to what I was pretty sure was an offer of Quaaludes. I settled for the coffee and sat idly by as Cassie brought over an obviously gay hair stylist. He was wearing a bright-green pashmina, dark-gray skinny jeans, an ironic T-shirt that cleverly said “A cut above the rest,” and vintage beige Chuck Taylor sneakers to pull it all together. They chattered in Italian and ran their fingers through my hair like I was their My Size Barbie.
“Now, Amalia,” Cassandra started as she put both hands on my shoulders and leaned over me. “You are in very good hands. My dear friend Anthony is going to take very good care of you, isn’t that right, Anthony?”
I looked up at the pashmina-clad gentleman, expecting him to comfort me into trusting him with my hair, but all he said was, “Si,” and then grabbed a pair of scissors out of the top drawer. Cassandra gave me a small pat on the head, and then turned toward the exit.
“Hey, Cassandra, you told them I just wanted a trim, right?” I called out as Cassie was halfway out the door.
“Amalia, you have to stop worrying so much!” she said. “Now I have an important phone call to make to Gwyneth’s people. I’ll be back in forty-five minutes. You should be just about finished by then.”
Before I could open my mouth to say another word, the door closed and I was alone with Anthony the hair stylist.
Twenty minutes passed and I was starting to get nervous about the outcome of my hair. Anthony had turned me away from the mirror after my second attempt at sneaking a peak. As I flipped through an old magazine, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was an email from an address I didn’t recognize. I decided to open it anyway because the sender had opted to use my professional email address, and it might be the human resources department from one of the hospitals I had applied to intern at. I nearly fell off my chair when I it was not in fact someone emailing to offer me a job. It was Nicholas’s sister Marissa. I almost forgot where I was and started to get out of my chair when Anthony pushed me back into the seat and shook his finger angrily at me. I took a deep breath and began to read the email.
Amalia,
Hope all is well with you! I am writing to you because I remember you asking when our store was going to have another Friends and Family sale and we are actually having one this weekend.
Hope to see you there!
-M
My whole body ignited with rage. I hadn’t heard from Nicholas or any of his friends or family members in three months, and his sister was emailing me to tell me about some bullshit sale her boutique was having!
I quickly ordered myself to calm down, thinking back to a few breathing exercises I learned from yoga. Nicholas had been out of my life for months, but the mere reminder of his existence could ruin my entire day. I still missed him more than I let on. The only thing that distracted me from the pain of missing him was the pain from dealing with Michael. For a moment I considered what to write back. If I sounded angry, it would come off as petty and surely would get back to Nicholas. I decided to take the high road and come off as aloof as possible. I opened a blank email and began to type.
Marissa,
All is well, thanks for asking! Thank you for the invitation. Can’t this weekend but maybe next time.
-A
I smiled to myself and hit send.
Just then, Anthony spun me around in the chair. He snapped the black robe off my neck and said, “Fin.”
After a deep breath, I took a look in the mirror. My hair was at least two inches shorter with deep short layers in the back and a long side bang over my right eye. I let out a heavy sigh and got up to examine myself closer in the mirror. I had to admit, the guy knew what he was doing. My hair
never looked so good. The length made me look professional but still young, and the angles around my face made my eyes look huge. I reached into my wallet and tipped him a healthy twenty-five percent and thanked him profusely.
The sound of high heels filled the room, and I turned around to see Cassandra making her way toward me.
“Well?” she said as she slowly pulled off her oversized sunglasses.
“Well, you tell me. What do you think?” I did a dramatic twirl and finished it off with a superfluous hair flip.
She folded her arms in her signature way and said with a wide grin, “I think we’re ready to meet the boys for drinks later.”
A few hours later, we were finished with dinner at Morandi and were making our way to The Rusty Knot to meet Bryce and his friend for drinks.
“So wait, what’s this guy’s name again? You know, Bryce’s friend.” I took a sip of my Jack and Coke.
“His name is Hayden and he works for Merrill Lynch as a financial advisor,” she said.
“Oh, so another yuppie,” I said with a smirk.
“You should keep your options open, missy,” she wagged her finger and she stole a sip of my drink. “You’re a single woman, a free agent. Don’t just write someone off like that.”
I looked at her and tilted my head. “Wow, Cass, that was actually really profound and insightful. I almost feel inspired.”
“Yeah, I know,” she said and took a shot of tequila. “Plus, he’s totally hot and rich.”
“Right, of course.” I laughed.
“While we’re on the topic of men, have you heard from Michael at all?”
The mere mention of Michael’s name made me feel weak like a child. “No. No Michael.” I was going to need another drink. “But I did receive an email from Nicholas’s sister while I was in the salon.”
“What!” She started to say more, but I pointed to Bryce who had just walked into the bar and motioned for her to be quiet.
The last thing I needed was Bryce’s input in my life. Walking directly behind him was a tall, well-dressed man who I assumed must be Hayden.