* * *
With all of my love,
Alice
* * *
I close the note. I can’t believe that I wrote all that. The words just poured out of me and I had to re-read the note to really know what I wrote. I can’t believe how gracious I sound. Is this all true? I wonder. It came out of me like a flow, as if some sort of muse was guiding my hand, so it must be true. No truth was ever reached through over-analysis. It’s the things that we do and think on impulse, with our subconscious minds, that are really true. Or so some people argue. I sort of think they’re right.
Chapter 12
Unbeknownst to me, our whole floor erupted in a party that Friday. I came home right after my 2 pm class let out, changed into my pajamas, and made a plan to stream Netflix like a zombie until they asked me if I was still there or not. But by seven that night, my plan has been all shot to hell. The music and the voices get so loud outside my door that I have no other choice but to venture out.
Reluctantly, I take off my comfy flannel pajamas and stuff myself back into my skinny jeans, regretting drinking all that soda during my impromptu vegging out session.
“The rule is don’t start vegging out until you know for sure that you can spend the whole night doing this,” I say under my breath. “Otherwise, you fall in danger of having to reapply makeup and put on uncomfortable clothes and act like a human being again without proper preparation.”
Agh, the stupid jeans are tighter than ever! I grab onto the belt loops and pull them over my butt. For Christ’s sake, they fit this morning!
Suddenly, the door bursts open and Juliet and a strange girl I’ve never seen tumble in, catching me mid-jump. I turn away from them. Juliet laughs hysterically.
“Peyton, this is my roommate, Alice,” she introduces me when she catches her breath.
I smooth out my shirt and shake Peyton’s hand.
“Nice to meet you.” Peyton nods. Peyton’s got large brown eyes that make her look a little bit like a doe. She has thick long chestnut hair and full red lips. She looks like one of those girls who’s gorgeous, but for some reason doesn’t seem to really know it. Looking at her, I get this strange feeling like I’ve known her my whole life.
Juliet freshens up her makeup. I sit down on my bed to put on a pair of boots. But Peyton continues to stand in the doorway.
“Here, sit down. Sorry the room’s such a mess,” I say.
“Yeah, I’d apologize too, but it’s pretty much always like this,” Juliet says. I’ve always thought that I was a slob, and in comparison to my older sisters and my mom, I am. But Juliet takes being a slob to whole other level. The other night, she climbed into bed and slept under a huge pile of clothes instead of moving them to the chair or, God forbid, the closet.
“So you’re Dylan’s girlfriend, huh?” I ask.
“Yep.” She nods shyly.
“Peyton from Yale,” Juliet chimes in. It’s some sort of inside joke that I haven’t been a part of.
Peyton smiles uncomfortably. Clearly, she did not have as much to drink as Juliet.
“I heard that you started some sort of foundation. That’s what Dylan said,” I say.
Her eyes light up.
“Oh, he told you about that? Yes, my mom was diagnosed with M.S. when I was in ninth grade and I didn’t really know how to help her or what to do with my feelings over the whole thing. So she suggested that I start this foundation. Raise money for M.S. research.”
“Wow, that’s impressive.”
“Last year, I hosted my very first gala and we were lucky to raise $100,000.”
One hundred grand. That is impressive. I look at Peyton as she continues to talk about the importance of research as well as awareness for multiple sclerosis. But only a part of me is listening. Another part is wondering how the hell we’re the same age. This girl started a foundation and ran events for a good cause. And not just an event, a fucking gala! I wouldn’t even know how to go about doing that. I’ve never even hosted a party. Of course, I’ve been to plenty of parties in the past. But hosting one? What did that entail really? Food. Drinks. Atmosphere. The right theme. The right party favors, decorations.
“So what’s it like?” I ask. “To host something like that. Intimidating, right?”
“Naturally. But honestly, can I tell you something? My mom was always big into philanthropy and giving back. She used to host these lunches for her girlfriends every month. Growing up, I always thought they were really lame. Like she wasn’t really living a real life because she was busy hosting parties and going to events. She didn’t really have a career. But doing that gala, that was the first time I realized how much work event planning really is. And how wonderful it is when it all goes well.”
“Yeah, I can imagine.” I nod even though, frankly, I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“You see, what I found out was that an event is a living, breathing organism. And it needs just the right combination of factors to be successful. The right theme, the right atmosphere, the right mood. All of these things have to be established before anyone really shows up. The guests are important, but they’re mainly props in the overall flow of things.”
I smile. “So are you planning on hosting any other galas in the near future?”
“Not if I can help it,” Peyton says, bursting out laughing.
Eventually, the three of us go out and join the roaring party outside. This one is very different from Peyton’s elegant, swanky gala. Dance music is blasting from someone’s room, but the hallway is so loud that I can’t even make out where it’s coming from. The hallway is filled with people. Some standing, some sitting on the ground, some dancing, three kissing. Peyton and I giggle, stepping over the kissers. After making a quick round, getting some drinks at the punch bowl, we make our way back to our suite. Here, the party is raging. Through the sea of people, I spot Tristan and Dylan in the kitchen pouring drinks and handing out beers.
“Wow, Grey Goose? How did you get Grey Goose?” I ask Dylan. The kitchen island is full of expensive bottles of alcohol.
“Dylan’s got mad connections,” Tristan says. By the way he’s swaying his hips, I can tell that he has been drinking. A lot.
“Oh babe, do you want me to make you a martini on the rocks?” Tristan asks. That’s my favorite drink. I take a sip of the punch that I got in the hallway and spit it out. It tastes like sugar water and some sort of alcohol someone makes in their bathtub. A martini with Grey Goose sounds good.
“Babe? Did you hear me?” Tristan asks.
I wasn’t sure if I’d heard him right the first time. But now, I realize that I did. He actually called me babe. WTF?
“Yeah, sure,” I say. I really need a drink now. I look at Juliet and Dylan, but both are too buzzed to notice.
“Are you okay?” Peyton leans to me. Thank you! At least, someone sees what’s going on.
“Um, yes, I guess. I don’t know,” I mumble. Tristan hands me my drink.
“Do you want anything?” I ask Peyton. “Tristan makes great cocktails.”
“Cosmopolitan?” she asks shyly.
“One cosmo coming up!” he says enthusiastically.
Chapter 13
While Dylan and Juliet try to organize a game of beer pong, Peyton and I climb out onto to the fire escape for a moment of quiet. Peyton has such a calmness about her that I feel the need to open up.
“So Tristan called me babe back there,” I say. “You don’t know this, but that’s like one of the only things he has said to me in…I don’t know how long.”
“Really? Why?”
I tell her my sad story.
“So what do you think is going on now?” she asks afterwards.
“I don’t know. He’s drunk. Forgot himself or something. But he did do it twice,” I say.
“Do you want to get back together with him?” she asks.
“No!” I say a little too enthusiastically. It feels like I’m trying to convince her as much as I’m tryin
g to convince myself.
“I don’t know.” I shrug, admitting the truth. “He really hurt me. But I can’t lie. I want him to want me back.”
And then I catch myself.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. We’ve just met. I don’t know why I’m putting all my crap on you.”
“No, it’s okay,” she smiles. “Breakups can be so complicated. I should know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Dylan and I are no strangers to breaking up, let’s just say that. In fact, one of the reasons that Dylan’s not allowed in his dad’s Central Park apartment anymore is because of one of our many break ups.”
“Do tell.” I lean closer and take a sip of my martini.
“Dylan and I have had kind of a volatile relationship. Nothing bad, really. We’re both just impulsive and crazy sometimes. Keep each other on our toes, I guess. So that week, he got mad at me for going on a trip with one of my exes. He didn’t want me to go and I wanted him to actually admit it, but he wouldn’t. The details are not important. But what is important is that Dylan was staying with his dad that week. We were on spring break from school. I’m not sure what day this was, but his dad had a date. She met him at his apartment. But then Dylan’s dad got called away on some Wall Street emergency and left them alone.”
“Okay.” I nod. I have an idea where this is going.
“Well, when he came home, he caught Dylan having sex with her in his bed.”
“Oh my God! What?!”
“She was 19, only two years older than Dylan. NYU student. She’d never had sex with Dylan’s dad. They were on their first date. Well, Dylan’s dad got royally pissed and kicked him out.”
“Wow. I can’t believe that he did that. And what about you?”
Peyton sighed. “Technically, we had broken up.”
“But still,” I say. “That was kind of shitty.”
“Yeah, I guess. Except that I was so mad at him for being jealous that I ended up having sex with my ex, too. So I can’t really complain.”
I nod. I guess not.
Peyton and I finish our drinks on the fire escape. When she goes back inside to get us refills, I stay out to keep our spot in case anyone else has the same idea.
“Wow, that’s fast,” I say when I hear someone climbing out of the window behind me. I don’t turn around, but continue to stare at the black sky. Back in LA, clouds are rare and the light pollution isn’t too bad all the time, so starry nights are not all that uncommon. But here, in the middle of Manhattan, I have not seen one star since I’ve been here.
“Fast for what?” a familiar voice asks. Shivers run up my spine.
“Nothing,” I mumble. “I thought you were someone else.”
“I thought you’d be more happy to see me,” Tristan says.
He’s wearing loose fitting jeans and a Columbia t-shirt that hugs his body in all the right places. The lights of the city illuminate that familiar six-pack. Tristan’s not stocky. He’s 6 feet tall and 155 pounds of muscle. Lean, wiry, and strong. Ripped.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Nothing. I just want to hang out with my roommate. Can’t I do that, roomie?”
Tristan isn’t slurring his words, but he’s drunk. The way he’s leaning on the frame of the window makes him look like James Dean. Damn.
“Of course, you can,” I say.
“So, hey, Alice. Listen.” He comes up to me and puts his arm around my shoulder. I feel an insatiable urge to kiss him. Everything about him – the way he looks, the way he smells, the way he feels – is so familiar. If I’d had another martini, it would feel as if the last couple of weeks never even happened.
“Listen, I’m sorry. I was such a jerk to you. And now we’re living together. I mean, what the hell is that all about? But seriously, Alice. I love you. Always will. You know that?”
I stare at him. I’ve wanted him to say these words to me for so long. He sounds sincere. I look into his deep-set eyes. They’re hazel, but in this light, they look green. My eyes drift over to his lips. He has the tendency to lick them when he’s uncomfortable. Back in high school, his tendency to lick his lips used to make many girls swoon. I’m not sure if he ever knew that.
“Alice? Did you hear me?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “Of course.”
“I love you, Alice.” He grabs my arm. Shivers run up my spine. His grip is firm and strong. The kind that would impress a potential employer.
“Tristan, please.” I shrug him off. “You’re drunk.”
“Hey! I’m not drunk.” He pulls me closer to him. Now, I can’t resist. I’ve only had one drink, but I’m a lightweight. “Okay, maybe, I’m a little drunk. But remember what you always said.”
“What’s that?” I can barely breathe. We’re so close, I can feel his breath on my lips.
“What you always said about being drunk. How when people are drunk they lose their inhibitions.”
“Lots of people say that.”
“Yes, but you always said that people are their truest selves when they’re drunk. It’s like without their inhibitions, people are free to be honest with themselves about who they are. So if a person is really a jerk, he’ll be a massive jerk when he’s drunk. And if he’s a nice guy, he’ll be even nicer when he’s drunk.”
“Okay, so what?”
“So what? Well, I’m drunk. And I’m telling you that I love you.”
He leans closer to me. Our lips are barely touching. He runs his fingers down my neck. I close my eyes. This is all wrong. This shouldn’t be happening. This will make everything much more complicated. I know all of these things. But I still can’t muster up the strength to stop him. I want to kiss him. I want to touch him.
He presses his lips onto mine. I kiss him back. For a moment, the whole world falls away. And nothing else exists.
“Oh my God, that took forever, Alice! Next time, you’re going!” Peyton says. And our brief moment of indiscretion crashes back to Earth.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she says and starts to climb back out of the window.
“No, no, it’s fine,” I say. With one hand, I stop her and with another, I push Tristan away from me.
He licks his lips again and flashes me a smile.
“Tristan was just leaving,” I say. I push him toward the window.
“I’m sorry, Alice,” he says. “Don’t forget, okay? I really am sorry. And I really do love you.”
“Okay, Tristan. Fine.” I roll my eyes and turn back to Peyton. “What?”
“Nothing.” She shrugs and smiles in a mischievous way. “I leave for one second and then come back here to find you making out.”
“We weren’t making out! He just came out here and cornered me.”
“Yes, I could see that you were putting up quite a fight.”
I roll my eyes and grab my martini from her hand.
Chapter 14
Dear Tristan,
* * *
Thank you for coming out to the fire escape and kissing me. I know that you were wasted. I know that you were probably out of your mind, but I also know that what you said was true. You do love me. You might love me forever. And you’re sorry for what happened. Last night on the fire escape was the first honest conversation we’ve had since we’ve been here. No casual topics of conversation like “How are your classes?”, “Isn’t that professor really hard?” Last night was the first time that I’ve felt like we’ve actually spoken to each other. Acknowledged each other as human beings. Perhaps this is the first step. Not to a reconciliation, but to a real friendship. Because I love you too. And I’m not sure that’s going to change any time soon.
* * *
Love,
Alice
Chapter 15
Two Weeks Later
* * *
I met Tea Albright in my American Lit class. I’ve read almost every book on the syllabus and yet I still feel way over my head. Tea and I are two of the only freshmen in the class, and as much
as I’m enjoying it, I’m also keenly aware of why most people wait a year or two to take it. Tea’s got a great sense of humor and I’ve really lucked out in having her as my peer partner. Today, after giving me a strong, but encouraging critique of my paper on the role of class in The Great Gatsby, she and I cracked up over the whole trend of having Great Gatsby-themed weddings and birthday parties.
“The book is about this really sad man who makes a ton of money all in an effort to woo this woman he has been in love with forever. But at the end, all of his wealth is still not enough. He still doesn’t get her at the end. It’s tragic, really,” Tea says. “And all of these people and their Great Gatsby birthday parties…I mean, what are they thinking?”
I laugh. “I sort of think that maybe they never really read the book at all.”
“And just saw the movie and looked at the glossy pictures?”
“But even if they saw the movie, wouldn’t it be obvious? It’s not like things had worked out in the movie,” I say.
We crack up laughing.
“Hey, do you want to come over to my place after class? Hang out? My roommate’s not getting home until late. I got the new Adele CD. I’d love to have someone to listen to it with.”
“Oh, I know exactly what you mean! I really miss that too. We can crank it up high and just wallow.”
I laugh. “It’s nice to be sad sometimes. Not really sad. Just sad as a result of some lyrics you hear,” I say.
“Being sad vicariously as a result of Adele and her insane vocal talent is much better than being sad in real life,” Tea announces. “I’d love to. But can I get a rain check on it?”
“Yeah, sure.” I shrug.
“It’s just that I’m sort of seeing someone. And we’re hanging out this afternoon.”
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