by Jill Knapp
But it was no easy trip to get there. First, in order to get to Harvest Moon, which was in New Jersey, I had to go home to Staten Island to get my car. Now I had two choices. I could go into my house, have a conversation with my parents (or a debriefing, as I like to call it) and answer a thousand questions about school, my love life, and whether or not I’m still carrying around that pepper spray on the subway. Or I could just take the car from in front of the house without saying a word to them. I had the keys with me; it was completely doable. The only hiccup was that they might assume the car had been stolen and I’d run the risk of giving them both a heart attack – and getting pulled over. I figured I’d chance it and take the car anyway. So on Wednesday afternoon, I began my journey.
Located at the end of the Financial District, or the beginning of Battery Park, however you want to look at it, is the ferry that runs all day and all night for free and goes directly to Staten Island. This sounds convenient in theory, but it is littered with homeless people, drunks, and what I can only assume are “ladies of the night.” So, after a short trip on the Staten Island Ferry, which for the record is terrible, I made my way to my parents’ house to clandestinely steal my own car.
There it was, just sitting there patiently in the street, awaiting my return home, my 2004 Honda Civic. Blue on the outside, black on the inside, amazing all over. The car was given to me as a birthday present by my father, who insisted I could not possibly drive a used car, as they were often referred to as “death traps.” Many make-out sessions were had in this car, along with mini road trips on days Cassandra and I would ditch school. I felt a warm rush of excitement knowing I was going to drive it for the first time in months. I shook off the feeling; I had to focus on my mission at hand. My dad was undoubtedly at work, but my mom’s car was in the driveway, so I had to be sneaky. I fumbled in my purse for the keys and accidentally dropped them on the pavement. Before I bent down to pick them up, I saw my mother through the front window.
“Shit!” I whispered, and dropped down to retrieve my keys, and also use a neighboring bush to hide. I crouched into a ball and willed my mother to go back into the other room, away from the front window so I couldn’t be spotted. I had officially reached a new point of humiliation.
I felt my phone buzz and reached into my purse to retrieve it. I kept jumping every time my phone went off lately. It was just an email from Express about a sale on skirts. I had hoped it would be something more interesting, but I had enough drama to handle.
A short eternity later, my mother finally left the front room and I seized the opportunity to hijack my own car. I sprinted out from behind my neighbor’s bush and smacked into my car. I had forgotten to hit the button to unlock the door, or the remote hadn’t worked right. Finally in, nervous about possibly drawing more attention to myself, I started the car and peeled out. It reminded me of a Clint Eastwood movie, or Thelma and Louise, but instead of some great expedition, I was driving to see my ex-boyfriend, who had left me high and dry about five months back. What had become of my life?
Forty minutes after committing Grand Theft Auto on my own car, I had made my way over the Outer-Bridge Crossing, through the New Jersey Turnpike, and onto Route 18. I was just pulling into a parking deck in New Brunswick when my phone went off again. It was Cassandra, texting to see where I was. I had completely forgotten I was supposed to get dinner with her tonight. I grabbed the phone and quickly wrote back that I was sick, and that we could get together tomorrow.
It was official, I was a scum.
I was committing theft – well, not really, the car was mine – lying to my best friend, and spending time with someone who not too long ago had broken my heart. I gave myself a slap Ow!, slammed the car door behind me, and made a break for Harvest Moon.
It was a nice day out. The beginning of April and the sun was finally shining. I felt like I hadn’t seen it in years; I took it as a sign. When you’re in Manhattan, it seems like you never really notice a nice day. The only sign of it is when restaurants open their side doors and allow for outdoor seating. That’s about it.
When I got to the front door, Nicholas was already inside sitting at the bar. He looked exactly the same. A rush of nostalgia overwhelmed me. Suddenly, I remembered everything. I remembered the smell of his cologne, Bruce Springsteen’s song Jersey Girl playing the first time we kissed, my 150-square-foot dorm room, and lastly how much, at the time, I had loved him.
I was wearing a white and turquoise sundress and a light-grey cardigan over it. I might have been overdressed for a bar, but better overdressed than underdressed. I felt sexy and confident as I entered the bar and made my way over to Nicholas.
“Hey there,” I said, trying to come up with something non-committal. I wasn’t exactly nervous about seeing him, but I still wanted him to know I was running the show.
“Hello, beautiful.” He turned the bar stool toward me to give me a hug.
His confidence caught me off guard. I was expecting a shell of a broken man, or at least something comparable to what I looked like when I wanted him back.
I turned to the bartender and ordered a Jack and Coke. Before I could say another word, Nicholas started in.
“Amalia, I miss you. I have been missing you for the past few months, and I’m sorry,” he said, looking at me with his wide, puppy-dog eyes.
I once joked these eyes could take down a small nation. Unfortunately for him, they weren’t having their usual effect. The bartender handed me my drink and I took a sip.
“Sorry for what, exactly?” I tossed my hair back. I was acting a little dramatic, but I honestly didn’t care. This guy had hurt me, and if he wanted me back he was going to have to work for it. I had gone through enough crap this year to know what I was willing to put up with.
“For everything,” he said, now taking my hands in his. “I’m sorry for how I acted at your birthday party. I’m sorry for breaking up with you and for being so cold when I did, and I’m sorry it took me this long to try to get you back.”
I studied his face, trying to figure out if he was being genuine. All of the words he was saying sounded perfect, but I still wasn’t sure if this was something I wanted to get into again. I had to admit, he looked good. He was wearing better clothes, finer cologne, he even had a new Hugo Boss wallet when he paid the bartender for our drinks; something he rarely did before.
“Well I have to say, your new career agrees with you,” I offered him a smile.
“Yeah, I decided to stop waiting around for things at my job to pick up and to just find a new one. I got Clear Channel to let me begin my internship a few months earlier. They actually hired me after me internship was over. I guess I’m doing pretty well. I am actually moving to a new apartment at the end of the month.” He took a sip of his gin and tonic.
“What area are you moving to?”
Nicholas had always defended his tiny dingy apartment in Alphabet City; I was surprised he had decided to move out of there. More likely, he had gotten evicted.
“I found an apartment downtown in a building on John Street, off Broadway,” he said casually, as if this wasn’t at all strange or uncharacteristic.
“Wait just a minute,” I said, shaking my head. “You are moving to the Financial District?”
Nicholas let out a small laugh and answered yes.
“The Financial District?” I repeated. “The only people who live there are Wall Street tycoons and the lawyers who work down there – maybe the cast of Suits. You’re literally a few blocks away from one of the most touristy areas in the entire city, possibly the country, and you are going to live there! Now, that I would have never expected.”
Nicholas was a good sport about my mocking him; he even said he knew it was a bit out of character for him to move there. But he justified it by saying it was much more safe (which it was), and he would be closer to his work.
“Alright, you’ve convinced me,” I shrugged. “Besides, Battery Park is really nice.”
“I guess I
’ll have to take you for a walk by the water front sometime.” He reached for my hand.
Maybe with the new clothes, the new job, and the new home, Nicholas had changed. Maybe he had grown up.
The rest of the evening felt just like old times. I told Nicholas what had been going on in my life, leaving the Michael stuff out of it, of course. I told him about school and how I didn’t love it as much as I had hoped. He asked if I was thinking about a career change, but I said no. I still felt strongly about wanting to finish graduate school. Nicholas then made a few jokes about our times in college, even retelling a story that involved us driving around all night looking for bottle opener because we didn’t think to buy one after a throwing a party in the dorms.
“You’d think that throwing a party and all, you’d remember the one essential item!” he laughed.
“Hey! I remembered the red Solo cups, didn’t I?” I was laughing so hard, tears were streaming down my face. I had forgotten how good it felt to laugh. To have fun. Everything was so serious and stressful lately. Maybe this was what I needed.
“Remember our first kiss? Remember Jersey Girl playing in the background?” he asked, while taking a sip of his drink.
“Of course I remember,” I said, speaking softer now, my eyes locked on his.
“I think of you every time I hear that song,” he uttered. “Because deep down inside, you’re secretly a Jersey Girl.”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
“I think I have to disagree with you there. I think I always was, and will forever be, a city girl,” I said, shaking my head.
For a moment, we just stared at each other. It felt comfortable. Familiar.
After a few seconds, I was the first to break the staring contest, and checked my phone for the first time since I sat down. It was nine o’clock already, and if I wanted to get back to my apartment before midnight, I had better leave right now. I jumped out of my seat.
“Nicholas, this was fun,” I said, gathering my belongings. “It was good to see you, and I’m glad you’re doing well. Even though I have to admit I spent a few months there wishing nothing but misery upon you.”
Nicholas laughed and grabbed his coat. “Yeah, I probably deserved it. Amalia, I am really glad you agreed to come out here tonight. I really do miss you so much, and I would love nothing more than to give this another shot.”
I stood up and gave Nicholas a hug, and told him I’d think about it. I wasn’t about to rush back into something, but I at least owed him another shot. We had been together for a long time, and maybe he really was sorry.
“So where are you off to now?” he asked. “Back to the city?”
“Yup,” I answered, as we walked out the door. “But first, I have something to return.”
Chapter 31
Twenty-four Days
Over the next few days, I began to feel a mixture of confusion and deep self-loathing. Something about my current situation did not seem right. I thought back to how easy my life was in college, and it made me feel foolish for believing it would always be that way. Just one guy, one girl, and no cheating. No subtext or inner monologues. No deep-seated resentment for my ex, or obsessive idealization about someone I never really had.
My head was swimming with anxiety. Should I get back together with Nicholas? We did have a lot of history. Should I have been so quick to tell Michael off? And why was Michael so complacent about not speaking to me for so long? Where was my “Say Anything” moment?
The truth was, I wasn’t a lucky person. I didn’t have particularly nice things. I didn’t have a fancy, high-powered job, and last time I checked my Twitter account, I had exactly twelve followers. One of whom was my mother. I definitely didn’t stand out.
I should take that internship I applied for in the fall at a Non-Profit teaching hospital outside of the city. I probably wouldn’t make a lot of money. But if I did get in, I should seriously consider moving out of Manhattan. Maybe I wasn’t a “city girl,” like I declared to Nicholas.
Oh, I know! I’d stay in Brazil. Who’d honestly even notice if I didn’t return?
Well, my mother might; she’d have no one to demoralize.
Possibly Nicholas; he’d been calling me non-stop for a week.
Okay. I was feeling sorry for myself. This was going to stop now.
I still couldn’t help thinking about Michael. I was like a PTSD patient, everything reminded me of him. He was so perfect. Even after seeing Nicholas, even after telling Michael not to speak to me anymore, he was still invading my thoughts. I’d probably be proposed to later in life, and have moved to the other side of the country living in a quaint little cottage in rural Oregon, and Michael would show up the following day. He’d say something non-committal like, “Do you think we made a mistake?” and it would shake me up, and I’d call off my rustic, backyard wedding. He’d make me doubt my decisions, like he was doing right now.
Was I overreacting? Did I make this into something it wasn’t?
Was this my fault?
“Here we go. Get it together, girl.”
Okay, I was officially talking to myself.
March came and went, and with it any communication I had with him. It was now Saturday, April tenth, exactly twenty-four days since Alex’s underwhelming St. Patrick’s Day party. Twenty-four days since we’d last spoken. I’d done my best to avoid him in class, showing up a few minutes late, and sneaking in the back. Sitting near the doors allowed for a quick and clandestine exit. I almost ran into him in Union Square last Tuesday, when Olivia spotted him and Alex and wanted to say a quick hello. I told her I suddenly wasn’t feeling well and darted into a cab.
I was supposed to see Nicholas tonight. The last two dinners we had since I saw him at Harvest Moon – once at Revel, a trendy restaurant in the Meatpacking District, and once at Serefina, a highly known, and highly priced, Italian place on Madison Avenue – were interesting. Oh shit, tonight I was supposed to see his new apartment. Should I bring him a bottle of wine? I needed to write this stuff down. I couldn’t believe he knew about trendy restaurants that I didn’t. Did he find this crap in The Village Voice? Oh no, absolutely not. He wouldn’t be caught dead reading that trash. I really still couldn’t believe he lived down in the Financial District.
What a sell-out. What was next, a membership at the SoHo House, and a timeshare in the Hamptons?
Why was I being so critical? What was wrong with me?
I needed a drink.
It was April tenth. That meant I had approximately three more weeks until finals. I couldn’t wait until this semester was over. Maybe that was bad; maybe I need a career change.
Maybe I should figure all of this out.
Like where was I? I swear I turned onto 6th Avenue, or was that 9th? Did I walk downtown by accident?
I needed to get to 11th.
Cassandra was going to flip out on me if I was late for lunch, especially after she found out I lied about being sick. I was worried she and Olivia were going to stage an intervention with me this afternoon. That was if I ever made it to The Frying Pan. At least it was a nice day out.
Their speech would be unavoidable. They’d say something like “Amalia, what are you doing? Don’t you know Nicholas will only hurt you again? You’re not going to give up going to Brazil, are you? You’re not moving down to the Financial District, right? Neither of us lives by a six train, and we won’t be able to come visit you!”
See, I didn’t need to go to lunch. I already knew what they were going to say.
Maybe I’d just cancel.
Shit, I was there.
Chapter 32
Sniff the cork
“I’m coming!” I grabbed my pink terrycloth robe and wrapped it tightly around my freshly-showered self.
The hot shower was a much-needed cleansing after I had gotten severely drenched walking home in the rain from lunch with the girls. Lunch, which had turned into dinner at Coffee Shop, which regretfully turned into drinks at Sidebar on Irving. I hadn
’t gotten home until nine.
My day was essentially a six-hour-long inquisition. Olivia had asked me a least three times if I was over Michael, and Cassandra at one point grabbed my phone and threatened to delete Nicholas’s phone number.
At this point, I wasn’t sure what would come of Nicholas and me. After going to his swanky downtown apartment, I started to feel more and more uncomfortable around him. He had gone from living in a dingy walk-up to a doorman building that looked more like a metropolitan hotel than a residential building. He had ordered in instead of cooking, and when he poured me a glass of wine, I could have sworn he had a smirk on his face when I neglected to sniff the cork.
The doorbell rang for the second time, and I glanced at the time on the clock. Who was ringing my bell at 10p.m.? Whoever it was, they were probably looking for Christina. Weren’t we all? I hadn’t seen her in at least a week. Not at home, and not around the neighborhood. I was seriously considering calling the cops.
There’s a strange feeling girls have whenever we hear the phone or doorbell ring. We’re always secretly hoping it’s the guy we like. Here to profess his undying, unwavering love for us. Standing there with flowers, chocolates – or in true New York City fashion, Cronuts – ready to run away somewhere exotic. I thought about Michael and wondered if he was capable of such romance. Then I imagined Nicholas doing it. Both seemed a little out of character.
My ten-second fantasy got the better of me, and before I could reach the door, the knob slowly turned. The front door made a soft, creaky sound. Panic washed through me.
Crap! I’m going to get stabbed in my apartment, aren’t I? And in this tacky Hello Kitty robe too, what a way to go!
I darted into the kitchen and grabbed a butter knife. Of course Liz had taken the paring knives with her when she moved out. I heard the rest of the door swing open, followed by a man’s voice.