by Adi Alsaid
“I can’t believe you did that,” a girl named Diana said, smacking him on the shoulder. “That made prom, like, memorable, you know?”
Several others approached for high fives, and among other things, Elliot’s performance was referred to as “legit,” “pro,” “badass,” and, in a strange twist of anachronistic slang, “neat.” He had never known that people liked to express their congratulations in such a variety of unwelcome physical contact, either. Elliot hid his bandaged hand in his jacket pocket to keep it from getting hurt.
“You might not need me. Looks like there are plenty of people who want to start the slow clap for you,” Leila whispered into his ear.
He grinned at Leila and then realized that what she’d said was true. Never before had he felt so many eyes staring at him with approval. The hands kept coming at him for high fives, and each one he returned with growing enthusiasm, the smack of palms meeting sounding each time more satisfying, like deconstructed applause.
This was it, the turning point of his night. Any moment now, the crowd of smiling faces would part slowly for him, one by one stepping aside until they finally revealed Maribel looking on at him. She’d smile and say something sweet and charming and instantly classic, something quotable. This was how his night was supposed to go, and now it was happening. She was at the diner. Elliot could feel it in the air.
He stepped forward, scanning the booths on his left, the tables on his right. The white noise of so many chattering voices felt like silence to him, like the precursor to a pop song that would erupt only after he and Maribel finally kissed.
As he passed the table where all the drama geeks were sitting, someone grabbed Elliot’s wrist and pulled him in. “Here you go,” the guy said, putting three pieces of bacon into Elliot’s hand. “You deserve this.”
Confused but thankful, Elliot nodded and took the bacon. He felt a tap on his shoulder, and his heart quickened, thinking it was Maribel.
“I’m actually pretty hungry,” Leila said once he’d turned to face her. “Do you mind?”
He handed over the bacon, wiped the grease off against his pant leg, and continued down the aisle. The basketball players were all eating voraciously; the artsy kids were holding their empty coffee mugs up in the air, gesturing for a refill. Peter Jones, the MIT student-to-be, was looking around the diner forlornly, counting. “I just don’t get it,” Elliot heard him say.
Then, like the sun breaking through on a cloudy day, a flash of purple shone from the far side of the crowd.
All he could definitively see of the girl was her dress hanging out the side of the booth, that unmistakable shade of purple. She was in the corner booth, her back turned toward Elliot. When a waitress passed by and moved someone out of the way, Elliot could see Maribel’s hand resting on the table, the orchid corsage prominently displayed on her wrist.
Elliot spoke over his shoulder to Leila, not willing to lose sight of Maribel. “That’s her.”
Without waiting for Leila’s encouragement, he strode through the diner, sidestepping everyone who was obliviously standing in the middle of the aisle, the drunks sprawled with their legs poking out from the booths. He lost awareness of how hard his heart was beating, how many knots his stomach had twisted itself into, whether his hand still hurt. All he had in mind was Maribel.
Her name was on the tip of his tongue before he reached her; he felt so ready to speak it out loud, to tell her exactly how much she meant to him. But she wasn’t alone.
In the booth with her was a guy. Some guy Elliot had never seen before, someone who, as far as Elliot knew, didn’t even go to their school. He was in a tux, immaculate. Maribel was laughing at something the guy had said. They didn’t even notice that Elliot was there.
Unable to avert his eyes, his feet seemingly unwilling to carry him away, Elliot could only look on as the girl he’d loved for the better part of a decade leaned forward and kissed the unknown guy.
Throughout their friendship, Maribel had on occasion given Elliot a peck on the cheek. Once, the peck had slipped from his cheek to a place that could almost be considered beneath the earlobe. This, however, was no peck. Maribel’s hand, the one with the corsage on the wrist, went up to the guy’s face and pulled him in closer.
Elliot’s heart broke all over again before the act had even finished. Everything he’d gone through that night, only to find her like this. He wanted to disappear. He felt as if he was disappearing, like his body had finally had enough of tonight’s shit and was hitting the self-destruct button. As if, any minute now, he would simply explode.
He’d thought that unrequited love was torture. He thought he’d understood what the orchid had felt like being run into the ground like that. But he’d only been lying there all night, still whole, and now Maribel was the tire smashing him into the asphalt.
Finally, mercifully, the stranger sensed Elliot’s presence and pulled away from Maribel. When she noticed his attention was elsewhere, she turned around. Her eyes instantly met Elliot’s.
How unfair that the person breaking your heart could still be resoundingly beautiful, that her face was still the one you loved the most in the world. In those eyes of hers, Elliot spotted a look that must have been pity. He wondered if it had always been there and he’d just missed it all these years. Suddenly aware that he would rather be absolutely anywhere else on the planet, Elliot turned back the way he’d come. By the time he passed Leila, he was nearly in a sprint, wishing he could forget about the whole night.
7
ELLIOT WAS QUIET on the drive to his house. He didn’t want to talk about Maribel, didn’t want Leila to feel sorry for him, didn’t want to give in to that building pressure of tears behind his eyes. The sky over the horizon was starting to brighten into lighter shades of purple, the clouds that had been there all night starting to reveal themselves.
Leila parked the car. There was nothing Elliot wanted more than to shed the dirty tuxedo, crawl into his bed, and pray for sleep. However, the lights were on throughout his house, meaning his mom had stayed up waiting for him, her panicky imagination no doubt making her worry more than necessary, especially since he’d been avoiding her calls all night. So, instead, he and Leila walked around the corner to the small playground at the park. They seated themselves on the swing set, looking out at the clouds slowly turning pink and orange. The chains creaked under the strain of Elliot’s weight.
He could feel Leila’s gaze on him. “Please don’t ask me if I’m okay.”
“I wasn’t going to. I know you’re not.”
Elliot leaned his head against the swing’s chain. A tear rolled out of the corner of his eye, and he brushed it quickly away.
Fuck Molly Ringwald and her happy endings. Fuck Lloyd Dobler, who, if he had existed in real life, probably would have lain down in the middle of the road, and he wouldn’t have waited for a rainy day to do it. They were the reasons that Elliot’s chest felt like it had collapsed in on itself. It was because of them that he’d allowed himself to love Maribel for so long; it was their fault that he had deluded himself into thinking that a sweeping romantic gesture could convince someone to love you when they didn’t.
“Life’s not like those movies. It was stupid of me to think it ever could be.” He kicked at the ground, mud sticking to the tip of his shoe. “I should just stop watching them; they’re messing with my head.”
Elliot wiped at his eyes again, trying to will away his tears. The chains of the swing creaked with the movement. He’d often sat with Maribel at the park, on those very swings, killing time on empty afternoons. It had felt as if they were living in a world made just for the two of them.
The first rays of the sun appeared, clearly delineated through the clouds like something out of a painting. The clouds were golden, the baby-blue sky tinted with bright orange hues. “Goddamnit, sky,” Elliot said. “Now’s not the time to look so picturesque. I’m trying to
make a point about life being crappy.”
Leila chuckled beside him. She was gently rocking herself on the swing, her feet pushing against the ground but never leaving it. Her sundress swished quietly with the movement. They looked on at the inappropriately majestic sky. “You know what would happen next in the movie, right?”
Elliot sighed, hoping she wouldn’t try to keep his hope alive. He turned to look at her, surprised at the realization that he’d only known her a handful of hours. It felt much longer than that. She planted her feet firmly to stop her swaying and met his eyes. He was taken aback by how striking they were, as if it was the first time he’d really seen them. Then she leaned in and kissed him.
It took him a moment to register what was happening. Her mouth was on his, soft and warm and exhilarating. His eyes were still open, and he could swear he saw the world starting to change. The light around them turned golden, soft, as if filtered through a lens. He closed his eyes, hearing music in his head that easily could have been coming from everywhere all at once.
He was wrong; life could be like the movies. He kissed back, his heart swelling.
Then Leila pulled away from him, placing one hand flat against his chest. The sun was starting to show over the horizon, orange and blinding, making her eyes shine. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” she said. “That was just to show you that it can happen to you. That you can get a happy ending, if you find the right person.” She removed her hand from his chest but kept her eyes on his. “I know you were hoping that person was Maribel. But just because things turned out differently with her, that doesn’t mean you’ll never get to experience movie love.”
Elliot unconsciously ran his tongue over his lips, the taste and feel of Leila’s mouth lingering in his.
“It will happen to you,” Leila said, turning back to face the sunrise. “You’re a great guy, and you’re willing to fight for those you love. Someday, someone will see that. And she’ll love you for it. One day, Elliot, you will get the girl.” Leila looked down at the ground and started rocking herself again until the chains squeaked. “Just not today.”
Elliot didn’t know quite what to say. He joined Leila in staring at the sunrise and slowly rocking the swing. Birds chirped to greet the day. A cardinal perched on a nearby tree was looking in their direction, whistling a song in Morse code, one long note followed by three short ones. Then it took off, a red streak disappearing into the trees.
“This isn’t going to be the last time you’re in love,” Leila continued, “and it’s probably not going to be the last time you’re heartbroken. You can’t go walking into traffic every time it happens.”
Taken aback, Elliot turned to Leila. “I was just a little...” he started to say, but Leila gave him a knowing look that kept him from trying to make up an excuse.
“You’re too special a guy to do something as stupid as you almost did tonight.”
“Okay.” Elliot nodded, looking down at his feet.
“I want you to promise me that nothing like that will ever happen again.”
“I promise,” he said quickly. Squinting against the sun, he reached his hand out to her, pinky outstretched.
Leila looked at him, a little confused.
“You’ve never done a pinky promise?”
She shook her head.
“Put your pinky out like this.” When she did, he wrapped his pinky around hers. Anytime he’d made a pinky promise with Maribel, he’d thought of it as one-fifth of holding hands. “Pinky promises are even more serious than regular ones. So, I’m pinky-promising you that it’ll never happen again.”
Squinting through the strengthening sun at their hands, Leila said, “Good. I know we just met, but if I find out you break this promise, I will hunt you down.”
“I believe you,” he said. They pumped their arms a couple of times like a handshake, and then Elliot let Leila’s pinky go. “Where the hell are you from that you don’t know about pinky promises?”
Leila shrugged and threw her legs out in front of her to get the swing going. “Wisconsin,” she said.
Elliot leaned against the chain, watching her. The wind rippled her dress and her hair; a smile spread her lips. Taking note of his exhaustion, Elliot realized how differently his night might have ended up if it hadn’t been Leila’s car that he’d stepped in front of.
After a couple of minutes, Leila stopped swinging. “I guess I should let you get to bed, huh? You’ve had a long night.”
“Ugh. I still have to deal with my mom,” Elliot said, getting up from the swing. “But I might as well face the music now while I can still get some sympathy points for my hand.”
Leila gave him a smile. “She’ll get over it.”
“In three or four years, maybe.” He offered her his good hand to help her get up from the swing, and they started walking back to his house. “Thanks for helping tonight. Or at least trying to.”
“My pleasure. Don’t feel shitty for too long. You tried your best.”
“Thanks to you.”
She smiled again. It was such a warm smile, it made Elliot jealous of her regular friends, whoever they were. “No thanks necessary. Just remember our pinky promise.”
“I will.” Yawning, he stretched his arms out over his head, feeling his back crack slightly. They’d reached his house and were standing behind the tree in his front yard in case his mom was peeking out. “Are you leaving now, hitting the road?”
Leila crossed her arms over her chest, then covered her mouth as his yawn spread to her. “Yup. The Northern Lights are calling.”
Elliot nodded as if he understood why she was going, as if he understood anything about her. “Is it okay if we hug? It just seems like a lesser good-bye won’t do.”
Leila laughed and stepped to him, wrapping her arms around him uninhibitedly. She was a great hugger, firm and affectionate. She gave an extra squeeze at the end, which he took as one last act of cheerleading on her behalf. You’re going to be okay, her hug seemed to say.
When they pulled apart, Leila gave him another smile, then raised her hand in a gentle wave. “Bye, Elliot.”
“Bye,” he replied. She turned to walk back to her car, so he headed across the yard to his front door. He forced out a sigh, hoping it would somehow help him prepare for his mom.
That’s when he saw the note taped to his front door. It was a plain piece of notebook paper folded in half. His name was neatly written on the front, the handwriting instantly familiar. Elliot plucked the note from the door and opened it.
I’ll be at the record store until nine. Please come. I need to see you again. Love, Maribel.
Elliot’s heart started beating, a smile already forming on his lips even before he’d seen the last line she’d written at the bottom of the page.
I should have been kissing you.
Elliot turned around and saw Leila in her car, getting ready to go. He sprinted to her, clutching the note in his hand. Speechless, he handed her the note through her open window.
Leila read the note and gave it back to him, smiling as widely as he was. “I guess your movie’s not over yet.”
He read the note again, running his finger over the fold, the ink that Maribel’s pen had left behind. Then he slipped it into his pocket and looked at Leila. “Mind dropping me off somewhere?”
1
THE NOISE IN the restaurant had built to a dull roar. Silverware clinked against plates; laughter reverberated off the brick walls. Every few minutes a busboy carrying a plastic container full of dirty dishes would shove open the kitchen doors and let out a cacophony of ladles scraping against pots, the sizzle of something being sautéed.
Sonia closed her eyes the way Sam had taught her to and listened for the occasional word that could be heard over the chatter. Sometimes, the two of them would make a list of the words they heard and then string them together into nonsensical sen
tences. Sonia never told Sam that she used to save those sentences in secret. She’d turn them into a line in a poem or dialogue in a short story.
In the months since Sam’s death, though, Sonia had only managed to hear Sam’s name in the murmuring.
Why Sonia expected things to be different at the rehearsal dinner for Sam’s sister, she didn’t know. She opened her eyes and noticed Martha and Liz waving her over from across the restaurant. She put on a smile and made her way to them, greeting them with hugs, as though they hadn’t seen each other in a long time.
“God,” Liz said, holding her wineglass out to a passing server for a top-off, “I cannot get over how great you look in that dress.”
“Absolutely beautiful,” Martha agreed, making Sonia blush.
“If Sam were around, he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off you,” Liz said, nudging Sonia. Martha shot her a look, but Liz just shrugged and said it was true.
Sonia looked down at the flowered dress as if it was embarrassing her, patting its hem down with her fingers. “He would have loved those Thai-chicken thingies.”
“I know!” Liz cried out. “When we did the tasting, there were so many delicious hors d’oeuvres to choose from, but I couldn’t turn them down. Sam would have killed me if he knew I’d passed up on anything Thai.”
The roar of restaurant chatter had come back, and the three of them looked out at the room, their eyes following a waiter’s trajectory around the tables, filling up glasses of wine.
Sonia sipped her soda, trying to not look in the direction of the groomsmen. “Thanks again for making me a bridesmaid,” she said. “It means so much.”
Liz rolled her eyes. “Will you stop thanking me, already? It would have been weird not to have you as a bridesmaid.”
“I know, but, still...”
“‘Still’ nothing. You’re basically my sister.” She took a swig from her wine and waved at someone. “Duty calls,” she said with a smile, and she made her way to a group of her friends at a corner table.