After listening carefully and intently, my mom takes a deep breath. I’m shaking from the cold – I’m still wearing my towel, after all. But so much time has passed that my hair is dry in parts and some of the puddles that I’ve made walking barefoot on the hardwood floor have dried up.
“I have to go get ready,” I say, turning to walk back toward the bathroom. “I have a flight to catch.”
My mom nods. She isn’t angry or upset anymore. She’s just looks lost. Despondent. Not quite here.
“Before you do that,” she says to me, “regardless of all of this, and how hurt and disappointed I am that you didn’t tell me about this, I still want you to remember what I said to you before.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’m a little clearer about why you want to transfer to USC. But before you do that, I want you to think about this for a moment. It seems like transferring will make you leave all of your troubles behind in New York. And that by simply getting away from New York, you won’t have any of those problems anymore. And you may very well be right. But the thing about problems is that they tend to haunt us. They tend to follow us around, as if they’re on leash. Because they’re not tied to geographical locations, they’re tied to us.”
I nod.
“Do you understand what I’m saying, Alice?” my mom asks.
“Yes, I do. And I’ll think about it.”
And I mean it. Truly.
25
On the plane back to New York, I’m wedged into the middle seat between an old woman with bright orange nails who looks like she’s about to chat me up for the whole flight and a large man who spills over into my seat and doesn’t even try to contain himself in his. I quickly put in my earbuds and turn up the music on my phone. I want to zone out. This is going to be a really long flight.
But no matter how hard I try to fall asleep, my mind keeps racing. I try a breathing exercise from yoga – breathe in through my nose and breathe out through my mouth. But after a few minutes, I’m just as awake as before.
The thing that I keep coming back to is how disappointed my mom looked after I told her what had happened. The flicker and brightness in her eyes seemed to have dimmed. She sighed these big, exasperating breaths and her skin seemed to lose all color in a matter of seconds.
I wanted her to yell at me, curse me out, anything but this. I felt like I had actually physically hurt her and I’ve never wanted to take something back more than I did that.
Shit. I really messed up. I kick myself over practically every decision I’ve made this semester. Even getting back with Tristan at the end of last semester now seems like a completely foolish idea. If we had never gotten back together, we’d still be friends. I wouldn’t have cared about his busy schedule so much and I might even start dating someone new. Huh, what an idea.
I haven’t given that much thought, but I am young. Not even 20 yet. And I’ve only really been in one serious relationship. And a very not-serious marriage! Dylan, Dylan, Dylan. Why is getting a divorce from you so difficult? Why has it been dragging on for this long?
I shake my head to try to clear it. But thoughts that I have no interest in thinking just continue to wash over me like ocean waves. I turn up the music and put on my eye mask. Maybe this will help.
Juliet gets back to the dorm a little bit after me. Unlike me, she didn’t opt to go home to Staten Island for spring break. No, she had a proper spring break full of drinking and partying in Daytona Beach, Florida. She comes back refreshed, though not very well rested. But her skin has a nice deep glow to it and her hair has streaks of highlights – all evidence of a spring break done right.
“Why are you not tanner?” Juliet asks, showing me her bikini tan lines. “Didn’t you spend the week in sunny California?”
“I am a little tan,” I say. But unfortunately, I don’t have any tan lines to show off. “But California is different than Florida. The sun there is very powerful and the air is thin. So it’s hard to get a nice tan as quickly as in Florida.”
That’s always a surprise to everyone who hears that I’m from California and I’m not the color of an apricot.
“I can only get that tan,” I say, pointing to her shoulders, “in the summer when I spend all the days at the beach.”
“Well, I say that you had missed out then,” she says with a quick smile. “Honestly, it was a blast. I won’t lie, I did black out a few times; I’m not completely used to drinking from morning to night, but wow, what a party.”
“I’m glad you had a good time,” I say.
She went with a whole group of Columbia spring breakers. She didn’t know a soul before she went, but is now probably best friends with every last one of them.
“I’ve got to say, it’s nice get out there and meet new people,” Juliet says. It seems to me that all she does is meet new people throughout the semester. “It gets a little boring to hang out with the same people all the time.”
I stare at her. I’m about to say thanks sarcastically, but she quickly adds, “No offense, of course.”
“None taken.”
“You should really get out there more,” Juliet says. That seems to be her solution to every problem. And at this point in my life, I sort of think that she might be right. I do need to meet new people. Try to shake things up in my life, but in a good way.
“I will,” I say. And then it occurs to me. Maybe this is as good as a time as ever to tell her about my plans for next year. She might even approve.
“So, speaking of next year,” I start.
“We weren’t speaking of next year,” she points out.
“Okay, you know what I mean.”
“Oh yeah, about being roommates next year, you mean?” Juliet asks, changing into her pajamas. They are purple and have little coffee pots on them. I’m actually quite jealous of how cute they are. “I’d love that,” she says. “When I said that it’s nice to meet new people, I didn’t mean that I didn’t want to be your roommate anymore. You’re an awesome roommate. There are lots of people out there that are way more obnoxious than you and I’d hate to end up with one of them.”
“Well, thanks,” I say sarcastically. “But no, that’s not really what I was referring to. Actually, I’ve been thinking about…something else.”
I can’t quite find the words to say what I want to say. Maybe it’s because I’ve already disappointed one person today and I don’t want to disappoint another. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to hurt my friend’s feelings. But sooner or later, I do have to tell her. Be brave.
“What? What’s wrong?”
Juliet gets a concerned look on her face. It’s unusual and I feel like I’m actually scaring her. Honestly, I didn’t know that Juliet was capable of being scared.
“No, nothing’s wrong. I’m just thinking that I might not be here next year.”
“What? Are you crazy?” Juliet says as her eyes grow wide.
“I’m just thinking of transferring to USC,” I say.
“USC?” She repeats the word as if she doesn’t know what it means.
“University of Southern California?” I clarify.
“I know what USC is,” she says, spreading her arms out wide. Juliet has a tendency to gesture with her hands and speak with her whole body whenever she’s drunk or angry.
“It’s just something I’ve been thinking about for awhile. I think I need a change. It’s close to home. And, honestly, this weather is killing me. It’s making me so freakin’ depressed.”
“Oh, you’re not leaving because of the weather,” Juliet says. “Don’t lie. You’re leaving because of Tristan and Dylan. And your stupid marriage.”
I sigh. She’s right. But not entirely. I do hate the weather. The fall wasn’t too bad, but this winter is unbearable. The slush and the darkness and the cold. Everyone on the outside seems angry and disturbed by it, too. It’s harder to get a cab. It’s impossible to see one smiling face in the subway. It’s the very opposite of everything that I love
and miss about Southern California.
“It’s not just them. It’s just something I want to do,” I say with a shrug. Another thing I want is for this conversation to be over. Unfortunately, given how much Juliet is pacing around the room, I’m not sure that’s going to be possible anytime soon.
“Listen, Alice, you’ll get through this. You and Dylan are going to get a divorce soon and everything will go back to normal. And next year, we can live in a completely different dorm, just the two of us, and we never have to see Tristan again. Or Dylan for that matter, if you don’t want to.”
“You’re right. I know. But I really don’t want to be here anymore.”
She shakes her head. She tries again. She reminds me of all the fun things we did in the fall and that we can do them again. She says she’ll hang out with me more and won’t go out almost every night. She’s trying her best to convince me to stay. I admire her for that. I listen patiently and say that I’ll think about it. But that’s a lie. I’m done thinking. I’m pretty set about this.
“Alice is doing what?” I hear Dylan say outside our room. Juliet went into the kitchen and she held this thing to herself all of two seconds.
“Alice!” Dylan knocks on the door, but doesn’t wait for me to answer. Instead, he just barges in.
“What is this I hear about you wanting to transfer? Are you crazy?”
“No.”
Great. Another person to explain this to. I had less explaining to do to my parents!
“But why?” he asks. I go into all the reasons all over again. I feel myself being less exuberant about it all though. I’m losing patience with all of these people questioning my decision. And then Dylan calls me on it.
“We’re your friends, you know, right?” Dylan says. “That’s why we don’t want you to leave. We love you.”
That breaks my heart. Dylan’s not one for expressing his feelings well. If at all. He’s from Connecticut, after all.
“And I’m sorry I’ve been dragging my feet on this divorce thing. The truth is that the fact that we’re still married makes my dad really angry and I sort of love it. Nothing really fazes him much, and this is really getting under his skin. But I’m going to talk to the family attorney in a few days. And I’ll take care of it.”
Finally, an explanation for all the delays! I’m thankful for it. But I also feel like it’s too little too late.
No matter what I say convinces either of them that this is really something I want to do and I’m not just running away from my problems here. I won’t admit it out loud, but they’re basically right. So, we eventually call it a night after agreeing to disagree.
26
When I meet Tea for lunch the following day, she has a completely different reaction to the news. I’m ready to go into a big explanation about all this yet again, but she just nods and says that she understands. She really catches me off guard. So much so that I don’t even know what we’re going to talk about for the rest of lunch since I thought we’d talk about this the whole time.
“So I finished my book,” Tea announces after we order.
“What?”
“Remember, the romance one about the girl pretending to be a wealthy guy’s fiancée on the cruise?”
“Of course! I can’t believe you’re done with it already.” While I’ve been head-deep in my own drama, Tea managed to write a whole book. Imagine that!
“I’d love for you to read it,” she says.
“Oh my God. Yes, definitely!”
“I can send you an ePub version so you can read it on your phone,” she says.
“Perfect!”
Tea has been working on the book since January and it’s finally done. I’m awed by her dedication. In addition to her classes and Tanner, she has been working on this project and now it’s completed.
“Frankly, I’m really jealous,” I say when our food finally arrives. I ordered a tuna salad and she’s having a grilled chicken panini.
“What? Why?” she says, laughing.
“Because you went out there and did this awesome thing. While I’ve been burying my head in the sand and dealing with all of my stupid problems.”
“Well, another way to think about it is that you’ve been out there living life while I’ve just been writing about someone else’s.”
“Given how this semester has gone, I really wish I had some fictional drama in my life instead of real drama.”
“I know,” she says sympathetically. “It’s been really tough. I’m sorry. But I’m sure that when you look back on all this next year you’ll laugh about it.”
I smile. “Probably not next year. Maybe, in ten years.”
“Okay, in ten years.” She smiles.
Tea sends me her book that evening and I plan on just reading a chapter or two. But seven hours later, well past my usual bedtime, I finally finish it. Wow. The characters are so vivid; they seem more real than real people. They practically jump from the page. I don’t remember the last time I devoured a book like that. It’s so different from all the books I’ve read for English classes. Unlike in the books that I’ve read before, the romance and the love in this one was real.
The characters weren’t just people on the page. When they spoke, I heard them. I saw them. I felt them. Their love is real. The girl, Savannah, acted just like I would, or anyone our age. And the guy, Tatum, well, Tatum was definitely a better version of any guy I’ve met. It’s as if all of the best qualities of the guys I knew, like Tristan and Dylan, were exaggerated to the ninth degree. Don’t get me wrong. He has some bad qualities too, some insecurities. But nothing that his love can’t help him with.
I lay in bed for close to an hour after finishing Tea’s book, waiting to fall asleep. But unlike all those other sleepless nights I had, the ones that tore me up inside, the ones which I spent hours beating myself up for all the things that I shouldn’t have said and done and all the things that I should’ve said and done, this night was different. I actually lay in bed thinking about the book. Imagining Tatum and Savannah’s love for each other, their first kiss, their first everything. Unlike all these other books, in this one, Tea didn’t shy away from fading to black. She took me everywhere, describing every touch, every feeling, every sensation and smell. And in the end? I fell in love with Tatum and Savannah and I had to have more.
* * *
Why the hell did you write this book?
I text Tea even though it’s in the middle of the night. Hopefully, she has her phone off if she’s sleeping. But Tea writes back almost immediately.
What? You don’t like it?
No, I fucking love it!!!
Oh…ok. So, what’s the problem?
What’s the problem? The problem is that I can’t sleep. I love them. And I want more.
More?
More about Tatum and Savannah. Are you writing another one? I can’t type fast enough.
Um…I haven’t thought about it much.
Well, think about it! I’m going to try to get some sleep now. Not likely though, thanks to your book. Sorry not sorry.
After putting down my phone, I still can’t get to sleep. This time my mind doesn’t wander. I know what I want. I want what Tatum and Savannah have. I want their kind of love for me. I want to be in love again. I want to feel butterflies over the possibility of touching someone again. I want to wonder how our first date went, whether it was as amazing for him as it was for me. I want to dance in the rain and kiss in a blizzard. I want to live inside a romance novel. But that’s not possible, right? That’s not reality, right? And yet, reading that book sounded more like the truth than my real life. How is that?
Three weeks later, Dylan comes into the living room where I’m procrastinating on working on my Victorian Lit paper. I should be doing research on it in the library, but instead, I’m looking up something vaguely related to Victorian times on my phone and hoping that I will stumble on a topic to write about that way. So far, no luck. Juliet and Tristan are also in the room. Juliet
is painting her nails and Tristan is doing his Macroeconomics problem set. Tristan and I have entered another period of Cold War. We don’t talk to each other unless absolutely necessary, but we also don’t avoid each other at all costs like we used to. So that’s an improvement in my book.
Dylan is wearing a wide grin on his face. He flashes me his pearly whites, which do nothing but remind me that I really need to get my teeth professionally whitened. But I’m afraid of dentists and all doctors for that matter so I’ve been avoiding them at all costs.
“What?” I finally ask. He’s obviously eager to share some news with the room.
He holds up a thick packet in a manila folder.
“Guess what this is?” he asks.
“Your history paper?” Tristan says jokingly. We all know that Dylan did not do very well on his last history paper. And by not very well, I mean that he got a C-. Enough for him to start worrying about passing the class.
“Ha ha, very funny. No,” he says, rolling his eyes. “No, these are divorce papers!”
I’ve never thought that I’d be so happy to hear the phrase “divorce papers” in my life.
“Really? Are you sure?” I ask, grabbing the packet out of his hand and scanning the papers. They don’t make any sense of course; it’s all legalized. All I see are the little stickers by the signature lines.
“Yep, got them from the lawyer this morning. You will be glad to know that this divorce is the most amicable one that my dad’s Park Avenue attorney had ever dealt with. He said that the two of us were the most mature clients he’s ever had.”
“Well, that’s nice to hear,” I say. “Given that this is probably the stupidest thing that either of us has ever done.”
“So all you have to do is sign where those stickers are and we’re done. A courier will come tomorrow to pick them up and take them to the court,” Dylan says.
“Great! Does anyone have a pen?” I ask.
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