by Audrey Bell
“Sorry,” I said.
“No worries. You were fast.” He smiled. "You look really pretty."
Shit.
We were the youngest people at Mill House. By a decade. At least.
A chic, dark-haired waitress scrutinized our driver’s licenses when Andrew asked for the wine list. Andrew ordered a bottle of wine expensive enough to impress her. Or maybe it was to impress me. I couldn’t think of one good reason why he should do either.
He’d seen me behave badly all year. He’d seen me yell at copyeditors and nearly burst into tears when I hadn’t slept enough. I didn’t need a $200 bottle of wine to like Andrew. I’d liked him from the start. I just didn’t like him like that.
David’s delusional, a part of my brain whispered to me. But another part was putting together puzzle pieces I had wondered about before. The way he was always asking if I wanted to hang out or seeing if I wanted to have lunch or coffee to talk about the paper.
When we'd kissed last year, I had said it was a mistake. I had apologized. I had told him that I would never do anything to threaten our friendship. He had just nodded his head in agreement.
But, ultimately, he had agreed with me. He didn’t have to agree.
So, it wasn’t a date.
"What do you like here?" I asked. "I haven't been since parents' weekend freshman year."
He smiled. "Yeah, my parents love this place. Get the truffle pasta."
I raised an eyebrow. “Where is that?”
“It’s one of their specials. It’s amazing. Just trust me.”
I nodded and closed my menu. “Sure.” I took a sip of the wine.
“How is it?”
I only knew enough about wine to know that I didn't appreciate it. “It’s really great.”
He smiled. “I'm glad you like it. It's a white burgundy. One of my mom's favorites."
"Very cool."
I looked around the restaurant uncomfortably. He didn’t seem to have anything to say. I cleared my throat awkwardly and fiddled with my place setting.
“So, what do you normally drink?" he asked.
"I don't know, honestly," I smiled. "Whatever's available. So this is a real treat."
"I would've thought you knew more about wine."
"Really? Why?"
"You grew up so close to Napa."
I lifted my shoulders haplessly. "Yeah. I don't know. I guess you'll just have to be the expert tonight."
He laughed. “Fine be me.”
"So." I cleared my throat. "Valentine's Day issue."
“It's a good idea. Juliet Robinson came up with it. You know Juliet? She does the local news roundup and campus crime report?"
I nodded. "Of course, she’s really good."
"Right?" Andrew said. "Anyways, people don't read her articles. She did an article about sexual assault on campus in September. It got like 22 hits on the website."
I exhaled. "So, the alternative is writing about Valentine's Day?"
"It’s just changing the packaging. Love, sex, and relationships on campus. All the stuff that nobody talks about after freshman orientation like date rape and safe sex. We can make it personal. Juliet has spoken to a bunch of different people who said they'd be willing to write about their experiences."
I sighed.
"It's a good idea, Hadley. What’s your problem with it?” he smiled.
"It’s a newspaper," I said. "Our job is to cover the news. It's not to be advocates for social change or to celebrate a holiday. I mean, Andrew, come on. It's like doing an Easter issue to draw attention to the plight of factory farm animals.”
He grinned. "Except for it’s a secular holiday and the victims aren't factory farm animals but fellow students. And Valentine’s Day is a relationship holiday. It’s not a stretch to do an issue that deals with relationships.”
I opened my mouth and then closed it. I sipped my wine. Andrew smirked and I sighed.
"Listen, I know you hate Valentine's Day," Andrew said.
"I don't hate it. I think it's stupid," I said. "I also think my mother's kitten Priscilla is stupid and I adore her. And I'm not saying we should cover these issues. We should. But we shouldn't use sex and the color pink to package them."
"Valentine's Day is not just about sex."
"Yeah, it's also about pink. And flowers. And chocolate. And teddy bears. None of which are newsworthy.”
He laughed. “You’re such a cynic. You don't think it's at least a little bit about relationships?" I took another sip of wine and Andrew reached for the bottle. He refilled my glass and then his.
I shook my head. "It's not at all about relationships. It's about sex. You and I have a relationship. David and I have a relationship. Juliet and I have a relationship. And Valentine's Day isn't about any of those relationships. It's about relationships between people having sex with each other. Or between people who want to have sex with each other.”
Andrew gave me a small smile. "You really think that's the only difference?"
“Yeah. Otherwise people would marry their best friends all the time,” I said.
"Some people do.”
"Do what?"
"Marry their best friends.”
I shook my head. “The whole thing is antiquated. Marriage was a social construct to protect property and ensure that women with children weren’t abandoned. It doesn’t make biological sense. It made social sense before the advent of birth control, but now it's basically a moot point. It's on the decline: marriage, relationships, all that."
“God, you really are from San Francisco, aren’t you?”
I grinned. “It can’t come as a shock to you that I’m not a romantic.”
“Well…even unromantic people fall in love.”
“I loathe that phrase.”
“Seriously?” Andrew asked, with a smile.
“The idea that people fall in love,” I said. “It sounds so sloppy. You just fell? Really?”
Andrew laughed at me.
“What? It’s ridiculous. Control your emotions. Can you imagine if criminals went around saying they fell into hatred or jealousy and that’s why they killed four people or robbed the bank? We act like love is this uncontrollable thing. But when it comes to anger and all of that ugly stuff, we’re expected to control it. We’re supposed to handle those emotions without hurting anyone. But throw out the word ‘love’ and everyone thinks all of the rules should go right out the window and who can help it if someone gets hurt? It’s absurd and it’s degrading, honestly, that we expect people to control themselves except for when it comes to wanting to sleep with someone.”
“Oh, come on,” he said. “It’s about more than sex.”
“I don’t think it is. It’s sex and not wanting to be alone. Everyone is afraid to be alone.”
“Yeah, well,” Andrew shrugged. “Who wants to end up alone?”
“I wouldn't mind," I said.
"Well, you're good company," he pointed out.
“So if it was just me, myself, and I until the end of time, I’d probably be okay with that.”
Andrew bit his lip, withdrawing from the argument. “Yeah, well.” He finished his wine and refilled the glass.
The waitress set down our entrees.
“Yeah, well what?” I asked, amused at how personally he was taking my refusal to believe in people falling in love.
He looked away from me. He looked like he suddenly thought dinner was a bad idea. “Not everyone likes themselves that much.”
I caught the soft look in his eyes. "Sorry." I bit my lip. "I mean, I like you a lot better than I like myself.”
He managed a weak laugh. “Thank you. That makes one of us.” He cleared his throat. “I just think people our age don’t want to put themselves out there anymore. And so they don’t. And so nobody actually falls in love. They play it safe. And that’s why everyone keeps getting hurt. You’re supposed to fall in love. My parents got married when they were twenty. And they’re still married.”
&n
bsp; I raised my eyebrows. “My parents got married when they were twenty-one and they aren’t.”
“Well, that’s the thing, it’s a crapshoot. But you have to play the game.”
“Why?”
He hesitated. “I don’t know. So you can have a family and stability and someone…someone to come home to.”
He had such an earnest look in his eyes just at that moment. I wanted to promise him that he was going to fall wildly in love and laugh so hard when he remembered how he used to think he might end up alone. But who really knew? We all worried sometimes. Even the ones of us who were sure it would all work out had to remind ourselves that we would be okay. We all have our own doubts. We all have weaknesses. Even in our strong places, we have weaknesses.
After we’d discussed separatists in Libya and gun control in the Senate and whether the Northwestern basketball team could possibly get any worse this year, we shared dessert and Andrew got the bill. I was sure it was exorbitant.
"We should split it," I said.
Andrew shook his head. "Please. I ordered the wine."
"Well, I drank it," I insisted.
Andrew smiled and shook his head again. "No way, Hadley."
He handed his card to the waitress and leaned back.
"Well," I smiled. "You’ve convinced me on Valentine's Day. We’ll do the issue. Juliet can run it."
He laughed. "Yeah? You sure.”
“Absolutely.”
“I really just wanted to take you to dinner. So, don't feel obligated."
"Ah," I said awkwardly. “Well, I don’t feel obligated. You made a good argument.”
He signed the credit card slip. "Ready to go?"
"Whenever you are."
I was slightly tipsy from the wine, and my boot slipped on the carpet. I giggled nervously when Andrew caught my hips.
"I haven't been this full since Thanksgiving," I told Andrew. “It’s throwing off my center of balance.”
He laughed, leaving his hand on my lower back. There just wasn’t a graceful way to pull away.
We turned towards the door. And that’s when I saw a pair of dark eyes across the room. Dark and doe like and briefly vulnerable. Bambi eyes. Jack’s eyes.
They flashed and looked away. I stopped, wavering, and Andrew stopped, too.
“What’s up?” Andrew asked.
Jack was sitting across the table from Robert Riley. He’d looked away from me already, though from a distance I could see a tight ball of tension in his jaw. His handsome face betrayed nothing else. I wondered what they were talking about.
Riley was speaking intently and Jack was nodding. He wasn’t wearing plaid, but a dark zip-up sweater. It made him look just a few years older and a shade more serious. It made him look good. Even better than usual. If he knew I was staring, he gave me no sign. He obviously had no intention of saying hello.
“Hadley?” Andrew repeated. “Everything okay?”
“Yes. Yeah. Sorry,” I said. I faked a yawn, turning to smile uncertainly at Andrew. I told myself it didn’t matter. That Jack surely was upset about something unrelated to me. He wasn’t my boyfriend. Neither was Andrew. I wasn’t on a date. It was for the newspaper. That was the whole reason I’d said yes.
I managed to twist away from Andrew at the door, wrapping my arms around my body and scurrying to the car. I leaned my head against the cold car window when we got in.
“Thanks for dinner,” I said, as he started the car and blasted in the heat.
He smiled. “Yeah. That was fun. We should do that again.”
“Mm,” I nodded noncommittally. The brief drive to my apartment was quiet except for the sound of a late night NPR host droning on about drones. I yawned again when we reached my place.
“I’ll walk you up.”
“You don’t have to do that.” I smiled. “I’m good. I’ve got mace and everything.”
Andrew bit his lip. “Well, we should do this again.”
I rubbed my chin. “I don’t know if we should make a habit of it.” I smiled. “You might go broke.”
He leaned towards me for a kiss. I ducked my head, kissed his cheek, and unbuckled my seatbelt in one motion. I opened the door and shivered in the cold air.
“Yeah. Well, have a good night,” Andrew said. He was embarrassed and I felt a twinge of guilt.
“You too,” I said. “Seriously. Thanks, Andrew.”
He smiled tightly. “No problem.”
I closed the car door and jogged upstairs, shaking out my hands, which had gone numb.
When I reached the second floor, I saw David and Ben standing in the open doorway to our apartment.
Ben cradled David’s face in his hands and kissed him tenderly. They both smiled at each other for a long moment before Ben dropped his hands, kissed David’s forehead, and turned to go.
The door closed before either noticed me. Ben turned towards the stairwell, his head down. When he looked up, he saw me.
“Hey,” he said to me. “How was the date?”
I couldn’t believe he was trying to have a conversation with me. “It wasn’t a date.”
Ben grinned. “Got it. You know, you sound like me. I never think anything is a date either.”
I glared at him. I couldn’t help myself. “I am nothing like you,” I said fiercely.
Ben jerked his head back. “Relax. It was a joke."
“Look, I don’t know who the fuck you think you are.”
“I think I’m David’s boyfriend.”
“Is that what you think?” I asked.
Ben smirked. “Do you want to ask David?"
“If you ever hit him again, I’m calling the cops,” I said. “And then I’ll ruin your life. I mean it. Ruin it.”
Ben looked taken aback. He shook his head. “David wouldn’t want you to threaten me, Hadley. We got into an argument. I told him I was sorry. But, you really need to keep your mouth shut. Alright? You need to give David a break.”
I shook my head. “I mean it. If you hit him again, I’m calling the cops. That’s not okay.”
Ben shook his head. “It was a disagreement. You wouldn’t understand.”
He tried to step around me and I stopped him.
“No. I do understand,” I said. “I understand a lot better than you because I was the one who took care of him.”
Ben was quiet.
“He couldn’t even talk, he was so upset,” I said icily. “His eye was swollen shut and he lost a tooth. Don’t tell me I don’t understand.”
Ben was quiet. He licked his lips. “He didn't tell me that. I didn’t know that. I didn’t mean to hit him that hard.”
“What do you mean, you didn’t mean to hit him that hard?”
“I just wanted him to shut up and listen,” he said. He exhaled. “Listen, I screwed up. Alright? You don’t need to tell me that. I snapped. You have no idea how sorry I am. Ask David.”
“No. I don’t care,” I said. “I don’t care what David says and I don’t care how bad you feel. If you hurt him again, I’m calling the cops. David doesn’t have the most normal idea of what a healthy relationship looks like.”
Ben looked at me, bewildered. “We have a healthy relationship. I’m not like his goddamn family. I care about him.”
“Well, do a better job of showing it,” I said. “You could start by acknowledging he exists when you ask him to meet you at a fucking bar.”
Ben shook his head.
“Have a good night, Ben,” I said sarcastically, stepping around him and walking to the apartment door.
I took a deep breath before I pushed it open, making sure Ben had retreated down the hallway.
David was sprawled on the couch, swooning. “Hey, girl.”
“Hey,” I replied. I smiled, trying not to shake from my confrontation with Ben. David really would be furious if he knew.
“How was your date?”
“Wasn’t a date?”
“Did he try to kiss you?”
I exhaled.
I rubbed my chin. “Jack was there.”
“Shit,” David said.
I nodded. “Yeah, that’s bad, right?”
David shrugged. “I mean, it wasn’t a date, right?”
"I think Andrew thought it was,” I said. “But, no, I didn’t.” I glanced over to the counter. Flowers in a vase. Gardenias. I hadn't noticed them before.
“Ben?” I asked.
David bit his lip. “Yeah. He came to apologize.”
I nodded once. “Figured.”
David was quiet. “It won’t happen again.”
“You trust him?”
“I do.”
“Because I mean, if you want to report it. I can corroborate everything.”
“Hadley. Would you please just drop it?”
I didn’t say anything for a moment. “Well, the flowers are nice.”
He nodded and got up. “I should put them in water.” He smiled. “You want tea?”
I shook my head, feeling profoundly sad all of a sudden. “No. I’m just going to call it a night.”
He smiled. “Okay.” I watched him turn towards the sink, humming underneath his breath, to fill the vase with water, adjusting the stems so the flowers fanned in a wide circle.
I turned and walked towards the bedroom, thinking of Jack’s flash of sadness, and then anger, and then indifference at the restaurant.
It was so easy to see so many things if you just stopped for the briefest moment and watched closely enough—Jack’s knotted jaw, David’s trembling lips, Andrew’s flat, hurt eyes, even the way Ben wore his fear of being found out in the deep furrow of his brown—all of the pain they tried to bear in silence had signed its signature so clearly across their half-broken faces.
Chapter Twenty-One
I didn't hear from Jack for three days.
It wasn't an intelligent thing to fixate on—not when I needed to make a decision about USA Today, keep up with Arabic homework, and avoid looking like an idiot in Riley’s class.
But I was fixated.
So much so that I didn't hear the question Riley asked me Friday afternoon.
"Anyone home?" Riley demanded.
I looked at him blankly. "I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention."