by Jill Knapp
“Alright, fair enough. Besides, I wouldn’t want you to jinx yourself and have to leave again,” he said, smiling shyly. “I missed talking to you.”
I looked around the bar. It was some place I already forgot the name of near where Hayden worked in Midtown West. I had never been here before, but it felt comfortable. It was an older, quieter crowd. There was a faint sound of Nora Jones playing in the background. Unlike the usual heavy bass of the latest dub step craze. The booths were wrapped in thick leather instead of the more commonly seen splintering wood, which I hated, because by the end of the night the place always stunk of beer, and if you were wearing tights they were destroyed within an hour. The best part about this bar was there wasn’t an NYU graduate student in sight. I felt like I had slipped into my own little world, a different version of New York City that my friends didn’t know about. Something private.
“I will try to stay put,” I said. “At least until I graduate.” The thought of school and Dr. Greenfield flooded back into my mind.
“Which is when, exactly?” Hayden said.
“A thousand eternities,” I answered with a shrug. “Or two years. I can’t remember.”
“It’ll go by fast,” Hayden offered.
I suddenly realized I hadn’t asked Hayden a single question about himself.
“Come to think of it, I actually have no idea where you went to school,” I said, suddenly embarrassed for dominating the entire conversation. “Oh and how’s Ernst and Young treating you?”
“Well I didn’t go to a fancy graduate school, Miss Smarty Pants,” he teased. “But I went to the University of Florida for my undergrad. And work is fine. It’s the same as it’s always been.”
“So you hate it?” I laughed.
“No,” he chuckled. “I don’t hate it. Just thinking it might be time for a change, that’s all.”
“Did you say you went to the University of Florida?” I asked. “That’s where my friend Olivia went. Did you know her? Her last name is Davis.”
“No, I don’t think so,” he said looking thoughtful. “But I am a few years older than you. Is Olivia your age?”
“She is,” I answered with a nod.
“And how old is that again, young ’un?” Hayden chuckled. Just as he spoke, his phone started to buzz in his pocket. He plucked it right out, hit the silence key, and tucked it back in.
“I’ll have you know that I am turning 24 this year,” I said, pretending to be offended.
“Easy, I’m just kidding around,” he said backing off. “I’m only 27 myself. It’s not that big of an age difference.”
“Better be careful with the whole ‘joking around thing’,” I mocked him, complete with air quotations. “You’re beginning to sound a little bit like my favorite person of all time. Bryce.” I never thought Bryce was good enough for Cassandra, he was always a shady character, in my opinion. She ultimately ended up breaking things off with him last Valentine’s Day, when she caught him with another girl.
Hayden put his hands up, as if to admit defeat.
“Okay, then I will never joke around like that again,” he laughed. “I promise.” Hayden looked down at his beer and then back up at me and let out a soft chuckle. “Maybe New York is making me mean, too.” He grabbed the neck of his beer bottle and took a long sip.
“Are you still friends with that guy?” I asked, hoping the answer was no. “Because I don’t know if I could stomach to be around him ever again.”
Hayden shook his head and smiled. His teeth were perfectly straight and his smile was warm and friendly. I didn’t feel the least bit intimidated by him.
“Bryce is gone,” he answered, motioning over to the bartender for the tab. “He was re-located to Irvine, California.”
“Gone?” I slammed my hand down on the bar, shaking both of our drinks.
“Gone,” he echoed. “His job offered him more money and a bigger office, so he took the bait.”
“Seriously? I remember a conversation, less than a year ago, in which Bryce declared he would never leave Manhattan,” I said, thinking back to the first time I met Hayden. “I just can’t believe he’s gone,” I pretended to wipe away a tear. “Say it ain’t so.”
“You’re very snarky today, Amalia,” Hayden said with a straight face.
I put a hand to my chest and pretended to be offended.
“I’m sorry,” I said with a fake pout. “I’ve just been through a lot the past few days.” Hell, I’d been through a lot the past year.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said in a comforting tone. “It will get better.”
The bartender walked over with the tab, which was delicately placed inside a leather-bound book.
“Let me get this,” I insisted, reaching for my purse.
“That’s not going to happen,” Hayden replied. Without even looking up, he retrieved his wallet from his back pocket. Once in his hand, he slid his credit card over to the bartender without even inspecting the bill to make sure the amount was accurate.
“Thank you,” I said sincerely. “I get the next round.”
“Oh?” he said, perking up. “So there’s going to be a next round?” Hayden got his card back and stood up to stuff his wallet in his back pocket.
“Definitely,” I grabbed my purse off the back off the chair. “How do you feel about two- buck chuck from Trader Joe’s? I hear there’s some random brand of wine there that does an awesome cabernet-shiraz blend.”
Hayden laughed and held the door open for me as we exited the bar. The sun had begun to set and New York had turned into a more tolerable version of itself. At least for me. At night, it still felt the same as it did when I was a child. Filled with hope, excitement, and the right amount of energy that kept you wishing you didn’t require sleep. A wave of sadness suddenly flowed over me, but I couldn’t figure out why.
“That sounds delicious,” he said, breaking me out of my daze.
“Oh it’s a true delicacy,” I joked. “Are you able to walk home from here?”
Hayden shook his head. He then walked over to the curb and firmly lifted his right arm
“Oh, a cab?” I said, as I combed through my wallet for my Metro card. “Fancy.”
As soon as I reached into my purse, I felt my phone vibrate. I decided to wait until Hayden was in the cab to check it.
“We can split it if you’d like,” he offered quickly.
“No, it’s fine,” I said with a smile. “I have to schlep back to Brooklyn to Olivia’s place. Besides, I am very happy with my thoughts and my iPod on the subway.”
A cab pulled up and the driver asked Hayden where he was headed before even unlocking the doors.
“45th and Second Avenue,” he called out. The cab driver thought for a moment and then unlocked his doors, approving Hayden’s destination.
That was when I found out where Hayden lived.
“I’ll talk to you soon,” he said, pulling me in for a hug. I could smell his cologne. It was sweet but still masculine. Earthy but not overpowering. Whatever it was, I liked it.
I pulled away slowly and smoothed out a wrinkle on my shirt. For a brief moment, he and I made eye contact. I looked down at the sidewalk and backed away from the curb, waving as Hayden ducked into the cab. A few seconds later, the car had driven away.
It was a long way back to Brooklyn and I felt relieved to know that I would be living in Manhattan again soon. I popped in my headphones and began walking down the street, heading toward the nearest subway line. As soon as I hit shuffle on my iPod, the same Nora Jones song filled my ears as in the bar. I smiled and decided to walk a little slower.
Chapter 10
Olivia
“Don’t you ever go home?” I teased, as Alex sauntered into my apartment, unannounced, for the fourth time that week.
I was home washing the dishes that Amalia and I had left in the sink that morning when I heard the door knob turn. Without looking up, I knew it was him.
“I do,” he said, walking o
ver to me. “But not when the F train isn’t running and the only way home is that glorified hang-glider.”
I finished up the last dish and snapped off my plastic gloves. It was something my mom ingrained in me, “If you’re going to wash dishes you have to wear gloves!”
I could still hear her shrieking it in my ear if I listened hard enough.
“The tram is perfectly safe,” I said. “Plus, it’s kind of fun.”
“Not when it’s crowded as all hell and I’m stuck next to some screaming child who thinks it’s a theme-park ride,” he defended. He rubbed his temples and put his feet up on the coffee table.
His bad mood was affecting me more than I would have liked. I loved Alex, seeing him upset immediately made me feel uneasy. I made an over-the-top sad face and asked him what was wrong.
“Nothing, baby,” he said, pulling me in for a hug. “I just got off the phone with my father and you know how nuts he makes me.”
Alex’s dad was the type of guy who you could never please. If you came home from school with a perfect test score, he’d ask why you didn’t offer to do extra credit. If you wrote him a song, he’d ask why you didn’t write him an opus. And, most importantly, if you got into an Ivy League medical school and decided not to become a doctor but opt to go to graduate school instead, you would be forever told that you are a huge disappointment and ultimately ruining your life.
I had only met Alex’s parents once. Unlike mine, who hated each other and were divorced, his hated each other and remained married. It was like their mutual disappointment in their son joined them together in the fight against happiness. His dad, a cardiologist, worked out of his own practice in Alex’s home town in North Carolina. His mom was a college professor at Duke. They were a dynamic duo of condescension and could cut you down with one breath. The first and only time I met them, they came to New York to meet with an old colleague of Alex’s father. When the four of us went out to dinner afterwards, they asked me a lot of questions. Mostly about school, but a few about my home life. I explained to them that my parents got divorced when I was thirteen, and I heard his mother make an under-the-breath comment about me coming from a broken home. Seconds later, a quick snicker escaped his father’s lips. It was the closest the man had come to a smile all evening.
“He called you?” I asked, trying to hide the surprise in my voice.
Alex’s father hardly ever made an effort to contact his only son. Just birthdays and the holidays. The idea of Alex conversing with my father made my stomach turn. It would undoubtedly upset him.
Without a word, Alex just nodded and reached in his pocket for a cigarette.
“What did he want?” I asked, suddenly on guard from the way he was acting.
Alex must have noticed my apprehension because the next thing he did was offer me a hug.
“I’m sorry, I just walked in here in a bad mood,” he said in a soothing tone. “He just called me out of nowhere and told me he’s going to be in town next week. He wants to get lunch after he meets with a client.”
“You never have to be sorry for being in a bad mood,” I said sympathetically. “I understand.”
Alex pulled out of the embrace and plopped down on the couch. He finally lit his cigarette and took a deep, long drag. As soon as I saw the smoke, I immediately felt the undeniable need to light one myself.
Maybe Amalia was right. Maybe I should quit.
“Lunch, Olivia. I’m not even worth a fucking dinner,” Alex’s face was growing red.
“So don’t go,” I blurted out, maybe a little too quickly. “If it makes you that upset, you don’t have to see him. You’re an adult now. A busy adult. And if seeing him is just going to ruin your day, then no one says you have to go through with it.”
“Olivia, he’s my dad,” Alex’s smooth expression had twisted into a scowl. “What am I supposed to do, ignore him for the rest of my life?”
“No, of course not,” I defended myself. “Not for the rest of your life, but maybe just for right now. Look, school just started back up and we are all on edge. The last thing you need right now is your dad making a guest appearance, forcing you to rethink all of your decisions. Making you question all of your hard work.”
Alex took another drag of his cigarette and remained quiet. I was nervous I had gone too far, I had a habit of doing that. Still, I felt like seeing his father was a bad idea. And deep down, I think he knew I was right.
As Alex’s silence filled the room, I questioned if I should have said anything at all. I really was no one to give advice on the subject. My dad and I had a great relationship. When my mother and father got a divorce, I lived with my dad most of the time. He and I became our own little team.
Suddenly, I needed fresh air. I walked over to the window and opened it as far as it would move. It made a loud, creaking sound, and the cool wind felt more punishing then refreshing.
“I’ll think about it,” was all Alex said through a cloud of smoke.
I glanced out the window at the busy city underneath me, loud and chaotic at any time of the day. I wanted to ask it to be quiet, that it was being rude for interrupting us. I sat myself down next to him on the couch and raised my hand to touch his shoulder. He refused to meet my gaze.
“Are you upset with me?” I asked, suddenly worried. Alex and I had never had a fight before. Well, unless you counted that night at the alumni mixer last year. We had gotten into an argument early into our friendship. In retrospect it was about something trivial. So trivial I don’t even remember what it was. I overreacted a bit and ran out of the hotel, unable to deal with my growing feelings for him. I felt much more comfortable with him now, and the thought of losing him was heartbreaking.
“Honestly?” he started. He sat up straighter on the couch, and his harsh demeanor made me wince. “Yeah I’m a little upset that you’re not being more supportive.”
“How am I not being supportive?” I nearly jumped off the couch. “I’m trying to protect you from having what can only be described as a pity lunch with your not-so-present father.”
“He’s still my dad, Olivia.” He folded his arms and shook his head slightly.
Tears began welling up behind my eyes, but I didn’t want to let them out. I felt like I was right and didn’t want to be told something harsh, like I was using tears to win an argument.
Nervously smoothing out my hair, I tried to appear more confident than I felt. “Fine. Maybe you should go home,” I said coldly, unable to prevent the words from leaving my mouth.
I expected him to fight me on it, tell me I was overreacting. But instead all he said was, “Maybe I should.”
I snapped my head around to look at him. Before I knew what was happening Alex put out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray and stood up to leave.
“Wait!” I called, wishing I could take back my request for him to leave. “I didn’t mean that.”
“Whatever. Its fine,” he uttered quickly, and in a flash he was out the door.
I didn’t even know why I had told him to leave, and now I was left feeling confused and guilty, with a hint of juvenile. Had we really just had such a petty argument? I stood there for a few seconds in shock. Had I gone too far with Alex? Should I have just kept quiet and let him sulk? Just then the doorknob began to turn. I rushed over to the door, thankful that Alex had come back. Ready to talk about what had just happened.
I flung open the door just as Amalia was turning her key. She jumped back and gasped, her key still in the doorknob.
“What the hell are you doing? What’s wrong with you?” she breathed, clutching her chest. “You scared the hell out of me.”
Without answering, I looked past her, darting my eyes down the hallway to the left and to the right. Alex had definitely left. I could feel tears welling up behind my eyes.
“I don’t know,” I muttered, walking away from the door. I didn’t want her to see my face, but Amalia followed me over to the couch and, in unison, we both took a seat. “Alex and I just had
a huge fight.” I gently pressed my palms into my eyes.
“What about?” she said, placing her purse on the table. As soon as she got close to me, I noticed she smelled of alcohol.
“About his dad coming into town and how terrible the guy is in general,” I moved my hand to my head and nervously began twirling my hair.
“Alex is terrible?” she asked, cocking her head to the side. She moved closer and put her hand on my knee. “I didn’t want to say anything, I mean, he is kind of irritating.”
“No, not Alex! His father,” I snapped, reaching for yet another cigarette.
“Are you chain-smoking?” she asked, inching away.
“This really isn’t the time, Amalia,” my eyes burning from fighting back tears. I wanted to ask her if she had been drinking, but I didn’t want to come off as more of a bitch than I already had. I also didn’t want to have a conversation about my relationship with her if she was drunk.
I lit up another cigarette and crossed back over to the window. I hoped to catch a glimpse of Alex pacing on the street, wrestling with the idea of coming back upstairs. He was nowhere to be seen.
“It’s going to be okay, right?” she asked, not moving from the couch. “I mean, you’ll see him tomorrow in class.”
“No he has that class he’s auditing tomorrow.” I suddenly realized I wouldn’t be able to patch things up with him until he felt like it. Now I was pacing.
“I think you may be overreacting a tiny bit,” she mumbled, just loud enough for me to hear. She twisted her curly blonde hair up into a tight ponytail and leaned back onto the couch.
“How would you know?” I shot back, suddenly irrationally angry.
“I’m just saying, the two of you seem very happy together,” she defended. “I am sure he’ll call you later and then you guys can work it out.”
“I’m not going to wait for him to realize he’s being crazy, I’m going to try calling him,” I said, grabbing my cell out of my back pocket. I thought I heard Amalia mumble something about me being the one who was crazy, but I may have just imagined that. The phone rang three times before the voicemail picked up. It was clear that Alex did not want to talk to me.