by Unknown
I’ve made my decision and it is pointless to keep looking backward. Alan won’t speak to me, and this is my issue to fix. It’s stupid to agonize over this further.
I shake my head to scatter my thoughts and start to neatly reorganize my notes for this paper. I do a fast glance across the outline for my report staring up at me from my notepad, return my hands to the keys, and start to type.
Forcing myself to continue to write, I ignore the voice inside my head chiding that what I’m typing isn’t very good. Fuck it, I’m just going to finish it. What was it Jack said? Cs get degrees. Well, a D on this paper saves me from an incomplete in this course and gets me out of UC Berkeley.
God, I’m so ready to be out of Berkeley, even though I haven’t a clue where my life goes next. Probably nowhere. Probably back to Santa Barbara and Jack. Same old Chrissie. Same old life. Four years at Berkeley hasn’t changed a thing about me.
Three pages later, I’m still tunnel-focused on typing when the sound of the cordless phone ringing makes me jump in my chair.
As I cross the kitchen, my heart accelerates and my limbs grow shaky. It’s not Alan. I already know that, but I can’t make my body not react to the possibility that it might be him.
I click on the cordless and hold it to my ear. “Hello?”
A long pause where my heart ticks upward in tempo.
“Chrissie?”
Neil. Everything inside me calms with the instant deflation of my hope since it isn’t Alan. With my back against the cabinets, I slowly sink to the floor to sit.
“Hey, Neil. What’s up? Where are you?”
“I’m in Denver. Last gig of the tour. I should be in Berkeley in a few days.”
“Berkeley?” I repeat, a touch confused.
Neil laughs. “My stuff. Remember? I promised to get the last of it out of the condo when I came off the road.” Another moment of silence. Then, “Chrissie, are you OK? You sound funny.”
I close my eyes, willing myself to try to sound fine. “I’m great. You just caught me writing a final. I’m sort of mentally absorbed with it. American history, Depression-Era to the 70s. Not exactly cheery stuff.”
Neil gives a low chuckle. “Most definitely not cheery stuff. I know how you hate your courses in history.” Neil laughs in that sharing a memory way and I feel my heart jump against my chest since it’s sweet how many trivial things Neil remembers about me. “I’m glad you’re OK, Chrissie. I still worry about you, you know? Are you excited about being almost finished with school?”
“Ecstatic,” I say in a silly, heavily exaggerated way. “I hate Berkeley. I can’t wait to go home.”
“So that’s what you’re doing, then? Moving back to Santa Barbara after graduation?”
It sounds funny to hear Neil say that since I haven’t really put much thought into it. It sounds weird.
“Yep, moving back home. At least for a while. What are you going to do after you come off the road, Neil?”
“Visit home for a few weeks, see the family, and then back to Seattle.”
“Things going good for you?”
“Really good,” Neil says, and he sounds upbeat and very happy. For some reason that makes my emotional distress more jumbled. “We’ll catch up when I come to Berkeley to grab my stuff.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
“I miss you, Chrissie.”
His voice is so soft I almost didn’t hear him and I debate with myself whether to pretend that I didn’t.
I let out a steadying breath. “I miss you, too.”
It’s the truth. Why does it hurt for me to admit it? Neil is always so calming to be with. My still-water pond. It would be nice to have him here for a while, especially now that every part of my life is a disaster.
“Maybe we can go out, Chrissie. Kick around. If you’re not too busy with your finals.”
Emotion makes it impossible for me to answer him.
“Just as friends. OK?” Neil continues. “I’m not going to push you for anything more.”
With the tips of my fingers I press hard on the end of my nose to keep the tears back. “OK. I’d like that, Neil.”
“However, if you want to push me for something more, I want you to know, that would be OK with me.”
The way Neil says that makes me laugh even though I don’t feel like laughing.
“Sorry. Bad joke, Chrissie. But I really do miss you.”
For some reason, I feel a little better. My laughter intensifies, leaving my body in a more comfortable flow. “It’s OK. I like it when you’re a conceited jerk, Neil.”
I can hear what almost sounds like a sigh through the receiver.
“Good night, Chrissie. See ya in a week or so.”
“See ya, Neil.”
Click. I stare at the phone, and fight to rein in my scattered emotions. Blending with the chaos that’s been consuming me for weeks is now a strangely good kind of feeling, an I’ve talked to Neil kind of thing.
I push the hair from my face, rise to my feet, and set the cordless back on the receiver. After I drop onto my chair at the table, without hesitation, I start to type again. I can finish this paper. I can make it through my last days at Berkeley. I’ve come this far, and I’m going to finish. I may have fucked up big time, I may be knee deep in mess, but I am not letting my mistakes take one more thing from me that I don’t want to give.
I can make it through all the things I have to so I can put the last three months of my life behind me forever. I continue to strike the keys, only this time my fingers are pounding against them with the force of my determination. Two hours later I am done with my paper. I staple together the sheets, shove them into my folder and scoop up my stuff from the kitchen table.
I wander down the hallway to Rene’s room and knock. “You can use the typewriter now,” I say through the wood door.
I don’t wait for Rene to answer. I go quickly to my room and close the door behind me. I sink down on the ground beside my carry tote and shove my folders into it. I should probably study a few hours since I have an exam tomorrow, but I’m not in the mood to study Baroque Music History. Everything is running loose and frantic inside me again.
I turn to look at the clock. It’s only 9 p.m. I’m not tired, but I don’t really want to sit in the living room listening to Rene in the kitchen effortlessly crank out paper after paper.
As I grab my pajamas, my eyes fix on Alan’s t-shirt neatly folded in the drawer. Damn, why do I keep it? I should throw it away. I slam the drawer shut, change my clothes and then climb into the bed.
I reach onto the nightstand for the TV controller and click on the set. I start flipping through channels, purposely avoiding the music stations. I need a movie. I need something funny. I need to laugh. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
Music blasts from the speakers and I realize I’ve gone too far clicking channels. I’ve reached the music programs. I almost switch off the TV, when suddenly it’s Neil’s face staring out at me from the screen.
I lean forward in bed, focusing on the TV, and I feel a pleasant kind of smile surface on my face. Jeez, Neil looks beautiful on camera. I rapidly try to pick out details of where he is since the darn station doesn’t have a tickertape running on the bottom during this around-the-world-in-a-minute segment. A festival of some sort.
My smile deepens as Neil’s gentle and shy green eyes fill with humor. Totally sweet. Totally humble. Totally Neil, even being interviewed by music TV. Once he is gone from the screen, I flip off the set and lie back against my pillow.
I guess things have started to go really well for Neil if he’s getting this kind of exposure on the music news programs. I’m happy for him, and a little disappointed in myself that I haven’t been keeping better tabs on what’s been going on in Neil’s life.
We were good together, really good. Close to being everything I wanted. Just not quite all I needed us to be. I don’t know why or what was missing. Just something was, and I could feel it. It was almost perfect, and y
et somehow, just not enough.
I roll onto my side, staring at what used to be Neil’s pillow beside me. So much has changed and it’s only been three months. Jack is off touring again with his band for the first time since the 80s, and the entire world has fallen back in love with my 60s iconic, legendary father. Rene has been accepted into UCLA medical school. Neil Stanton has a song on the Billboard Charts, and he gets interviewed on music TV. Alan is finally divorced from Nia, and fucking his way around the world. And me? Nope, don’t think of that. Not tonight. Leave the lockboxes closed tonight.
Fighting back the tears, I pick up Neil’s picture from my bedside table, hold it above my face and just stare at him. I like the way his eyes look at me, the way they make me feel, even from a picture.
I still think of Neil every day. I do miss him, and he is my best friend. Crap, I share with him things I would never dare share with Rene. There are times I think I am still in love with him, a smidge, maybe even more than that.
I know he’s still in love with me. He hasn’t said it, but I know it. I can tell by how he speaks to me. I wonder what it will be like to see him again. We haven’t been together for four months. I wonder if it will feel good to be with Neil or just grossly uncomfortable for us both in that we used to be together but now we’re not kind of way. Neither of us knowing how to act around each other, or what to say or do. God, that would be awful. I hope it’s not like that.
Maybe I should have stayed with Neil, even though we were only close, almost perfect, but not enough. It would have been better than where I am today; alone, frightened, and brokenhearted.
I set Neil’s picture back on the nightstand and switch off the light. I curl into a tight ball, hugging his pillow. I loved Neil less than I love Alan and tonight I wish to God I had loved Neil more. Loving Neil less is what’s gotten me into this, my latest nightmare. If I had loved Neil more than Alan, I would still be with him, and be the Chrissie I am when I’m with Neil.
A better girl than I am today. A girl I sort of started to like. Not the girl lying here alone and afraid, or the girl I will be tomorrow. The girl I always seem to become with Alan. My worst me.
CHAPTER TWO
A soft rap on the front door brings me awake and I open my eyes. I slowly sit up on the couch, pausing a moment to take a deep breath, and then rise to my feet praying that the change of position doesn’t make me start throwing up again.
Damn, why does every little movement of my body make me vomit today?
Feeling that nagging warning in my stomach, I swallow hard and fumble to unlatch the door. I open it and somehow manage a smile. “Hey Mr. Next-Big-Thing, welcome back to Berkeley.”
Neil’s warm green eyes claim me like a gentle hold and he laughs, shaking his head at me. “Next big thing, huh?”
I stare up at him, wondering if he’ll kiss me, and I can feel that my eyes are sparkly in that way they get when I’m really happy. Neil gazes down at me, neither of us move, and belatedly I note that it was my turn to talk and I didn’t.
I flush and say quickly, “Yep, you are Mr. Next-Big-Thing. I saw you on TV a few days ago, and that’s what the interviewer said before they cut away, that the buzz is you’re definitely going to be the next big thing.”
Neil gives me a pained, sweetly exasperated look. “That’s Ernie Levine’s publicity machine. You know how managers are. It’s just bullshit, Chrissie. I’m more like Mr. broke, tired, glad to be off the road, and really glad to see you kind of a thing.”
I laugh. “I’m glad to see you, too.”
Neil relaxes casually against the doorframe, his green eyes twinkling in an oh-so-Neil impish way. He touches my cheek and says, “That’s probably because Rene is giving you shit about when my stuff will be out of here.”
“She is not. She’s going to be thrilled when she gets back from class and finds you here.” I tilt my head toward the living room. “Come on in.”
Neil ambles into the living room as I close the door and re-attach the chain. He stares at the disorderly room, and his laughter comes loudly this time as his chestnut waves dance on his shoulders when he shakes his head.
He turns to smile at me. “Rene is going to be thrilled? Is that why there are boxes stacked floor to ceiling against the wall?”
I scrunch up my nose, making a face at him. “Those aren’t for you. We move out next month. You know Rene and her lists and her hyper-organized tendencies. She made us start packing a week ago.”
“Yep, that definitely sounds like Rene.”
Neil sinks down on the couch and I settle close beside him, legs bent beneath me, my bottom resting on my heels.
“So how long are you staying in Berkeley?” I ask.
“Don’t worry. I’m leaving in the morning,” Neil teases.
He says that in the familiar tone we banter with, but for some reason it makes cold needlelike pricks run the surface of my flesh. “You can stay as long as you want.”
Neil’s expression changes and the smile leaves his face. He gives me a sharp once-over and frowns. “Are you OK, Chrissie?”
I nod. “I’m great.”
“Well, you don’t sound great.” His frown lowers and it looks like he’s seeing me more thoroughly and not liking what he sees. Inwardly, I cringe, and then he says, “And you don’t exactly look great either. In fact, you look really not good, Chrissie.”
I flush and give him a pointed stare as I anxiously straighten my frumpy, oversized Cal sweats. “Thanks a lot. I’ve been throwing up all day. I think I ate something bad last night.”
He crinkles his nose. “Sorry. I probably shouldn’t have said that, right? Not one of my swifter comments.”
“Definitely, not one of your swifter comments. I didn’t feel like getting dressed today, but it’s nothing. Food poisoning.”
He grimaces and then asks, “Do you need me to get you anything? Do you want me to make you some tea? That might be good in your stomach if you have a touch of food poisoning.”
I shake my head, though Neil’s wanting to try to help me is unexpected and overwhelming. Even after everything that’s happened between us, he is still kind and caring Neil. How stupid I was to worry even for a minute that he would make this terrible for me.
“I’m OK, Neil. You don’t need to make me tea. It’s not that bad right now. I’ll be better by morning.”
He looks relieved and smiles. “Do you want me to come back tomorrow to get my junk? You look like you’re feeling pretty lousy. If you need to rest, I’ll get out of your way.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer and starts to rise from the couch. I grab his arm. “No. Don’t leave. I’m fine. It’s not that bad. I thought you were going to stay here tonight, hang out so we could catch up.”
His eyes widen and he looks surprised.
“Really? I thought you wouldn’t want me here so I planned on grabbing a couch at a friend’s in the city.”
For some reason I’m unexpectedly hurt by that. We parted in a good place. Still friends. Didn’t we?
“Well, I thought you were going to grab my couch,” I counter quietly. Something in how he looks at me makes me anxious and sad. I add, “I really want you to stay here, Neil.”
I can feel him watching me in that way he has when he’s trying to make sense of me. A few seconds pass. He sinks back down on the couch.
“Thanks, Chrissie. If you are sure you feel up to it and you’re cool with it, I would really like to stay here tonight.”
“Good.”
Neil sighs, closes his eyes and lays his head back against the couch. “Fuck, it feels good to be here. It’s quiet here. I can breathe. I’ll probably be terrible company tonight. I feel like I could sleep for a week.”
My anxiety fades and I take in more detail of him. He definitely looks exhausted. Neil is such a gorgeous guy—tanned skin; tall, long, lean-muscled body; messy sun-streaked shoulder-length chestnut waves framing a strongly featured face with brilliant green eyes—I often miss details, like th
e fatigue lines beneath his eyes and around his lips.
“You look really tired, Neil. Was it awful out on the road this time? You didn’t make it sound awful whenever we talked on the phone. You always sounded really good. Happy. ”
Neil chuckles in a tired, loose way. “Worst four months of my life, ever. Trust me, Chrissie, it was miserable every day. The larger the venues, the more shit. Everything went wrong that could go wrong from the first day out of Seattle. And the fucking band fought almost the entire time. The minute things start to go good everyone goes crazy.”
His eyes open and I make a pout of sympathy.
He reaches out to lightly touch my cheek. “It feels good to be here with you. I missed you so much, Chrissie. I kept thinking about you. What I did wrong. I know I fucked up. Why you dumped me. I get it.”
“You didn’t fuck up,” I say contritely, guilt flooding my digestive track. “And I didn’t dump you. We are just going in different directions and it didn’t seem fair to you or to me for us to try to stay together. It was the right thing for us both, Neil.”
His eyes burn into me, and the heat increases across my cheeks.
“No, Chrissie. It wasn’t the right thing for me. Not by a long shot. You always thought I was joking when I asked, but I really did think we’d end up married someday.”
“I thought you weren’t going to do this, Neil.”
He runs a hand through his hair in an aggravated way. He looks impatient and annoyed with himself. “You’re right. Sorry. I won’t do it again.”
I stare down at my fingers, digging into my knees. “I’m not someplace where I can even think about us. I just want to hang out. Keep everything light. I could really use that, Neil. OK?”
“I said I won’t do it again,” Neil counters, and I can’t tell if he’s irritated with me or himself.
This moment just got extremely awkward, to the point of feeling almost smothering, and I’m starting to feel really badly when the front door opens with enough force to hit the wall with a boom. We both turn to look as Rene pauses in the doorway, hands on hips encased in too-short Cal shorts, her pretty face awash with pretend irritation.