But I don’t say any of those things. I don’t want to cloud my celebration with a fight. Or even a disagreement.
7
The night after my first speech, Tristan promises to make more time for me. Unfortunately, he doesn’t keep it. He continues to come back home later and later over the next few weeks. Sometimes, even after midnight.
Eventually, I stop waiting up for him. And I rarely see him in the mornings, too. He’s usually gone before I get up.
“Honestly, I don’t know how he survives on so little sleep,” I finally vent to Juliet one night. “I don’t know what’s going on. He can’t be working all this time, right?”
It’s Monday night and we’re watching The Daily Show and Tristan’s still not back.
“I have a few friends who dated stockbrokers,” she says. “And they do work crazy hours.”
“What about that guy you had a date with? Did he?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I just saw him once.”
I shake my head. Something doesn’t feel right.
“So you think it’s fine?” I ask.
“Well, they work crazy hours, but not this crazy.”
“He says that he has to go out every night because that’s what everyone does,” I say. Somehow those words make a lot more sense when they come from him. It sounds completely unconvincing when I say it.
“Hey! I have an idea,” Juliet says. I spot a dangerous twinkle in her eyes.
“What?” I ask cautiously.
“Why don’t we follow him?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m not one of those jealous girlfriends.”
“I know you don’t want to see yourself like that, but difficult times call for dangerous measures,” Juliet says. “Or however that saying goes.”
I’m not convinced. I can’t go along with this. Don’t get me wrong, I want to know the truth. But I also don’t. I know my heart will break if he’s lying…and then what?
I shake my head no, decisively. I can’t do this.
“You’re entitled to know the truth, Alice. I mean, what if he’s screwing around on you? Don’t you want to know that?”
No, not really, I want to say. I’d rather not know it. But that sounds old-fashioned and hopeless and pathetic. And, most of all, not true. Because I do want to know. I just don’t want to want to know.
“And if it’s nothing then you won’t be worrying about this so much. It’s a win-win.”
“It sounds like a lose-lose, actually,” I say. “But okay.”
The following evening, we take a cab to The Martini. It’s a bar that Tristan mentioned to me a couple of times, the place that they all go to after work for happy hour, the place where they don’t card people in suits.
It’s raining and I’m reluctant on putting on a costume but Juliet insists. So I arrive at The Martini in professional-height heels, a white blouse, a black mini-skirt and my jacket. It’s the closest thing I have to an office wardrobe and even this one I had to compile from Juliet’s closet.
Juliet still straightens and then curls her hair and puts on fake lashes but I take a more relaxed approach. Eye shadow, eyeliner, mascara, lipstick. That’s enough. If this night goes badly, I don’t need to look like a clown when it all starts streaming down my face.
We walk into the bar around 6:30. It’s still relatively empty and we find a dark, quiet table all the way in the back. This is a stakeout, so he’s not supposed to see us immediately, if at all. Juliet quickly orders us two dirty martinis on the rocks with extra olives. On the way over, I promised myself that I would stay sober during this, but one drink doesn’t mean I’ll be drunk. When it arrives, I cave. I need something to calm my nerves. And it fits the bill.
We wait and sit for a while before we see them. I’m not sure how long exactly, except that I finish my martini and Juliet finishes two. And then I see him.
Tristan, dressed in a suit, holds the door open for a woman. She’s wearing a bright red peacoat and high-heel boots. She tosses her hair from side to side as if she’s in a Pantene commercial.
“Who’s that?” Julie asks.
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Maybe this girl Kathryn.”
“Who’s Kathryn?”
“Just someone he works with.”
“Well, I’m not sure that girl has ever been a ‘just someone’ ever,” Juliet says.
I know exactly what she means. That girl is drop-dead gorgeous. She has light brown hair and expensive-looking highlights. She sits across from Tristan, facing us, and we get a clear view of her. She’s beautiful. A small delicate mouth, high cheekbones, a perfectly-contoured face.
“She reminds me of someone,” Juliet says.
I shrug. I’m more interested in the way that she’s leaning toward Tristan and laughing at everything he says.
“Kind of like a cross between Emily Blunt and Kate Middleton,” Juliet says. “Oh my God! Do you see where she just put her hand? It’s on his knee.”
I nod, speechless. I really wish that I didn’t bring Juliet along for this.
The woman doesn’t keep her hand on his knee for long. It was just a pat, a tap, but it’s enough to send me into a tailspin.
I’m lost. I don’t know what I’m doing here. But I can’t move. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. I want to get up and leave. But I don’t.
In a moment, the place gets so crowded, I can barely see over all the people who are congregating around the bar.
“Where are you going?” Juliet asks as I grab my purse and phone.
“Home.”
“No, you can’t go home! We didn’t see anything yet.”
“Juliet, I can’t do this anymore. He’s going to do what he’s going to do. I don’t have to torture myself and watch.”
Her eyes search my face for answers. But I don’t have a better answer than that. It’s not that I don’t want to know. I just can’t be in this place any longer. The walls feel like they’re closing in on me. I fear that if I stay, I’m going to scream.
I make my way around the perimeter of the place. I’m not trying to avoid Tristan anymore – in fact, I don’t care if he sees me. But the bar is so crowded, I couldn’t even make my way over there if I tried.
“Alice,” Juliet whispers somewhere behind me. “Alice!”
When I turn around, I see that Juliet is staring at something to her right. My eyes follow her gaze. And I see them.
Tristan and the woman are laughing and they’re so close to each other, their faces are barely touching. A moment later, she leans over and kisses him on the lips.
Everything suddenly feels like it’s happening in third person. Not to me, but to someone who looks a lot like me on the screen. I’m suddenly outside without my coat. The chill of January hits me like a pile of bricks. I look around. I have to find a cab. I have to text Uber. My mind wanders in circles. I can’t make a decision. All I’m decided about is that I can’t go back in for my coat.
“Alice! Alice, wait up!” Juliet runs out after me. She hands me my coat.
“He pulled away from her. He stopped her,” she says.
“What?” I ask wrapping the scarf around my neck. I don’t understand a word of what she’s saying.
“She kissed him. And he stopped her. He pulled right away. You just didn’t see it,” she says.
I pull my coat shut – the zipper is too complicated to operate at this moment.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I ask.
Juliet shrugs. “Well, yes, actually,” she says.
I guess. I guess that’s something. Except that it doesn’t really feel like a victory. I feel like I lost a long time ago. It feels like it’s all a little too late.
Juliet and I take a cab home in silence. She tries to talk to me, but I cut her off. I can’t. Talking just makes my thoughts cloudier and incomprehensible. Finally, we walk into our room. I climb into bed and hide under the covers. I just want the whole world to disappear. I’m still awa
ke when I hear Tristan come back. I look at the time. It’s about half an hour later. I want to talk to him. But I don’t have the energy. When he peeks into my room, I pretend to be asleep.
8
The following day, I have another speech in public speaking class. I was planning on getting up early and practicing it before class, but I end up sleeping until lunch. I want to stay in bed all day. But I can’t skip it; it’s a huge portion of my grade. When my hands start to shake looking down at the paper with my script, I go to the kitchen and force myself to down two beers. They taste disgusting first thing in the morning. This worked last time. It has to work this time.
Walking over to class, I hope that I don’t run into Tristan. He has class in this area and I just can’t see him now. Not before I get this speech over with. When Professor Milner asks for volunteers, I raise my hand.
Walking to the front of the class, I feel like I’m going to throw up. But not because of my nerves, but the alcohol. I take a deep breath. You can do this, I say to myself. Thirty sets of bored eyes look up at the podium. They don’t care what you have to say. Don’t think. Just start talking. I unfold my speech. This speech is about gratefulness. We’re supposed to thank someone for helping us do something important.
“Thank you for having me,” I start. “I want to take a moment to thank my mother and father for…”
I stare at the paper. The words are there in black and white. All I have to do is say them out loud. But for some reason, I can’t. They don’t make any sense. I have an overwhelming urge to thank someone else.
“No, actually, I don’t want to thank my mother and father. I’d like to take this time to thank my boyfriend, Tristan. Thank you, Tristan, for never being there for me. Thank you for wasting two years of my life in high school and then breaking up with me a couple of weeks before college. Thank you for ‘accidentally’ becoming my roommate and confusing me with all of your crap last semester and tricking me into thinking that you’ve changed. And most of all, thank you for this semester. Thank you for promising to help me with my speeches and leaving me high and dry. And thank you for pretending that you have a lot of important work to do when in reality you’re just hanging out with that girl that looks a lot like Kate Middleton, from your office. And, of course, thank you for mentioning how hot she actually is before I show up at the bar to spy on you. That was really the cherry on top. That made me feel a lot better watching you two making out. But most of all, thank you for doing all of that now, before I wasted even more of my life on you. You fucking asshole!”
Shit. What did I just say?
I look up at the class. Thirty pairs of hands start to clap and cheer. Oh my God! I nod, hang my head, and make my way back to my chair.
At least I didn’t freeze. No, the words just came out. I couldn’t make them stop. But I definitely shouldn’t have cursed!
After class ends, I try to make my way outside, past the professor, without him noticing. No such luck.
“Alice Summers. May I talk to you, please?” he asks.
“I really have to go,” I say.
“It will just take a moment.”
I take a deep breath and turn to face him.
“I’m assuming that was not the speech that you had prepared earlier,” he says. I nod. “And I’m assuming that you know that it’s illegal to come to class drunk?” he says.
“I’m not drunk.”
“Intoxicated, then. Either way, you can get expelled for this.”
“Expelled?”
My head starts to buzz. My eyes come in and out of focus. Oh my God. What did I just do?
“I’m so sorry, Professor Milner. It will never happen again. I was just having a really bad night.”
“Yes, I know that,” he says with a little smile. “I heard all about it in your speech.”
He’s mocking me. I shake my head. Look down at the floor. I don’t know what to do.
“I’m going to have to fail you on this assignment,” he says.
I’m going to get kicked out of school. What am I going to do?
“But,” he says, giving me hope. I look up at him. “But I won’t report this incident to the Dean of Students if you promise to go to see an alcohol and drug abuse counselor.”
“But I don’t have an alcohol problem. I hardly ever drink,” I say.
“You’re drunk in my classroom. That’s enough for me to know that something is wrong.”
“Okay,” I say, dropping my shoulders.
“You have to see this counselor every week for the rest of the semester. Starting this week,” he says. “If you miss a meeting, I’ll have no choice but report your behavior to the Dean of Students.”
“The rest of the semester?”
Professor Milner ignores me. He writes something on a piece of paper and hands it to me.
“The counselor’s name is Dr. Greyson. She’s very nice. Here’s her office number. I’ll let her know to expect your call.”
The buzz from the alcohol starts to wear off by the time I get home. Instead, it’s replaced with a blistering headache. And, as if the day wasn’t completely shitty already, it also starts to rain. And I get completely soaked walking back to the dorm.
I put on a fresh pot of coffee as soon as I get in. After I change out of my wet clothes, I go back out to the kitchen and see Tristan pouring himself a cup.
“That’s my coffee,” I say.
“I think there’s enough for two,” he says with a smile.
“I don’t care. I’m going to drink two cups myself. You have to make your own.”
“Okay, jeez, what’s wrong with you?” he says, pushing the cup toward me.
I shake my head. The Advil hasn’t kicked in yet. It hurts to talk.
“I saw you,” I say after I finish one cup of coffee. And start on another.
He stares at me as if he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.
“Yesterday, at the Martini.”
“What…what were you doing there?” he asks.
I look him straight in the eyes. They twinkle in the light. Look as beautiful as always. But I hate them now.
“I was talking to Juliet about how I don’t see you anymore and she suggested that we go spy on you,” I say. “Who is she?”
“Nobody,” he shrugs.
“Didn’t look like nobody. You two looked really cozy together.”
“Alice, she’s nobody. Just Kathryn. I told you about her. She works with me.”
“I thought you all go there together? As a group.”
“Well, yesterday, everyone suddenly cancelled,” he says.
“How convenient,” I say sarcastically.
“Listen, nothing happened,” Tristan says. He puts his arm on my shoulder. I shrug him off.
“Don’t touch me,” I say. “And how can you say nothing happened. You two were laughing the whole time. She put her hand on your leg. And then you kissed. I saw you.”
He shakes his head.
“And I pushed her away. Immediately. I don’t like her that way. I love you.”
“Doesn’t feel like it,” I say.
“I know that she likes me. But she’s my colleague. I want to be nice. But she also knows about you.”
I shake my head. This conversation isn’t really going as I had planned.
“I just hate being this way with you, Tristan. I hate that you’re gone all the time and now I’m becoming some sort of jealous, crazy girlfriend. This isn’t who I am.”
“I know.” He nods. “I know that I work too long. And I should not go out with everyone so much. But there’s this whole party atmosphere there. It’s hard to explain.”
I shrug. I understand. But I don’t really hear an apology. At least, not one that I believe. Just a lot of excuses.
9
Neither of us says anything for a while. I want to tell him that I don’t know how to deal with this. I know he wasn’t cheating – I don’t think he would, no matter what Juliet says. And that even the f
lirting and the interrupted kiss is as far as it will go, but I still feel shitty about this. The main thing I want to tell him is to just stop. Take a break. Have a little fun. I feel like we’re some sort of old married couple that are like two ships passing in the night due to their hectic work schedules. Mainly his schedule, actually. But I don’t say any of these things. Instead, I sit across from him and pout.
“I’m sorry, Alice,” Tristan finally says. He takes his hands in mine. He stares at me – I feel his gaze burning a hole in my face – until I look up. I see my reflection in his eyes. I also see someone who is at a loss as to what to do. The despondent look in his eyes frightens me.
“I don’t know, Tristan.” I shrug. “You really hurt me, you know. I just felt like a total idiot sitting there, watching you flirt with Kathryn.”
“I wasn’t flirting. We were just laughing over what someone said back in the office.”
“It looked like flirting,” I say. “And then when you kissed…”
Shivers run up my spine. I can’t even handle saying the word.
“We didn’t kiss, Alice. She kissed me. And I didn’t see it coming. And when it happened, I pulled away right away. And I told her that I have a girlfriend and it’s going to stay that way. That I love you.”
“I guess,” I say, sighing.
“But I understand how you feel.” He finally says something I want to hear. Something I’m yearning to hear. “I understand that it was awful for you. Just as it would be for me if you ever…”
Tristan lets his voice drift off. I can see that the thought of it is painful to him too.
He comes closer to me. Takes me into his arms. This time I don’t push him away. I want him close. I want to get over this. Whatever it is. I want to find a way to forgive. He lifts up my head. Slowly, Tristan presses his lips to my cheek. He gives me soft, tiny kisses as if his lips were wings of a butterfly. Cradling my face, he buries his fingers in my hair and brings his lips to mine. I close my eyes and part my lips.
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