“I just don’t know how people live here. It’s so crammed!”
I smile. My mom is not a fan of New York. I grew up in Calabasas, a town just north of Los Angeles, where the sky is almost always cloudless and blue and the temperature never gets cooler than 70 degrees Fahrenheit. My family’s upper middle class, but not what’s considered rich. At least not by LA standards. Still, our family of five lived comfortably in a 3,000 square foot house with a 6,000 square foot yard with a pool.
“I hope you have nice roommates,” Mom says.
“Of course, she will,” Dad pipes in. He’s standing in the doorway, clearly not impressed. “I just can’t believe that this room costs $17,000 a year! And you have three other roommates.”
Mom and I laugh it off. Even though my dad isn’t cheap, he always likes to complain about how much things cost.
“Suite mates,” I correct him. “I have one roommate and three suite mates.” Our rooms are separated by a living room with a little kitchen and there’s only one bathroom for everyone to share.
“The room would be just as big if I’d gone to USC and the school would’ve costs just as much,” I add. University of Southern California is both of my parents’ alma mater. That’s where they met, thirty years ago.
“Yeah, at least you would’ve been closer to home and wouldn’t need a plane ticket to come see us.” He shrugs. I roll my eyes. We’ve been over this thousands of times before. Now, they joke about it more than anything else. They both know that Columbia has been my dream school for as long as I could remember. And when I got my acceptance packet, I think pretty much everyone knew that that’s where I was headed.
“I’d just like to see you when it gets into the 20s and 30s here and you have class at 8 am,” Mom says. “It’s not always this nice out, from what I hear.”
“I was fine in Colorado,” I say. Except that I’m terrified of the cold. I can’t wait for the changing leaves and the beautiful crisp fall, but the long hard winter? I don’t know.
Both of my parents laugh. “A few week-long skiing trips hardly qualify as experience. Besides, Winter Park is a small, sunny town. A six-month winter in New York where everything gets slushy and the snow is black from the cars and the pollution is something else entirely,” Mom says.
I nod.
“I think I’ll manage,” I say, putting on a brave face. I turn away from the window to change the topic.
“So which bed do you think I should choose?” The room has two of everything. Two beds. Two standing wardrobes. Two desks. Two chairs. Two windows. One looking out on 116th Street. One looking out onto Broadway.
“If you take this one onto 116th Street, it should be a little quieter,” Mom says just as an ambulance turns on its siren and rushes down the street. “Or maybe not.”
I decide on that one anyway.
“If you two are done staring at the blank room, I think it’s about time to go back downstairs and get more of your stuff, young lady,” Dad says, glued to his cell phone.
My mom and dad are both doctors, but they recently started a clinical trials consulting firm, which has made them busier than they’ve ever been when they were in practice.
“I’ll be right down,” I say. “I’m just going to put some of these things away.”
Right after Mom and Dad leave, the door swings open and a tall, voluptuous brunette walks in.
“Alice?” she asks. Her whole face lights up, putting me at ease.
“Doreen?” I ask.
“Oh, no, no, no.” She shakes her head. I extend my hand, but she pulls me into a warm hug instead. “Call me Juliet, please. I hate Doreen.”
“Okay.” I nod. Coming from LA, I’m well familiar with name changes. Three girls at my school changed their names officially before they got their boob jobs before graduation.
“Oh my god, you’re so cute!” she laughs. “And little. You’re from LA, right? You have to tell me your secret. Agh, why am I still holding this?”
She drops her bags onto her bed, and leans the long mirror she’s carrying against the wall. “I thought we’d hang this on the door.”
Aha! I finally realize it. That’s what’s weird about this room: there are no mirrors.
“Great idea. I completely forgot to bring a lengthwise mirror,” I say. “Actually, I thought there would be one here.”
At home, I have three in my room. I help Juliet hang the mirror on the back of our door and try to see if it still closes. It swings along with the door, but we’re just going to be careful.
“So?” Juliet turns to me. “What’s your secret?”
“Secret?”
“In staying so small. I know you LA girls have your ways.”
I smile. I look at myself in the mirror. Skinny jeans, size 1, flip flops, white t-shirt. No bra. 32A breasts. Long scraggly blonde hair. Hardly any makeup. Next to Juliet, I look like a child. She tosses her dark curls over her head to give them more volume and reapplies her bright red lipstick. She’s wearing fake lashes and every part of her face is contoured, giving her beautiful highlights across the forehead and bringing out her cheekbones.
“No secret, really.” I shrug. I’ve had plenty of my own issues with weight.
“Agh, if you say eat healthy and exercise, I’m going to throw up.”
“You definitely don’t hold back, do you?” I smile.
“No, babe. I call it like I see it. Hope that’s okay?”
I nod. “More than okay.” I welcome her honesty. It’s a breath of fresh air after LA where everyone is nice. But too nice. No one says a bad thing to your face. Not even when you really need to hear it.
“Mainly, I try not to eat carbs at night. Avoid processed foods. My mom buys only organic and farmer’s market food. Not too much dairy. Lean proteins and fish. Stuff like that.”
“That explains it.” She tosses her hair again. “So no burgers with chili cheese fries?”
I shake my head. “No, not really.”
I shudder at the thought, actually. I may be thin here, but back home, girls from my class were much smaller. I’m what they called big-boned.
“That’s more like guy food, isn’t it?” I ask.
“Not when it’s 20 degrees out and you’re coming back from the bar at 4 am. Those spicy fries will really warm you up from the inside out.”
Again with the cold. Before it scares me even more, I decided that it’s time for me to go help my parents with the rest of my bags.
My phone beeps.
* * *
Where are you? Dad texts.
* * *
“I’ve gotta go,” I say. “Need to get the rest of my stuff from downstairs. Are you going to stick around? But my parents are here. I’d love for you to meet.”
“Yes, definitely!” Juliet smiles and tosses her hair again. Apparently, hair can never have enough volume.
2
I walk out into our living room. The accommodations here are a bit more furnished: an ugly blue couch that desperately needs a throw or a few pillows to make it look at least mildly presentable and two identical green recliners that look like they came from some third-rate thrift store. Is there actually a store that manufactures these ugly things? A halfway acceptable coffee table, which has a French country distressed look, except that it’s not cute. It looks like it was actually distressed by the passage of time, not a carefully planned painting job. And a few end tables, which are mismatched in both color and height. Everything in this living room is wrong. And yet, everything about this place feels so right!
My palms grow sweaty from the excitement. I’m actually in New York.
N-e-w Y-o-r-k!!!
I feel like I’m in some fabulous movie, about to embark on the adventure of my life. I’m ready to put on a fabulous pair of fall boots, black tights, and a little black skirt and walk around Central Park with a latte like a real New Yorker!
“Alice?” His voice pierces my fantasy. I know who it is before I turn around. It’s a voice I could never
forget no matter how I try.
“Alice? Is that you?” he grabs my arm turning me around.
“Tristan? What’re you doing here?” I ask.
“What’re you doing here?” he asks.
We stand staring at each other for a moment. He hasn’t changed. Not much. But there wasn’t much time for him to change. It has only been two weeks since our infamous break up. Still, he looks more grown up. His light brown hair is shorter now. He’s dressed in a nice pair of slim cut jeans, which accentuates his ass, and his favorite light blue t-shirt with an outline of a penguin on the front. He’s as tan as he always was, that’s what happens when you surf every day of the summer, no matter what. But his eyes are bluer than they used to be. Maybe it’s the light. Or the distance.
“Alice, can you help me—“ Juliet comes out of our room. “Well, hello there. I’m Juliet,” she says flirtatiously.
“Hi, I’m Tristan Hilton,” he says, extending his hand. “I’m your new suite mate.”
“Oh sweet! I didn’t know this place was co-ed. Did you, Alice?”
No, I didn’t know either. I also didn’t know that it was possible to be assigned to the same suite as your fuckin’ ex-boyfriend. And not just some ex-boyfriend. The one who broke your heart in a million tiny pieces.
“Man, you’re quite tan, isn’t he, Alice?”
“I’m from California.” He shrugs.
“Ah, that explains it! Alice is from California, too.”
“Yes, I know.” He nods. “We actually know each other.”
Juliet jumps back in surprise as if this news means as much to her as it means to me.
“You went to the same high school?” she asks.
“What’re you doing here, Tristan?” I ask.
“Listen, this is some sort of accident, okay? I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t even know this suite was co-ed. I was assigned here. Just like you.”
“Well, I can’t stay here if you’re going to be here,” I say.
“What?! Why?” Juliet throws her arm around me. “No, you can’t leave, sweetie. Who knows what kind of crazy girl I’m going to have to room with next.”
I shake my head. I can’t deal with this. I can’t even be in the same room as him!
“Tristan??” I hear my mom’s voice from somewhere behind me. “What’re you doing here, Tristan?”
“Hello, Dr. Summers. Dr. Summers.” Tristan gives them both a brief hug. My dad is actually so surprised to see him that he manages to look away from his phone.
“It looks like Alice and I have been assigned to the same suite.” He shrugs.
“Mom, I have to go talk to someone about moving. I can’t stay here. Live with him.”
“Alice, don’t be rude,” she whispers to me and then turns back to Tristan. “How’s your mom and dad, Tristan? Are they here?”
“They’re in New York, but they had some errands to run. We’re meeting up for dinner later, after I unpack and stuff. I think they’re going to come see the place then.”
“Oh that’s nice. Well, send them our best.” My mom smiles. She knows almost everything that happened between us, but she’s still polite and courteous. In this moment, I both love her and hate her.
“Excuse me, I’ve got to unpack,” I say and walk back into my room. I sit on the bed and try to assess the situation.
“What’s wrong?” Juliet bursts into the room only a few seconds later, followed by my mom.
I shake my head. I can’t talk.
“Juliet, is it?” my mom says. “I’m Dr. Summers.”
“Yes, of course. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. Are you okay, Alice?” my mom asks.
“I’d love to give you a few moments, Dr. Summers. But I just can’t leave without knowing what’s going on here. You know Tristan from before, don’t you?”
“He’s her high school boyfriend,” Mom explains. “They dated for two years. Long distance over this past year. And they broke up a few weeks ago.”
“Oh. My. God.”
“Well, actually, Tristan broke up with Alice. Very suddenly,” my mom adds.
“Shut up!” Juliet exclaims. “What an asshole!”
“Yes, he is a bit of an asshole,” Mom whispers.
Juliet goes on a rant about how much men suck and how much it sucks that we need them. I don’t really agree, but I agree in this moment. I like how protective she already is of me. But I still can’t stay here.
“I have to go talk to someone in housing,” I finally say, getting off the bed.
“Oh sweetie.” My mom shakes her head. “Are you sure?”
“What should I do instead? Just stay here and live with him all semester?”
My mom sighs. “I don’t know. But if that’s what you want…”
“No, you can’t. Alice, please! You can’t leave me alone with that asshole, if he is really an asshole.”
“He’s not really an asshole, Juliet. He’s a nice guy. I just can’t live with him. That’s all.”
3
When I walk out of the room, I find my father and Tristan discussing the biomedical stocks together. Tristan’s planning on majoring in Economics and has already invested a substantial amount of his grandparents’ birthday gifts into a few high performing and promising funds. My dad is always on the lookout for stock tips and never passes an opportunity to get one, even if it’s from the guy who broke his daughter’s heart. On the other hand, what the hell do I expect him to do? Ignore him like a child? It’s not like he cheated on me. Or hit me. Or anything unforgivable. He just broke up with me.
Definitely. Can’t. Stay. Here.
“Where are you going, Alice?” my dad asks as I try to sneak my way past them.
“Housing,” I say without turning around.
“Alice, c’mon. You don’t have to do this,” Tristan yells after me.
“Maybe I should go after her?” I hear him ask my dad.
“No, it’s better to just let her go, son.” My dad stops him, to my great relief. A knot forms in the back of my throat. Tears are about to start flowing. Luckily, the elevator doors close before anyone sees me crying.
“You’re going to be okay, Alice.” My mom holds me on the way downstairs. I try to wipe away some tears when the elevator stops at different floors and more people get in.
“Oh don’t worry, honey. It’s just first day jitters. You’re going to be just fine.” A helpful woman about my mom’s age pats me on the back of my head.
“I’m here dropping off my third one and it never gets any easier, does it?” she asks, turning to my mother.
Mom shakes her head.
“I’ve done this twice already, but this is the first one that went so far,” she says and goes on to talk about what it was like to take my older sisters to college.
Stephanie went to USC and Jacqueline went to UC Berkeley. I dry my tears and wait for the elevator to finally get downstairs. The process takes forever as kids are moving in and out and the elevator has to stop at practically every floor. On top of all that, my mom makes a new friend at every stop.
By the time we reach the ground floor, I can’t control the flow of tears any longer. It has only been two weeks since Tristan dumped me over an arduous six-hour conversation. I’m not anywhere close to getting over him. He has been my life for the last two years of high school. He has been my love for way longer than that. No, I can’t even think about this now. Not if I don’t want my eyes to puff up to the size of tomatoes and me to be walking around like some sorry homesick kid the rest of the day.
“It’s going to be fine,” I say to Mom as we exit the building. The humidity outside envelopes us in a thick blanket. It’s so thick that I can practically taste the water as we walk through it.
“Of course you are.” Mom takes my hand. Many kids are embarrassed of their parents, but I’ve never been. Until this moment, that is. I suddenly become keenly aware of the fact that I’m crying and holding my mom’s hand on the first day of sch
ool. I drop her hand immediately. She either doesn’t notice or doesn’t make a fuss.
The block is overflowing with humanity. There are wide-eyed college freshmen flooding both sidewalks and spilling out onto the streets. Their proud parents are double parked in their cars, helping their kids unpack their bags and thousands of other Bed, Bath, & Beyond products into large containers on wheels.
At the Housing office, a long line of eager and tired freshmen wraps the outside of the building. We wait in silence for close to an hour until it’s finally our turn.
A freckled, tired girl with a tight bun greets us with a lackluster enthusiasm.
“How can I help you?” she asks, barely looking up. Her nametag says Tina.
“Hi, Tina. My daughter has been assigned to a suite with her ex-boyfriend. The whole situation is very complicated and she can’t possibly stay there.”
“Okay, let me see what I can do.” Tina asks for my name and ID. I still don’t have my student ID, so I hand her my license. She types and scrolls and hums and then types again. Mom and I just wait.
“No, I’m sorry. We don’t have anywhere else to relocate you.”
“What?!” I don’t believe it. “How can that be? Are you sure?”
“Yes, every dorm is filled.” Tina shrugs. She clearly doesn’t understand the direness of this situation.
“But you don’t understand. I can’t live there! He’s my ex-boyfriend. It was a bad breakup. I can’t see him again. Not every day!”
Suddenly, something I said gets Tina’s attention. “Do you have a restraining order against him?”
“Restraining order? Why would I have a restraining order?”
“Was he abusive?” Tina clarifies. But she’s still talking in Sanskrit.
“Abusive? No, of course not.”
“Well, then there’s nothing we can do. You two were matched according to our compatibility algorithm. Those things are typically pretty accurate.”
“Well, of course they were compatible.” Mom steps in. “That’s why they dated for two years. But they’ve broken up. You can’t really expect my daughter to live with her ex-boyfriend for a whole year?”
Auctioned to Him 7: The Contract Page 105