From This Day Forward

by Ketley Allison

  Becca and I met our third roommate—and therefore our ability to remain living in Manhattan instead of moving to another, farther, cheaper borough—in the second semester of our freshman year. Jade was my seat neighbor in one of my mandatory courses, and by peeking over at her notes on multiple occasions, I realized she had a comprehensive grasp of the syllabus and would be the perfect study partner. Not to say I wasn’t keeping up, but Jade was genius-level smart. I wasn’t even kidding. I was pretty sure she was a Mensa member and a part of one of those secret rose or skull societies in top tier universities that no one ever talks about but everyone knows exists.

  After a few sessions, I learned she was studying to be a biochemical engineer, yet it seemed all subjects were an easy grasp for her. She was fun to debate with and to solve problems through. Jade’s almost-black eyes had a liveliness to them when she got onto a passionate subject, their opaque depths seeming to swirl and come alive when she became excited. The lightest pink tinge would spread across her cheeks, normally a creamy brown in color. She was tall, lean and lithe, being blessed with a dancer’s body even though she’d never done a pirouette in her life. Jade was too busy studying and learning the secrets of the universe. Her favorite books were by Stephen Hawkins, and to this day I often caught her on Saturday nights pouring over his theories. But, somehow, despite our differences, we clicked. Her logical, mathematical brain complimented mine on an interpersonal cellular level. We assisted each other with potential solutions and essay questions we might’ve missed, her scoping out every potential solution and me finding the holes, and soon our study sessions became less analytical and more warm and friendly. Inevitably, the library turned to happy hour drinks. Becca joined, and by the time the three of us were laughing hysterically over grapefruit-cosmos, our tripod of bedrooms in four-floor walk-up was solidified.

  Becca carried a healthy glass of red wine to my bed and Jade followed through with two. She handed one to me before joining Becca and perching on my bed.

  “I still say a blanket is the proper choice,” Becca said. “Or an afghan.”

  Becca wasn’t exactly supportive of my meeting with Trev.

  “Or the opposite,” Jade said. “Be extra hot and spicy, show him what he’s missing.”

  “She doesn’t have to put herself on display. He already knows he made the most epic mistake of his life,” Becca said.

  “And I’ll keep it that way,” I said, and lifted up a black silk button-down for their inspection.

  “If this is what you need for closure, girl, I support you.” Jade lifted her wine glass in cheers, then nodded at my outfit choice.

  I set the wine on the vanity, pulled off my t-shirt and slipped on the blouse. Skinny dark denim accompanied the look, along with a simple application of liner and lipstick. Light chatter was the audio as I finished getting ready, mainly filtered by Jade. I finished my drink, blew them each a kiss, then exited the apartment in a waft of my cherry blossom perfume.

  The restaurant I’d chosen wasn’t too far from home. It was a Mediterranean place that in my opinion had the best tzatziki on the East Coast, so if anything came out of this night it would be excellent takeout. When I arrived, Trev was not yet there. I asked the hostess for a seat by the window and she happily obliged. Despite the excellent food, most New Yorkers who frequented this establishment preferred to order delivery or takeout, meaning the restaurant itself was rarely crowded. I’d thought it would be a good thing. Trev and I could have somewhere public yet quiet to talk, and with less witnesses in case I lost it on him.

  I dove into the complimentary pita slices and hummus, nerves having the effect of a growling, insatiable stomach. When the waitress swung around again, I was able to wash the jitters with a glass of white wine. But fifteen minutes later when there was still no sign of Trev, annoyance soon spread over any food-dumpster anxiety I had.

  On the fifth check of my phone, Trev blew into the restaurant, all flushed with tangled hair with his jacket still buffeting from the outside wind as the door shut behind him. He spotted me immediately and rushed over.

  “Seriously sorry,” he said as he fell into his seat across from me. “Subway was brutal. Some kind of passenger sickness or rail malfunction or suicide…whatever the automated message is trying to cover up this time with their fake-ass ‘we are delayed because of train traffic’ bullshit.” Trev paused long enough to scoop a healthy ladle of hummus on his pita wedge before continuing through one side of his mouth. “Anyway, I made it.”

  “I’m glad,” I said stiffly. I knew Trev well enough to understand he was in his nervous babble mode, but for the life of me I could not feel any sympathy.

  He chewed before swallowing. “So…should we order before talking or…”

  “I’m good with this,” I said and picked up my wine. While I sipped, I caught a flicker of disappointment in his features, but he recovered and said, “Okay, let me get a beer then.”

  Trev waved the server over, a cute young blonde who could be fresh out of high school. I waited for Trev’s trademark undercover linger—the one where as soon as a girl turned around he would subtly appraise—but none came.

  “I can’t pretend that what was on Laurie’s phone didn’t happen,” he said, and there was such an uncharacteristic seriousness to him that my gut instinct wavered. “And I can’t express to you how badly I messed up the best thing I ever had and may never get back.”

  Under the table, my fingers curled into a fist. Trev’s contriteness, even accompanied by liquid brown eyes that shone with candlelight and tears, and an unshaven face with unkempt, slept-in hair, could not win. Trev and I rarely fought—mostly because I usually let him win—so for him to display such openness and vulnerability was so destabilizing that I honestly thought my chair was tilting against the floor.

  “You need to try,” I said once I found my voice, “And explain in every possible detail why you wanted to lose the best thing we, Trev, we ever had.”

  “I don’t—” Trev was interrupted by the server placing a frosted pint of beer in front of him. He said his thanks, then paused for a drawn-in swig before continuing. The silence between us became thicker the longer I waited. “You don’t deserve excuses,” he said. “So I’m trying to come up with something to say to you that makes sense. I got—caught up. There were all these parties and you never wanted to go so I—”

  “Don’t you dare make this my fault.”

  “No! That’s not what I mean. I want to give you the detail you want, so you gotta bear with me, okay? Please? You were so into your studies, and I’m proud of you for that, I am, but I could never compete with it. So I went out with my guys, and we’d get hammered and all these girls would come around, so touchy and flirty…”

  “I don’t know if I can listen to this,” I said into my wine.

  “So what do you want then?” he asked, his voice rising. “You want the truth, I’m giving it to you. There were always girls, Em. Always. And for a while it was easy to resist them because I had someone at home who was so smart and good and my perfect small-town girl. But then you took on more work at the bar, and you changed your major to business, and you had to maintain your scholarship and student loans…and I…I felt like I was getting smaller.”

  “So, you’re saying you cheated because I was becoming too successful?” I cut myself off—breathed—before I could become too shrill.

  “You don’t get it! I’m not good enough, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? I deserve the barflies, the party girls, the ones who judge me less for my smarts and more for my looks. That’s what’s been going through my head for over a year now. My future? It starts with a laborer and ends with a disability pension. You’re flying high, Em, and I’m barely hangin’ onto your string. I just needed…I only wanted…”

  “Validation?” I finished for him. “Justification for you fucking around behind my back? Does sex with a stranger feel better when you tell yourself you’re doing it for your girlfriend’s own good?”
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br />   “Now you’re being unfair.”

  “You’re not making sense. You’ve concocted this whole theory as to why it was okay for you to hit on my co-worker, to…and I’m coming to realize, to sleep with however many girls for god knows how long…” I was going to be sick, but I pushed on. “When this whole time, I was doing all these things not only for myself, but for you. I was trying to be perfect for you.”

  He shook his head. “That’s…that’s not…”

  I said through my tears, “You should’ve talked to me, Trev. You should’ve told me how you were feeling so we could figure it out.”

  “I came here for you. I live in this crowded, stank-ass city, for you. I was behind you, all the way, I swear. But something snapped. The guys kept hassling me and pushing, I was getting so cocky. We’re in a big city, Em. Everything was so new and I couldn’t resist—only once, I promise. Laurie was the only—”

  I held up my hand. “I’ve heard enough.”

  “Don’t leave.” He reached for my arm as I stood. “You can’t until we’ve talked this out.”

  “What do you think we’re doing here?” I said. “Did you think we’d get back together after this talk? If anything, Trev, I am feeling the utter opposite. You are proving to me how much of a boy you still are. The city? The bright lights and cute girls? That’s what made you throw us away?” I said after a breath, “You are so goddamned selfish.”

  His eyes went hard. “Don’t fucking judge me like that—”

  “You haven’t once referred to us. This relationship took two people, Trev, and you tore your other half apart when you went and did what you did. All I’m hearing is how you were affected and the conflict you went through, when the whole time, you’re sitting across from the one person you were supposed to protect. I handed you my heart, my whole self, and you failed. You had everything I had to give and you let it bleed through your fingers.”

  “Get off your high and mighty chair up there, hun.” Trev stood up and towered over me. A switch was flicked inside him, the mean part that only came out when I hit on something sensitive. “You can talk all you want about how great you are, but you’re not two weeks out of the biggest heartbreak of your life, according to you, and already you’re fucking around with that limpdick tutor.”

  My mouth worked for a minute. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Word gets around, sweetheart. And he’s not exactly a subtle piece of ass for you to screw. Any girl seen with him, pretty much solid evidence that he’s fucking her.”

  “You’re disgusting.”

  He grabbed for my arm again but I shook him off. By this point, we had the attention of the bartender and server, the only waitstaff in the room.

  “I’m giving you a warning,” he retorted.

  “If painting me as a slut is what helps you sleep at night, go right ahead,” I said as I made for the door. “Because I’m going to crash like a baby tonight knowing you’re never going to be sleeping next to me again.”

  I slammed through the door and into the frigid air and made it a whole two blocks before I doubled over, hands on my knees, and let out a painful, tearless sob. Trev didn’t follow. A few pedestrians passed me, expressions curiously cocked, but no one stopped to check on my well-being.

  Maybe for the best, because as soon as someone asked me if I was okay, the dam would burst and I’d be wailing puddle on a public street. I’d never seen Trev become so stone cold so fast, right after exposing the most sincere parts of himself. It was as if I never knew him, or maybe he’d been hiding who he was truly becoming for six years. I wasn’t sure which was worse.

  Home wasn’t far away. I gathered enough control to make it another two blocks and up to my apartment, but once I saw that it was empty and dark, I nearly bent over again. Being alone with my phone, a device that could light up with Trev’s platitudes at any moment, was a great mistake. Right after I shed my jacket, I decided to save myself and texted Becca to please come home.

  She answered within minutes and was only at a bar five minutes away. When she arrived, I was in a fetal position on our shared couch, bawling into one of my throw pillows that had made its way to the main room.

  “Honey,” Becca said. Warm pressure met my thighs as she sat down next to me. “That bad?”

  “H-horrible.”

  “He’s a bastard. And any attempts to un-bastardize himself would only make him more of a bastard,” she said. “I can imagine the things he tried to say to make everything your fault.”

  I calmed enough to stop hiccuping. “That’s exactly what happened.”

  Her lips scrunched with wry wisdom. “Cheating assholes aren’t hard to predict, especially when you come across enough of them.”

  “Which is why you didn’t want me to go in the first place,” I said as I shifted to sit beside her, dabbing my eyes with a tissue. “I should’ve listened to you.”

  “We all have to make our own choices,” she said as she rubbed my back. “Plus, I think you needed this even though it’s super fucked up at the present moment.”

  She let me snivel a while longer, then peered closer and said, “You gonna miss him now?”

  “Hell no.” Spittle followed my exclamation.

  “Exactly.” She patted my knee before getting up. “Let me see if there’s any red left.”

  Becca reappeared with two rinsed wine glasses (since we only had three) and a new, uncorked bottle of red wine. The gentle sloshing of liquid filling a cup followed, and soon she shoved a full glass under my nose. “Drink up.”

  “Thanks,” I said and tucked my legs under me. Becca found a comfortable position on the other end of the couch. “Are you ready for some tough love?” she asked.

  I waited until I was a few gulps in to answer, then nodded.

  “He was never the one for you. We all have our first loves, guys who we think are Prince Charming, but they will inevitably disappoint us. Storybook Princes aren’t real. And it takes entering into relationships, and more after that, to come to understand that our boyfriends, future and past alike, are flawed just like us.”

  “You forget those people that find one person and stick with them for the rest of their lives,” I said.

  “Listen, we all want our swans, and when that fails, a penguin.”

  I choked mid-swallow. “Who says I want a bird?”

  “Things that mate for life! The one true love, all that shit. But hear me carefully, country girl, it is no longer in your future. And that’s okay. Great, even.” Our laughter drifted off and she softened. “Trev suffocated you, didn’t he?”

  I said, “I…I suppose he did, yeah.”

  “So now that pillow is lifted. You’re free to explore. And I say start with Spence.”

  The mention of his name had my throat bubbling, memories of what Trev said spewing forth. “There are so many reasons why I can’t do that.”

  “Good thing I’m here to fill in the blanks. You like him—totally obvious. But he’s unfamiliar territory which is fucking scary. He’s not a country boy. He’s smart. Intimidating. And you, my sweet, misled friend, don’t think you’re good enough.”

  “None of that is true.”

  “Stop lying to yourself.”

  I ran my tongue along my teeth. Basically delaying the inevitable. “Okay, so maybe if you’re a little bit right, I still can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “He has a reputation.”

  “So do I. You still like me.”

  “He’s…he could be deeply in love with someone already.”

  Becca snorted, then gestured for me to drink more. “Keep going. You’re so entertaining.”

  “He’s my tutor.”

  “All the more reason to sleep with him!” Becca leapt off the couch. “Think of the story you can hang onto when you’re in your eighties and have nothing but saggy tits to cushion your regrets at night.”

  I said through my sputtering laughter, “I’m not messing up a business transaction!”

 
“New game,” Becca said. “Any time you think up another terrifyingly lame excuse, you take a drink.”

  She cupped the wine against my lips, but I was laughing too hard to take anything down. Tears had dried stiffly on my cheeks, but with Becca’s coaxing, we cracked through the salt. She sat with me long into the night, and a bottle and a half of wine later, we decided to call it.

  Before leaving for my room, I hugged her. Hard. “Thank you.”

  “Anything for my wayward bestie.”

  I stumbled into my room, the hardwood lines deciding to go squiggly and prevent forming straight arrows to my bed. In order to counteract the blur, I laid a hand on my vanity for balance. Then squinted, just to be sure I wasn’t seeing things.

  “Hey, Becs?” I called.

  Her voice drifted from the other end of the apartment. “Yeah?”

  “D’you do laundry today?”

  “No, why?”

  “Just wondering if some of my underwear got caught in with your stuff.”

  Which sometimes happened. Underwear and socks left in the bathroom, the mutual hamper we had to throw in shared stuff like blankets and sheets. Inevitably something of someone’s would get mixed in.

  “Huh?” She popped through my doorway.

  “It’s stupid,” I said, and gestured as such. “My top drawer was open. Just wondering if you put something in it.”

  “Nope. You probably left it open when you were scrounging around for something to wear for the douche canoe.”