There. I’d finally said it. I’d finally gotten those words out to him, and I was sure…well, pretty sure I meant them. He had to feel the same way. My God, after everything we’d done together, he had to love me back. Or at least be close to it.
He nodded some more and stepped harder on the accelerator. “I am caring for you, Ellie, but is not deep love. I am sorry. I quickly am — what is right word? Finding boredom? I need our sex to be more exciting and, after while with same person, this is not so possible. Even when we try new things.” He paused to catch his breath and shift gears. “It is not good idea to stay in relationship. I will be having other women soon.”
“Please don’t do this. Please.” My voice sounded pitiful.
He looked at me as if he’d known all along I’d react like this. As if this were the reason he’d waited to broach the topic. He sensed I’d dissolve into a blubbering, begging mess, and he didn’t want it witnessed by anyone.
“I am feeling sorry to make you sad. But this is truth, Ellie.”
“Well, I don’t want the fucking truth right now,” I shouted. And for the next three hours at least, I meant every word.
I wanted my fantasy, dammit.
I wanted my goddamn happily ever after, complete with cute babies and an adoring husband.
And, despite being given every reason to hate the guy, I still wanted Andrei.
He’d been honorable enough to face me. To break things off before cheating on me. To let me sniffle like a lost toddler for hours in his car. How could he like me, respect me, make love to me as only he had done, and not want to be with me forever?
Over the next couple of weeks, I tried every Get-Him-Back ploy in the book. I did all those embarrassing things that desperate women do:
• Calling him at odd hours then hanging up the phone when he answered.
• Writing him long, plaintive letters — complete with the world’s worst poetry — some of which I sent, many of which I thankfully didn’t.
• Stalking his apartment complex like a drive-by shooter might, fantasizing about pitching soggy tissues at him if ever I saw him in passing. I never did see him.
• Meeting him for a few of those awful, post-breakup tête-à-têtes where the breakup-er suffers through an hour of memory rehashing and the breakup-ee pleads their relationship’s hopeless case.
None of it worked and, despite Jane’s attempts at comforting me, I wrapped up the school year in a haze of wretchedness.
My sister, now legally separated from Alex and waiting out the last month until their divorce was finalized, said after another week of my moping, “I know it sucks, El, but move on.”
This was one situation where I knew I couldn’t say, “What do you know, Di?” because it was clear she did know. Her big brown eyes showed surprising compassion.
So, I said, “I’ll try.”
Of course I really didn’t try. It was too hard. I missed Andrei — our companionship, our in-jokes, our incredible sexual chemistry, even our dangerous liaisons in public places. And too many things reminded me of him.
I’d gotten a summer job at the Glen Forest Book Shoppe for the extra cash and the employee discount, but everywhere I looked there were books or CDs that screamed out Andrei’s name to me.
Immigration in America.
Chicago Nightlife — The Hot Spots.
U2’s Greatest Hits.
And, of course, anything by Dostoevsky.
I once had to restock the “World Music” CDs, and I almost broke down when I got to the Russian section. It was bad.
One late-June afternoon, as I was working the cashier station, a voice I’d never forgotten said, “Hi, Ellie.”
I looked up. Sam Blaine.
I looked down and sighed. The man had a gift. He had a knack for showing up at the worst possible times in my life. Why should this time be any different?
Oh, good Lord! Jane exclaimed. Not HIM again.
I looked back up and mustered my courage. “Sam. This is a surprise. You’re back in Illinois?”
“Just for a few weeks.” He plopped down a stack of Harry Potter books and pulled out his MasterCard. “Belated birthday presents for my nephews,” he explained.
“Mmm-hmm.” I rang up his purchases and stuffed them in a large plastic bag. “Would you like your receipt kept separate or shall I put it in with the books?”
He took the slip of paper from me, his fingers brushing mine in the process and causing their usual spark, damn him.
“I’ve got it,” he said.
“Okay, well, that’s…good. Nice to see you again, and have a lovely day.”
He grabbed the plastic bag I’d pushed toward him and laughed. “Oh, c’mon, Ellie. Surely after all this time we can have a civilized conversation, can’t we?”
I sucked in some air and stared at his still-handsome face. Like a 1987 Bordeaux, Sam Blaine aged well.
“I thought we were being exceptionally civilized.” I forced a bright smile. “Really. It’s been great seeing you again, but I’m in the middle of work.” I paused and added the customary, “Thanks for shopping with us. We appreciate your business.”
I turned my attention to the line of customers waiting to check out. Unfortunately, there was no one else there. Even more unfortunately, Sam noticed this.
He stepped closer to the counter and said, “It’s been almost five years since we ran into each other at that bar — and that time, well, you remember what happened.”
Of course I remembered what happened. Personal moments of mortification were hard to forget. I nodded.
“When are you done with your shift?”
“I — I just started, so not until late. Very late.”
“Okay. When do you get a break? Do you have time for coffee?”
Tell him no, Jane advised, her voice chilly.
“I — ” I began to shake my head, but something in Sam’s blue eyes stopped me. “Four o’clock,” I blurted. “I can take up to a half hour then.”
Jane huffed. Foolish girl.
“And you’re willing to spend that whole half hour with me?” Sam asked.
I opened my mouth to reply, but he held up his hand. “No, no, don’t answer that.” He chuckled. “I know I’m strong-arming you into this, but I do want to talk to you again. I’ll see you at four.” He pointed to the café section of the bookstore. “I’ll wait for you over there.”
“All right.”
As he left, I cursed my lifelong weakness for those eyes and, in punishment, was required to listen to Jane’s rants of displeasure for a full hour.
Chapter 9
Heaven forbid! — That would be
the greatest misfortune of
all! — To find a man agreeable
whom one is determined to hate!
— Pride and Prejudice
I’d had bad weeks in my life, both before and after the week that began with Air Band. But that last week of my senior year of high school turned out to be my Number One, Hands-Down, Worst Week Ever.
It did not, of course, start that way. Actually, I stupidly thought after prom night there was nowhere down left to go, nowhere further to drop. But, as had often been the case when it came to guys (Sam Blaine in particular) and me, I was wrong. Really wrong.
I’d spent the majority of that bright Saturday morning studying for the chemistry II final I was going to have on Monday and the entirety of that afternoon staring into space, daydreaming about college dating while chatting with Jane.
When evening finally came, I dressed in jeans and a pink T-shirt, draped a white sweatshirt around my shoulders, and drove to the school to watch Steve, Matt, Jason, Nate and, yes, Krista air jam to “Patience,” a power ballad of Guns N’ Roses.
The stage, such that it was, was a platform in the middle of our otherwise dark football field. A few of the senior male electronics geeks were in charge of sound, blasting the records over the speakers that littered the edge of the stage. Students crowded the track and the bleachers, watching
and listening. Colored lights illuminated the performers and, for a few minutes, those who’d dreamed of rock stardom had a taste of it.
As Steve writhed onstage in uncanny imitation of lead singer Axl Rose, Matt played to his one groupie (Terrie) and Jason dove into his role as bass guitarist. I sat at the edge of a bleacher row and surveyed the field beyond the band. Alone on the track and heading straight in my direction walked the inimitable Sam Blaine.
Our gazes converged.
I blinked and looked away. Glancing far down my row, I spotted Amanda Roberts sitting on the lap of a cute blond guy and laughing. Ah. Now I knew why Sam was looking up here.
I figured Sam, who’d studiously avoided exchanging with me even his usual trite harassments since prom night, must have a broken heart. His relationship with Amanda reportedly fizzled out in the same amicable manner that Jason’s and mine had, only I wasn’t harboring any secret disappointment about the breakup. As I returned my gaze to Sam, I caught a forlornness in his expression as he scrutinized our row. Clearly, he wasn’t over Amanda yet.
Steve, Jason and the gang abandoned the stage to wild applause. A girl band quickly replaced them, and soon I recognized the opening strains of Roxette’s big hit, “Listen to Your Heart.”
I closed my eyes and let the night swirl around me, the music a pulsing I could feel under my skin. May had a scent. A tipsy, dancing spearmint, full of tantalizing promise. I inhaled its flutterings and felt, far too briefly, my spirit taking flight.
“Hey, Ellie. What’s up?”
I forced open my eyes. Sam stood in front of me, staring at me strangely.
“Oh. Hi, Sam.”
He squinted, appearing to want to ask a question. Then he shrugged, as if dismissing the idea. He pointed to a spot to my right. “You saving that for someone?”
“No.”
“No? Really?”
“Did I stutter?” I said, exasperated. Then I moved my legs closer to the bench so he could get in.
He slid next to me without saying anything else.
The song played on and we watched the group go through their motions of passion and anguish onstage. I closed my eyes again but, this time, I couldn’t recapture that feeling of elation and freedom I’d had only a few minutes before. I sighed.
Sam nudged me. “You okay?”
“Yes, of course.” It came out more sharply than I’d intended.
“Sorry, it’s just — I just — well, you looked sort of weird for a second.”
“Gee, thanks.” Then I remembered Jane’s common complaint that I “too frequently employed sarcasm in conversation” and I laughed.
“What?”
“Nothing.” I sighed again. “Look, Sam, I know why you’re sitting up here. You can keep a better eye on Amanda this way. I get that. But you don’t have to pretend to talk to me. Actually, I’d rather you’d just pester someone else.”
His forehead wrinkled and his mouth dropped open. “Amanda?” His tone was heavy on the disdain. His eyes darted around until he saw her. He turned back to me with a look of fake surprise. “Hey, I’m not here to spy on anyone. I just wanted to sit down.”
“Yeah, right. Whatever you say.”
“Ellie — ” His voice came out so oddly I had to look him in the eye. We stared at each other for a minute until I crossed my arms and pressed my lips together. Then he said, “You know what? Never mind.” And he stood up and stalked away.
“Fine,” I muttered to myself.
“What’s fine?” Terrie asked, appearing from behind me with Matt’s fingers latched to the back pocket of her jeans.
“Oh, hey, nice to see you,” I said, not answering her question, of course. “Great performance, Matt.”
He grinned. “Thanks. It was cool.”
I scooched over. “You two want to sit down?”
“No, thanks, we’re gonna get a jump-start on Chad’s party just as soon as they announce the winner for Best Air Band.” Terrie glanced at her watch. “There’s only a song or two left, so we thought we’d catch them from the track.” The Roxette girls cleared the stage and a few new guys came on. “You’re coming to Chad’s, right?” Terrie asked.
“Sure,” I said. Chad Dennahey’s parents were in the Bahamas, so he was hosting the biggest bash of the weekend. Why not go? After all, I didn’t have anything else to do that night.
“Great,” she said. “See you there.” Then she and Matt walked down the steps and melted into the crowd on the track.
Over by the stage platform, I saw Sam again. This time he was chatting it up with the electronics-sound geeks. Gone was that lost, lonely look. Standing there, he seemed as self-assured and downright cocky as always. What a freaking irritating quality.
I saw him turn and glance up at the bleachers. My row, to be precise. I looked to my right. Amanda and her new boyfriend had left. Ah-ha. He’d just have to hunt for her somewhere else now. But when I looked back at Sam, he wasn’t there either. So I directed my attention to the new band and did a literal double take. Just guess who was front and center?
Sam Blaine — smart, intense, arrogant — looked nothing like any rock ’n’ roll star I knew, despite his addiction to Top 40, but the air of haughty confidence he displayed onstage made him almost believable.
The familiar, soul-stirring bass of the intro preceded Eric Carmen’s voice through the speakers as Sam and his buddies began their lip-synched version of “Make Me Lose Control.” Sam’s body swayed to the rhythm, and I watched him, mesmerized.
What was it about music that always made my blood race? The entwining of poetry with tune? In spite of myself, I began to sway, too. My toes tapped the bleacher floor. My lips hummed along. I closed my eyes and the fragrance of May flooded back to me, a warm, whirling symphony of minty lightness.
When I dared to look at the stage again, Sam had begun mouthing the lyrics, his eyes trained on me. Our hearts beating to the same rhythmic patter.
Only, my hammering pulse soon began to outstrip the melody, galloping through it as though the record had been set to the wrong speed.
I jumped up off the bench and dashed down the bleachers’ stairs. I sprinted across the track, then beyond the football field and into the parking lot. To my car.
Safe.
But safe from what?
Whatever this feeling was, it was ridiculous. Whatever I’d imagined had happened, hadn’t.
I shook my head hard. Sam and I didn’t make sense together. Ever. I’d decided that long ago, and some truths remained truths no matter what the soundtrack.
A wise decision, Jane said as I sped through the clear, tree-lined streets of Glen Forest to Chad’s parent-free house.
I know, I whispered back. I know.
And, in the fall, there will be mature college men, she reminded me.
That’s right. And I’ll be free! Free of everything here but you, dear Jane.
You wish to be free of me as well?
Of course not. It’s just the opposite. I paused at a stoplight, taking a few deep breaths. Say you’ll come with me, Jane. Say you won’t suddenly disappear from my life. That you’ll be there for me to talk to next year, no matter what…please?
Certainly. If you wish it.
I do wish it. I need you. I don’t know how I’d have made it through high school without you. I asked again the question I’d asked her a thousand times before. Are you SURE we’re not related?
I am quite sure, Ellie.
Then I asked the other question that’d needled me for years. Jane, why do you think Sam’s always gotten to me? Why do I still —
Think no more of Mr. Blaine. His antics haunt you only because he revels in pursuing ignoble games. The winning of the game is his aspiration, not the prize itself.
What could I say to that? I’d always thought so myself. And Sam had a history of arrogance, of competitiveness, of generally dishonorable juvenile behavior. Only that day, for the first time, it felt like a totally different game somehow. This is diff —
/>
It is not different, Ellie, Jane insisted with some annoyance. He has not changed. Although, perhaps, you have.
How so?
Merely that you are becoming a woman. Your expectations are higher, more sophisticated. You project similar depths and desires upon others where none exist.
I grinned into the darkness, the road winding in serpentine patterns now that I’d reached the outskirts of town. Yeah, that must be it. I’m the epitome of maturity.
That, Jane retorted with a sniff, I would NOT be inclined to say.
I stepped out of the car, slammed the door and marched toward Chad’s expansive backyard — if that was what you’d call two-plus acres of rolling land. Laughter and loud music emanated across the night with an occasional howl to break up the redundancy.
“Hey, El!” a few drunk senior girls yelled. I waved to them.
“Grab a beer,” someone else shouted, pointing to the fat keg on the patio.
I meandered over to it and filled a plastic cup half full of the flat, vile-tasting stuff. I took a single sip, so I could have its smell on my breath, and I tried not to shudder. I didn’t like beer. I never had. But it was necessary to carry one around in order to appear appropriately sociable.
Over the next hour, more and more Glen Forest seniors filtered in to the party. Stacy Daschell stumbled into the yard, guzzling beer like a trout slurps water and, when she was sure she had an audience, started groping her best friend’s older brother, who was home from college. I rolled my eyes and gossiped about her with Jane. Then Terrie arrived, along with Matt of course, and for a while the three of us chatted about nothing. Steve and Krista showed up, too, and so did Jason…on the arm of Princess Amy.
Terrie stared at them, then squinted at me. “Well, now, that’s a new development.”
“Good for him,” I said back, almost meaning it. Sure, he could’ve and should’ve chosen someone with a smidgen of character, but he had Amy as his “sweet” date now, and she could keep him.
While Terrie and Matt refilled their beers, in between making out, and Amy was off babbling with a few other girls, Jason approached me.
“Hi, Ellie,” he said.
According to Jane Page 17