Manhattan

by Steiner, Kandi

  Those words were the ones that broke him.

  I watched it in slow motion — the slumping of his shoulders, the bend of his brows, the sorrow that seeped over every inch of him like a flowing stream of water. It covered him completely, and I watched him sink into it.

  I wanted to both reach out and save him from it as much as I wanted to push him in deeper.

  After a long moment, he nodded, his hands finding his pockets again. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and finally looked at me with years of regret and sorrow and pain swirling in those hazel eyes of his. Then, he whispered one, powerful, life-altering promise.

  “Okay.”

  He turned, offering something close to a wave to Betty before he excused himself, and we both stared at the open door, listening to his footsteps until they rounded the corner down the hall, and the front door opened, and he was gone.

  I closed my eyes, swiping the tears from my hot face before I dug in my bag for my truck keys.

  “You know,” Betty said from behind me. “It took a lot of strength for that boy to show up here tonight.”

  My chest tightened, but I ignored it, finally fishing my keys free. “Yeah, well, it took a lot of strength for me to say no to his bull crap, too.”

  “He’s only human,” she said softly. “Just the same as you and me. And while I can’t speak for you, I’ll say this — I’ve done a lot of stupid stuff in my lifetime. The only reason I’ve survived is that the people who love me have always known who I am at my heart. They’ve always seen the best in me, even when I wasn’t showing it.”

  She paused, and I stood there with my keys in my hands, trembling for a reason I couldn’t place.

  “Maybe you can’t be with him,” she said, lowering her voice to almost a whisper. “But does that mean you can’t ever forgive him?”

  The question hit me like a ping pong ball, and it volleyed back and forth, rattling my brain as I straightened my spine. I didn’t have an answer for it, so I just let it bounce, let it assault me as I moved for the door.

  “I’m going to take tomorrow off, but I’ll be back on Saturday,” I said, avoiding her question.

  “That’s the Soirée,” she pointed out. “You don’t want to go?”

  I didn’t answer, because I didn’t need to — she already knew the entire Becker family would be there, and therefore, it was the absolute last place I wanted to be.

  “I’ll bring some new magazines,” I told her.

  And with that, I shut the door to her room, and the door to what could have been with Michael Becker.

  It was a door I swore I’d never open again.

  Michael

  The next evening, I sat on Mom’s front porch, watching the sun set in the distance as I scrolled through endless apartment listings on my phone. It was one of those perfect summer evenings, when the katydids were humming softly, the breeze was gentle and cool, and the last bit of the sun sinking down over the horizon cast the yard in an otherworldly orange glow.

  I rocked back and forth in one of the rocking chairs, one foot planted on the wooden porch and the other tucked under that leg. I’d click on an apartment listing, check out the price and the location and the amenities, then close it again, only to open up the next one and do the same thing all over again. The sun warmed my skin, but inside, I was as cold and dead as the arctic tundra.

  Something clicked last night.

  When I left Kylie, promising her that I would leave her alone, a new kind of heartbreak settled over me. It was the defeated kind, the kind that sat deep in my chest and reminded me every chance it had that there was no going back to what I’d lost, there was no happy ending in sight, and there was no one to blame but myself. That hollow ache served one purpose and one purpose only: to remind me over and over, as many times as it would take, that it was time to let go and move on.

  Sleep still hadn’t come, and my appetite was gone for the foreseeable future, so I threw myself into work at the distillery and, as soon as I got home, into what my next move would be.

  Manhattan.

  It didn’t fill me with as much hope and promise as it had at the beginning of the summer, but it did give me something to do with my time. If there was anything I learned from my breakup with Bailey, it was that time was about the only thing that made anything better.

  Time, and Kylie.

  And I’d never have the latter again.

  Every now and then, a sharp sting of pain would split my chest when I realized what I’d lost. And again, that hollowness would take over, splash me with water as if to call me back to the reality at hand. No use thinking about the past, about what could have been, it seemed to whisper. All you can do now is move forward.

  My eyes were starting to blur from staring at my small phone screen when the screen door opened, and Mom joined me on the porch, setting a glass of sweet tea on the table beside me.

  “How goes the apartment hunting?” she asked with a smile, one I knew was forced and a bit sad, because the last thing she wanted me doing was searching for apartments halfway across the country.

  I sighed, closing my phone and scrubbing my hands over my face. “It’s a little overwhelming. I mean, at least the job part of it all is figured out, but now, it’s finding somewhere I can afford with said job’s salary.”

  It turned out, Mallory had a friend from school working at a small art gallery in the city. It was right in the middle of the financial district, and it just so happened they were in search of a new gallery assistant, someone who would man the front desk, do some lifting from time to time, speak with guests, help organize events, and so on. Their current employee was leaving in a month, which was just the right timing for me to take over.

  One phone interview had sealed the deal, and I now officially had a job waiting for me in New York.

  I wished I could be excited about it.

  “I imagine that’s pretty tough in the big city,” Mom mused. “Think you’ll need a roommate?”

  “That’s what it’s looking like. I guess I should get on Craigslist.”

  Her eyes doubled in size.

  I chuckled, patting the chair next to me. Mom took a seat, and for a while, we just rocked silently, our eyes on the pinks and purples streaking the sky as the sun dipped lower.

  “Does Kylie know you’ve found a job?” Mom asked, her not-so-subtle way of asking if we’d made up.

  “Kylie doesn’t want to know anything about me anymore.”

  Mom’s mouth pinched to one side, and she reached over to fold her hand over mine. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  “Oh, trust me, it is,” I assured her. “And honestly, after the way I treated her, the way I acted?” I shook my head, that iron-hot razor blade splitting my chest again. “I don’t blame her one bit.”

  “Have you tried talking to her?”

  “Yes.”

  “No, I mean really talking to her.”

  I sighed. “Yes, Mom. I’ve tried. She doesn’t want to hear it. I’ve apologized, told her I was wrong, told her how she means everything to me, how stupid I was for thinking I needed to see Bailey again when I should have just told her to kick rocks.” I swallowed. “How I love her.”

  Mom’s hand squeezed mine, and I couldn’t look at her for fear of what her eyes would look like, of the pity and sorrow I’d see in them.

  “I bet she’ll come around,” she whispered.

  “I know she won’t,” I argued in a whisper. “You know, I don’t remember a lot of Dad.”

  I glanced at Mom, surprise settling over her face at the subject change.

  “I hate admitting that out loud to anyone, but especially to you,” I said softly. “But, it’s true. A lot of my memories of him are from photos or videos, or from stories other people have told me.” A different kind of sadness rang through me at the admission. “But, there is one very clear memory I have with him.”

  I looked out over the yard, smiling a little as the memory came to life in my mind.

>   “It wasn’t long before he died,” I started. “I was upset with Caden. Do you remember Caden? He was my first best friend, in primary school. He lived down the road from here.”

  “I remember,” she said with a smile.

  “Anyway, we were in a fight over something. And looking back, I know now how stupid that something must have been because I couldn’t even remember what it was a year later when I told this story to Kylie.”

  I shook my head, her name on my lips a painful reminder of the loss.

  “But, it didn’t matter how stupid it was, Dad sat there and listened to me. I had snot and tears running down my face. I was so upset. And I’ll never forget what he said to me. He said, ‘Son, my biggest wish for you is that you learn when to hold onto something, and when to let it go. That you understand when to fight, and when to walk away.’”

  Those words hung in the air between us for a long while, neither of us speaking, her hand still holding mine as the clouds shifted from pink and purple to a gray kind of blue.

  “I have heard those words so clearly in my mind, all my life,” I explained. “I think it’s why I fight so hard for what I want, for what I love — and also why I walk away when I need to. You know? Like… those words are why I held onto Bailey, thinking I could somehow get her back. They’re why I walked away from a fight with Dustin Mannion at The Black Hole when he tried to get under my skin after Bailey left. They’ve just always been with me, sitting there, a constant reminder to know when to push and when to back off.”

  Mom nodded in understanding, but didn’t speak, letting me finish.

  I looked into her eyes — eyes just like mine — and ignored the pain ripping my chest open as I said, “Kylie and I have made many pinky promises in our lives. We’ve always been honest with each other, and we’ve always been there for one another. We get each other in a way that no one else could ever understand.” I swallowed, nose stinging. “That’s why when she looked me in the eyes and told me to please leave her alone… I knew she meant it. And I knew I had to honor that, that this was one of those things that fell into the leave it be, walk away category.” I shrugged. “And it doesn’t matter whether I want it to be this way or not. It just is. The only thing I can do is accept that.”

  Mom nodded again, her eyes floating over the yard a moment before she pulled her hand from mine and sat back in her chair. She rocked silently for a moment, thinking.

  “Well, I agree with your father,” she finally said. “I wish that knowledge for you, too — to know when to fight, and when to walk away. But, honey, I don’t think you’ve learned the lesson yet.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean?” I laid out my hand, as if I’d just served her proof on a silver platter. “I literally just explained how I have learned that lesson.”

  “No,” she argued. “What you explained was that she asked you to leave her alone, and you think listening to that is the right thing to do. And in many ways, I suppose you’re right. I’ve raised you well, to know that no means no and to respect a woman and what she says.” She held up a finger. “But, the weird thing about love is that sometimes, we ask for the exact opposite of what we want, just because we think asking for the let down and getting it will be less painful than asking for love and not getting it.”

  My frown deepened, and I sat back, crossing my arms as I tried to digest it.

  Mom paused, turning to face me. “You can’t just call and send a bunch of texts and show up one time to try to talk to her and consider that trying,” she said, matter-of-factly.

  “Mom, it’s not like that,” I tried to explain, splaying my hands out again. “I have done such a piss poor job of listening to her, to what she wants, what she needs. But I heard her loud and clear this time. And if what she needs is for me to leave her alone, then that’s what I’ll do — even if it’s not what I want.”

  She shook her head. “But, that’s just the thing. What Kylie wants is for you to put your money where your mouth is. She doesn’t want all your lip service, all your words and promises and assurances that you’ve tried to give her.” She tapped my knee. “What she wants is for your actions to match what you’re saying, for you to show her that you love her — so that she doesn’t have to wonder if your word is worth a damn or not.”

  My chest tightened.

  “Look,” Mom said, waiting until my eyes met hers. “If your father were here, you want to know what he’d say?”

  I nodded, wishing more than I could ever explain to her that he was actually here. It killed me, living without him. He wasn’t there to watch me play baseball, or watch me walk across the stage at graduation, or to help me find an apartment in New York. He wasn’t here to give advice on girls or jobs or anything else.

  It was the worst kind of pain to live with as a kid, and I was learning the pain didn’t ebb as an adult.

  “He would tell you not to walk away until you’ve done everything in your power to right your wrong with her, to show her who you are, and to make it clear what she is to you.” She paused, eyes searching mine. “So, I’ll ask you… do you feel like you’ve done that?”

  I opened my mouth to answer, to remind her of everything I’d already said, but before the words could come out, I felt something inside me strangle them and snuff them out like a small match fire.

  Because the truth was I hadn’t — not really.

  I’d texted. I’d called. I’d showed up at her work and hurriedly tried to convince her that I was sorry, and she was right and I was wrong and that we could make it past this.

  But had I done all I could? Had I put every piece of me that loves her into action to save what we have?

  The answer I was ashamed to admit was no, I hadn’t.

  “She doesn’t want you to leave her alone, Mikey,” Mom said softly. “If there’s anything I know about that girl, it’s that. She has been in love with you since you were kids, way before you ever realized it,” she added, smirking. “Ya big dummy.”

  I chuckled.

  “Right now, Kylie is shutting down. She’s trying to protect herself. She’s been hurt by being in love with you while you were in love with someone else, and then right when she gets you?” Mom snapped. “She loses you, just as fast. And in her mind, you chose Bailey over her — just like she always feared you would.” She swallowed. “Just like you did, for two years straight.”

  I sighed, hanging my head as my hands raked back through my hair. “I don’t know what to do,” I admitted, shamefully and pathetically.

  Mom reached over and squeezed my arm, making me look at her once more. “If you love her, if you want to have her in your life, then you owe it to her and yourself to really put your heart into it and try to save this relationship. Show her that you mean what you’re saying.” Her eyes softened. “If you can do that, and she still denies you?” A shrug. “Well, you can’t control that. And then, at that point, you can let her go. But at least then you’ll be able to say that you did everything in your power to keep her, first.”

  A smile found my lips as I looked at my mother, the woman who had brought me into this world, and was never afraid to remind me of my place in it. I wondered if she even knew how strong she was, how much I admired her for raising me and my brothers — especially after she lost her partner, the one she was supposed to go through it all with.

  “How did you get to be so smart?” I asked her.

  She chuckled, tapping my knee twice before she sat back in her chair. “Oh, I’m not smart at all — just well-seasoned. For starters, I married an idiot boy, who then helped me adopt an idiot boy, and then helped me give birth to three other idiot boys.” She eyed me. “The good thing is that even though you Becker boys keep me busy, you’ve all got good hearts, and good heads on your shoulders.” She shrugged. “Makes it easy to love you and coach you through things when I know those two facts.”

  I smiled, standing and pulling her to stand with me before I wrapped her in a giant hug. I held her there for a long time, feeling
how small she was in my arms, but how big her love was as it poured over me. I was convinced in that moment that Mom was just a coverup for all the real-life superheroes in the world, because I could never imagine being strong or wise or patient enough to do what a mom could.

  “I love you, Mama,” I whispered, squeezing her once more before I pulled back and held her arms in my hands. “Thank you.”

  She pinched my cheek. “Don’t thank me. Just make me proud. And don’t let that girl go without giving it the fight of your life,” she warned. “Because I promise you, there isn’t a single one in the world like her.”

  And I knew it was the truth.

  Mom left me with my sweet tea and my thoughts as the sun made its final descent, the last bit of glow fading from the sky as dusk settled in. And with a new resolve, I racked my brain for my next move, for the last round in the ring, for my last chance to get back the girl who meant everything to me.

  And for the first time that summer, I bowed my head, and I prayed.

  To God, to my dad, to any angels who might hear my plea and have mercy on me. I closed my eyes and spoke the words over and over in my mind, hoping somehow, the universe would answer.

  Please, don’t let me lose her.

  Please, let me be enough.

  Please, help me show her that I mean what I say, that I am who I say I am, and that she is who I say she is to me.

  I swallowed, eyes slowly opening as I finished.

  “Amen,” I said out loud.

  Then, I got to work.

  Kylie

  Saturday evening somehow felt like Monday morning, sleep still in my eyes and the Tervis of iced coffee in my hand nowhere big enough to help me feel less exhausted. The bags under my eyes were large enough to pack for a two-week Eurotrip and I felt just as weak physically as I did emotionally — thanks in large part to lack of sleep and lack of appetite, a dangerous combination.

  I knew it would fade. I knew, eventually, that the heartbreak would heal over and I’d start putting myself back together. If anything, I took solace in the fact that I had a road trip half-planned, and being alone on the open road sounded like the perfect way to get myself in order.