People We Meet on Vacation

PRAISEFOR
PeopleWeMeetonVacation
“EmilyHenryismynewestautomatic-buyauthor,andPeopleWeMeetonVacationistheperfectgetaway:aheartfelt,funny,tenderescapethatyouwishcouldlastforever.”
—JodiPicoult,#1NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorofTheBookofTwoWays
“PeopleWeMeetonVacationisagorgeousslow-burnromance,fullofsexualtensionandtantalizingpossibility.IfellheadoverheelsforAlexandPoppy,andlovedtravelingallovertheworldwiththemboth.”
—BethO’Leary,SundayTimesbestsellingauthorofTheFlatshare
“Acompulsivelyreadablebookfullofsparklingwit,dazzlingprose,andaromancethatgrabbedmebytheheartandwouldn’tletmego.”
—AbbyJimenez,USATodaybestsellingauthorofLife’sTooShort
“EmilyHenryisaSTAR!Deeplyemotionalandstarklyfunny,PeopleWeMeetonVacationcements[her]astheQueenofBanter.Rom-comfanswillswoonoverthisslowburnfriends-to-loversromance.PoppyandAlexarerealandflawedandultra-lovable,andtheirsummertripswillscratchanitchforthoseofuswho’vemissedtraveling.Aperfectsummerread!”
—AlexisDaria,bestsellingauthorofYouHadMeatHola
“Anabsolutedelight:swoony,legitimatelymoving,andpackedwithwittybanterthatmakesAlexandPoppyjumpoffthepage.WearealreadywaitingimpatientlyforwhateverEmilywritesnext.”
—HeatherCocksandJessicaMorgan,USATodaybestsellingauthorsofTheRoyalWeandTheHeirAffair
PRAISEFOR
BeachRead
“It’sin[the]tensionthatHenry’swritingtrulysings—theaccidentaltouchesthatlinger,thehand-caressingbeneathanOliveGardentable.Veryfewwriterscancapturethiskindofpretendingitdidn’thappenwhiledesperatelywishingitwouldhappenagain,andit’snotonlyconvincingbutinfectious.”
—TheNewYorkTimesBookReview
“OnceIstartedBeachReadIlegitdidnotputitdown.”
—Betches
“ThatHenrycanmanagetobothpackafierceemotionalwallopandspearliteraryposturinginonegoisatestamenttoherimmenseskill.”
—EntertainmentWeeklyTITLESBYEMILYHENRY
BeachRead
PeopleWeMeetonVacationAJOVEBOOK
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Copyright?2021byEmilyHenry
ReadersGuidecopyright?2021byEmilyHenry
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LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationData
Names:Henry,Emily,author.
Title:Peoplewemeetonvacation/EmilyHenry.
Description:FirstEdition.|NewYork:Jove,2021.
Identifiers:LCCN2020036305(print)|LCCN2020036306(ebook)|ISBN9781984806758(tradepaperback)|ISBN9781984806765(ebook)
Subjects:GSAFD:Lovestories.
Classification:LCCPS3608.E5715P462021(print)|LCCPS3608.E5715(ebook)|DDC813/.6—dc23
LCrecordavailableathttps://lccn.loc.gov/2020036305
LCebookrecordavailableathttps://lccn.loc.gov/2020036306
FirstEdition:May2021
CoverartanddesignbySandraChiu
BookdesignbyAshleyTucker,adaptedforebookbyKellyBrennan
Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously,andanyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,businessestablishments,events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.
pid_prh_5.7.0_c0_r0Iwrotethelastonemostlyforme.Thisone’sforyou.Contents
Cover
PraiseforEmilyHenry
TitlesbyEmilyHenry
TitlePage
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
Chapter5
Chapter6
Chapter7
Chapter8
Chapter9
Chapter10
Chapter11
Chapter12
Chapter13
Chapter14
Chapter15
Chapter16
Chapter17
Chapter18
Chapter19
Chapter20
Chapter21
Chapter22
Chapter23
Chapter24
Chapter25
Chapter26
Chapter27
Chapter28
Chapter29
Chapter30
Chapter31
Chapter32
Chapter33
Chapter34
Chapter35
Chapter36
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
ReadersGuide
AbouttheAuthorPROLOGUE
FiveSummersAgo
ONVACATION,YOUcanbeanyoneyouwant.
Likeagoodbookoranincredibleoutfit,beingonvacationtransportsyouintoanotherversionofyourself.
Inyourday-to-daylife,maybeyoucan’tevenbobyourheadtotheradiowithoutbeingembarrassed,butontherighttwinkly-light-strungpatio,withtherightsteeldrumband,you’llfindyourselfwhirlingandtwirlingwiththebestofthem.
Onvacation,yourhairchanges.Thewaterisdifferent,maybetheshampoo.Maybeyoudon’tbothertowashyourhairatall,orbrushit,becausethesaltyoceanwatercurlsitupinawayyoulove.Youthink,MaybeIcoulddothisathometoo.MaybeIcouldbethispersonwhodoesn’tbrushherhair,whodoesn’tmindbeingsweatyorhavingsandinallhercrevices.
Onvacation,youstrikeupconversationswithstrangers,andforgetthatthereareanystakes.Ifitturnsoutimpossiblyawkward,whocares?You’llneverseethemagain!
You’rewhoeveryouwanttobe.Youcandowhateveryouwant.
Okay,somaybenotwhateveryouwant.Sometimestheweatherforcesyouintoaparticularsituation,suchastheoneI’minnow,andyouhavetofindsecond-ratewaystoentertainyourselfasyouwaitouttherain.
Onmywayoutofthebathroom,Ipause.Partly,thisisbecauseI’mstillworkingonmygameplan.Mostly,though,it’sbecausethefloorissostickythatIlosemysandalandhavetohobblebackforit.Iloveeverythingaboutthisplaceintheory,butinpractice,Ithinklettingmybarefoottouchtheanonymousfilthonthelaminatemightbea
Idance-hopbacktomyshoe,slipmytoesthroughthethinorangestraps,andturntosurveythebar:thepressofstickybodies;thelazywhorlofthatchedfansoverhead;thedoorproppedopensothat,occasionally,aburstofrainripsinofftheblacknighttocoolthesweatingcrowd.Inthecorner,ajukeboxhaloedinneonlightplaystheFlamingos’“IOnlyHaveEyesforYou.”
It’saresorttownbutalocals’bar,freeofprintedsundressesandTommyBahamashirts,thoughalsosadlylackingincocktailsgarnishedwithspearsoftropicalfruit.
Ifnotforthestorm,Iwould’vechosensomewhereelseformylastnightintown.Allweeklongtherainhasbeensobad,thethundersoconstant,thatmydreamsofsandywhitebeachesandglossyspeedboatsweredashed,andIalongwiththerestofthedisappointedvacationershavespentmydayspoundingpi?acoladasinanycrammedtouristtrapIcouldfind.
Tonight,though,Icouldn’ttakeanymoredensecrowds,longwaittimes,orgray-hairedmeninweddingringsdrunkenlywinkingatmeovertheirwives’shoulders.ThusIfoundmyselfhere.
Inasticky-flooredbarcalledonlyBAR,scouringthemeagercrowdformytarget.
He’ssittingatthecornerofBAR’sbaritself.Amanaboutmyage,twenty-five,sandyhairedandtallwithbroadshoulders,thoughsohunchedyoumightnotnoticeeitheroftheselasttwofactsonfirstglance.Hisheadisbentoverhisphone,alookofquietconcentrationvisibleinhisprofile.Histeethworryathisfullbottomlipashisfingerslowlyswipesacrossthescreen.
ThoughnotDisneyWorld–levelpacked,thisplaceisloud.Halfwaybetweenthejukeboxcrooningcreepylate-fiftiestunesandthemountedTVoppositeit,fromwhichaweathermanshoutsaboutrecord-breakingrain,there’sagaggleofmenwithidenticalhackinglaughsthatkeepburstingoutallatonce.Atthefarendofthebar,thebartenderkeepssmackingthecounterforemphasisasshechatsupayellow-hairedwoman.
Thestorm’sgotthewholeislandfeelingrestless,andthecheapbeerhaseveryonefeelingrowdy.
Butthesandy-hairedmansittingonthecornerstoolhasastillnessthatmakeshimstickout.Actually,everythingabouthimscreamsthathedoesn’tbelonghere.Despitetheeighty-something-degreeweatherandone-million-percenthumidity,he’sdressedinarumpledlong-sleevebutton-upandnavybluetrousers.He’salsosuspiciouslydevoidofatan,aswellasanylaughter,mirth,levity,etc.
Bingo.
Ipushafistfulofblondwavesoutofmyfaceandsetofftowardhim.AsIapproach,hiseyesstayfixedonhisphone,hisfingerslowlydraggingwhateverhe’sreadingupthescreen.IcatchtheboldedwordsCHAPTERTWENTY-NINE
He’sfullyreadingabookatabar.
IswingmyhipintothebarandslidemyelbowoveritasIfacehim.“Hey,tiger.”
Hishazeleyesslowlylifttomyface,blink.“Hi?”
“Doyoucomehereoften?”
Hestudiesmeforaminute,visiblyweighingpotentialreplies.“No,”hesaysfinally.“Idon’tlivehere.”
“Oh,”Isay,butbeforeIcangetoutanymore,hegoeson.
“AndevenifIdid,Ihaveacatwithalotofmedicalneedsthatrequirespecializedcare.Makesithardtogetout.”
Ifrownatjustabouteverypartofthatsentence.“I’msosorry,”Irecover.“Itmustbeawfultobedealingwithallthatwhilealsocopingwithadeath.”
Hisbrowcrinkles.“Adeath?”
Iwaveahandinatightcircle,gesturingtohisgetup.“Aren’tyouintownforafuneral?”
Hismouthpressestight.“Iamnot.”
“Thenwhatbringsyoutotown?”
“Afriend.”Hiseyesdroptohisphone.
“Liveshere?”Iguess.
“Draggedme,”hecorrects.“Forvacation.”Hesaysthislastwordwithsomedisdain.
Irollmyeyes.“Noway!Awayfromyourcat?Withnogoodexcuseexceptforenjoymentandmerrymaking?Areyousurethispersoncanreallybecalledafriend?”
“Lesssureeverysecond,”hesayswithoutlookingup.
He’snotgivingmemuchtoworkwith,butI’mnotgivingup.“So,”Iforgeahead.“What’sthisfriendlike?Hot?Smart?Loaded?”
“Short,”hesays,stillreading.“Loud.Nevershutsup.Spillsoneverysinglearticleofclothingeitherofuswears,hashorribleromantictaste,sobsthroughthosecommercialsforcommunitycollege—theoneswherethesinglemomisstayinguplateathercomputerandthen,whenshefallsasleep,herkiddrapesablanketoverhershouldersandsmilesbecausehe’ssoproudofher?Whatelse?Oh,she’sobsessedwithshittydivebarsthatsmelllikesalmonella.I’mafraidtoevendrinkthebottledbeerhere—haveyouseentheYelpreviewsforthisplace?”
“Areyoukiddingrightnow?”Iask,crossingmyarmsovermychest.
“Well,”hesays,“salmonelladoesn’thaveasmell,butyes,Poppy,youareshort.”
“Alex!”Iswathisbicep,breakingcharacter.“I’mtryingtohelpyou!”
Herubshisarm.“Helpmehow?”
“IknowSarahbrokeyourheart,butyouneedtogetbackoutthere.Andwhenahotbabeapproachesyouatabar,thenumberonethingyoushouldnotbringupisyourcodependentrelationshipwithyourassholecat.”
“Firstofall,FlanneryO’Connorisnotanasshole,”hesays.“She’sshy.”
“She’sevil.”
“Shejustdoesn’tlikeyou,”heinsists.“Youhavestrongdogenergy.”
“AllI’veeverdoneistrytopether,”Isay.“Whyhaveapetwhodoesn’twanttobepetted?”
“Shewantstobepetted,”Alexsays.“Youjustalwaysapproachherwiththis,like,wolfishgleaminyoureye.”
“Idonot.”
“Poppy,”hesays.“Youapproacheverythingwithawolfishgleaminyoureye.”
JustthenthebartenderapproacheswiththedrinkIorderedbeforeIduckedintothebathroom.“Miss?”shesays.“Yourmargarita.”Shespinsthefrostedglassdownthebartowardme,andapingofexcitedthirsthitsthebackofmythroatasIcatchit.Iswipeitupsoquicklythatafairamountoftequilasloshesoverthelip,andwithapreternaturalandhighlypracticedspeed,Alexjerksmyotherarmoffthebarbeforeitcangetliquorsplatteredonit.
“See?Wolfishgleam,”Alexsaysquietly,seriously,thewayhedeliversprettymucheverywordheeversaystomeexceptonthoserareandsacrednightswhenWeirdoAlexcomesoutandIgettowatchhim,like,lieonthefloorfake-sobbingintoamicrophoneatkaraoke,hissandyhairstickingupineverydirectionandwrinklydressshirtcominguntucked.Justonehypotheticalexample.Ofsomethingthathasexactlyhappenedbefore.
AlexNilsenisastudyincontrol.Inthattall,broad,permanentlyslouchedand/orpretzel-foldedbodyofhis,there’sasurplusofstoicism(theresultofbeingtheoldestchildofawidowerwiththemostvocalanxietyofanyoneI’veevermet)andastockpileofrepression(theresultofastrictreligiousupbringingindirectoppositiontomostofhispassions;namely,academia),alongsidethemosttrulystrange,secretlysilly,andintenselysoftheartedgoofballI’vehadthepleasuretoknow.
Itakeasipofthemargarita,andahumofpleasureworksitswayoutofme.
“Doginahuman’sbody,”Alexsaystohimself,thengoesbacktoscrollingonhisphone.
Isnortmydisapprovalofhiscommentandtakeanothersip.“Bytheway,thismargaritais,like,ninetypercenttequila.Ihopeyou’retellingthoseunappeasableYelpreviewerstoshoveit.Andthatthisplacesmellsnothinglikesalmonella.”IchugalittlemoreofmydrinkasIslideupontothestoolbesidehim,turningsoourkneestouch.Ilikehowhealwayssitslikethiswhenwe’reouttogether:hisupperbodyfacingthebar,hislonglegsfacingme,likehe’skeepingsomesecretdoortohimselfopenjustforme.Andnotadooronlytothereserved,never-quite-fully-smilingAlexNilsenthattherestoftheworldgets,butapathstraighttotheweirdo.TheAlexwhotakesthesetripswithme,yearafteryear,eventhoughhedespisesflyingandchangeandusinganypillowotherthantheonehesleepswithathome.
Ilikehow,whenwegoout,healwaysbeelinestowardthebar,becauseheknowsIliketositthere,eventhoughheonceadmittedthateverytimewedo,hestressesoutoverwhetherhe’smakingtoomuchornotenougheyecontactwiththebartenders.
Truthfully,Ilikeand/orlovenearlyeverythingaboutmybestfriend,AlexNilsen,andIwanthimtobehappy,soevenifI’veneverparticularlylikedanyofhispastloveinterests—andespeciallydidn’tcareforhisex,Sarah—Iknowit’suptometomakesurehedoesn’tletthismostrecentheartbreakforcehimintofullhermitstatus.He’ddo—andhasdone—thesameforme,afterall.
“So,”Isay.“Shouldwetakeitfromthetopagain?I’llbethesexystrangeratthebarandyoubeyourcharmingself,minusthecatstuff.We’llgetyoubackinthedatingpoolinnotime.”
Helooksupfromhisphone,nearlysmirking.I’lljustcallitsmirking,becauseforAlex,thisisascloseasitgets.“Youmeanthestrangerwhokicksthingsoffwithawell-timed‘Hey,tiger’?Ithinkwemighthavedifferentideasofwhat‘sexy’is.”
Ispinonmystool,ourkneesbump-bumpingasIturnawayfromhimandthenback,resettingmyfaceintoaflirtatioussmile.“Didithurt…”Isay,“…whenyoufellfromheaven?”
Heshakeshishead.“Poppy,it’simportanttomethatyouknow,”hesaysslowly,“thatifIeverdomanagetogoonanotherdate,itwillhaveabsolutelynothingtodowithyourso-calledhelp.”
Istand,throwbacktherestofmydrinkdramatically,andslaptheglassontothebar.“Sowhatdoyousaywegetoutofhere?”
“Howareyoumoresuccessfulatdatingthanme,”hesays,awedbythemysteryofitall.
“Easy,”Isay.“Ihavelowerstandards.AndnoFlanneryO’Connortogetintheway.AndwhenIgoouttobars,Idon’tspendthewholetimescowlingatYelpreviewsandforcefullyprojectingDON’TTALKTOME.Also,Iam,arguably,gorgeousfromcertainangles.”
Hestands,settingatwentyonthebarbeforetuckinghiswalletbackintohispocket.Alexalwayscarriescash.Idon’tknowwhy.I’veaskedatleastthreetimes.He’sanswered.Istilldon’tknowwhy,becausehisanswerwaseithertooboringortoointellectuallycomplexformybraintoevenbotherretainingthememory.
“Doesn’tchangethefactthatyou’reanabsolutefreak,”hesays.
“Youloveme,”Ipointout,thetiniestbitdefensive.
Heloopsanarmaroundmyshouldersandlooksdownatme,anothersmall,containedsmileonhisfulllips.Hisfaceisasieve,onlylettingoutthesmallestamountofexpressionatatime.“Iknowthat,”hesays.
Igrinupathim.“Iloveyouback.”
Hefightsthewideningofhissmile,keepsitsmallandfaint.“Iknowthattoo.”
Thetequilahasmefeelingsleepy,lazy,andIletmyselfleanintohimaswestarttowardtheopendoor.“Thiswasagoodtrip,”Isay.
“Bestyet,”heagrees,thecoolraingustinginarounduslikeconfettifromacannon.Hisarmcurlsinalittlecloser,warmandheavyaroundme,hiscleancedarwoodsmellfoldingovermyshoulderslikeacape.
“Ihaven’tevenmindedtherainmuch,”Isayaswestepintothethick,wetnight,allbuzzingmosquitoesandpalmtreesshiveringfromthedistantthunder.
“I’vepreferredit.”Alexliftshisarmfrommyshouldertocurlovermyhead,transforminghimselfintoamakeshifthumanumbrellaaswesprintacrossthefloodingroadtowardourlittleredrentalcar.Whenwereachit,hebreaksawayandopensmydoorfirst—wescoredadiscountbytakingacarwithoutautomaticlocksorwindows—thenrunsaroundthehoodandhurlshimselfintothedriver’sseat.
Alexflicksthecarintogear,thefull-tiltAChissingitsarcticblastagainstourwetclothesashepullsoutofourparkingspaceandturnstowardourrentalhouse.
“Ijustrealized,”hesays,“wedidn’ttakeanypicturesatthebarforyourblog.”
Istarttolaugh,thenrealizehe’snotkidding.“Alex,noneofmyreaderswanttoseepicturesofBAR.Theydon’tevenwanttoreadaboutBAR.”
Heshrugs.“Ididn’tthinkBARwasthatbad.”
“Yousaiditsmelledlikesalmonella.”
“Otherthanthat.”Hetickstheturnsignalonandguidesthecardownournarrow,palm-tree-linedstreet.
“Actually,Ihaven’treallygottenanyusablepicturesthisweek.”
Alexfrownsandrubsathiseyebrowasheslowstowardthegraveldrivewayahead.
“Otherthantheonesyoutook,”Iaddquickly.ThepicturesAlexvolunteeredtotakeformysocialmediaaretrulyterrible.ButIlovehimsomuchforbeingwillingtotakethemthatIalreadypickedouttheleastatrociousoneandpostedit.I’mmakingoneofthoseawfulmidwordfaces,shriek-laughingsomethingathimashetries—badly—togivemedirection,andthestormcloudsarevisiblyformingoverme,asifI’msummoningtheapocalypsetoSanibelIslandmyself.ButatleastyoucantellI’mhappyinit.
WhenIlookatthatphoto,Idon’trememberwhatAlexsaidtometoelicitthatface,orwhatIyelledbackathim.ButIfeelthatsamerushofwarmthIgetwhenIthinkaboutanyofourpastsummertrips.
Thatcrushofhappiness,thatfeelingthatthisiswhatlife’sabout:beingsomewherebeautiful,withsomeoneyoulove.
Itriedtowritesomethingaboutthatinthecaption,butitwashardtoexplain.
Usuallymypostsareallabouthowtotravelonabudget,makethemostoftheleast,butwhenyou’vegotahundredthousandpeoplefollowingyourbeachvacation,it’sidealtoshowthem…abeachvacation.
Inthepastweek,we’vehadapproximatelyfortyminutestotalontheshoreofSanibelIsland.Theresthasbeenspentholedupinbarsandrestaurants,bookstoresandvintageshops,plusawholelotoftimeintheshabbybungalowwe’rerenting,eatingpopcornandcountinglightningstreaks.We’vegottennotans,seennotropicalfish,donenosnorkelingorsunbathingoncatamarans,ormuchofanythingasidefromfallinginandoutofsleeponthesquashysofawithaTwilightZonemarathonhummingitswayintoourdreams.
Thereareplacesyoucanseeintheirfullglory,withorwithoutsunshine,butthisisn’toneofthem.
“Hey,”Alexsaysasheputsthecarinpark.
“Hey,what?”
“Let’stakeapicture,”hesays.“Together.”
“Youhatehavingyourpicturetaken,”Ipointout.Whichhasalwaysbeenweirdtome,becauseonatechnicallevel,Alexisextremelyhandsome.
“Iknow,”Alexsays,“butit’sdarkandIwanttorememberthis.”
“Okay,”Isay.“Yeah.Let’stakeone.”
Ireachformyphone,buthealreadyhashisout.Onlyinsteadofholdingitupwiththescreenfacingussowecanseeourselves,hehasitflippedaround,theregularcamerafixedonusratherthanthefront-facingone.“Whatareyoudoing?”Isay,reachingforhisphone.“That’swhatselfiemode’sfor,yougrandpa.”
“No!”helaughs,jerkingitoutofreach.“It’snotforyourblog—wedon’thavetolookgood.Wejusthavetolooklikeourselves.IfwehaveitonselfiemodeIwon’tevenwanttotakeone.”
“Youneedhelpforyourfacedysmorphia,”Itellhim.
“HowmanythousandsofpictureshaveItakenforyou,Poppy?”hesays.“Let’sjustdothisonehowIwantto.”
“Okay,fine.”Ileanacrosstheconsole,settlinginagainsthisdampchest,hisheadduckingalittletocompensateforourheightdifference.
“One…two—”Theflashpopsoffbeforeheevergetstothree.
“Youmonster!”Iscold.
Heflipsthephonearoundtolookatthepictureandmoans.“Noooo,”hesays.“Iamamonster.”
IchokeoveralaughasIstudythehorribleghostlyblurofourfaces:hiswethairstickingoutinstringyspikes,mineplasteredinfrizzytendrilsaroundmycheeks,everythingonusshinyandredfromtheheat,myeyesfullyclosed,hissquintedandpuffy.“Howisitpossiblewe’rebothsohardtoseeandsobad-lookingsimultaneously?”
Laughing,hethrowshisheadbackagainsthisheadrest.“Okay,I’mdeletingit.”
“No!”Ifightthephoneoutofhishand.Hegrabsholdofittoo,butIdon’tletgo,sowejustholditbetweenusontheconsole.“Thatwasthepoint,Alex.Torememberthistriphowitreallywas.Andtolooklikeourselves.”
Hissmileisassmallandfaintasever.“Poppy,youdon’tlookanythinglikethatpicture.”
Ishakemyhead.“Andyoudon’teither.”
Foralongmoment,we’resilent,likethere’snothingelsetosaynowthatthishasbeensettled.
“Nextyearlet’sgosomewherecold,”Alexsays.“Anddry.”
“Okay,”Isay,grinning.“We’llgosomewherecold.”1
ThisSummer
POPPY,”SWAPNASAYSfromtheheadofthedullgrayconferencetable.“Whathaveyougot?”
ForthebenevolentruleroftheRest+Relaxationempire,SwapnaBakshi-Highsmithcouldnotpossiblyexudeanylessofourfinemagazine’stwocorevalues.
ThelasttimeSwapnarestedwasprobablythreeyearsago,whenshewaseightandahalfmonthspregnantandondoctor-mandatedbedrest.Eventhen,shespentthewholetimevideo-chattingwiththeoffice,herlaptopbalancedonherbelly,soIdon’tthinktherewasatonofrelaxationinvolved.Everythingaboutherissharpandpointedandsmart,fromherslicked-backhigh-fashionbobtoherstuddedAlexanderWangpumps.
Herwingedeyelinercouldslicethroughanaluminumcan,andheremeraldeyescouldcrushitafterward.Inthismoment,botharepointedsquarelyatme.“Poppy?Hello?”
Iblinkoutofmydazeandskootchforwardinmychair,clearingmythroat.Thishasbeenhappeningtomealotlately.Whenyouhaveajobwhereyou’reonlyrequiredtocomeintotheofficeonceaweek,it’snotidealtozoneoutlikeakidinalgebraforfiftypercentofthattime,evenlesssotodoitinfrontofyourequalpartsterrifyingandinspiringboss.
Istudythenotepadinfrontofme.IusedtocometotheFridaymeetingswithdozensofexcitedlyscribbledpitches.Ideasforstoriesaboutunfamiliarfestivalsinothercountries,locallyfamousrestaurantswithcolloquialdeep-frieddesserts,naturalphenomenaonparticularbeachesinSouthAmerica,up-and-comingvineyardsinNewZealand—ornewtrendsamongthethrill-seekingsetandmodesofdeeprelaxationforthespacrowd.
Iusedtowritethesenotesinakindofpanic,likeeveryexperienceIhopedtosomedayhavewasalivingthinggrowinginmybody,stretchingbranchesouttopushonmyinsides,demandingtobreakoutofme.I’dspendthreedaysbeforepitchmeetingsinsomethingofasweatyGoogletrance,scrollingthroughimageafterimageofplacesI’dneverbeen,afeelingsomethinglikehungergrowlinginmygut.
Today,however,Ispenttenminuteswritingdownthenamesofcountries.
Countries,notevencities.
Swapnaislookingatme,waitingformetopitchmynextbigsummerfeaturefornextyear,andI’mstaringatthewordBrazil
Brazilisthefifth-largestcountryintheworld.Brazilis5.6percentoftheearth’smass.Youcannotwriteashort,snappypieceaboutvacationinginBrazil.Youhavetoatleastchooseaspecificregion.
Iflipthepageinmynotebook,pretendingtostudythenextone.It’sblank.WhenmycoworkerGarrettleanstowardmeasiftoreadovermyshoulder,Isnapitclosed.“St.Petersburg,”Isay
Swapnaarchesaneyebrow,pacesalongtheheadofthetable.“WedidSt.Petersburginoursummerissuethreeyearsago.TheWhiteNightscelebration,remember?”
“Amsterdam?”Garrettthrowsoutnexttome.
“Amsterdam’saspringcity,”Swapnasays,vaguelyannoyed.“You’renotgoingtofeatureAmsterdamandnotincludethetulips.”
Ionceheardshe’sbeentoupwardsofseventy-fivecountriesandmanyofthosetwice.
Shepauses,holdingherphoneinonehandandtappingitagainstherotherpalmasshethinks.“Besides,Amsterdamisso…trendy.”
ItisSwapna’scloselyheldbeliefthattobeontrendistobealreadylatetothattrend.IfshesensesthezeitgeistwarmingtotheideaofToruń,Poland,thenToruń’soffthedocketforthenexttenyears.There’saliterallistpushpinnedintoawallbythecubicles(Toruńisnotonthislist)ofPlacesR+RWillNotCover.Eachentryisinherhandwritinganddated,andthere’ssomethingofanundergroundbettingpoolonwhenacitywillbefreedfromtheList.There’sneversomuchquietexcitementintheofficeasthosemorningswhenSwapnamarchesin,designerlaptopbagonherarm,andstridesuptotheListwithapenalreadyout,readytocross
Everyonewatcheswithbatedbreath,wonderingwhichcityshe’srescuingfromR+Robscurity,andonceshe’ssafelyinheroffice,doorshut,whoever’sclosesttotheListwillrunuptoit,readthescratched-outentry,andturntowhisperthenameofthecitytoeveryoneineditorial.There’susuallysilentcelebration.
WhenPariswasrelinquishedfromtheListlastfall,someonebrokeoutchampagneandGarrettpulledaredberetoutofadrawerinhisdesk,wherehe’dapparentlybeenhidingitforjustsuchanoccasion.Heworeitallday,jerkingitoffhisheadeverytimeweheardtheclickandwhineofSwapna’sdoor.Hethoughthe’dgottenawaywithittoo,untilshepausedbesidehisdeskonherwayoutforthenightandsaid,“Aurevoir,Garrett.”
Hisfacehadgoneasbrightastheberet,andthoughIdidn’tthinkSwapnahadmeantittobeanythingbutfunny,he’dneverquiterecoveredhisconfidencesincethen.
HavingAmsterdamdeclared“trendy”hashischeeksflushingpastberetredstraighttobeetpurple.
SomeoneelsethrowsoutCozumel.Andthenthere’savoteforLasVegas,whichSwapnabrieflyconsiders.“Vegascouldbefun.”Shelooksrighttome.“Poppy,don’tyouthinkVegascouldbefun?”
“Itcoulddefinitelybefun,”Iagree
“Santorini,”Garrettsaysinthevoiceofacartoonmouse.
“Santoriniislovely,ofcourse,”Swapnasays,andGarrettheavesanaudiblesighofrelief.“Butwewantsomethinginspired.”
Shelooksatmeagain.Pointedly.Iknowwhy.Shewantsmetowritethebigfeature.Becausethat’swhatIcameheretodo.
Mystomachtwists.“I’llkeepbrainstormingandworksomethinguptopitchyouonMonday,”Isuggest.
Shenodsacceptance.Garrettsagsinthechairbesideme.IknowheandhisboyfriendaredesperateforafreetriptoSantorini.Asanytravelwriterwouldbe.Asanyhumanpersonprobablywouldbe.
AsIdefinitelyshouldbe.
Don’tgiveup,Iwanttotellhim.IfSwapnawantsinspiration,she’snotgettingitfromme
Ihaven’thadanyofthatinalongtime.
???
“ITHINKYOUshouldpushforSantorini,”Rachelsays,swirlingherglassofroséonthemosaictopofthecafétable.It’saperfectlysummerywine,andbecauseofherplatform,wegotitforfree.
RachelKrohn:styleblogger,Frenchbulldogenthusiast,born-and-bredUpperWestSider(butmercifullynotthekindwhoactslikeit’ssoadorablethatyou’refromOhio,oreventhatOhioexists—hasanyoneevenheardofit?),andprofessional-gradebestfriend.
Despitehavingtop-of-the-lineappliances,Rachelhand-washesallherdishes,becauseshefindsitsoothing,andshedoessowearingfour-inchheels,becauseshethinksflatshoesareforhorsebackridingandgardening,andonlyifyouhaven’tfoundanysuitableheeledboots.
RachelwasthefirstfriendImadewhenImovedtoNewYork.She’sasocialmedia“influencer”(read:getspaidtowearspecificbrandsofmakeupinpicturesatherbeautifulmarbledvanity),andwhileI’dneverhadafriendshipwithaFellowInternetPerson,itturnedouttohaveitsperks(read:neitherofushastofeelembarrassedwhenweasktheothertowaitwhilewestagephotosofoursandwiches).AndwhileImight’veexpectednottohavemuchincommonwithRachel,itwasduringourthirdhangout(atthesamewinebarinDumbowherewe’recurrentlysitting)thatsheadmittedshetakesallofherphotosfortheweekonTuesdays,changingoutfitsandhairinbetweenstopsatdifferentparksandrestaurants,thenspendstherestoftheweekwritingessaysandrunningsocialmediaforafewdogrescues.
Shefellintothisjobbywayofbeingphotogenicandhavingaphotogeniclifeandtwoveryphotogenic(ifconstantlyinneedofmedicalattention)dogs.
WhereasIsetouttobuildasocialmediafollowingasalonggametoturntravelintoafull-timejob.Differentpathstothesameplace.Imean,she’sstillontheUpperWestSideandI’montheLowerEastSide,butwe’rebothlivingadvertisements.
ItakeamouthfulofthesparklingwineandswishitaroundasIturnoverherwords.Ihaven’tbeentoSantorini,andsomewhereinmyparents’overcrowdedhouse,inaTupperwareboxfullofthingsthathaveabsolutelynothingincommon,there’salistofdreamdestinationsImadeincollege,withSantorininearthetop.Thosecleanwhitelinesandgreatswathsofglitteringblueseawereaboutasfarfrommyclutteredbi-levelinOhioasIcouldimagine.
“Ican’t,”Ifinallytellher.“GarrettwouldspontaneouslycombustifhepitchedSantoriniand,onceIgotonboard,Swapnaapproveditforme.”
“Idon’tgetit,”Rachelsays.“Howhardcanitbetopickavacation,Pop?It’snotlikeyou’vebeensavingyourpennies.Pickaplace.Go.Thenpickanotherone.That’swhatyoudo.”
“It’snotthatsimple.”
“Yeah,yeah.”Rachelwavesahand.“Iknow,yourbosswantsan‘inspired’vacation.Butwhenyoushowupsomewherebeautiful,withtheR+Rcreditcard,inspirationwillappear.Thereisliterallynooneonearthbetterequippedtohaveamagicalvacationthanatraveljournalistwithabig-assmediaconglomerate’scheckbook.Ifyoucan’thaveaninspiredtrip,thenhowthehelldoyouexpecttherestoftheworldto?”
Ishrug,breakingapieceofcheeseoffofthecharcuterieboard.“Maybethat’sthepoint.”
Shearchesonedarkeyebrow.“What’sthepoint?”
“Exactly!”Isay,andshegivesmealookofdrydisgust.
“Don’tbecuteandwhimsical,”shesaysflatly.ToRachelKrohn,cuteandwhimsicalisnearlyasbadastrendyisforSwapnaBakshi-Highsmith.DespitethesoftlyhazyaestheticofRachel’shair,makeup,clothes,apartment,andsocialmedia,she’sadeeplypragmaticperson.Forher,lifeinthepubliceyeisajoblikeanyother,oneshe’skeptbecauseitpaysthebills(atleastwhenitcomestocheese,wine,makeup,clothes,andanythingelsebusinesseschoosetoshipher),notbecausesherelishesthekindofmanufacturedsemifamethatcomeswiththeterritory.Attheendofeverymonth,shedoesapostwiththeworst,uneditedouttakesfromherphotoshoots,thecaptionreading:THISISAFEEDOFCURATEDIMAGERYMEANTTOMAKEYOUPINEFORALIFETHATDOESNOTEXIST.IGETPAIDFORTHIS.
Yes,shewenttoartschool.
Andsomehow,thiskindofpseudoperformancearthasdonenothingtocurbherpopularity.WheneverI’mintownforthelastdayofthemonth,ItrytoscheduleawinedatesoIcanwatchhercheckhernotificationsandrollhereyesasthenewlikesandfollowspourin.Everyonceinawhileshe’llstifleashriekandsay,“Listentothis!‘RachelKrohnissobraveandreal.Iwanthertobemymom.’I’mtellingthemtheydon’tknowme,andtheystilldon’tgetit!”
Shehasnopatienceforrose-coloredglassesandevenlessformelancholy.
“I’mnotbeingcute,”Ipromiseher,“andI’mdefinitelynotbeingwhimsical.”
Thearchofhereyebrowdeepens.“Areyousure?Becauseyou’repronetoboth,babe.”
Irollmyeyes.“YoujustmeanI’mshortandwearbrightcolors.”
“No,you’retiny,”shecorrectsme,“andwearloudpatterns.Yourstyleis,like,1960sParisianbreadmaker’sdaughterbicyclingthroughhervillageatdawn,shoutingBonjour,lemondewhilstdolingoutbaguettes.”
“Anyway,”Isay,pullingusbackontrack,“whatImeanis,what’sthepointoftakingthisridiculouslyexpensivevacation,thenwritingallaboutitfortheforty-twopeopleintheworldwhocanaffordthetimeandmoneytore-createit?”
Herbrowssettleintoaflatlineasshethinks.“Well,firstofall,Idon’tassumemostpeopleuseR+Rarticlesasanitinerary,Pop.Yougivethemahundredplacestocheckout,andtheychoosethree.Andsecondly,peoplewanttoseeidyllicvacationsinvacationmagazines.Theybuythemtodaydream,nottoplan.”Evenasshe’sbeingPragmaticRachel,cynicalArtSchoolRacheliscreepingin,givingherwordsanedge.ArtSchoolRachelissomethingofanoldmanscreamingatthesky,astepdadatthedinnertable,saying,“Whydon’tyouunplugforawhile,kids?”whileholdingoutabowltocollecteveryone’sphones.
IloveArtSchoolRachelandherPrinciples,butI’malsounnervedbytheirsuddenappearanceonthissidewalkpatio.BecauserightnowwordsarebubblingupthatIhaven’tsaidaloudyet.Sensitive,secretthoughtsthatneverfullyexposedthemselvestomeinthemanyhoursI’vespentlyingonthestill-like-newsofaofmyuncozy,unlived-inapartmentduringthedowntimebetweentrips.
“What’sthepoint?”Isayagain,frustrated.“Imean,don’tyoueverfeellikethat?Like,Iworkedsohard,dideverysinglethingright—”
“Well,noteverything,”shesays.“Youdiddropoutofcollege,babe.”
“—soIcouldgetmydreamjob.AndIactuallygotit.Iworkatoneofthetoptravelmagazines!Ihaveaniceapartment!AndIcantakecabswithoutworryingtoomuchaboutwhatthatmoneyshouldgoto,anddespiteallofthat”—Itakeashakybreath,unsureofthewordsI’mabouttoforceoutevenasthefullweightofthemhitsmelikeasandbag—“I’mnothappy.”
Rachel’sfacesoftens.Shesetsherhandonminebutstayssilent,holdingspaceformetogoon.Ittakesmeawhiletomakemyself.Ifeellikesuchanungratefuljerkforevenhavingthesethoughts,letaloneadmittingthemaloud.
“It’sallprettymuchhowIpicturedit,”Ifinallysay.“Theparties,thelayoversininternationalairports,thecocktailsonthejet,andthebeachesandtheboatsandthevineyards.Anditalllookshowitshould,butitfeelsdifferentthanIimaginedit.Honestly,Ithinkitfeelsdifferentthanitusedto.Iusedtobounceoffthewallsforweeksbeforeatrip,youknow?AndwhenIgottotheairport,I’dfeellike—likemybloodwashumming.Liketheairwasjustvibratingwithpossibilityaroundme.Idon’tknow.I’mnotsurewhat’schanged.MaybeIhave.”
Shebrushesadarkcurlbehindherearandshrugs.“Youwantedit,Poppy.Youdidn’thaveit,andyouwantedit.Youwerehungry.”
Instantly,Iknowshe’sright.She’sseenrightthroughthewordvomittothecenterofthings.“Isn’tthatridiculous?”Igroan-laugh.“MylifeturnedouthowIhopeditwould,andnowIjustmisswantingsomething.”
Shakingwiththeweightofit.Hummingwiththepotential.Staringattheceilingofmycrappy,pre-R+Rfifth-floorwalk-up,afteradoubleshiftservingdrinksattheGarden,anddaydreamingaboutthefuture.TheplacesI’dgo,thepeopleI’dmeet—whoI’dbecome.Whatistherelefttowantwhenyou’vegotyourdreamapartment,yourdreamboss,andyourdreamjob(whichnegatesanyanxietyoveryourdreamapartment’sobscenelyhighrent,becauseyouspendmostofyourtimeeatingatMichelin-starredrestaurantsonthecompany’sdimeanyway)?
RacheldrainsherglassandglobssomeBrieontoacracker,noddingknowingly.“Millennialennui.”
“Isthatathing?”Iask.
“Notyet,butifyourepeatitthreetimes,there’llbeaSlatethinkpieceonitbytonight.”
Ithrowahandfulofsaltovermyshoulderasiftowardoffsuchevil,andRachelsnortsasshepoursuseachafreshglass.
“Ithoughtthewholethingaboutmillennialswasthatwedon’tgetwhatwewant.Thehouses,thejobs,thefinancialfreedom.Wejustgotoschoolforever,thenbartend’tilwedie.”
“Yeah,”shesays,“butyoudroppedoutofcollegeandwentafterwhatyouwant.Sohereweare.”
“Idon’twanttohavemillennialennui,”Isay.“Itmakesmefeellikeanassholetonotjustbecontentwithmyamazinglife.”
Rachelsnortsagain.“Contentmentisalieinventedbycapitalism,”ArtSchoolRachelsays,butmaybeshehasapoint.Usually,shedoes.“Thinkaboutit.AllthosepicturesIpost?They’resellingsomething.Alifestyle.Peoplelookatthosepicturesandthink,‘IfonlyIhadthoseSoniaRykielheels,thatgorgeousapartmentwiththeFrenchoakherringbonefloors,thenI’dbehappy.I’dswanabout,wateringmyhouseplantsandlightingmyendlesssupplyofJoMalonecandles,andI’dfeelmylifeinperfectharmony.I’dfinallylovemyhome.I’drelishmydaysonthisplanet.’”
“Yousellitwell,Rach,”Isay.“Youseemprettyhappy.”
“DamnrightIam,”shesays.“ButI’mnotcontent,andyouknowwhy?”Sheplucksherphoneoffthetable,flipstoaspecificpictureshehasinmind,andholdsitup.Ashotofherreclinedonhervelvetsofa,ladeninbulldogswithmatchingscarsfromtheirmatchinglifesavingsnoutsurgeries.She’sdressedinSpongeBobSquarePantspajamasandisn’twearingalickofmakeup.
“Becauseeverydaythereareback-alleypuppymillsbreedingmoreoftheselittleguys!Gettingthesamepoordogspregnantoverandoveragain,producinglitteruponlitterofpuppieswithgeneticmutationsthatmakelifehardandpainful.Nottomentionallthepitbullsdoubledupinkennels,rottinginpuppyprison!”
“AreyousayingIshouldgetadog?”Isay.“Becausethewholetravel-journalistthingkindofprecludespetownership.”Truthfully,evenifitdidn’t,I’mnotsureIcouldhandleapet.Ilovedogs,butIalsogrewupinahouseteemingwiththem.Withpetscomefurandbarkingandchaos.Forafairlychaoticperson,that’saslipperyslope.IfIwenttoasheltertopickupafosterdog,there’snoguaranteeIwouldn’tcomehomehavingadoptedsixofthemandawildcoyote.
“I’msaying,”Rachelreplies,“thatpurposemattersmorethancontentment.Youhadatonofcareergoals,whichgaveyoupurpose.Onebyone,youmetthem.Etvoilà:nopurpose.”
“SoIneednewgoals.”
Shenodsemphatically.“Ireadthisarticleaboutit.Apparentlythecompletionoflong-termgoalsoftenleadstodepression.It’sthejourney,notthedestination,babe,andwhateverthefuckelsethosethrowpillowssay.”
Herfacesoftensagain,becomestheetherealthingofhermost-likedphotographs.“Youknow,mytherapistsays—”
“Yourmom,”Isay.
“Shewasbeingatherapistwhenshesaidthis,”Rachelargues,bywhichIknowshemeans,SandraKrohnwasbeingdecidedlyDr.SandraKrohn,inthesamewaythatRachelissometimesdecidedlyArtSchoolRachel,notthatRachelwasactuallyinatherapysession.BegasRachelmight,hermotherrefusestotreatRachelasapatient.Rachel,however,refusestoseeanyoneelse,andsotheyremainatanimpasse.
“Anyway,”Rachelcontinues,“shetoldmethatsometimes,whenyouloseyourhappiness,it’sbesttolookforitthesamewayyou’dlookforanythingelse.”
“Bygroaningandhurlingcouchcushionsaround?”Iguess.
“Byretracingyoursteps,”Rachelsays.“So,Poppy,allyouhavetodoisthinkbackandaskyourself,whenwasthelasttimeyouweretrulyhappy?”
Theproblemis,Idon’thavetothinkback.Notatall.
IknowrightawaywhenIwaslasttrulyhappy.
Twoyearsago,inCroatia,withAlexNilsen.
Butthere’snofindingmywaybacktothat,becausewehaven’tspokensince.
“Justthinkaboutit,willyou?”Rachelsays.“Dr.Krohnisalwaysright.”
“Yeah,”Isay.“I’llthinkaboutit.”2
ThisSummer
IDOTHINKABOUTit.
Thewholesubwayridehome.Thefour-blockwalkafterthat.Throughahotshower,ahairmask,andafacemask,andseveralhoursoflyingonmystiffnewsofa.
Idon’tspendenoughtimeheretohavetransformeditintoahome,andbesides,I’mtheproductofacheapskatefatherandasentimentalmother,whichmeansIgrewupinahousefilledtothebrimwithjunk.MomkeptbrokenteacupsmybrothersandIhadgivenheraskids,andDadparkedouroldcarsinthefrontyardjustincaseheeverlearnedtofixthem.Istillhavenoideawhatwouldbeconsideredareasonableamountofbric-a-bracinahouse,butIknowhowpeoplegenerallyreacttomychildhoodhomeandfigureit’ssafertoerronthesideofminimalismratherthanhoarding.
Asidefromanunwieldycollectionofvintageclothes(firstruleoftheWrightfamily:neverbuyanythingnewifyoucangetitusedforafractionoftheprice),thereisn’tmuchelseinmyapartmenttofixateon.SoI’mjuststaringatmyceiling,andthinking.
AndthemoreIthinkaboutthetripsAlexandIusedtotaketogether,themoreIlongforthem.Butnotinthefun,daydreamy,energeticwayIusedtolongtoseeTokyoincherryblossomseason,ortheFasnachtfestivalsofSwitzerland,withtheirmaskedparadesandwhip-wieldingjestersdancingdownthecandy-coloredstreets.
WhatI’mfeelingnowismoreofanache,asadness.
It’sworsethantheblah-nessofnotwantinganythingmuchfromlife.It’swantingsomethingIcan’tconvincemyselfisevenapossibility.
Notaftertwoyearsofsilence.
Okay,notsilence.Hestillsendsmeatextonmybirthday.Istillsendhimoneonhis.Bothofussendrepliesthatsay“Thankyou”or“Howareyoudoing?”butthosewordsneverseemtoleadmuchfurther.
Aftereverythinghappenedbetweenus,Iusedtotellmyselfitwouldjusttaketimeforhimtogetoverit,thatthingswouldinevitablygobacktonormalandwe’dbebestfriendsagain.Maybewe’devenlaughaboutthistimeapart.
Butdayspassed,phoneswereturnedoffandonincasemessagesweregettinglost,andafterafullmonth,Ievenstoppedjumpingeverytimemytextalertsounded.
Ourliveswenton,withouteachotherinthem.Thenewandstrangebecamethefamiliar,theseeminglyunchangeable,andnowhereIam,onaFridaynight,staringatnothing.
Ipushoffthesofaandgrabmylaptopfromthecoffeetable,steppingoutontomytinybalcony.Iplopintothelonechairthatfitsouthereandpropmyfeetontheguardrail,stillwarmfromthesundespitetheheavycloakofnight.Downbelow,thebellschimeoverthedoortothebodegaonthecorner,peoplewalkhomefromlongnightsout,andacoupleofcabsidleoutsidemyfavoriteneighborhoodbar,GoodBoyBar(aplacethatowesitssuccessnottoitsdrinksbuttothefactthatitallowsdogsinside;thisishowIsurvivemypetlessexistence).
IopenmycomputerandbatamothawayfromthefluorescentglowofitsscreenasIpullupmyoldblog.TheblogitselfR+Rcouldn’tcarelessabout—Imean,theyevaluatedmywritingsamplesfromitbeforeIgotthejob,buttheydon’tcarewhetherImaintainit.It’sthesocialmediainfluencetheywanttokeepcashinginon,notthemodestbutdevotedreadershipIbuiltwithmypostsonshoestring-budgettravel.
Rest+Relaxationmagazinedoesn’tspecializeinshoestring-budgettravel.AndthoughI’dplannedtokeepupPopAroundtheWorldinadditiontomymagazinework,myentriespeteredoffnotlongaftertheCroatiatrip.
Iscrollbacktomypostaboutthatoneandopenit.IwasalreadyworkingatR+Rbythen,whichmeanteveryluxurioussecondofthetripwaspaidfor.Itwassupposedtobethebestonewe’devertaken,andsmallsliversofitwere
Butrereadingmypost—evenwitheveryhintofAlexandwhathappenedscrubbedoutofit—it’sobvioushowmiserableIwaswhenIgothome.Iscrollfurtherback,scouringforeverypostabouttheSummerTrip.Thatwaswhatwecalledit,whenwetextedaboutitthroughouttheyear,usuallylongbeforewe’dnaileddownwherewewouldgoorhowwe’daffordit.
TheSummerTrip.
Asin,Schooliskillingme—IjustwanttheSummerTriptobeherealready,andPitchforourSummerTripUniform,withanattachedscreenshotofaT-shirtthatsaysYEP,THEY’REREALonthechest,orapairofoverallshortssoshortastobe,essentially,adenimthong.
Ahotbreezeblowsthesmellofgarbageanddollar-slicepizzaupoffthestreet,rufflingmyhair.Itwistitintoaknotatthebaseofmyneck,thenshutmycomputerandpulloutmyphonesofastyou’dthinkIactuallyplannedtouseit.
Youcan’t.It’stooweird,Ithink.
ButI’malreadypullingupAlex’snumber,stillthereatthetopofmyfavoriteslist,whereoptimismkepthimsaveduntilsomuchtimehadpassedthatthepossibilityofdeletinghimnowseemslikeatragiclaststepIcan’tbeartotake.
Mythumbhoversoverthekeyboard.
Beenthinkingaboutyou,Itype.Istareatitforaminute,thenbackspacetothebeginning.
Anychanceyou’relookingtogetoutoftown?Iwrite.Thatseemsgood.It’sclearwhatI’masking,butprettycasual,withaneasyout.ButthelongerIstudythewords,theweirderIfeelaboutbeingsocasual.Aboutpretendingnothinghappenedandthetwoofusarestillclosefriendswhocanplanatripinsuchaninformalforumasapostmidnighttext.
Ideletethemessage,takeadeepbreath,andtypeagain:Hey.
“Hey?”Isnap,annoyedwithmyself.Downonthesidewalk,amanjumpsinsurpriseatthesoundofmyvoice,thenlooksupatmybalcony,decidesI’mnottalkingtohim,andhurriesoff.
There’snowayI’mgoingtosendamessagetoAlexNilsenthatjustsaysHey
ButthenIgotohighlightanddeletetheword,andsomethinghorriblehappens
Iaccidentallyhitsend.
Themessagewhooshesout.
“Shit,shit,shit!”Ihiss,shakingmyphonelikemaybeIcanmakeitspitthetextbackupbeforethatmeaslywordstartstodigest.“No,no,n—”
Chime
Ifreeze.Mouthopen.Heartracing.Stomachtwistinguntilmyintestinesfeellikerotininoodles.
Anewmessage,thenameboldedatthetop:ALEXANDERTHEGREATEST
Oneword.
Hey.
I’msostunnedthatIalmostjusttextHeyback,likemywholefirstmessageneverhappened,likehejusthey’dmeoutoftheblue.Butofcoursehedidn’t—he’snotthatguy.I’mthatguy.
AndbecauseI’mthatguy,whosendstheworsttextmessageintheworld,I’venowgottenareplythatgivesmenonaturalinroadtoaconversation.
WhatdoIsay?
DoesHowareyou?soundtooserious?DoesthatmakeitseemlikeI’mexpectinghimtosay,Well,Poppy,I’vemissedyou.I’vemissedyouBAD
Maybesomethingmoreinnocuous,likeWhat’sup?
ButagainIfeelliketheweirdestthingIcoulddorightnowiswillfullyignorethatitisweirdtobetextinghimafterallthistime.
I’msorryIsentyouatextmessagethatsaidhey,Iwriteout.Ieraseit,tryforfunny:You’reprobablywonderingwhyI’vebroughtyouhere.
Notfunny,butI’mstandingattheedgeofmytinybalcony,actuallyshiveringwithnervousanticipationandterrifiedtowaittoolongtorespond.Isendthemessageandstarttopace.Only,becausethebalcony’ssotinyandthechairtakesuphalfofit,I’mbasicallyjustspinninglikeatop,atailofmothschasingtheblurrylightofmyphone.
Itchimesagain,andIsnapdownintothechairandopenthemessage.
Isthisaboutthedisappearingsandwichesinthebreakroom?
Amomentlater,asecondmessagecomesin.
BecauseIdidn’ttakethose.Unlessthere’sasecuritycamerainthere.Inwhichcase,I’msorry.
Asmilebloomsacrossmyface,afloodofwarmthmeltingtheanxiousknotinmychest.TherewasabriefperiodoftimewhenAlexwasconvincedhewasgoingtogetfiredfromhisteachingjob.Afterwakinguplateandmissingbreakfast,he’dhadadoctor’sappointmentoverlunch.Hehadn’thadtimetograbfoodafter,sohe’dgonetotheteachers’lounge,hopingitwassomeone’sbirthday,thattheremightbedonutsorstalemuffinshecouldpickover.
ButitwasthefirstMondayofthemonth,andanAmericanHistoryteachernamedMs.Delallo,awomanAlexsecretlyconsideredhisworkplacenemesis,insistedoncleaningoutthefridgeandcounterspaceonthelastFridayofeverymonth—andthenmakingabigdealaboutitlikesheexpectedtobethanked,thoughoftentimeshercoworkerslostacoupleofperfectlygoodfrozenlunchesintheprocess.
Anyway,theonlythingleftinthefridgewasatunasaladsandwich.“Delallo’scallingcard,”Alexhadjokedwhenherecountedthestorytomelater.
He’deatenthesandwichasanactofdefiance(andhunger).Thenspentthreeweeksconvincedsomeonewasgoingtofindoutandhe’dlosehisjob.It’snotlikeitwashisdreamtoteachhighschoolliterature,butthejobpaidokay,hadgoodbenefits,andwasinourhometownbackinOhio,which—thoughtome,adefinitenegative—meanthegottobeclosetotwoofhisthreeyoungerbrothersandthechildrenthey’dstartedchurningout.
Besides,thekindofuniversityjobAlexreallywantedjustdidn’tcomeupveryoftenthesedays.Hecouldn’taffordtolosehisteachingjob,andluckilyhehadn’t.
SandwichES?PLURAL?Itypebacknow.Please,please,pleasetellmeyouhavebecomeafull-fledgedhoagiethief.
Delallo’snotahoagiefan,Alexsays.Latelyshe’sbeenhotforReubens.
AndhowmanyoftheseReubenshaveyoustolen?Iask.
AssumingtheNSAisreadingthis,none,hesays.
You’reahighschoolEnglishteacherinOhio;ofcoursethey’rereading.
Hesendsbackasadface.AreyousayingI’mnotimportantenoughfortheU.S.governmenttomonitor?
Iknowhe’sjoking,buthere’sthethingaboutAlexNilsen.Despitebeingtall,fairlybroad,addictedtodailyexerciseandhealthyeatingandgeneralself-control,healsohasthishurtpuppyface.Oratleasttheabilitytosummonit.Hiseyesarealwaysalittlesleepy,thecreasesbeneaththemaconstantindicationthathedoesn’tlovesleepthewayIdo.Hismouthisfullwithanexaggerated,slightlyunevencupid’sbow,andallofthiscombinedwithhisstraight,messyhair—theonepartofhisappearancehepaysnoattentionto—giveshisfaceaboyishnessthat,whenwieldedproperly,cantriggersomebiologicalimpulseinmetoprotecthimatallcosts.
SeeinghissleepyeyesgobigandwateryandhisfullmouthopenintoasoftOislikehearingapuppywhimpering.
Whenotherpeoplesendthefrownyemoji,Ireaditasmilddisappointment.
WhenAlexusesit,Iknowit’sthedigitalequivalentofhimpullingSadPuppyFacetoteaseme.Sometimes,whenweweredrunk,sittingatatableandtryingtomakeitthroughagameofchessorScrabblethatIwaswinning,he’ddeploythefaceuntilIwashysterical,caughtbetweenlaughingandcrying,fallingoutofmychair,tryingtomakehim
Ofcourseyou’reimportant,Itype.IftheNSAknewthepowersofSadPuppyFace,you’dbeinalabgettingclonedrightnow.
Alextypesforaminute,stops,typesagain.Iwaitafewmoreseconds.
Isthisit?Themessagehefinallystopsrespondingto?Somebigconfrontation?Or,knowinghim,Iguessit’smorelikelytobeaninoffensiveNicetalkingbutI’mheadedtobed.Sleepwell.
Ding!
Alaughbreaksoutofme,theforceofitlikeaneggcrackinginmychest,spillingoutwarmthtocoatmynerves.
It’saphoto.Ablurry,ineffectualselfieofAlex,underastreetlight,makingtheinfamousface.Aswithnearlyeverypicturehe’severtaken,it’sshotslightlyfrombelow,elongatinghisheadsoitcomestoapoint.Ithrowmyheadbackwithanotherlaugh,half-giddy.
Youbastard!Itype.It’sonea.m.andnowyou’vegotmeheadedtothepoundtosavesomelives.
Yeahright,hesays.You’dnevergetadog.
Somethinglikehurtpincheslowinmystomach.Despitebeingthecleanest,mostparticular,mostorganizedmanIknow,Alexlovesanimals,andI’mfairlysureheseesmyinabilitytocommittooneasapersonaldefect.
Ilookupatthelonedehydratedsucculentinthecornerofthebalcony.Shakingmyhead,Itypeoutanothermessage:How’sFlanneryO’Connor?
Dead,Alexwritesback.
Thecat,nottheauthor!Isay.
Alsodead,hereplies.
Myheartstutters.AsmuchasIloathedthatcat(nomoreorlessthansheloathedme),Alexadoredher.Thefactthathedidn’ttellmeshediedslicesthroughmeinonecleancut,aguillotinebladefromheadtofoot.
Alex,I’msosorry,Iwrite.God,I’msorry.Iknowhowmuchyoulovedher.Thatcathadanamazinglife.
Hewritesonly,Thanks.
Istareatthewordforalongtime,unsurewheretogofromthere.Fourminutespass,thenfive,thenit’sbeenten
Ishouldgettobednow,hesaysfinally.Sleepwell,Poppy.
Yeah,Iwrite.Youtoo.
Isitonthebalconyuntilallthewarmthhasdrainedoutofme.3
TwelveSummersAgo
THEFIRSTNIGHToforientationattheUniversityofChicago,Ispothim.He’sdressedinkhakipantsandaUofChicagoT-shirt,despitehavingbeenatthisschoolforalloftenhours.HelooksnothinglikethesortofartisticintelligentsiaIimaginedbefriendingwhenIchoseaschoolinthecity.ButI’mherealone(mynewroommate,itturnsout,followedher
Hestaresatmeblankly.
Istammeroutthatitwasajoke.
Hestammerssomethingaboutspillingonhisshirtandalast-minuteoutfitchange.Hischeeksgopink,andminedotoo,fromsecondhandembarrassment.
Andthenhiseyesdipdownme,sizingmeup,andhisfacechanges.I’mwearinganeonorangeandpinkfloraljumpsuitfromtheearlyseventies,andhereactstothisfactasifI’malsoholdingaposterthatsaysFUCKKHAKISonit.
Iaskhimwherehe’sfrom,becauseI’mnotsurewhatelsetosaytoastrangerwithwhomIhavenosharedcontextapartfromafewhoursofconfusingcampustours,acoupleofthesameboringpanelsonlifeinthecity,andthefactthatwehateeachother’sclothes.
“Ohio,”heanswers,“atowncalledWestLinfield.”
“Noshit!”Isay,stunned.“I’mfromEastLinfield.”
Andhebrightensalittle,likethisisgoodnews,andI’mnotsurewhy,becausehavingthefactoftheLinfieldsincommonissortoflikehavinghadthesamecold:nottheworstthingintheworld,butnothingtohigh-fiveover.
“I’mPoppy,”Itellhim.
“Alex,”hesays,andshakesmyhand.
Whenyouimagineanewbestfriendforyourself,younevernamehimAlex.Youalsoprobablydon’timaginehimdressinglikesomekindofteenagelibrarian,orbarelylookingyouintheeyes,oralwaysspeakingjustalittlebitunderhisbreath.
IdecidethatifI’dlookedathimforfivemoreminutesbeforecrossingtheglobe-light-strewnlawntotalk,Iwould’vebeenabletoguessbothhisnameandthathewasfromWestLinfield,becausethesetwofactsmatchwithhiskhakisandUofChicagoshirt.
I’msurethatthelongerwetalk,themoreviolentlyboringhe’llbecome,butwe’rehere,andwe’realone,sowhynotbesure?
“Sowhatareyouherefor?”Iask.
Hisbrowfurrows.“Herefor?”
“Yeah,youknow,”Isay,“like,I’mheretomeetawealthyoilbaroninneedofamuchyoungersecondwife.”
Thatblankstareagain.
“Whatareyoustudying?”Iclarify.
“Oh,”hesays.“I’mnotsure.Prelaw,maybe.Orliterature.Whataboutyou?”
“Notsureyet.”Iliftmyplasticcup.“Imostlycameforthepunch.AndtonotliveinsouthernOhio.”
Overthenextpainfulfifteenminutes,Ilearnhe’shereonacademicscholarships,andhelearnsthatI’mhereonloans.ItellhimthatI’mtheyoungestofthree,andtheonlygirl.Hetellsmehe’stheoldestoffourboys.HeasksifI’veseenthegymyet,towhichmygenuinereactionis“Why?”andwebothgobacktoshiftingawkwardlyonourfeetinsilence.
Heistall,quiet,andeagertoseethelibrary.
I’mshort,loud,andhopingsomeonecomesbyandinvitesustoarealparty.
Bythetimewepartways,I’mfairlyconfidentwe’llneverspeakagain.
Apparently,hefeelsthesameway.
Insteadofgoodbyeorseeyouaroundorshouldweswapnumbers,hejustsays,“Goodluckwithfreshmanyear,Poppy.”4
ThisSummer
DIDYOUTHINKaboutit?”Rachelasks.She’spoundingawayonthestationarybikebesideme,sweatdropletsflyingoffher,thoughherbreathingiseven,asifweweremoseyingthroughSephora.Asusual,wefoundtwobikesatthebackofspinclass,wherewecankeepupaconversationwithoutbeingscoldedfordistractingothercyclists.
“Thinkaboutwhat?”Ipantback.
“Whatmakesyouhappy.”Sheliftsherselftopedalfasterattheteacher’scommand.Formypart,I’mbasicallyslumpedoverthehandlebars,forcingmyfeetdownlikeI’mbikingthroughmolasses.Ihateexercise;Ilovethefeelingofhavingexercised.
“Silence,”Igasp,heartthrobbing.“Makes.Me.Happy.”
“And?”sheprompts.
“ThoseraspberryvanillacreambarsfromTraderJoe’s,”Igetout.
“And?”
“Sometimesyoudo!”I’mtryingtosoundcutting.Thepantingunderminesit.
“Andrest!”theinstructorscreamsintohermicrophone;thirty-somegaspsofreliefgouparoundtheroom.Peoplefallslackatbikesorslideoffthemintoapuddleonthefloor,butRacheldismountslikeanOlympicgymnastfinishingherfloorroutine.Shehandsmeherwaterbottle,andIfollowherintothelockerroom,thenoutintotheblazing
“Iwon’tpryitoutofyou,”shesays.“Maybeit’sprivate,whatmakesyouhappy.”
“It’sAlex,”Iblurtout.
Shestopswalking,grippingmyarmsothatI’mheldcaptive,thefoottrafficballooningaroundusonthesidewalk.“What.”
“Notlikethat,”Isay.“Oursummertrips.Nothinghasevertoppedthose.”
Nothing
EvenifIevergetmarriedorhaveababy,IexpecttheBestDayofMyLifetostillbesomethingofatoss-upbetweenthatandthetimeAlexandIwenthikinginthemist-riddenredwoods.Aswewerepullingintothepark,itstartedtopour,andthetrailsclearedout.Wehadtheforesttoourselves,andweslippedabottleofwineintoourbackpackandsetoff.
Whenweweresurewewerealone,wepoppedthecorkandpassedthebottlebackandforth,drinkingaswetrudgedthroughthestillnessofthewoods.
Iwishwecouldsleephere,Irememberhimsaying.Likejustliedownandnap
Andthenwecametooneofthosebig,hollowed-outtrunksalongthetrail,thekindthat’scrackedopentoformawoodycave,itstwosideslikegiantcuppedpalms.
Weslippedinsideandcurleduponthedry,needlyearth.Wedidn’tnap,butwerested.Like,insteadofabsorbingenergythroughsleep,wedrewitintoourbodiesthroughthecenturiesofsunshineandrainthathadcooperatedtogrowthismassivetreeprotectingus.
“Well,youobviouslyhavetocallhim,”Rachelsays,effectivelylassoingmeandyankingmeoutofthememory.“I’veneverunderstoodwhyyoudidn’tjustconfronthimabouteverything.Seemssillytolosesuchanimportantfriendshipoveronefight.”
Ishakemyhead.“Ialreadytextedhim.He’snotlookingtorekindleourfriendship,andhedefinitelydoesn’twanttogoonaspontaneousvacationwithme.”Ifallintostepagainbesideher,joggingmygymbaghigheronmysweatyshoulder.“Maybeyoushouldcomewithme.That’dbefun,wouldn’tit?Wehaven’tgoneanywheretogetherinmonths.”
“YouknowIgetanxiouswhenIleaveNewYork,”Rachelsays.
“Andwhatwouldyourtherapistsayaboutthat?”Itease.
“She’dsay,‘WhatdotheyhaveinParisthattheydon’thaveinManhattan,sweetie?’”
“Um,theEiffelTower?”Isay.
“ShegetsanxiouswhenIleaveNewYorktoo,”Rachelsays.“NewJerseyisaboutasfarastheumbilicalcordstretchesforus.Nowlet’sgetsomejuice.Thatcheeseboardhasbasicallyformedacorkinmybuttholeandeverything’sjustpilingupbehindit.”
???
ATTENTHIRTYonSundaynight,I’msittinginbed,mysoftpinkduvetpileduponmyfeetandmylaptopburningagainstmythighs.Halfadozenwindowssitopeninmywebbrowser,andinmynotesappI’vestartedalistofpossibledestinationsthatonlygoestothree.
Newfoundland
Austria
CostaRica
I’vejuststartedcompilingnotesonthemajorcitiesandnaturallandmarksofeachwhenmyphonebuzzesonmysidetable.Rachel’sbeentextingme,swearingoffdairy,allday,butwhenIreachformyphone,thetopofthemessagealertreadsALEXANDERTHEGREATEST
Allatonce,thatgiddyfeelingisback,swellingsofastinmeIfeellikemybodymightpop.
It’sapicturemessage,andwhenItapitopen,Ifindashotofmyhilariouslybadseniorphoto,completewiththequoteIchoseforthemtoprintbeneathit:BYE
Ohhhhhhhnooooo,Itypethroughlaughter,shovingmylaptopasideandfloppingdownonmyback.Wheredidyoufindthis?
EastLinfieldlibrary,Alexsays.IwassettingupmyclassroomandIrememberedtheyhaveyearbooks.
Youhavedefiedmytrust,Ijoke.I’mtextingyourbrothersforbabypicturesrightnow.
Rightaway,hesendsbackthatsameSadPuppyshotfromFriday,hisfaceblurryandwashedout,thehazyorangeglowofastreetlightvisibleoverhisshoulder.Mean,hewrites.
Isthatastockphotothatyoukeepsavedforoccasionssuchasthese?Iask.
No,hesays.TookitFriday.
YouwereoutprettylateforLinfield,Isay.What’sopenapartfromFrisch’sBigBoyatthathour?
Itturnsoutthatonceyou’re21there’splentytodoafterdarkinLinfield,hesays.IwasatBirdies.
Birdies,thegolf-themeddivebar“andgrill”acrossthestreetfrommyhighschool.
Birdies?Isay.Ew,that’swherealltheteachersdrink!
AlexfiresoffanotherSadPuppyFaceshot,butatleastthisone’snew:himinasoftgrayT-shirt,hishairstickingupallovertheplaceandaplainwoodenheadboardvisiblebehindhim.
He’ssittinginbedtoo.Textingme.Andovertheweekend,whenhewasworkingonhisclassroom,henotonlythoughtaboutme,buttookthetimetogofindmyoldyearbookshot.
I’mgrinninghugelynow,andbuzzingtoo.It’ssurrealhowmuchthisfeelsliketheearlydaysofourfriendship,wheneverynewtextseemedsosparklyandfunnyandperfect,wheneveryquickphonecallaccidentallyturnedintoanhourandahalfoftalkingnonstop,evenwhenwe’dseeneachotherafewdaysbefore.Irememberhow,duringoneofthefirstofthese—beforeIwould’veconsideredhimmybestfriend—IhadtoaskhimifIcouldcallhimbackinasecondsoIcouldgopee.Whenwegotbackonthephone,wetalkedanotherhourandthenheaskedmethesamething.
Bythenitseemedsillytogetoffthephonejusttoavoidhearingpeehittingatoiletbowl,soItoldhimhecouldstayonthephoneifhewanted.Hedidnottakemeuponit,thenorever,thoughfromthenon,Ioftenpeedmid–phonecall.Withhispermission,ofcourse.
NowI’mdoingthishumiliatingthing,touchingthepictureofhisfacelikeIcansomehowfeeltheessenceofhimthatway,likeitwillbringhimclosertomethanhehasbeenfortwoyears.There’snoonetoseeit,andstillIfeelembarrassed.
Kidding!Ireply.NexttimeI’mhome,weshouldgogetsloppywithMrs.Lautzenheiser.
Isenditwithoutthinking,andalmostimmediatelymymouthgoesdryatthesightofthewordson-screen.
NexttimeI’mhome
We
Wasthattoofar?Suggestingweshouldhangout?
Ifitwas,hedoesn’tleton.Hejustwritesback,Lautzenheiser’ssobernow.She’salsoBuddhist.
ButnowthatIhaven’tgottenadirectreplytothesuggestion,positiveornegative,Ifeelanintensedesiretopushthematter.ThenIguesswe’llhavetogogetenlightenedwithherinstead,Iwrite.
Alextypesforwaytoolong,andthewholetimeI’mcrossingmyfingers,tryingtoforcefullywillawayanytension.
Oh,god.
IthoughtI’dbeendoingfine,thatI’dgottenoverourfriendbreakup,butthemorewetalk,themoreImisshim.
Myphonevibratesinmyhand.Twowords:Guessso.
It’snoncommittal,butit’ssomething
AndnowI’monahigh.Fromtheyearbookphotos,fromtheselfies,fromtheideaofAlexsittingupinbedtextingmeoutoftheblue.Maybeit’spushingtoohardoraskingtoomuch,butIcan’thelpmyself.
Fortwoyears,I’vewantedtoaskAlextogiveourfriendshipanothershot,andI’vebeensoafraidoftheanswerthatI’venevergottenthequestionout.Butnotaskinghasn’tbroughtusbacktogethereither,andImisshim,andImisshowweweretogether,andImisstheSummerTrip,andfinally,IknowthatthereisonethinginmylifethatIstillreallywant,andthere’sonlyonewaytofindoutifIcanhaveit.
Anychanceyou’refreeuntilschoolstarts?Itypeout,shakingsomuchmyteethhavestartedtochatter.I’mthinkingabouttakingatrip.
Istareatthewordsforthespanofthreedeepbreaths,andthenIhitsend.5
ElevenSummersAgo
OCCASIONALLY,ISEEAlexNilsenaroundoncampus,butwedon’tspeakagainuntilthedayafterfreshmanyearends.
Itwasmyroommate,Bonnie,whosetthewholethingup.WhenshetoldmeshehadafriendfromsouthernOhiolookingforsomeonetocarpoolhomewith,itdidn’toccurtomethatitmightbethatsameboyfromLinfieldI’dmetatorientation.
MostlybecauseI’dmanagedtolearnbasicallynothingaboutBonnieinthelastninemonthsofherstoppingbythedormtoshowerandchangeherclothesbeforeheadingbacktohersister’sapartment.Frankly,Iwasn’tsurehowsheevenknewIwasfromOhio.
I’dmadefriendswiththeothergirlsfrommyfloor—atewiththem,watchedmovieswiththem,wenttopartieswiththem—butBonnieexistedoutsideourall-freshmansquad-of-necessity.TheideathatherfriendcouldbeAlex-from-Linfielddidn’tevencrossmymindwhenshegavemehisnameandnumbertocoordinateourmeetup.ButwhenIcomedownstairstofindhimwaitingbyhisstationwagonattheagreed-upontime,it’sobviousfromhissteady,uncomfortableexpressionthathewasexpectingme.
He’swearingthesameshirthehadonthenightImethim,orelsehe’sboughtenoughduplicatesthathecanweartheminterchangeably.Icalloutacrossthestreet,“It’syou.”
Heduckshishead,flushes.“Yep.”Withoutanotherword,hecomestowardmeandtakesthehampersandoneofthedufflebagsfrommyarms,loadingthemintohisbackseat.
Thefirsttwenty-fiveminutesofourdriveareawkwardandsilent.Worstofall,webarelymakeanyprogressthroughthecrushofcitytraffic.
“Doyouhaveanauxcable?”Iask,diggingthroughthecenterconsole.
Hiseyesdarttowardme,hismouthshapingintoagrimace.“Why?”
“BecauseIwanttoseeifIcanjumpropewhilewearingaseatbelt,”Ihuff,restackingthepacketsofsanitarywipesandhandsanitizersI’veupendedinmysearch.“Whydoyouthink?Sowecanlistentomusic.”
Alex’sshoulderslift,likehe’saturtleretractingintohisshell.“Whilewe’restuckintraffic?”
“Um,”Isay.“Yes?”
Hisshouldershitchhigher.“There’salotgoingonrightnow.”
“We’rebarelymoving,”Ipointout.
“Iknow.”Hewinces.“Butit’shardtofocus.Andthere’sallthehonking,and—”
“Gotit.Nomusic.”Islumpbackinmyseat,returntostaringoutthewindow.Alexmakesaself-consciousthroat-clearingsound,likehewantstosaysomething.
Iturnexpectantlytowardhim.“Yes?”
“Wouldyoumind…notdoingthat?”Hetipshischintowardmywindow,andIrealizeI’mdrummingmyfingersagainstit.Idrawmyhandsintomylap,thencatchmyselftappingmyfeet.
“I’mnotusedtosilence!”Isay,defensive,whenhelooksatme.
It’stheunderstatementofthecentury.Igrewupinahousewiththreebigdogs,acatwiththelungsofanoperasinger,twobrotherswhoplayedthetrumpet,andparentswhofoundthebackgroundnoiseoftheHomeShoppingNetwork“soothing.”
I’dadjustedtothequietofmyBonnie-lessdormroomquickly,butthis—sittinginsilenceintrafficwithsomeoneIbarelyknow—feelswrong.
“Shouldn’twegettoknoweachotherorsomething?”Iask.
“Ijustneedtofocusontheroad,”hesays,thecornersofhismouthtense.
“Fine.”
Alexsighsas,ahead,thesourceofthecongestionappears:afenderbender.Bothcarsinvolvedhavealreadypulledontotheshoulder,buttraffic’sstillbottleneckinghere.
“Ofcourse,”hesays,“peoplejustslowingdowntostare.”Hepopsopenthecenterconsoleanddigsarounduntilhefindstheauxcable.“Here,”hesays.“Youpick.”
Iraiseaneyebrow.“Areyousure?Youmightregretit.”
Hisbrowfurrows.“WhywouldIregretit?”
Iglanceintothebackseatofhisfaux-wood-sidedstationwagon.Hisstuffisneatlystackedinlabeledboxes,minepiledindirtylaundrybagsaroundit.Thecarisancientyetspotless.Somehowitsmellsexactlylikehedoes,asoftcedar-and-muskscent.
“Youjustseemlikemaybeyou’reafanof…control,”Ipointout.“AndI’mnotsureIhavethekindofmusicyoulike.There’snoChopinonthisthing.”
Thefurrowofhisbrowdeepens.Hismouthtwistsintoafrown.“MaybeI’mnotasuptightasyouthinkIam.”
“Really?”Isay.“Soyouwon’tmindifIputonMariahCarey’s‘AllIWantforChristmasIsYou’?”
“It’sMay,”hesays.
“I’llconsidermyquestionanswered,”Isay.
“That’sunfair,”hesays.“WhatkindofabarbarianlistenstoChristmasmusicinMay?”
“AndifitwereNovembertenth,”Isay,“whataboutthen?”
Alex’smouthpressesclosed.Hetugsatthestick-straighthairatthecrownofhishead,andarushofstaticleavesitfloatingevenafterhishanddropstothesteeringwheel.Hereallyhonorsthewholeten-and-twowheel-hand-positioningthing,I’venoticed,anddespitebeingamassivesloucherwhenhe’sstanding,hehasupheldhisrigidlygoodpostureaslongaswe’vebeeninthecar,shouldertensionnotwithstanding.
“Fine,”hesays.“Idon’tlikeChristmasmusic.Don’tputthaton,andweshouldbefine.”
Iplugmyphonein,turnonthestereo,andscrolltoDavidBowie’s“YoungAmericans.”Withinseconds,hevisiblygrimaces.
“What?”Isay.
“Nothing,”heinsists.
“Youjusttwitchedlikethemarionettecontrollingyoufellasleep.”
Hesquintsatme.“Whatdoesthatmean?”
“Youhatethissong,”Iaccuse.
“Idonot,”hesaysunconvincingly.
“YouhateDavidBowie.”
“Notatall!”hesays.“It’snotDavidBowie.”
“Thenwhatisit?”Idemand.
Anexhalehissesoutofhim.“Saxophone.”
“Saxophone,”Irepeat.
“Yeah,”hesays.“Ijust…reallyhatethesaxophone.Anysongwithasaxophoneonitisinstantlyruined.”
“SomeoneshouldtellKennyG,”Isay.
“Nameonesongthatwasimprovedbyasaxophone,”Alexchallenges.
“I’llhavetoconsultthenotepadwhereIkeeptrackofeverysongthathassaxophone.”
“Nosong,”hesays.
“Ibetyou’refunatparties,”Isay
“I’mfineatparties,”hesays.
“Justnotmiddleschoolbandconcerts,”Isay.
Heglancessidelongatme.“You’rereallyasaxophoneapologist?”
“No,butI’mwillingtopretend,ifyou’renotfinishedranting.Whatelsedoyouhate?”
“Nothing,”hesays.“JustChristmasmusicandsaxophone.Andcovers.”
“Covers?”Isay.“Like…bookcovers?”
“Coversofsongs,”heexplains.
Iburstoutlaughing.“Youhatecoversofsongs?”
“Vehemently,”hesays.
“Alex.That’slikesayingyouhatevegetables.It’stoovague.Itmakesnosense.”
“Itmakesperfectsense,”heinsists.“Ifit’sagoodcover,thatstickstothebasicarrangementoftheoriginalsong,it’slike,why?Andifitsoundsnothingliketheoriginal,thenit’slike,whythehell?”
“Ohmygod,”Isay.“You’resuchanoldmanscreamingatthesky.”
Hefrownsatme.“Oh,andyoujustlikeeverything?”
“Prettymuch,”Isay.“Yes,Itendtolikethings.”
“Ilikethingstoo,”hesays.
“Likewhat,modeltrainsandbiographiesofAbrahamLincoln?”Iguess.
“Icertainlyhavenoaversiontoeither,”hesays.“Why,arethosethingsyouhate?”
“Itoldyou,”Isaid.“Ilikethings.I’mveryeasytoplease.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning…”Ithinkforasecond.“Okay,so,growingup,ParkerandPrince—mybrothers—andIwouldrideourbikesuptothemovietheater,withoutevencheckingwhatwasplaying.”
“YouhaveabrothernamedPrince?”Alexasks,browlifting.
“That’snotthepoint,”Isay.
“Isitanickname?”hesays.
“No,”Ianswer.“HewasnamedafterPrince.MomwasahugefanofPurpleRain.”
“Andwho’sParkernamedafter?”
“Noone,”Ianswer.“Theyjustlikedthename.Butagain,notthepoint.”
“AllyournamesstartwithP,”hesays.“Whatareyourparents’names?”
“WandaandJimmy,”Isay.
“SonotPnames,”Alexclarifies.
“No,notPnames,”Isay.“TheyjusthadPrinceandthenParker,andIguesstheywereonaroll.Butagain,that’snotthepoint.”
“Sorry,goon,”Alexsays.
“Sowe’dbiketothetheaterandwe’djusteachbuyatickettosomethingplayinginthenexthalfhour,andwe’dallgoseesomethingdifferent.”
Nowhisbrowfurrows.“Because?”
“That’salsonotthepoint.”
“Well,I’mnotgoingtojustnotaskwhyyou’dgoseeamovieyoudidn’tevenwanttosee,byyourself.”
Ihuff.“Itwasforagame.”
“Agame?”
“SharkJumping,”Iexplainhastily.“ItwasbasicallyTwoTruthsandaLieexceptwe’djusttaketurnsdescribingthemovieswe’dseenfromstarttofinish,andifthemoviejumpedthesharkatsomepoint,justtookatotallyridiculousturn,youweresupposedtotellhowitactuallyhappened.Butifitdidn’t,youweresupposedtolieaboutwhathappened.Thenyouhadtoguessifitwasarealplotpointoramade-upone,andifyouguessedtheywerelyingandyouwereright,youwonfivebucks.”Itwasmoremybrothers’thing;theyjustletmetagalong.
Alexstaresatmeforasecond.Mycheeksheat.I’mnotsurewhyItoldhimaboutSharkJumping.It’sthekindofWrightfamilytraditionIdon’tusuallybothersharingwithpeoplewhowon’tgetit,butIguessIhavesolittleskininthisgamethattheideaofAlexNilsenstaringblanklyatmeormockingmybrothers’favoritegamedoesn’tfazeme
“Anyway,”Igoon,“that’snotthepoint.Thepointis,IwasreallybadatthegamebecauseIbasicallyjustlikethings.Iwillgoanywhereamoviewantstotakeme,evenifthatiswatchingaspyinafittedsuitbalancebetweentwospeedboatswhileheshootsatbadguys.”
Alex’sgazeflickersbetweentheroadandmeafewmoretimes.
“TheLinfieldCineplex?”hesays,eithershockedorrepulsed.
“Wow,”Isay,“you’rereallynotkeepingupwiththisstory.Yes.TheLinfieldCineplex.”
“Theonewherethetheatersarealways,like,mysteriouslyflooded?”hesays,aghast.“ThelasttimeIwentthere,Ihadn’tmadeithalfwaydowntheaislebeforeIheardsplashing.”
“Yes,butit’scheap,”Isaid,“andIownrainboots.”
“Wedon’tevenknowwhatthatliquidis,Poppy,”hesays,grimacing.“Youcouldhavecontractedadisease.”
Ithrowmyarmsouttomysides.“I’malive,aren’tI?”
Hiseyesnarrow.“Whatelse?”
“Whatelse…”
“…doyoulike?”heclarifies.“Besidesseeinganymovie,alone,intheswamptheater.”
“Youdon’tbelieveme?”Isay.
“It’snotthat,”heanswers.“I’mjustfascinated.Scientificallycurious.”
“Fine.Lemmethink.”Ilookoutthewindowjustaswe’repassinganexitwithaP.F.Chang’s.“Chainrestaurants.Lovethefamiliarity.Lovethatthey’rethesameeverywhere,andthatalotofthemhavebottomlessbreadsticks—ooh!”Iinterruptmyselfasitdawnsonme.ThethingIhate.“Running!Ihaterunning.IgotaCingymclassinhighschoolbecauseI‘forgot’mygymclothesathomesooften.”
ThecornerofAlex’smouthcurvesdiscreetly,andmycheeksheat.
“Goahead.MockmeforgettingaCingym.Icantellyou’redyingto.”
“It’snotthat,”hesays.
“Thenwhat?”
Hisfaintsmileincheshigher.“It’sjustfunny.Iloverunning.”
“Seriously?”Icry.“Youhatetheveryconceptofcoversongsyetlovethefeelingofyourfeetpoundingagainstpavementandrattlingyourwholeskeletonwhileyourheartjackhammersinyourchestandyourlungsfightforbreath?”
“Ifit’sanyconsolation,”hesaysquietly,hissmilestillmostlyhiddeninthecornerofhismouth,“Ihatewhenpeoplecallboats‘she.’”
Alaughofsurpriseburstsoutofme.“Youknowwhat,”Isay,“IthinkIhatethattoo.”
“Soit’ssettled,”hesays.
Inod.“It’ssettled.Thefeminizationofboatsisherebyoverturned.”
“Gladwegotthattakencareof,”hesays.
“Yeah,it’saloadoff.Whatshouldweeradicatenext?”
“Ihavesomeideas,”hesays.“Buttellmesomeoftheotherthingsyoulove.”
“Why,areyoustudyingme?”Ijoke.
Hisearstingepink.“I’mfascinatedtohavemetsomeonewho’dwadethroughsewagetoseeamoviethey’veneverheardof,sosueme.”
Forthenexttwohourswetradeourinterestsanddisinterestslikekidsswappingbaseballcards,allwhilemydrivingplaylistcyclesthroughonshuffleinthebackground.Ifthereareanyothersaxophone-heavysongs,neitherofusnotices.
ItellhimthatIlovewatchingvideosofmismatchedanimalfriendships.
Hetellsmehehatesseeingbothflip-flopsanddisplaysofaffectioninpublic.“Feetshouldbeprivate,”heinsists.
“Youneedhelp,”Itellhim,butIcan’tstoplaughing,andevenashemineshisstrangelyspecifictastesformyamusement,thatshadeofhumorkeepshidinginthecornerofhismouth.
Likeheknowshe’sridiculous.
Likehedoesn’tmindatallthatI’mdelightedbyhisstrangeness.
IadmitthatIhatebothLinfieldandkhakis,becausewhynot?Webothalreadyknowthemeasureofthings:we’retwopeoplewithnobusinessspendinganytimetogether,letalonespendinganextendedamountofitcrammedintoatinycar.Wearetwofundamentallyincompatiblepeoplewithabsolutelynoneedtoimpresseachother.
SoIhavenoproblemsaying,“Khakisjustmakeapersonlooklikethey’rebothpantslessandvoidofapersonality.”
“They’redurable,andtheymatcheverything,”Alexargues.
“Youknow,sometimeswithclothes,it’snotamatterofwhethersomethingcanbewornbutwhetheritshouldbeworn.”
Alexwavesthethoughtaway.“AndasforLinfield,”hesays,“what’syourproblemwithit?It’sagreatplacetogrowup.”
ThisisamorecomplicatedquestionwithananswerIdon’tfeellikesharing,evenwithsomeonewho’sgoingtodropmeoffinseveralhoursandneverthinkofmeagain.
“LinfieldisthekhakisofMidwesterncities,”Isay.
“Comfortable,”hesays,“durable.”
“Nakedfromthewaistdown.”
Alextellsmehehatesthemedparties.Leathercuffbraceletsandpointyshoeswithsquared-offtoes.Whenyoushowupsomewhereandsomefriendorunclemakesthejoke“They’llletanyoneinhere!”Whenserverscallhimbudorbossorchief.Menwhowalkliketheyjustgotoffahorse.Vests,onanyone,inanyscenario.Themomentwhenagroupofpeoplearetakingpicturesandsomeonesays,“Shouldwedoasillyone?”
“Ilovethemedparties,”Itellhim.
“Ofcourseyoudo,”hesays.“You’regoodatthem.”
Inarrowmyeyesathim,putmyfeetonthedashboard,thentakethembackdownwhenIseetheanxiouscreasesatthecornersofhismouth.“Areyoustalkingme,Alex?”Iask.
Heshootsmeahorrifiedlook.“Whywouldyousaysomethinglikethat?”
Hisexpressionmakesmecackleagain.“Relax,I’mkidding.ButhowdoyouknowI’m‘goodat’themedparties?I’veseenyouatoneparty,anditwasnotthemed.”
“It’snotaboutthat,”hesays.“You’rejust…alwayssortofincostume.”Hehurriestoadd,“Idon’tmeaninabadway.You’rejustalwaysdressedpretty…”
“Amazing?”Isupply.
“Confidently,”hesays.
“Whatasurprisinglyloadedcompliment,”Isay.
Hesighs.“Areyoumisunderstandingmeonpurpose?”
“No,”Isay,“Ithinkthatjustcomesnaturallyforus.”
“Ijustmeanthatforyou,itseemslikeathemedpartymightaswelljustbeaTuesday.Butforme,itmeansIstandinfrontofmyclosetfor,like,twohourstryingtofigureouthowtolooklikeadeadcelebrityoutofmytenidenticalshirtsandfiveidenticalpants.”
“Youcouldtry…notbuyingyourclothesinbulk,”Isuggest.“Oryoucanjustwearyourkhakisandtelleveryoneyou’regoingasaflasher.”
Hemakesarepulsedgrimacebutotherwiseignoresmycomment.
“Ihatethedecisionmakingofitall,”hesays,wavingthesuggestionoff.“AndifItrytogobuyacostumeit’sevenworse.I’msooverwhelmedbymalls.There’sjusttoomuch.Idon’tevenknowhowtochooseastore,letalonearack.Ihavetobuyallmyclothesonline,andonceIfindsomethingIlike,I’llorderfivemoreofthemrightaway.”
“Well,ifyouevergetinvitedtoathemedpartywhereyou’resuretherewillbenoflip-flops,PDA,orsaxandthusyou’reabletoattend,”Isay,“I’dbehappytotakeyoushopping.”
“Areyoubeingserious?”Hiseyesflickfromtheroadtome.Itstartedgettingdarkoutatsomepointwithoutmynoticing,andJoniMitchell’smournfulvoiceiscooingoutoverthespeakersnow,hersong“ACaseofYou.”
“OfcourseI’mserious,”Isay.Wemighthavenothingincommon,butI’mstartingtoenjoymyself.AllyearI’vefeltlikeIhadtobeonmybestbehavior,likeIwasauditioningfornewfriendships,newidentities,anewlife.
Butstrangely,Ifeelnoneofthathere.Plus…Iloveshopping.
“It’dbegreat,”Igoon.“You’dbelikemylivingKendoll.”Ileanforwardandturnthevolumeupabit.“SpeakingofthingsIlove:thissong.”
“Thisisoneofmykaraokesongs,”Alexsays.
Ibustintoaguffaw,butfromhischagrinedexpression,Iquicklygatherthathe’snotjoking,whichmakesitevenbetter.
“I’mnotlaughingatyou,”Ipromisequickly.“Iactuallythinkit’sadorable.”
“Adorable?”Ican’ttellifhe’sconfusedoroffended.
“No,Ijustmean…”Istop,rollthewindowdownalittletoletabreezeintothecar.Ipullmyhairupoffmysweatyneckandtuckitupbetweenmyheadandtheheadrest.“You’rejust…”Isearchforawaytoexplainit.“NotwhoIthought,Iguess.”
Hisbrowcreases.“WhodidyouthinkIwas?”
“Idon’tknow,”Isay.“SomeguyfromLinfield.”
“IamsomeguyfromLinfield,”hesays.
“SomeguyfromLinfieldwhosings‘ACaseofYou’atkaraoke,”Icorrecthim,thendevolveintofresh,delightedlaughteratthethought.
Alexsmilesatthesteeringwheel,shakinghishead.“Andyou’resomegirlfromLinfieldwhosings…”Hethinksforasecond.“‘DancingQueen’atkaraoke?”
“Onlytimewilltell,”Isay.“I’veneverbeentokaraoke.”
“Seriously?”Helooksoveratme,broad,unfilteredsurpriseonhisface.
“Aren’tmostkaraokebarstwenty-oneandup?”Isay.
“Notallbarscard,”hesays.“Weshouldgo.Sometimethissummer.”
“Okay,”Isay,assurprisedbytheinvitationasbymyacceptingit.“That’dbefun.”
“Okay,”hesays.“Cool.”
Sonowwehavetwosetsofplans.
Iguessthatmakesusfriends.Sortof?
Acarfliesupbehindus,pressinginclose.Alex,seeminglyunbothered,putsonhissignaltomoveoutofhisway.EverytimeI’vecheckedthespeedometer,he’sbeenholdingsteadypreciselyatthespeedlimit,andthat’snotabouttochangeforonemeaslytailgater.
Ishould’veguessedwhatacautiousdriverhe’dbe.Thenagain,sometimeswhenyouguessaboutpeople,youendupverywrong.
Asthesticky,glare-streakedremainsofChicagoshrinkbehindusandthethirstyfieldsofIndianaspringuponeithersideofus,myshufflingdrivingplaylistmovesnonsensicallybetweenBeyoncéandNeilYoungandSherylCrowandLCDSoundsystem.
“Youreallydolikeeverything,”Alexteases.
“Exceptrunning,Linfield,andkhakis,”Isay.
Hekeepshiswindowup,Ikeepminedown,myhaircycloningaroundmyheadasweflyoverflatcountryroads,thewindsoloudIcanbarelymakeoutAlex’spitchyrenditionofHeart’s“Alone”untilhegetstothesoaringchorusandwebeltitouttogetherinhorrendousmatchingfalsettos,armsflying,facescontorted,andancientstationwagonspeakersbuzzing.
Inthatmoment,heissodramatic,soardent,soabsurd,it’slikeI’mlookingatanentirelyseparatepersonfromthemild-manneredboyImetbeneaththeglobelightsduringO-Week.
Maybe,Ithink,QuietAlexislikeacoatthatheputsonbeforehewalksoutthedoor.
MaybethisisNakedAlex.
Okay,I’llthinkofabetternameforit.Thepointis,I’mstartingtolikethisone.
“Whatabouttraveling?”Iaskinthelullbetweensongs.
“Whataboutit?”hesays.
“Loveorhate?”
Hismouthpressesintoanevenlineasheconsiders.“Hardtosay,”hereplies.“I’veneverreallybeenanywhere.Readaboutalotofplaces,justhaven’tseenanyofthemyet.”
“Meneither,”Isay.“Notyet.”
Hethinksforanothermoment.“Love,”hesays.“I’mguessinglove.”
“Yeah.”Inod.“Metoo.”6
ThisSummer
IMARCHINTOSWAPNA’Sofficethenextmorning,feelingwireddespitethelatenightIhadtextingAlex.Iplopherdrink,anicedAmericano,downonherdeskandshelooksup,startled,fromthelayoutproofsshe’sapprovingfortheupcomingfallissue.
“PalmSprings,”Isay.
Forasecond,hersurprisestaysfixedonherface,thenthecornersofherrazor-edgedlipscurlintoasmile.Shesitsbackinherchair,foldingherperfectlytonedarmsacrosshertailoredblackdress,theoverheadlightcatchingherengagementringsothatthebehemothrubysetatitscenterwinksfantastically.
“PalmSprings,”sherepeats.“It’severgreen.”Shethinksforasecond,thenwavesherhand.“Imean,it’sadesert,ofcourse,butasfarasR+R,there’shardlyanyplacemorerestfulorrelaxinginthecontinentalUnitedStates.”
“Exactly,”Isay,asifthathadbeenwhatIwasthinkingallalong.Inreality,mychoicehasnothingtodowithwhatR+RmightlikeandeverythingtodowithDavidNilsen,youngestbrotherofAlexandamansettomarrytheloveofhislifethistimenextweek.
InPalmSprings,California.
ItwasahiccupIhadn’texpected—thatAlexalreadyhadatripschedulednextweek:hisbrother’sdestinationwedding.I’dbeencrushedwhenhetoldme,butIsaidIunderstood,askedhimtocongratulateDavid,andsetmyphonedown,expectingtheconversationtoend.
Butithadn’t,andaftertwomorehoursoftexting,I’dtakenadeepbreathandpitchedtheideaofhimstretchinghisthree-daytriptospendafewextradaysonanR+R-fundedvacationwithme.He’dnotonlyagreedbutinvitedmetostickaroundfortheweddingafter.
Itwasallcomingtogether.
“PalmSprings,”Swapnasaysagain,hereyesglossingassheslipsintohermindandtriestheideaout.Shebreakssuddenlyfromherreverieandreachesforherkeyboard.Shetypesforaminute,thenscratchesherchinasshereadssomethingonherscreen.“Ofcourse,we’dhavetowaittousethatforthewinterissue.Thesummer’slowseason.”
“Butthat’swhyit’sperfect,”Isay,spitballingandalittlepanicked.“There’sallkindsofstuffgoingonintheSpringsinthesummer,andit’slesscrowdedandcheaper.Thiscouldbeagoodwaytokindofgetbacktomyroots—howtodothistriponthecheap,youknow?”
Swapna’slipspursethoughtfully.“Butourbrandisaspirational.”
“AndPalmSpringsispeakaspiration,”Isay.“We’llgiveourreadersthevision—thenshowthemhowtheycanhaveit.”
Swapna’sdarkeyeslightupassheconsidersthis,andmystomachliftshopefully.
Thensheblinksandturnsbacktohercomputerscreen.“No.”
“What?”Isay,notevenonpurpose,justbecausemybraincan’tcomputethatthisishappening.Thereisnowaythatthis,myjob,iswherethetraingoesofftherails.
Swapnagivesanapologeticsighandleansoverhergleamingglassdesk.“Look,Poppy,Iappreciatethethoughtthatwentintothis,butit’sjustnotR+R.Itwilltranslateasbrandconfusion.”
“Brandconfusion,”Isay,apparentlystilltoostunnedtocomeupwithmyownwords.
“Ithoughtaboutitallweekend,andI’msendingyoutoSantorini.”Shelooksbacktothelayoutproofsonherdesk,herfaceshiftinggearsfromEmpatheticbutProfessionalManagerSwapnatoConcentratingMagazineGeniusSwapna.She’smovedon,thesignalsostrongthatIfindmyselfstandingeventhough,inside,mybrainisstillcaughtonarefrainofbut,but,but!
Butthisisourchancetofixthings.
Butyoucan’tgiveupthateasily
Butthisiswhatyouwant.NotgorgeouswhitewashedSantorinianditssparklingsea.
Alexinthedesert,inthedeadofsummer.WanderingintoplacesbeforecheckingthemoutonTripadvisor,unstructureddaysandlate,latenightsandfullhoursofsunshinelosttotheinsideofadustybookstorehecouldn’tpassby,oravintageshopwhoseclutterandgermshavehimstanding,rigidyetpatient,nearthedoorasItryondeadpeople’shats.That’swhatIwant.
Istandinthedoorwayoftheoffice,heartracing,untilSwapnalooksupfromtheproofs,hereyebrowarchedinquiringly,asiftosay,Yes,Poppy?
“GiveSantorinitoGarrett,”Isay.
Swapnablinksatme,evidentlyconfused
“IthinkIneedsometimeoff,”Iblurtout,thenclarify.“Avacation—arealone.”
Swapna’slipspresstight.She’sconfusedbutnotgoingtopushformoreinformation,whichisgoodbecauseIwouldn’tknowhowtoexplainanyway.
Shegivesaslownod.“Sendmethedates,then.”
IturnandwalkbacktomydeskfeelingcalmerthanIhaveinmonths.UntilIsitdownandrealityforcesitswayin.
I’vegotsomesavings,buttakingatripthat’saffordablebyR+R’sstandards—andontheirdime—isaverydifferentthingfromtakingatripthatIcanaffordwithmyownmoney.AndasahighschoolEnglishteacherwithadoctorateandallofitsassociateddebt,there’snowayAlexcouldaffordtosplitcostswithme.Idoubthe’dagreetotakethetripatallifheknewIwasfundingitmyself.
Butmaybethisisagoodthing.Wealwayshadsomuchfunonthosetripswecobbledtogetheroncents.ThingsonlystartedgoingdownhillonceR+Rgotinvolvedinoursummertrips.Icandothis:Icanplantheperfecttrip,likeIusedto;remindAlexhowgoodthingscanbe.ThemoreIthinkaboutit,themorethismakessense.I’mactuallyexcitedbytheideaofhavingoneofourold-school,dirt-cheaptrips.Thingsweresomuchsimplerbackthen,andwealwayshadablast.
Ipulloutmyphoneandtakemytimetryingtocrafttheperfectmessage.
Funthought:Let’sdothistripthewayweusedto.Cheapasshit,noprofessionalphotographerstailingus,nofive-starrestaurants,justseeingPalmSpringsliketheimpoverishedacademicanddigital-agejournalistthatweare.
Withinafewseconds,hereplies:R+R’sokaywiththat?Nophotographer?
Iunconsciouslystartwagglingmyheadbackandforthlikethetinyangelanddevilonmyshoulderaretakingturnstuggingitfromlefttoright.Idon’twanttooutrightlietohim.
Buttheyareokaywithit.I’mtakingaweekoff,soI’mfree.
Yep,Isay.Everything’sallsetifyou’reokaywithit.
Sure,hewrites.Soundsgood.
Itdoessoundgood.It’llbegood.Icanmakeitgood.7
ThisSummer
ASSOONAStheplanetouchesdown,thefourbabiesthatspentthefullsix-hourflightscreamingstopatonce.
Islipmyphonefrommypurseandturnoffairplanemode,waitingoutthefloodofincomingtextmessagesfromRachel,Garrett,Mom,DavidNilsen,and—lastbutabsolutelynotleast—Alex.
Rachelsays,inthreedifferentways,topleaseletherknowassoonasIlandthatmyplanedidn’tcrashorgetsuckedintotheBermudaTriangle,andthatshe’sbothprayingforandmanifestingasafelandingforme.
Safeandsoundandalreadymissingyou,Itellher,thenIopenupthemessagefromGarrett.
ThankyouSOMUCHfornottakingSantorini,hewrites,then,inaseparatemessage:Also…PrettyweirddecisionIMHO.Ihopeyou’reokay…
I’mfine,Itellhim.IjusthadaweddingcomeuplastminuteandSantoriniwasyouridea.SendmelotsofpicssoIcanregretmylifechoices?
Next,IopenthemessagefromDavid:SOhappyyou’recomingwithAl!Tham’sexcitedtomeetyou,andofcourseyouareinvitedtoEVERYTHING.
OfallofAlex’sbrothers,Davidhasalwaysbeenmyfavorite.Butit’shardtobelievehe’soldenoughtogetmarried.
Thenagain,whenIsaidthattoAlex,hetextedback,Twenty-four.Ican’timaginemakingadecisionlikethatatthatagebutallmybrothersgotmarriedyoung,andTham’sgreat.Mydad’sevenonboard.HegotabumperstickerthatsaysI’MAPROUDCHRISTFOLLOWERWHOLOVESMYGAYSON.
IsnortedlaughterintomycoffeeasIreadthatone.ItwassosupremelyMr.Nilsen,andalsoperfectlyplayedintoAlex’sandmyrunningjokeaboutDavidbeingthefamilyfavorite.Alexhadn’tevenbeenallowedtolistentosecularmusicuntilhewasinhighschool,andwhenhedecidedtogotoasecularuniversity,therehadbeenweeping.
Intheend,though,Mr.Nilsenreallydidlovehissons,andsoheprettymuchalwayscamearoundonmattersthatconcernedtheirhappiness.
Ifyou’dgottenmarriedattwenty-four,you’dbemarriedtoSarah,ItextedAlex.
You’dbemarriedtoGuillermo,hesaid.
IsenthimbackoneofhisownSadPuppyselfies.
Pleasetellmeyou’renotstillcarryingatorchforthatdick,Alexsaid.
Thetwoofthemhadnevergottenalong.
Ofcoursenot,Iwroteback.ButGuiandIweren’ttheonesinatorturouson-and-offrelationship.ThatwasyouandSarah.
AlextypedandstoppedtypingsomanytimesIstartedtowonderifhewasdoingitjusttoannoyme.
Butthatwastheendofthatconversation.Whenhenexttextedme,thefollowingday,itwaswithanonsequitur,apictureofBeDazzledblackrobesthatsaidSPABITCHontheback
SummerTripUniform?hewrote,andwe’vedodgedthetopicofSaraheversince,whichmakesitprettydamncleartomethatthere’ssomethinggoingonbetweenthem.Again.
Now,sittingonthecrampedandswelteringplane,taxiingtowardLAX,inthepost-baby-screamsilence,itstillmakesmealittlesicktothinkabout.SarahandIhaveneverbeeneachother’sbiggestfans.Idoubtshe’dapproveofAlextakinganothertripwithmeiftheywerebacktogether,andiftheyaren’tproperlybutareontheirwaytobeing,thenthiscouldverywellbethelastsummertrip.
They’dgetmarried,starthavingkids,taketheirwholefamilytoDisneyWorld,andsheandIwouldneverbecloseenoughformetobearealpartofAlex’slifeanymore.
IpushthethoughtawayandanswerDavid’stextmessage:I’MSOEXCITEDANDHONOREDTHATIGETTOBETHERE!
Hesendsbackagifofadancingbear,andItapopenthetextfrommymomnext.
GiveAlexabighugandkissforme:),shewrites,withthesmileyfacetypedout.SheneverremembershowtouseemojisandbecomesimpatientimmediatelywhenItrytoshowher.“Icantypethemoutjustfine!”sheinsists.
Myparents:notthebiggestfansofchange.
DoyouwantmetograbhisbuttwhileI’matit?Iwritebacktoher.
Ifyouthinkthatwillwork,shereplies.I’mgettingtiredofwaitingforgrandbabies.
Irollmyeyesandexitoutofthemessage.MomhasalwaysadoredAlex,atleastpartlybecausehemovedbacktoLinfieldandshe’shopingwe’llwakeuponedayandrealizewe’reinlovewitheachotherandI’llmovebacktooandgetpregnantimmediately.Myfather,ontheotherhand,isadotingbutintimidatingmanwhohasalwaysterrifiedAlexsomuchthathe’sneverletoneounceofpersonalityoutwhileinthesameroomasDad.
He’sbrawnywithaboomingvoice,mildlyhandyinthewaysomanymenofhisgenerationare,andhehasatendencytoaskalotofblunt,bordering-on-inappropriatequestions.Notbecausehe’shopingforacertainresponsebutbecausehe’scuriousandnotveryself-aware.
Heisalso,likeallmembersoftheWrightfamily,notamazingatmodulatinghisvoice.Toastranger,mymothershouting“Haveyoutriedthesegrapesthattastelikecottoncandy?Oh,you’lllovethem!Here,letmewashsomeoffforyou!Oh,letmewashabowlfirst.Oh,no,allourbowlsareinthefridgewithSaranWrapcoveringourleftovers—here,justgrabafistfulinstead!”mightbemildlyoverwhelming,butwhenmyfather’sbrowcrinklesandheblastsoutaquestionlike“Didyouvoteinthelastmayoralelection?”it’seasytofeellikeyou’vejustbeenshovedintoaninterrogationroomwithanenforcertheFBIpaysunderthetable.
ThefirsttimeAlexpickedmeupatmyparents’houseforakaraokenightthatfirstsummerofourfriendship,Itriedtoshieldhimfrommyfamilyandmyhouse,asmuchforhissakeasformyown.
BytheendofourfirstroadtriphomeIknewenoughabouthimtounderstandthathiswalkingintoourtinyhousefilledtothebrimwithknickknacksanddustypictureframesanddogdanderwouldbelikeavegetariantakingatourofaslaughterhouse.
Ididn’twanthimtobeuncomfortable,sure,butjustasbadly,Ididn’twanthimtojudgemyfamily.Messyandstrangeandloudandbluntastheywere,myparentswereamazing,andI’dlearnedthehardwaythatthatwasn’twhatpeoplesawwhentheycamethroughourfrontdoor.
SoI’dtoldAlexI’dmeethiminthedriveway,butIhadn’tstressedthepoint,andAlex—beingAlexNilsen—hadcometothedooranyway,likeagood1950squarterback,determinedtointroducehimselftomyparents,sothey“wouldn’tworry”aboutmeridingoffintothesunsetwithastranger.
Iheardthedoorbellandwentrunningtoheadoffthechaos,butinmyvintagepink-featheredhouseshoes,Iwasn’tfastenough.BythetimeIgotdownstairs,Alexwasstandinginthefronthallbetweentwotowersofstackedstoragecontainers,gettingbattedbackandforthbyourtwoveryoldandbadlybehavedhuskymixes,asaslewofunseemlyfamilyphotosstareddownathimfromeveryside.
AtthemomentIcameskitteringaroundthecornerfromthestairs,Dadwasboomingout,“Whywouldweworryabouthergoingoutwithyou?”andthen,“Andwhenyousay‘goingout,’doyoumeanthatyoutwoare—”
“Nope!”Iinterrupted,draggingthehornierofourdogs,Rupert,backbythecollarbeforehecouldmountAlex’sleg.“Wearenotgoingout.Notlikethat.Andyoudefinitelydon’tneedtoworry.Alexisareallyslowdriver.”
“That’swhatIwastryingtosay,”hestammered.“Imean,notthedrivingspeed.Idrive…thespeedlimit.Ijustmeant,youdon’tneedtoworry.”
Dad’sbrowfurrowed.Alex’sfacedrainedofblood,andIwasn’tsurewhetherhewasmoreunnervedbymyfatherorbythelayerofdustvisiblealongthebaseboardsinthehallway,which,frankly,I’dnevernoticeduntilthatmoment.
“DidyouseeAlex’scar,Dad?”Isaidquickly,adiversion.“It’sveryold.Hisphonetoo.Alexhasn’tgottenanewphonein,like,sevenyears.”
Alex’sfacewentredevenasmyfather’srelaxedintointerestandapproval.“Isthatso?”
Still,alltheseyearslater,IcanrememberwithvividclaritythewayAlex’sgazeflickeredtomine,searchingmyfaceforthecorrectanswer.Igavehimalittlenod.
“Yes?”heanswered,andDadclappedahandonhisshouldersohardAlexflinched.
Dadgaveabig,no-holds-barredgrin.“It’salwaysbettertorepairthantoreplace!”
“Replacewhat?”Momshoutedfromthekitchen.“Didsomethingbreak?Whoareyoutalkingto?Poppy?Doesanyonewantsomechocolate-dippedpretzels?Shoot,letmejustfindacleanplate…”
Whenwefinallyfinishedthetwenty-minutegoodbyerequiredtoleavemyhouseandmadeitbacktoAlex’scar,hesaidonlyofthewholeaffair,“Yourparentsseemnice.”
Iresponded,withaccidentalaggression,“Theyare,”likeIwasdaringhimtobringupthedustorthehumpinghuskyorthetwobillionchildhooddrawingsstillmagnetizedtoourfridgeoranythingelse,butofcoursehedidn’t.HewasAlex,evenifIdidn’tunderstandeverythingthatmeantbackthen.
InalltheyearsI’veknownhimsince,he’sstillneversaidanunkindwordaboutanyofit.HeevensentflowerstomydormwhenRupert,thehusky,died.Ialwaysfeltwehadaspecialconnectionafterthatnightweshared,hejokedinthecard.Hewillbemissed.Ifyouneedanythingatall,P,I’mhere.Always.
NotthatIhavethenotememorizedoranything.
Notthat,intheloneshoebox’sworthofsavedcardsandlettersandscrapsofpaperIallowmyselftokeepinmyapartment,thisonemadethecut.
Notthattherewerefulldaysduringourfriendship’shiatuswhenItorturedmyselfwiththethoughtthatmaybeIshouldthrowthatcardawaysince,asitturnedout,alwayshadended.
Towardthebackoftheplane,oneofthebabiesstartsscreamingagain,butwe’repullinguptothegatenow.I’llbeoffinnotime.
AndthenI’llseeAlex.
Athrillzingsupmyspine,andanervousflutterworksbackdownintomystomach.
Iopenthelastunreadmessageinmyinbox,theonefromhim:Justlanded.
Same,Itypeback.
Afterthat,Idon’tknowwhattosay.We’vebeentextingforoveraweek,neverbroachingthetopicoftheill-fatedCroatiatrip,andeverything’sfeltsonormaluntilrightnow.ThenIremember:Ihaven’tseenAlexinreallifeinovertwoyears.
Ihaven’ttouchedhim,haven’tevenheardhisvoice.Therearesomanywaysthiscouldbeawkward.Almostcertainlywe’llexperiencesomeofthem.
I’mexcitedtoseehim,ofcourse,butmorethanthat,IrealizeI’mterrified.
Weneedtopickameetingpoint.Someonehastosuggestit.IsummonthelayoutofLAXtomindfromthesoupofhazymemoriesofeverydullycarpetedgateandelectricwalkwayI’veseeninthelastfourandahalfyearsofworkingatR+R
IfIasktomeetatbaggageclaim,willthatmeanalongstretchofwalkingtowardeachothersilentlyuntilwe’recloseenoughtoactuallytalk?AmIsupposedtohughim?
TheNilsensaren’tahuggybunch,asopposedtotheWrights,whoareknowntograb,elbow,slap,rustle,squeeze,andnudgeforemphasisduringanyconversation,nomatterhowmundane.TouchingissuchsecondnaturetomethatonceIaccidentallyhuggedmydishwasherrepairmanwhenIlethimoutoftheapartment,atwhichpointhegraciouslytoldmehewasmarried,andIcongratulatedhim.
BackwhenAlexandIwereclose,wehuggedallthetime;butthatwasthen,whenIknewhim.Whenhewascomfortablewithme.
Ifightmyrollerbagfreefromtheoverheadbinandpushitalongaheadofme,sweatgatheringinmyarmpitsbeneathmylightsweaterandunderthebluntlittleapproximationofaponytailsweptoffmyneck.
Theflighttookforever;everytimeIcheckedtheclock,itseemedlikefullhourshadbeencondensedintoaminuteortwo.Iwasbouncing-up-and-down-in-my-very-small-seateagertogethere,butnowit’sliketimeismakingupfortheballooningitdidduringtheflight,shrinkingsothatItravelthewholelengthofthejetbridgeinaninstant.
Mythroatfeelstight.Mybrainfeelslikeit’ssloshingaroundinmyskull.Istepoutintothegate,movesidewaysoutofthepathofeveryonecomingoffthejetbridgebehindme,andslipmyphoneoutofmypocket.MyhandsaresweatyasIstarttotype:Meetatbag—
“Hey.”
Ispintowardthevoicejustastheownerofitsidestepsthestrollerparkedbetweenus.
Smiling.Alexissmiling,hiseyespuffyinthatsleepyway,hislaptopbagslungoveroneshoulderandearbudshangingaroundhisneck,hishairanuttermesscomparedtohisdarkgraytrousersandbutton-upandhisscufflessleatherboots.Asheclosesthegapbetweenus,hedropshiscarry-onbagbehindhimandpullsmeintoahug.
Andit’snormal,sonaturaltopushuponmytiptoesandwrapmyarmsaroundhiswaist,burrowmyfaceintohischest,andbreathehimin.Cedar,musk,lime.ThereisnogreatercreatureofhabitthanAlexNilsen.
Sameinscrutablehaircut,samecleanlywarmscent,samebasicwardrobe(thoughenhancedalittleovertimewithbettertailoringandshoes),samewayofsqueezingmearoundtheupperbackanddrawingmeinandupagainsthimwhenwehug,almostpullingmeoffthegroundbutnevertighteningsomuchthattheembracecouldbeconsideredbone-crunching
It’smorelikesculpting.Gentlepressureonallsidesthatbrieflycompressesusintooneliving,breathingthingwithtwiceasmanyheartsasweshouldhave.
“Hi,”Isay,beamingintohischest,andhisarmsslidedowntomymidback,tightening.
“Hi,”hesays,andIhopeheheardthesmileinmyvoicethewayIhearitinhis.Despitehisgeneralaversiontoanyformofpublicaffection,neitherofusletsgorightaway,andIhavethesensethatwe’rethinkingthesamething:it’sokaytoholdonforaninappropriatelylongtimewhenit’sbeentwoyearssinceyou’vehugged.
Ishutmyeyestightagainstrisingemotion,pressingmyforeheadintohischest.Hisarmsfalldowntomywaistandlockthereforafewseconds.“Howwasyourflight?”heasks.
Idrawbackenoughtolookupintohisface.“Ithinkwehadsomefutureworld-classoperasingersonboard.Yours?”
Hiscontroloverhissmallsmilewavers,andhisgrinfanswide.“Ialmostgavethewomannexttomeaheartattackduringsometurbulence,”hesays.“Igrabbedherhandbyaccident.”
Ahigh-pitchedlaughshiversthroughme,andhissmilegoeswider,hisarmstighter.
NakedAlex,Ithink,thenpushthethoughtaway.Ireallyshould’vecomeupwithabetterwayofdescribingthisversionofhimalongtimeago.
Asifhe’sreadingmythoughtsandfittinglymortified,hetampshissmilebackdownandreleaseshisholdonme,steppingbackforgoodmeasure.“Youneedtogetanythingfrombaggageclaim?”heasks,grabbingthehandleofmybagalongwithhis.
“Icangetthat,”Ioffer.
“Idon’tmind,”hesays.
AsIfollowhimawayfromthecrowdedgate,Ican’tstopstaringathim.Inawethathe’shere.Inawethathelooksthesame.Awedthatthisisreal.
Heglancesdownatmeaswewalk,hismouthtwisting.OneofmyfavoritethingsaboutAlex’sfacehasalwaysbeenthewaythatitallowstwodisparateemotionstoexistonitatthesametime,andhowlegiblethoseemotionshavebecometome.
Rightnow,thattwistofhismouthissayingbothamusedandvaguelywary
“What?”hesays,inavoicethatridesthatsameline.
“You’rejust…tall,”Isay.
He’scuttoo,butcommentingonthatusuallyleadstoembarrassmentonhispart,likehavingagymbodyissomehowapersonalityflaw.Maybetohimitis.Vanityissomethinghewasraisedtoavoid.Whereasmymomusedtowritelittlenotesonmybathroommirrorindry-erasemarker:Goodmorningtothatbeautifulsmile.Hello,strongarmsandlegs.Haveagreatday,lovelybellythatfeedsmydarlingdaughter.SometimesIstillhearthosewordswhenIgetoutoftheshowerandstandinfrontofthemirror,combingmyhair:Goodmorning,beautifulsmile.Hello,strongarmsandlegs.Haveagreatday,lovelybellythatfeedsme
“You’restaringatmebecauseI’mtall?”Alexsays.
“Verytall,”Isay,asifthisclearsthingsup.
It’seasierthansaying,Ihavemissedyou,beautifulsmile.It’ssogoodtoseeyou,strongarmsandlegs.Thankyou,freakishlytautbelly,forfeedingthispersonIlovesomuch
Alex’sgrinripenstothepointofsplittingopenasheholdsmygaze.“It’sgoodtoseeyoutoo,Poppy.”8
TenSummersAgo
AYEARAGO,WHENImetAlexNilsenoutsidemydormitorywithahalfdozenbagsofdirtylaundry,Iwouldn’thavebelievedwe’dbetakingavacationtogether.
Itstartedwiththeoccasionaltextafterourroadtriphome—blurrypicturesoftheLinfieldmovietheaterashedrovepast,withthecaptiondon’tforgettogetvaccinated,orashotofaten-packofshirtsI’dfoundatthesupermarket,birthdaypresenttypedbeneathit—butafterthreeweeks,we’dgraduatedtophonecallsandhangouts.IevenconvincedhimtoseeamovieattheCineplex,thoughhespentthewholetimehoveringovertheseat,tryingnottotouchanything.
Bythetimesummerended,we’dsignedupfortwocorerequirementclassestogether,amathandascience,andmostnights,AlexcametomydormorIwenttohistostrugglethroughthehomework.Myoldroommate,Bonnie,hadofficiallymovedinwithhersister,andIwasroomingwithIsabel,apremedstudentwho’dsometimeslookoverAlex’sandmyshouldersandcorrectourworkwhilecrunchingoncelery,herallegedfavoritefood.
AlexhatedmathasmuchasIdid,buthelovedhisEnglishclassesanddevotedhourseachnighttotheirassignedreadingwhileIaimlesslyperusedtravelblogsandcelebritygossipragsonthefloorbesidehim.Mycourseswereuniformlyboring,butonnightswhenAlexandIwalkedthecampusafterdinnerwithcupsofhotchocolate,orweekendswhenwewanderedthecityonaquestforthebesthotdogstandorcupofcoffeeorfalafel,IfelthappierthanIeverremembered.Ilovedbeinginthecity,surroundedbyartandfoodandnoiseandnewpeople,enoughthattheschoolpartofitwasbearable.
Lateonenight,whensnowwaspilingupinmywindowsillandAlexandIwerestretchedoutonmyrugstudyingforanexam,westartedlistingplaceswewishedwewereinstead.
“Paris,”Isaid.
“WorkingonmyAmericanLitfinal,”Alexsaid.
“Seoul,”Isaid.
“WorkingonmyIntrotoNonfictionfinal,”Alexsaid.
“Sofia,Bulgaria,”Isaid.
“Canada,”Alexsaid.
Ilookedathimanderuptedintoslaphappyexhaustion-laughter,whichtriggeredhistrademarkchagrin.“Yourtopthreevacationdestinations,”Isaid,lyingbackontherug,“aretwoseparateessaysandthecountrynearesttous.”
“It’smoreaffordablethanParis,”hesaidseriously.
“Whichiswhatreallymatterswhenyou’redaydreaming.”
Hesighed.“Well,whataboutthathotspringyoureadabout?Theoneinarainforest?That’sinCanada.”
“VancouverIsland,”Isupplied,nodding.Orasmallerislandnearit,actually.
“That’swhereI’dgo,”hesaid,“ifmytravelcompanionweren’tsodisagreeable.”
“Alex,”Isaid,“IwillhappilygotoVancouverIslandwithyou.Especiallyiftheotheroptionsarejustwatchingyoudomorehomework.We’llgonextsummer.”
Alexlaybackbesideme.“WhataboutParis?”
“Pariscanwait,”Isaid.“Alsowecan’taffordParis.”
Hesmiledfaintly.“Poppy,”hesaid,“wecanbarelyaffordourweeklyhotdogs.”
Butnow,monthslater,afterasemesterofpickingupeverypossibleshiftatourcampusjobs—Alexatthelibrary,meinthemailroom—we’vesavedenoughforthisverycheapred-eye(completewithtwolayovers),andI’mbuzzingwithexcitementaswefinallyboard.
Assoonasweliftoffandthecabinlightsdim,though,theexhaustionkicksinandIfindmyselfbeinglulledtosleep,headrestingonAlex’sshoulder,asmallpoolofdroolaccumulatingonhisshirt,onlytojoltawakewhentheplanehitsapocketofairthatmakesitdipandAlexaccidentallyelbowsmeinthefaceinresponse.
“Shit!”hegaspsasIsitboltupright,clutchingmycheek.“Shit!”Hiswhiteknucklesareclampedaroundthearmrests,theriseandfallofhischestshallow.
“Areyouafraidofflying?”Iask.
“No!”hewhispers,considerateoftheothersleepingpassengerseveninhispanic.“I’mafraidofdying.”
“You’renotgoingtodie,”Ipromise.Thejetsettlesintoarhythm,buttheseatbeltlightcomesonandAlexkeepsgrippingthearmrestslikesomeone’sflippedtheplaneupsidedownandstartedtryingtoshakeusout.
“Thatdoesn’tseemgood,”hesays.“Itsoundedlikesomethingbrokeofftheplane.”
“Thatwasthesoundofyourelbowsmashingintomyface.”
“What?”Helooksover.Thetwosimultaneousexpressionsonhisfacearesurpriseandconfusion.
“Youhitmeintheface!”Itellhim.
“Oh,shit,”hesays.“Sorry.CanIsee?”
Ipullmyhandawayfrommythrobbingcheekbone,andAlexleansinclose,hisfingershoveringovermyskin.Hishandfallsawaywithouteverlanding.“Itlooksokay.Maybeweshouldseeifaflightattendantcanbringsomeice.”
“Goodidea,”Isay.“Wecancallheroverandtellheryouhitmeintheface,butI’msureitwasanaccidentandalsoit’snotyourfault—youweresurprisedand—”
“God,Poppy,”hesays.“I’mreallysorry.”
“It’sokay.Itdoesn’thurtthatbad.”Inudgehiselbowwithmine.“Whydidn’tyoutellmeyouwereafraidofflying?”
“Ididn’tknowIwas.”
“Meaning?”
Hetipshisheadbackagainsttheheadrest.“Ihadn’tflownbeforetonight.”
“Oh.”Mystomachclenchesguiltily.“Iwishyou’dtoldme.”
“Ididn’twanttomakeitathing.”
“Iwouldn’thavemadeitathing.”
Helooksoveratmeskeptically.“Andwhatdoyoucallthis?”
“Okay,fine,yes,Imadeitathing.Butlook.”Islidemyhandunderhisandtentativelyfoldmyfingersintohis.“I’mherewithyou,andifyouwanttosleepforalittle,I’llstayawaketomakesuretheplanedoesn’tcrash.Whichitwon’t.Becausethisissaferthandriving.”
“Ihatedrivingtoo,”hesays.
“Iknowyoudo.Butmypointis,thisisbetterthanthat.Like,waybetter.AndI’mherewithyou,andI’veflownbefore,soifthere’sareasontopanic,I’llknow.AndIpromiseyou,inthatsituation,Iwillpanicandyou’llknowsomething’swrong.Untilthen,youcanrelax.”
Hestaresatmethroughthedarkofthecabinforafewseconds.Thenhishandrelaxesintomine,hiswarm,roughfingerssettling.Itgivesmeasurprisingthrilltoholdhishand.Ninety-fivepercentofthetime,IseeAlexNilseninapurelyplatonicway,andI’dguesshisnumberhoversabithigher.Butforthatotherfivepercentofthetime,there’sthiswhat-if
Itneverlastslongorpushestoohard.Itjustsitsthere,cuppedbetweenourhands,agentlethoughtwithoutmuchweightbehindit:Whatwoulditbeliketokisshim?Howwouldhetouchme?Wouldhetastethewayhesmells?NoonehasbetterdentalhygienethanAlex,whichisn’texactlyasexythoughtbutcertainlysexierthantheoppositeendofthespectrum.
Andthat’saboutasfarasthethoughtevergoes,whichisperfect,becauseIlikeAlexwaytoomuchtodatehim.Pluswe’reentirelyincompatible.
Theplanejuddersthroughanotherquickstretchofturbulence,andAlex’sgriptightens.
“Timetopanic?”heasks.
“Notyet,”Isay.“Trytosleep.”
“BecauseIneedtobewellrestedwhenImeetDeath.”
“BecauseyouneedtobewellrestedwhenIgettiredinButchartGardensandmakeyoucarrymetherestoftheway.”
“Iknewtherewasareasonyoubroughtmewithyou.”
“Ididn’tbringyouwithmetobemymule,”Iargue.“Ibroughtyouwithmetobemypatsy.You’regonnacauseadiversionasIrunthroughthediningroomoftheEmpressHotelduringhightea,stealingtinysandwichesandpricelessbraceletsoffunsuspectingguests.”
Hesqueezesmyhand.“IguessI’dbettersleep,then.”
Isqueezeback.“Guessso.”
“Wakemeupwhenit’stimetopanic.”
“Always.”
Herestshisheadonmyshoulderandpretendstosleep.
Whenweland,hewillhaveahorriblekinkinhisneckandmyshoulderwillachefromsittinginthispositionforsolong,butrightnowIdon’tmind.Ihavefivegloriousdaysoftravelwithmybestfriendaheadofme,anddeepdown,Iknow:nothingcangowrong,notreally.
It’snottimetopanic.9
ThisSummer
DOWEHAVEarentalcar?”Alexasksasweheadoutoftheairportintothewindyheat.
“Sortof.”IchewonmylipasIfishmyphoneouttocallacab.“IsourcedaridefromaFacebookgroup.”
Alex’seyesnarrow,thejet-inducedgustsrollingthroughthearrivalsareamakinghishairflapagainsthisforehead.“Ihavenoideawhatyoujustsaid.”
“Remember?”Isay.“It’swhatwedidonourfirsttrip.ToVancouver?Whenweweretooyoungtolegallyrentacar?”
Hestaresatme.
“Youknow,”Isay,“thatwomen’sonlinetravelgroupI’vebeeninfor,like,fifteenyears?Wherepeopleposttheirapartmentsforsubletandlisttheircarsforrent?Remember?Wehadtotakeabustopickupthecaroutsidethecityandwalk,like,fivemileswithourluggage?”
“Iremember,”hesays.“I’vejustneverstoppedtowonderwhyanyonewouldrenttheircartoastrangerbeforethismoment.”
“BecausealotofpeopleinNewYorkliketoleaveforthewinterandalotofpeopleinLosAngelesliketogosomewhereelseforthesummer.”Ishrug.“Thisgirl’scarwould’vebeensittingunusedfor,like,amonth,soIgotitfortheweekforseventybucks.Wejusthavetotakeacabtopickitup.”
“Cool,”Alexsays.
“Yeah.”
Andhereisthefirstawkwardsilenceofthetrip.Itdoesn’tmatterthatwe’vebeentextingnonstopforthepastweek—ormaybethat’smadeitworse.Mymindisunforgivinglyblank.AllIcandoisstareattheapponmyphone,watchingthecariconcreepcloser.
“Thisisus.”Itipmychintowardtheapproachingminivan.
“Cool,”Alexsaysagain.
Ourdrivertakesourbagsandwepileinwiththetwootherpeoplewe’reridesharingwith,amiddle-agedcoupleinmatchingBeDazzledvisors.WIFEY,saysthehot-pinkone.HUBBY,saysthelime-greenone.Bothofthemarewearingflamingo-printshirts,andthey’resotannedalreadytheylooksomethinglikeAlex’sshoes.Hubby’sheadisshaved,andWifey’sisdyedabrightbottle-red.
“Hey,y’all!”WifeydrawlsasAlexandIsettleintothemiddleseats.
“Hi.”Alextwistsinhisseatandoffersasmilethat’salmostconvincing.
“Honeymoon,”Wifeysays,wavingbetweenherandHubby.“Whataboutyoutwo?”
“Oh,”Alexsays.“Um.”
“Same!”Iloopmyhandthroughhis,turningtoflashthemasmile.
“Ooh!”Wifeysqueals.“Howdoyoulikethat,Bob?Acarfulloflovebirds!”
HubbyBobnods.“Congrats,kids.”
“How’dyoumeet?”Wifeywantstoknow.
IglanceatAlex.Thetwoexpressionshisfaceismakingrightnoware(1)terrifiedand(2)exhilarated.Thisisafamiliargameforus,andevenifit’smoreawkwardthanusualtohavemyhandtangledinanddwarfedbyhis,there’salsosomethingcomfortingaboutslippingoutofourselvesinthisway,playingtogetherlikewealwayshave.
“Disneyland,”Alexsays,andturnstothecoupleinthebackseat.
Wifey’seyeswiden.“Howmagical!”
“Itreallywas,youknow?”IshootAlexheartyeyesandpokehisnosewithmyfreehand.“HewasworkingasaVS—that’swhatwecallvomitscoopers.Theirjobisjusttosortoflingeroutsideallthosenew3Dridesandcleanupafterseasickgrandparents.”
“AndPoppywasplayingMikeWazowski,”Alexaddsdryly,uppingtheante.
“MikeWazowski?”HubbyBobsays.
“FromMonsters,Inc.,hon,”Wifeyexplains.“He’soneofthemainmonsters!”
“Whichone?”Hubbysays.
“Theshortone,”Alexsays,thenturnsbacktome,affectingthedopiest,mostover-the-toplookofadulationI’veeverseen.“Itwasloveatfirstsight.”
“Aww!”Wifeysays,clutchingherheart.
Hubby’sbrowwrinkles.“Whenshewasinthecostume?”
Alex’sfacetintspinkunderHubby’sappraisal,andIcutin:“Ihavereallygreatlegs.”
OurdriverdropsusonastreetofstuccohousessurroundedbyjasmineinHighlandPark,andasweclimboutontothehotasphalt,WifeyandHubbywaveusafondfarewell.Theinstantthecab’soutofview,Alexreleaseshisholdonmyhand,andIscanthehousenumbers,noddingtowardareddish-stainedprivacyfence.“It’sthisone.”
Alexopensthegate,andwestepintotheyardtofindaboxywhitehatchbackwaitinginthedriveway,itseveryedgerustedandchipping.
“So,”Alexsays,staringatit.“Seventybucks.”
“Imight’veoverpaid.”Iduckaroundthefrontdriver’s-sidewheel,feelingforthemagneticboxwheretheowner,aceramicistnamedSasha,saidthekeywouldbe.“ThisisthefirstplaceI’dcheckforaspareifIwerestealingacar.”
“Ithinkbendingthatlowmightbetoomuchworktostealthiscar,”AlexsaysasIpullthekeyoutandstraightenup.Hewalksaroundthebackofthecarandreadsthetailgate:“FordAspire.”
Ilaughandunlockthedoors.“Imean,‘aspirational’istheR+Rbrand.”
“Here.”Alextakesouthisphoneandstepsback.“Letmegetapictureofyouwithit.”
Ipopthedooropenandpropmyfootup,strikingapose.Immediately,Alexstartstocrouch.“Alex,no!Notfrombelow.”
“Sorry,”hesays.“Iforgothowweirdyouareaboutthat.”
“I’mweird?”Isay.“YoutakepictureslikeadadwithaniPad.IfyouhadglassesontheendofyournoseandaUCBearcatsT-shirton,you’dbeindistinguishable.”
Hemakesabigshowofholdingthephoneupashighaspossible.
“What,andnowwe’regoingforthatearly-2000semoangle?”Isay.“Findahappymedium.”
Alexrollshiseyesandshakeshishead,butsnapsafewpicturesataseminormalheight,thencomestoshowthemtome.IlegitimatelygaspwhenIseethelastshotandgrabforhisarmthesamewayhemust’velatchedontotheoctogenarianherodenexttoontheflight.
“What?”hesays.
“Youhaveportraitmode.”
“Ido,”heagrees.
“Andyouusedit,”Ipointout.
“Yes.”
“Youknowhowtouseportraitmode,”Isay,stillaghast.
“Haha.”
“Howdoyouknowhowtouseportraitmode?DidyourgrandsonteachyouthatwhenhewashomeforThanksgiving?”
“Wow,”hedeadpans.“I’vemissedthissomuch.”
“I’msorry,I’msorry,”Isay.“I’mimpressed.You’vechanged.”Ihurrytoadd,“Notinabadway!Ijustmean,youarenotapersonwhorelisheschange.”
“MaybeIamnow,”hesays.
Icrossmyarms.“Doyoustillgetupatfivethirtytoexerciseeveryday?”
Heshrugs.“That’sdiscipline,notfearofchange.”
“Atthesamegym?”Iask.
“Yeah.”
“Theonethatraisesitspriceseverysixmonths?AndplaysthesameNewAgemeditationCDonrepeatatalltimes?Thegymyouwerealreadycomplainingabouttwoyearsago?”
“Iwasn’tcomplaining,”hesays.“Ijustdon’tunderstandhowthat’ssupposedtomotivateyouonatreadmill.Iwaspondering.Contemplating.”
“Youtakeyourownplaylistwithyou—whatdoesitmatterwhattheyplayoverthespeakers?”
Heshrugsandtakesthecarkeysfrommyhands,roundingtheAspiretoopenitsreardoor.“It’samatterofprinciple.”Hetossesourbagsintothebackandslamsitshut.
Ithoughtwewerejoking,butnowI’mnotsosure.
“Hey.”Ireachforhiselbowashe’swalkingpast.Hestills,eyebrowslifting.There’saknotofpridecaughtinmythroat,stoppingupthewordsthatwanttocomeout.Butitwaspridethattoreourfriendshipupthefirsttime,andI’mnotgoingtomakethatmistakeagain.I’mnotgoingtonotsaythingsthatneedtobesaid,justbecauseIwanthimtosaythemfirst.
“What?”Alexsays.
Iswallowtheknotdown.“I’mgladyoudidn’tchangetoomuch.”
Hestaresatmeforabeatandthen—isitmyimagination,ordoesheswallowtoo?“Youtoo,”hesays,andtouchestheendofawavethat’scomeloosefrommyponytailtofallalongmycheek,touchesitsolightlyIcanbarelyfeelitatthescalpandthedelicatemotionsendsatingledownmyneck.“AndIlikethehaircut.”
Mycheekswarm.Mybellytoo.Evenmylegsseemtoheatacoupledegrees.
“Youlearnedhowtouseanewfeatureonyourphone,andIgotahaircut,”Isay.“Watchoutforusnow,world.”
“Radicaltransformation,”Alexagrees
“Atrueglow-up.”
“Thequestionis,haveyougottenanybetteratdriving?”
Iarchaneyebrowandcrossmyarms.“Haveyou?”
???
“ITASPIRESTOhaveworkingair-conditioning,”Alexsays.
“Itaspirestonotsmelllikeabuttholethat’ssmokingablunt,”Isay.
We’vebeenplayingthisgamesincewegotonthehighwayheadingintothedesert.SashatheCeramicisthadmentionedinherpostaboutthecarthatitsair-conditioningcameandwentatrandom,butshe’dleftoutthefactthatshe’devidentlybeenusingittohotboxforfiveyearsstraight.
“Itaspirestolivelongenoughtoseetheendofallhumansuffering,”Iadd.
“Thiscar,”Alexsays,“isn’tgoingtolivelongenoughtoseetheendoftheStarWarsfranchise.”
“Butwhoamonguswill?”Isay.
Alexwoundupdrivingbyvirtueofthefactthatmydrivingmakeshimcarsick.Andterrified.Truthfully,Idon’tlikedrivinganyway,soIusuallydeferthepositiontohim.
LosAngelestrafficprovedchallengingforsomeoneascautiousashim:wesatatastopsignwaitingtoturnrightontoabusyroadfor,like,tenminutes,untilthreecarsbehinduswereholdingdowntheirhorns.
Nowthatwe’reoutofthecity,though,he’sdoinggreat.NoteventhelackofACseemslikeabigdealwiththewindowsdownandsweetlyflowerywindrushingoverus.Thebiggerissueisthelackofanauxinput,whichhasusrelyingontheradio.
“HastherealwaysbeenthismuchBillyJoeltravelingovertheairwaves?”Alexasksthethirdtimeweswitchchannelsmidcommercialonlytoplungebackintothemiddleof“PianoMan.”
“Sincethedawnoftime,Ithink.Whenthecavemenbuiltthefirstradio,thiswasalreadyplaying.”
“Ididn’tknowyouwereahistorian,”hedeadpans.“Youshouldcometalktomyclass.”
Isnort.“YoucouldnotdragmeintothehallsofEastLinfieldHighwiththecombinedforceofeverytractorinafive-mileradiusofthatbuilding,Alex.”
“Youknow,”hesays,“yourbullieshavelikelygraduatedbynow.”
“Wereallycan’tbesure,”Isay.
Helooksover,facesober,mouthpressedsmall.“Doyouwantmetokicktheirasses?”
Isigh.“No,it’stoolate.Like,allofthemhavekidsnowwiththosecuteoversizedbabyglassesandmosthavefoundtheLordorstartedoneofthoseweirdpyramid-schemebusinessessellinglipgloss.”
Helooksatme,hisfacepinkfromthesun.“Ifyouchangeyourmind,justsaytheword.”
AlexknowsaboutmyrockyyearsinLinfield,ofcourse,butforthemostpart,Itrynottorevisitthem.I’vealwayspreferredtheversionofmethatAlexbringsouttotheoneIwasbackinourhometown.ThisPoppyfeelssafeintheworld,becausehe’sinittoo,andhe,deepdownwhereitmatters,islikeme.
Still,hehadanexceptionallydifferentexperienceatWestLinfieldHighthanIhadatitssisterschool.I’msureithelpedthatheplayedsports—basketball,bothfortheschoolandintheintramuralleagueathisfamily’schurch—andwashandsome,buthe’salwaysinsistedtheclincherwasthathewasquietenoughtopassformysteriousratherthanweird.
Maybeifmyparentshadn’tbeensocompletelyencouragingofeveryfacetofmybrothers’andmyindividualism,Iwould’vehadbetterluck.Therewerekidswhodealtwithdisapprovalbyadapting,makingthemselvesmorepalatable,likePrinceandParkerhadinschool,findingtheoverlapbetweentheirpersonalitiesandeveryoneelse’s.
Andthentherewerepeoplelikeme,wholaboredunderthemisconceptionthateventually,MyFellowChildrenwouldnotonlytoleratebutultimatelyrespectmeforbeingmyself.
There’snothingsooff-puttingtosomepeopleassomeonewhoseemsnottocarewhetheranyoneelseapprovesofthem.Maybeit’sresentment:Ihavebentforthegreatergood,tofollowtherules,sowhyhaven’tyou?Youshouldcare.
Ofcourse,secretly,Ididcare.Alot.Probablyitwould’vebeenbetterifI’djustopenlycriedatschoolinsteadofshruggingoffinsultsandweepingundermypillowlater.Itwould’vebeenbetterif,afterthefirsttimeIwasmockedfortheflaredoverallsmymomhadsewnembroideredpatchesonto,Ihadn’tkeptwearingthemwithmychinheldhigh,likeIwassomekindofeleven-year-oldJoanofArc,willingtodieformydenim.
Thepointwas,Alexhadknownhowtoplaythegame,whereasI’doftenfeltlikeI’dreadthepagesoftheguidebookbackward,whilethewholethingwasonfire.
Whenweweretogether,though,thegamedidn’tevenexist.TherestoftheworlddissolveduntilIbelievedthiswashowthingstrulywere.LikeI’dneverbeenthatgirlwho’dfeltentirelyalone,misunderstood,andI’dalwaysbeenthisone:known,loved,whollyacceptedbyAlexNilsen.
Whenwemet,Ihadn’twantedhimtoseemeasLinfieldPoppy—Iwasn’tsurehowitwouldchangethedynamicofourworldfortwoonceweletcertainoutsideelementswriggletheirwayin.IstillrememberthenightIfinallytoldhimaboutit.Thelastnightofclassourjunioryear,we’dstumbledbacktohisdormfromapartytofindhisroommatealreadygoneforthesummer.SoIborrowedaT-shirtandsomeblanketsfromAlexandsleptonthesparetwinbedinhisroom.
Ihadn’thadasleepoverlikethatsinceIwasprobablyeight:thesortwhereyoukeeptalking,eyeslongsinceshut,untilyoubothdriftoffmidsentence.
Wetoldeachothereverything,thethingswe’dnevertouched.Alextoldmeabouthismompassingaway,themonthshisdadbarelychangedoutofpajamas,thepeanutbuttersandwichesAlexmadeforhisbrothers,andthebabyformulahelearnedtomix.
Fortwoyears,heandI’dhadsomuchfuntogether,butthatnightitfeltlikeawholenewcompartmentinmyheartopenedwherebeforetherehadbeennone
AndthenheaskedmewhathappenedinLinfield,whyIwasdreadinggoingbackforsummer,anditshould’vefeltembarrassingtoairmysmallgrievancesaftereverythinghe’djusttoldme,exceptAlexhadawayofnevermakingmefeelsmallorpetty.
Itwassolateitwasalmostmorning,thoseslipperyhourswhenitfeelssafesttoletyoursecretsout.SoItoldhimallofit,startingwithseventhgrade.
Theunfortunatebraces,thegumKimLeedlesputinmyhair,andtheresultingbowlcut.TheinsultaddedtoinjurywhenKimtoldmywholeclassthatanyonewhotalkedtomewouldn’tbeinvitedtoherbirthdayparty.Whichwasstillasolidfivemonthsoff,thoughitpromisedtobeworththewait,thankstoherpool’swaterslideandthemovietheaterinherbasement.
Then,inninthgrade,oncethestigmahadfinallywornoffandmyboobshadarrivedpracticallyovernight,therewasthethree-monthstretchduringwhichIwasaHotCommodity.UntilJasonStanleykissedmeunexpectedlyandrespondedtomydisinterestbytellingeveryoneIgavehimanunpromptedblowjobinthejanitor’scloset.
TheentiresoccerteamcalledmePornyPoppyfor,like,ayearafterthat.Noonewantedtobemyfriend.Thentherewastenthgrade,theworstofall.
ItstartedoffbetterbecausetheyoungerofmytwobrotherswasaseniorandwillingtosharehisTheaterKidfriend-groupwithme.ButthatonlylasteduntilIhadasleepoverformybirthday,atwhichpointIfoundouthowembarrassingeveryonethoughtmyparentswere.IquicklyrealizedIdidn’tlikemyfriendsasmuchasI’dthought.
I’dtoldAlextooabouthowmuchIlovedmyfamily,howprotectiveIfeltofthem,buthowevenwiththem,Iwassometimesalittlelonely.Everyoneelsewassomeoneelse’stopperson.MomandDad.ParkerandPrince.Eventhehuskieswerepairedup,whileourterriermixandthecatspentmostdayscurledtogetherinasunpatch.BeforeAlex,myfamilywastheonlyplaceIbelonged,butevenwiththem,Iwassomethingofaloosepart,thatbafflingextraboltIKEApackswithyourbookcase,justtomakeyousweat.EverythingI’ddonesincehighschoolhadbeentoescapethatfeeling,thatperson.
AndItoldhimallofthat,minusthepartaboutfeelinglikeIbelongedwithhim,becauseevenaftertwoyearsoffriendship,thatseemedlikeabitmuch.WhenIfinished,Ithoughthe’dfinallyfallenasleep.Butafterafewseconds,heshiftedontohissidetogazeatmethroughthedarkandsaidquietly,“Ibetyouwereadorablewithabowlcut.”
Ireally,reallywasn’t,butsomehow,thatwasenoughtocooltheharshstingofallthosememories.Hesawme,andhelovedme.
“Poppy?”Alexsays,bringingmebacktothehot,stinkycarandthedesert.“Whereareyourightnow?”
Istickmyhandoutthewindow,graspingatthewind.“WanderingthehallsofEastLinfieldHightoachantofPornyPoppy!PornyPoppy!”
“Fine,”Alexsaysgently.“Iwon’tmakeyouvisitmyclassroomtoteachBillyJoelRadioHistory.Butjustsoyouknow…”Helooksatme,faceserious,voicedeadpan.“IfanyofmyjuniorscalledyouPornyPoppy,I’dfuckingwastethem.”
“Thathastobe,”Isay,“thehottestthinganyonehaseversaidtome.”
Helaughsbutlooksaway.“I’mserious.Bullying’stheonethingIdon’tletthemgetawaywith.”Hetipshisheadinthought.“Exceptme.Theybullymeconstantly.”
IlaugheventhoughIdon’tbelievehim.AlexteachestheAPandHonorskids,andhe’syoung,handsome,quietlyhilarious,andfreakishlysmart.There’snowaytheydon’tadorehim.
“ButdotheycallyouPornyAlex?”Iask.
Hegrimaces.“God,Ihopenot.”
“Sorry,”Isay,“Mr.Porny.”
“Please.Mr.Pornyismyfather.”
“Ibetsomanystudentshavecrushesonyou.”
“OnegirltoldmeIlooklikeRyanGosling…”
“Ohmygod.”
“…ifhegotstungbyabee.”
“Ouch,”Isay.
“Iknow,”Alexagrees.“Toughbutfair.”
“MaybeRyanGoslinglookslikeyouifhewasleftoutsidetodehydrate,didyoueverthinkofthat?”
“Yeah.Takethat,JessicaMcIntosh,”hesays.
“Youbitch,”Isay,thenimmediatelyshakemyhead.“Nope.Didnotfeelgoodtocallachildabitch.Badjoke.”
Alexgrimacesagain.“Ifitmakesyoufeelanybetter,Jessicais…notmyfavorite.Butshe’llgrowoutofalotofit,Ithink.”
“Yeah,Imean,forallyouknowshemightbeworkingagainstalifetimeofpostgumbowlcuts.It’sniceofyoutogiveherachance.”
“YouwereneveraJessica,”hesaysconfidently.
Iarchaneyebrow.“Howdoyouknow?”
“Because.”Hiseyesholdfasttothesun-bleachedroad.“You’vealwaysbeenPoppy.”
???
THEDESERTROSEapartmentcomplexisastuccobuildingpaintedbubblegumpink,itsnameembossedincurlingmidcenturyletters.Agardenfullofscrubbycactiandmassivesucculentswindsaroundit,andthroughawhitepicketfence,wespotasparklingtealpool,dottedwithsun-brownedbodiesandringedinpalmtreesandchaiselounges.
Alexturnsthecaroff.“Looksnice,”hesays,soundingrelieved.
Istepoutofthecar,andtheasphalt’shoteventhroughmysandals.
IthoughtfromsummersinNewYork,trappedbetweenskyscraperswiththesunpinballingbackandforthadinfinitum—andallthoseearlieronesintheOhioRiverValley’snaturalhumiditytrap—thatIknewwhathotwas.
Ididnot.
Myskintinglesunderthemercilessdesertsun,myfeetburningjustfromstandingstill.
“Shit,”Alexpants,sweepinghishairoffhisforehead.
“Iguessthisiswhyit’stheoff-season.”
“HowdoDavidandThamlivehere?”hesays,soundingdisgusted.
“ThesamewayyouliveinOhio,”Isay.“Sadly,andwithheavydrinking.”
Imeanitasajoke,butAlex’sexpressionflattensout,andheheadstothebackofthecarwithoutacknowledgingwhatIsaid.
Iclearmythroat.“Kidding.Plus,theymostlyliveinL.A.,right?Itwasnowherenearthishotbackthere.”
“Here.”Hepassesmethefirstbag,andItakeit,feelingchastened.
Notetoself:nomoreshittingonOhio.
Bythetimewegetoutourluggage—andthetwopaperbagsofgrocerieswegrabbedduringaCVSpitstop—andwrestleitupthreeflightsofstairstoourunit,we’resweatdrenched.
“IfeellikeI’mmelting,”AlexsaysasIpunchthecodeintothekeyboxbesidethedoor.“Ineedashower.”
Theboxpopsopen,andIstickthekeyintothedoorknob,jigglingandtwistingitpertheveryspecificinstructionsthehostsentme.
“Assoonaswegooutside,we’regonnabemeltingagain,”Ipointout.“Youmightwanttosavetheshoweringforrightbeforebed.”
Thekeyfinallycatches,andIbumpthedooropen,shufflinginside,stoppingshortastwosimultaneouswarningbellsstartshriekingthroughmybody.
Alexwalksintome,asolidwallofsweat-dampenedheat.“What’s—”
Hisvoicedropsoff.I’mnotsurewhichhorriblefacthe’sregistering.Thatit’sdisgustinglyhotinhereorthat
Inthemiddleofthis(otherwiseperfect)studioapartment,theresitsonebed
“No,”hesaysquietly,asifhedidn’tmeantosayitaloud.I’msurehedidn’t.
“Itsaidtwobeds,”Iblurtout,franticallytryingtopullupthereservation.“Itdefinitelydid.”
Becausethere’snowayIcouldhavepossiblyscrewedupthisbadly.Icouldn’thave.
Therewasatimewhenitmightnothaveseemedlikeahugedealforustoshareabed,butitisnotthistrip.Notwhenthingsarefragileandawkward.Wehaveonechancetofixwhatbrokebetweenus.
“You’resure?”Alexsays,andIhatethatnoteofannoyanceinhisvoiceevenmorethanthesuspiciousoneridingalongsideit.“Yousawpictures?Withtwobeds?”
Ilookupfrommyinbox.“Ofcourse!”
ButdidI?Thisunithadbeenridiculouslycheap,inlargepartbecauseareservationhadcanceledlastminute.Iknewitwasastudio,butIsawpicturesofthesparklyturquoisepoolandthehappy,dancingpalmtreesandthereviewssaiditwasclean,andthekitchenettelookedsmallbutchicand—
DidIactuallyseetwobeds?
“Thisguyownsabunchofapartmentshere,”Isay,headswimming.“Heprobablysentusthewrongunitnumber.”
Ifindtherightemailandclickthroughthepictures.“Here!”Icry.“Look!”
Alexstepsinclose,lookingovermyshoulderatthepictures—abrightwhiteandgrayapartmentwithacoupleofthrivingpottedfiddle-leaffigsinonecornerandavastwhitebedinthemiddleoftheroom,aslightlysmalleronebesideit.
Okay,sotheremighthavebeensomeartfulanglingtothesephotographs,becauseintheshotthebiggerbedlookslikeit’sking-sizedwhenit’sactuallyaqueen,whichmeanstheothercouldn’tbebiggerthanadouble,butitdefinitelyshouldexist.
“Idon’tunderstand.”Alexlooksfromthephototowherethesecondbedshouldbe.
“Oh,”heandIsayinunisonasitclicks.
Hecrossestothewide,armlesschair,incoralimitationsuede,andyanksoffthedecorativepillows,reachingintotheseamofthechair.Hefoldsthebottomout,thebackpressingdownsothatthewholethingflattensintoalong,skinnypadwithsaggingseamsbetweenitsthreesections.“Apullout…chair.”
“I’lltakethat!”Ivolunteer.
Alexshootsmealook.“Youcan’t,Poppy.”
“Why,becauseI’mawoman,andthey’lltakeyourMidwesternmasculinityawayifyoudon’tfallontheswordofeverygendernormpresentedtoyou?”
“No,”hesays.“Becauseifyousleeponthat,you’llwakeupwithamigraine.”
“Thathappenedonce,”Isay,“andwedon’tknowitwasfromsleepingontheairmattress.Itcould’vebeentheredwine.”ButevenasIsayit,I’msearchingforthethermostat,becauseifanything’sgoingtomakemyheadthrob,it’ssleepinginthisheat.Ifindthecontrolsinsidethekitchenette.“Ohmygosh,hehasitsettoeightydegreesinhere.”
“Seriously?”Alexscrubsahandthroughhishair,catchingthesweatbeadingonhisforehead.“Andtothink,itdoesn’tfeeladegreeovertwohundred.”
Icrankthethermostatdowntoseventy,andthefanskickonloudly,butwithoutanyinstantrelief.“Atleastwehaveaviewofthepool,”Isay,crossingtothebackdoors.Ithrowtheblackoutcurtainsbackandbalk,theremnantsofmyoptimismfizzlingout.
Thebalconyiswaybiggerthanmineathome,withacuteredcafétableandtwomatchingchairs.Theproblemis,three-quartersofitiswalledoffwithplasticsheetingas,somewhereoverhead,ahorriblemeleeofmechanicalrattlesandscreechessoundoff.
Alexstepsoutbesideme.“Construction?”
“IfeellikeI’minsideaziplockbag,insideofsomeone’sbody.”
“Someonewithafever,”hesays.
“Who’salsoonfire.”
Helaughsalittle.Amiserablesoundhetriestoplayoffaslighthearted.ButAlexisn’tlighthearted.He’sAlex.He’shigh-stressandhelikestobecleanandhavehisspaceandhepackshisownpillowinhisluggage,becausehis“neckisusedtothisone”—eventhoughitmeanshecan’tbringasmanyclothesashe’dlike—andthelastthingthistripneedsisanyunnecessarypushingonourpressurepoints.
Suddenly,thesixdaysaheadofusseemimpossiblylong.Weshouldhavetakenathree-daytrip.Justthelengthoftheweddingfestivities,whenthere’dbebuffersgaloreandfreeboozeandtimeblockedoutthatAlexwouldbebusywithhisbrother’sbachelorpartyandwhateverelse.
“Shouldwegodowntothepool?”Isay,alittletooloud,becausebynowmyheartisracingandIhavetoyelltohearmyselfoverit.
“Sure,”Alexsays,thenturnsbacktothedoorandfreezes.Hismouthhangsopenasheconsidershiswords.“I’llchangeinthebathroom,andyoucanjustshoutwhenyou’refinished?”
Right.It’sastudio.Oneopenroomwithnodoorsexcepttheonetothebathroom.
Whichwouldn’thavebeenawkward,ifweweren’tbothbeingsofreakingawkward.
“Mm-hm,”Isay.“Sure.”10
TenSummersAgo
WEWANDERTHEcityofVictoriauntilourfeethurt,ourbacksache,andallthatsleepwedidn’tgetontheflightsmakesourbodiesfeelheavyandourbrainslightandfloaty.Thenwestopfordumplingsinatinynookofaplacewhosewindowsaretintedandwhosered-paintedwallsareelaboratelyloopedingoldmountainscapesandforestsandflowingriversthatserpentinethroughlow,roundedhills.
We’retheonlypeopleinside—it’sthreep.m.,notquitelateenoughfordinner,buttheair-conditioningispowerfulandthefoodisdivine,andwe’resoexhaustedwecan’tstoplaughingabouteverylittlething.
Thehoarse,voice-crackingyelpAlexletoutwhentheplanetoucheddownthismorning.
Thesuit-wearingmanwhosprintspasttherestaurantattopspeed,hisarmsheldflattohissides.
ThegallerygirlintheEmpressHotelwhospentthirtyminutestryingtosellusasix-inch,twenty-one-thousand-dollarbearsculpturewhilewedraggedourtatteredluggagearoundbehindus.
“Wedon’treally…havemoneyfor…that,”Alexsaid,soundingdiplomatic.
Thegirlnoddedenthusiastically.“Hardlyanyonedoes.Butwhenartspeakstoyou,youfindawaytomakeitwork.”
Somehow,neitherofuscouldbringourselvestotellthegirlthatthetwenty-one-thousand-dollarbearwasnotspeakingtous,butwe’dspentallday,sincethen,pickingthingsup—asignedBackstreetBoysalbumintheusedrecordshop,acopyofanovelcalledWhatMyG-SpotIsTellingYouinasquatlittlebookstoreoffacobbledstreet,apleathercatsuitinafetishshopIledAlexintoprimarilytoembarrasshim—andasking,Doesthisspeaktoyou?
Yes,Poppy,it’ssaying,Bye-Bye-Bye.
No,Alex,tellyourG-spottospeakup.
Yes,I’lltakeitfortwenty-onethousanddollarsandnotapennyless!
Wetookturnsaskingandanswering,andnow,slumpedoverourblacklacqueredtable,wecan’tstophalf-deliriouslypickingupspoonsandnapkins,makingthemtalktooneanother.
Ourserverisaroundourage,heavilypiercedwithasoftlispandagoodsenseofhumor.“Ifthatsoysaysanythingsaucy,letmeknow,”shesays.“It’sgotareputationaroundhere.”
Alextipsher30percent,andthewholewalktothebusstop,Iteasehimforblushingwhenevershelookedathim,andheteasesmeformakingeyesatthecashierintherecordshop,whichisfair,becauseIdefinitelydid.
“I’veneverseenacitythisflowery,”Isay.
“I’veneverseenacitythisclean,”hesays.
“ShouldwemovetoCanada?”Iask.
“Idon’tknow,”hesays.“DoesCanadaspeaktoyou?”
Withthebuses,andthewalkingbetweenstops,ittakestwohourstotaltogetthecarIinformallyrentedonlinethroughWWT,WomenWhoTravel.
I’msorelieveditactuallyexists—andthatthekeysareunderthefloormatinthebackseat,justlikethecar’sowner,Esmeralda,saidtheywouldbe—thatIstartclappingatthesightofit.
“Wow,”Alexsays,“thiscarisreallyspeakingtoyou.”
“Yes,”Isay,“it’ssaying,Don’tletAlexdrive.”
Hismouthdroopsopen,eyesgoingwideandglossywithfeignedhurt.
“Stop!”Iyelp,divingawayfromhimandintothedriver’sseatlikehe’salivegrenade.
“Stopwhat?”HebendstoinserthisSadPuppyFaceinfrontofme.
“No!”Iscreech,shovinghimawayandwrithingsidewaysintheseatasiftryingtoescapeaswarmofantspouringoffhim.Iflingmyselfintothepassengerseat,andhecalmlyclimbsintothedriver’sseat.
“Ihatethatface,”Isay.
“Untrue,”Alexsays.
He’sright.
Ilovethatridiculousface.
Also,Ihatedriving.
“Whenyoufindoutaboutreversepsychology,I’mscrewed,”Isay.
“Hm?”hesays,glancingsidelongashestartsupthecar.
“Nothing.”
WedrivetwohoursnorthtothemotelIfoundontheeasternsideoftheisland.It’samistywonderland,wideunclutteredroadslinedinforestsasancientastheyaredense.There’snotatontodointown,butthereareredwoodsandhikingtrailstowaterfallsandaTimHortonsjustafewmilesdowntheroadfromourmotel,alow,lodge-likeplacewithagravelparkinglotoutfrontandawalloffog-cloakedfoliagebehindit.
“Isortofloveithere,”Alexsays.
“Isortofdotoo,”Iagree.
Anditdoesn’tmatterthatitrainsallweekandwefinisheveryhikesoakedtothebone,orthatwecanonlyfindtwoaffordablerestaurantsandhavetoeatateachofthemthrice,orthatweslowlystarttorealizenearlyeveryoneelsewecrosspathswithisintheupper-sixties-and-oldersetandthatwe’redefinitelystayinginaretirementvillage.Orthatourmotelroomisalwaysdamp,orthatthere’ssolittletodowehavetimetokillonefulldayinanearbyChaptersbookstore(whereweeatbothbreakfastandlunchintheircaféinsilencewhileAlexreadsMurakamiandItakenotesforfuturereferencefromastackofLonelyPlanetguides).
Noneofitmatters.Ispendthewholeweekthinking,Thisspeakstome
ThisiswhatIwantfortherestofmylife.Toseenewplaces.Tomeetnewpeople.Totrynewthings.Idon’tfeellostoroutofplacehere.There’snoLinfieldtoescapeorlong,boringclassestodreadgoingbackto.I’manchoredonlyinthismoment.
“Don’tyouwishwecouldalwaysbedoingthis?”IaskAlex.
Helooksupoverhisbookatme,onecornerofhismouthcurling.“Wouldn’tleavealotoftimeforreading.”
“WhatifIpromisetotakeyoutoabookstoreineverycity?”Iask.“Thenwillyouquitschoolandliveinavanwithme?”
Hisheadtiltstoonesideashethinks.“Probablynot,”hesays,whichisnosurpriseforavarietyofreasons,includingthefactthatAlexloveshisclassessomuchhe’salreadyresearchingEnglishgradprograms,whereasI’mmusclingthroughwithstraightCs.
“Well,Ihadtotry,”Isaywithasigh.
Alexsetshisbookdown.“Itellyouwhat.Youcanhavemysummerbreaks.I’llkeepthosewideopenforyou,andwe’llgoanywhereyouwant,thatwecanafford.”
“Really?”Isay,dubious.
“Promise.”Heholdsouthishand,andweshakeonit,thensittheregrinningforafewseconds,feelinglikewe’vejustsignedsomelife-alteringlysignificantcontract.
Oursecond-to-lastday,wehikethroughthequietofCathedralGrovejustasthesuniscomingup,spillinggoldenlightovertheforestinlittledroplets,andwhenweleave,wedrivestraighttoatowncalledCoombs,whosemainattractionisahandfulofcottageswithgrassroofsandaherdofgoatsgrazingoverthem.Wetakepicturesofthem,stickourheadsthroughphoto-opcutoutsthatputourfacesoncrudelypaintedgoatbodies,andspendaluxurioustwohourswanderingamarketstuffedwithsamplesofcookies,candies,andjams.
Onthelastfulldayofourtrip,wedriveacrosstheislandtoTofino,thepeninsulawewouldhavestayedonifweweren’ttryingtosaveeverypossiblepenny.IsurpriseAlexwith(perhapsworryinglycheap)ticketsforawatertaxithattakesustotheislandIreadabout,withthetrailthroughtherainforesttothehotspring.
OurwatertaxidriverisnamedBuck,andhe’snotmucholderthanus,withatangleofsun-bleachedyellowhairstickingoutfromunderhismesh-backedhat.He’shandsomeinanutterlyfilthyway,withthatspecificallybeachykindofbodyodormixedwithpatchouli.Itshouldberepulsive,buthemakesitwork.
Therideitselfisaviolentaffair,thetaxi’smotorsoloudIhavetoscreamintoAlex’sear,myhairslappingagainsthisfacefromthewind,tosay,“THISMUSTBEWHATAROCKFEELSLIKEWHENYOUSKIPITOVERWATER,”myvoicethunkinginandoutwitheachrhythmichitofthelittlevesselagainstthetopofthedark,choppywaves.
Buckwaveshishandslikehe’stalkingtousforthewholelengthofthe(much-too-long)ride,butwecan’thearhim,whichmakesbothAlexandmesemihystericalwithlaughterafterthefirsttwentyminutesofinaudiblemonologue.
“WHATIFHE’SCONFESSINGTOACRIMERIGHTNOW?”Alexyells.
“RECITINGTHEDICTIONARY.FROMBACKTOFRONT,”Isuggest.
“SOLVINGCOMPLEXMATHEQUATIONS,”Alexsays.
“COMMUNINGWITHTHEDEAD,”Isay.
“THISISWORSETHAN—”
Buckcutstheengine,andAlex’svoicefarovershootsit.Hedropshisvoiceintoawhisperagainstmyear:“Worsethanflying.”
“Ishestoppingtokillus?”Iwhisperback.
“Wasthatwhathewassaying?”Alexhisses.“Isittimetopanic?”
“Lookoutthatway,”Bucksays,spinningleftwardinhischairandpointingahead.
“Wherehe’sgoingtokillus?”Alexmurmurs,andIturnmylaughintoacough.
Buckturnsbackwithawide,crooked,butadmittedlyhandsomegrin.“Familyofotters.”
Averyhigh-pitchedandone-hundred-percentgenuinesquealrocketsoutofmeasIlurchtomyfeetandleanovertoseethefuzzylittlelumpsoffurfloatingoverthewaves,pawsfoldedtogethersothattheydriftasone,anetmadeofadorableseacreatures.Alexcomestostandbehindme,hishandslightonmyarmsasheleansovermetosee.
“Okay,”hesays.“Timetopanic.That’sfuckingadorable.”
“Canwetakeonehome?”Iaskhim.“Theyspeaktome!”
Afterthat,thehikethroughthelushfernsoftherainforest,andthehot,earthywatersofthespring—thoughamazing—can’tquitecomparetothatspine-compressingwatertaxiride.
Whenwestripdowntoourbathingsuitsandslipintothewarm,cloudypoolwithintherocks,Alexsays,“Wesawottersholdinghands.”
“Theuniverselikesus,”Isay.“Thishasbeenaperfectday.”
“Aperfecttrip.”
“It’snotoveryet,”Isay.“Onemorenight.”
WhenBuck’swatertaxideliversussafelyintoharborthatnight,wehuddleintothelittletime-warpedshackthecompanyusesasanofficetopay.
“Whereyouguysstaying?”BuckasksashetakesthecouponsIprintedoutandmanuallypunchestheircodeintoacomputer.
“Othersideoftheisland,”Alexsays.“OutsideNanooseBay.”
Buck’sblueeyescomeup,cutbetweenAlexandmeappraisingly.“MygrandparentsliveinNanooseBay.”
“ItkindofseemslikeeverygrandparentinBritishColumbiamightliveinNanooseBay,”Isay,andBuckletsoutabarkoflaughter.
“Whatareyoudoingthere?”heasks.“Notagreatspotforayoungcouple.”
“Oh,we’renot…”Alexshiftsuncomfortablyfromonefoottotheother.
“We’relikenonbiological,nonlegalsiblings,”Isay.
“Justfriends,”Alextranslates,seemingembarrassedforme,whichisunderstandablebecauseIcanfeelmycheeksgolobsterredandmystomachflipwhenBuck’seyessettleonme.
TheyshiftbacktoAlex,andhesmiles.“Ifyoudon’twanttodrivebacktotheoldfolks’hometonight,myhousematesandIhavegotayardandasparetent.You’rewelcometocrashthere.We’vealwaysgotpeoplestayingwithus.”
I’mfairlysureAlexdoesnotwanttosleepontheground,buthetakesonelookatmeandmustseehowintothisideaIam—thisisexactlythekindofspur-of-the-moment,out-of-nowheresurpriseturnI’vebeenhopingthistripwouldtake—becauseheletsoutanalmostimperceptiblesigh,thenturnsbacktoBuckwithafixedsmile.“Yeah.That’dbegreat.Thanks.”
“Cool,youallweremylasttrip,soletmecloseupandwecanheadout.”
Aswe’rewalkingbackdownthedockafterward,AlexasksfortheaddresssowecanplugitintotheGPS.“Nah,man,”Bucksays.“Youdon’tneedtodrive.”
ItturnsoutBuck’shouseisjustupashort,steepdrivewayahalfblockfromthedock.Adroopy,grayingtwo-storyhousewithasecond-floorbalconycoveredindryingtowelsandbathingsuitsandshittyfoldingfurniture.There’sabonfireburninginthefrontyard,andeventhoughit’sonlysixp.m.,therearedozensofgrungyBuck-typesgatheredinsandalsandhikingbootsordirt-crustedbarefeet,drinkingbeeranddoingacro-yogainthegrasswhiletrancemusicplaysoverapairofduct-tape-riddenspeakersontheporch.Thewholeplacesmellslikeweed,likethisissomekindoflow-rent,miniatureBurningMan.
“Everyone,”Buckcallsasheleadsusupthehillside,“thisisPoppyandAlex.They’refrom…”Helooksoverhisshoulderatme,waiting.
“Chicago,”IsayasAlexsays,“Ohio.”
“OhioandChicago,”Buckrepeats.Peoplecalloutgreetingsandtiptheirbeers,andalean,musclygirlinawovencroptopbringsmeandAlexeachabottle,andAlextriesveryhardnottolookatherstomachasBuckdisappearsintothecircleofpeoplearoundthefire,doingthatbackslappinghugwithahandfulofpeople.
“WelcometoTofino,”shesays.“I’mDaisy.”
“Anotherflower!”Isay.“Butatleasttheydon’tuseyourstomakeopium.”
“Ihaven’ttriedopium,”Daisysaysthoughtfully.“IprettymuchsticktoLSDandshrooms.Well,andweed,obviously.”
“Haveyoutriedthosesleepgummies?”Iask.“Thosethingsarefuckingamazing.”
Alexcoughs.“Thanksforthebeer,Daisy.”
Shewinks.“Mypleasure.I’mthewelcomecommittee.Andthetourguide.”
“Oh,doyouliveheretoo?”Iask.
“Sometimes,”shesays.
“Whoelsedoes?”Alexsays.
“Hmm.”Daisyturns,scouringthecrowdandvaguelypointing.“Michael,Chip,Tara,Kabir,Lou.”Shegathersherdarkhairoffherbackandpullsittoonesideofherneckasshecontinues.“Mo,Quincysometimes;Lita’sbeenhereforamonth,butIthinkshe’sleavingsoon.ShegotajobasaraftingguideinColorado—howfarisChicagofromthere?Youshouldlookherupifyou’reevervisiting.”
“Cool,”Alexsays.“Maybeso.”
BuckreappearsbetweenmeandAlex,withajointtuckedinhismouth,andslingsacasualarmaroundeachofus.“HasDaisygivenyouthetouryet?”
“Wasjustaboutto,”shesays.
Butsomehow,Idon’twinduponatourofthissoggyhouse.IwindupsittinginacrackedplasticAdirondackchairbythefirewithBuckand—Ithink?—ChipandLita-the-soon-to-be-rafting-guide,rankingNicolasCagemoviesbyvariouscriteriaasthedeepbluesandpurplesoftwilightmeltintothedeeperbluesandblacksofnight,thestarryskyseemingtounfurloveruslikeagreat,light-prickedblanket.
Litaisaneasylaugher,whichI’vealwaysthoughtwasacriminallyunderappreciatedtrait,andBuckissolaid-backIstarttogetasecondhandhighjustfromsharingachairwithhim,andthenIgetmyfirstfirsthandhighwhenIsharehisjointwithhim.
“Don’tyouloveit?”heaskseagerlywhenI’mafewpuffsin.
“Loveit,”Isay.Truthfully,Ithinkit’sjustokay,andmoreover,ifIwereanywhereelse,IthinkImightevenhateit,buttonightit’sperfectbecausetodayisperfect,thistripisperfect.
Alexchecksbackinonmeafterhis“tour,”bywhichpoint,yes,I’msittingcurledupinBuck’slapwithhissweatshirtdrapedaroundmychillyshoulders.
Youokay?Alexmouthsfromthefarsideofthefire.
Inod.You?
Henodsback,andthenDaisyaskshimsomethingandheturnsaway,fallingintoconversationwithher.ItipmyheadbackandstareuppastBuck’sunshavenjawlinetothestarshighaboveus.
IthinkIcouldstanditifthisnightlastedthreemoredays,buteventuallytheskyischangingcoloragain,themorningmisthissingoffthedampgrassasthesunpeeksoverahorizonsomewhereinthedistance.Mostofthecrowdhasdriftedoff,Alexincluded,andthefirehasburneddowntoemberswhenBuckasksmeifIwanttocomeinside,andItellhimyes,Ido.
Ialmosttellhimthatgoinginsidespeakstome,thenrememberthat’snotaworldwidejoke,it’sjustoneofmineandAlex’s,andIdon’treallywanttosayittoBuckafterall.
I’mrelievedtodiscoverthathehasaroomofhisown,evenifitisclosetsizedwithamattressonthefloordressedinnothingbuttwounzippedsleepingbagsratherthanbedding.Whenhekissesme,it’sroughandscratchyandtasteslikeweedandbeer,butI’veonlykissedtwopeoplebeforethisandoneofthosewasJasonStanley,sothisisstillgoinggreatinmybook.Hishandsareconfidentifalittlelazy,tomatchtherestofhim,andsoonwe’reclimbingontothemattress,handscatchingineachother’sseawater-tangledhair,hipslockingtogether.
Hehasanicebody,Ithink,thekindthat’smostlytautfromanactivelifestylewithalittlepudgefromindulginginhisvariousvices.NotlikeAlex’s,whichhasbeenmadeinthegymoveryearswithdisciplineandcare.NotthatAlex’sbodyisn’tgreat.Itisgreat.
Andnotthatthere’sanyreasontocomparethetwo,oranytwobodies,really.It’ssortofmessedupthatthethoughtevenpoppedintomyhead.
Butit’sjustbecauseAlex’sistheman-bodyI’mmostusedtobeingaroundandit’salsothekindIexpectIwon’tevertouch.PeoplelikeAlex—careful,conscientious,gym-fit,reservedpeople—tendtogoforpeoplelikeSarahTorval—Alex’scareful,conscientious,yoga-bunnycrushfromthelibrary.
WhereaspeoplelikemearemorelikelytowindupmakingoutwithpeoplelikeBuckontheirfloormattressesontopoftheirunzippedsleepingbags.
He’salltongueandhands,butevensoit’sfun,tokissthisnear-stranger,tohavefervent,appreciativepermissiontotouchhim.It’slikepractice.Perfect,funpracticewithsomeguyImetonvacation,whoholdsnobearingonmyreallife.WhoknowsonlyPoppyRightNow,anddoesn’tneedanymorethanthat.
WekissuntilmylipsfeelbruisedandourshirtshavecomeoffandthenIsitupinthedawn-dark,catchingmybreath.“Idon’twanttohavesex,okay?”
“Oh,righton,”hesayslightly,sittingupagainstthewall.“That’scool.Nopressure.”
Andhedoesn’tseemtofeelanyhintofawkwardnessaboutthis,buthealsodoesn’tpullmebacktohim,kissmeagain.Hejustsitsthereforaminute,likehe’swaitingforsomething.
“What?”Isay.
“Oh.”Heglancestowardthedoorthenbacktome.“Ijustthought,ifyoudon’twanttohookup…”
AndthenIunderstand.“Youwantmetoleave?”
“Well…”Hegivesasheepish(orsheepishforhim,anyway)halflaughthatstillsoundskindofbarky.“Imean,ifwe’renotgoingtohavesex,thenImight…”
Hetrailsoff,andnowmyownlaughcatchesmebysurprise.“Areyougoingtohookupwithsomeoneelse?”
Heseemsgenuinelyconcernedwhenhesays,“Doesthatmakeyoufeelbad?”
Istarebackathimforathreefullseconds.
“Look,ifyouwantedtohavesex,you’dbe,like…I’dwantto.Like,Idefinitelydo.Butsinceyoudon’t…Areyoumad?”
Iburstoutlaughing.“No,”Isay,pullingmyshirtbackon.“I’mactuallyreally,reallynotmad.Iappreciatethehonesty.”
AndImeanit.BecausethisisjustBuck,someguyImetonvacation,andallthingsconsidered,hehasbeensomethingofagentleman.
“Okay,cool,”hesays,andflashesthatlaid-backgrinofhis,whichalmostglowsinthedark.“I’mgladwe’recool.”
“We’recool,”Iagree.“But…yousaidsomethingaboutatent?”
“Oh,right.”Heslapshishandtohisforehead.“Thered-and-blackoneoutfront’sallyou,girl.”
“Thanks,Buck,”Isay,andstand.“Foreverything.”
“Hey,holdonasecond.”Heleansoverandgrabsamagazineoffthefloorbesidehismattress,digsaroundforamarker,thenscribblessomethingonthewhiteedgeofapageandtearsitout.“Ifyou’reeverbackontheisland,”hesays,“don’tstayinmygrandparents’neighborhood,okay?Justcomestayhere.We’vealwaysgotroom.”
Withthat,Islipoutofthehouse,pastroomsthatarealready—orstill—playingmusicanddoorsthroughwhichsoftsighsandmoansemanate.
Outside,Ipickmywaydownthedewyporchstepsandheadtothered-and-blacktent.I’mfairlysureIsawAlexdisappearinsidethehousewithDaisyhoursago,butwhenIunzipthetent,he’sfastasleepinit.Icarefullycrawlinside,andwhenIliedownbesidehim,hejustbarelyopenshispuffy-with-sleepeyesandrasps,“Hey.”
“Hey,”Isay.“Sorrytowakeyou.”
“’Sokay,”hesays.“Howwasyournight?”
“Okay,”Itellhim.“ImadeoutwithBuck.”
Hiseyeswidenforasecondbeforeshrinkingbacktosleepysliversofhazel.“Wow,”hecroaks,thentriestoswallowdownasparkofsleepylaughter.“Didthecurtainsmatchtheverytroublingdrapes?”
Laughing,Igivehislegashovewithmyfoot.“Ididn’ttellyousoyoucouldmockme.”
“Didhetellyouwhathewassayingthatwholetimeonthewatertaxi?”Alexasksthroughanotherrattleoflaughter.“Howmanypeoplewereinthehammockwithyou?”
Istarttolaughsohardtherearetearsleakingfromthecornersofmyeyes.“He…kicked…”It’shardtogetwordsoutbetweenwheezesoflaughter,buteventuallyImanage,“…kickedmeoutwhenItoldhimIdidn’twanttohavesex.”
“Ohmygod,”Alexsays,sittinguponhiselbow,thesleepingbagfallingdownfromhisbarechestandhishairdancingwithstatic.“Whatadick.”
“No,”Isay.“Itwasfine.Hejustwantedtogetsome,andifnotfromme,thereareeasilyfourhundredmoregirlsonthishalfacreofsinkingwoods.”
Alexflopsbackdownonhispillow.“Yeah,well,Istillthinkthat’skindofshitty.”
“Speakingofgirls,”Isay,smirking.
“We…weren’t?”Alexsays.
“DidyouhookupwithDaisy?”
Herollshiseyes.“DoyouthinkIhookedupwithDaisy?”
“Untilyousaiditlikethat,yes.”
Alexadjustshisarmunderhispillow.“Daisyisn’tmytype.”
“True,”Isay.“She’snothinglikeSarahTorval.”
Alexrollshiseyesagainthenclosesthementirely.“Gotosleep,weirdo.”
Throughayawn,Isay,“Sleepspeakstome.”11
ThisSummer
THEREAREPLENTYofemptychaiseloungesavailableattheDesertRosecomplexpool—everyone’sinthewater—soAlexandItakeourtowelsovertotwointhecorner.
Hewincesashelowershimselftositting.“Theplastic’shot.”
“Everything’shot.”Iplopdownbesidehimandpeeloffmycover-up.“Whatpercentageofthatpooldoyouthinkispeebynow?”Iask,tippingmyheadtothegaggleofsunhat-wearingbabiessplashingonthestepswiththeirparents.
Alexgrimaces.“Don’tsaythat.”
“Whynot?”
“Becauseit’ssohotI’mgoingtogetinthewateranyway,andIdon’twanttothinkaboutit.”HeglancesawayashedrawshiswhiteT-shirtoverhishead,thenfoldsitandtwiststosetitonthegroundbehindhim,themusclespullingtautalonghischestandstomachintheprocess.
“Howhaveyougottenmoreripped?”Iask.
“Ihaven’t.”Hepullsthesunblockfrommybeachbagandpumpssomeintohishand.
Ilookdownatmyownstomach,hangingoverthetighthighlighterorangeofmybikinibottoms.Inthelastfewyearsmylifestyleofairplanecocktailsandlate-nightburritos,gyros,andnoodleshasstartedtofillmeoutandsoftenme.“Fine,”IsaytoAlex,“thenyoulookexactlythesame,whiletherestofusarestartingtodroopintheeyesandtheboobsandtheneck,andgetmoreandmorestretchmarksandpockmarksandscars.”
“Doyoureallywanttolooklikeyoureighteen-year-oldself?”heasks,andstartstosmearbigglobsofsunblockontohisarmsandchest.
“Yes.”IpickupthebottleofBananaBoatandworksomeofitontomyshoulders.“ButI’dsettlefortwenty-five.”
Alexshakeshishead,thenbowsitasheslathersmoresunblockontohisneck.“Youlookbetterthanyoudidbackthen,Poppy.”
“Really?BecausethecommentssectiononmyInstagramwoulddisagree,”Isay
“That’sallbullshit,”hesays.“HalfthepeopleonInstagramhaveneverlivedinaworldwhereeverypicturewasn’tedited.Iftheysawyouinreallife,they’dpassout.Mystudentsareallobsessedwiththis‘Instagrammodel’who’scompletelyCGI.Thisanimatedgirl.Literallylookslikeavideogamecharacterandeverytimetheaccountposts,theyallfreakoutabouthowbeautifulsheis.”
“Oh,yeah,Iknowthatgirl,”Isay.“Imean,Idon’tknowher.She’snotreal.ButIknowtheaccount.SometimesIgodowndeeprabbitholesreadingthecomments.ShehasarivalrywithanotherCGImodel—doyouwantmetogetyourback?”
“What?”Helooksup,confused.
Iliftthebottleofsunblockup.“Yourback?It’sfacingthesunrightnow.”
“Oh.Yeah.Thanks.”Heturnsaroundandduckshishead,buthe’sstilltallenoughthatIhavetosituponmykneestogetthespotbetweenhisshoulderblades.“Anyway.”Heclearshisthroat.“ThekidsknowIgetseriouslyrepulsedbytheuncannyvalleysotheyalwaystrytotrickmeintolookingatpicturesofthatfakegirl,justtowatchmewrithe.ItkindofmakesmefeelbadfordoingthatSadPuppyFaceatyoualltheseyears.”
Myhandsgostillonhiswarm,sun-freckledshoulders,mystomachpinching.“I’dbesadifyoustoppeddoingthat.”
Helooksoverhisshoulderatme,hisprofilecastincoolblueshadowasthesunbeatsdownonhimfromtheotherside.Foramillisecond,Ifeelflutteryfromhiscloseness,fromthefeelingofhisshouldermusclesundermyhandsandthewayhiscolognemixeswiththecoconutsweetnessofthesunblockandthewayhishazeleyesfixonmefirmly.
It’samillisecondthatbelongstothatotherfivepercent—thewhat-if.IfIleanedforwardandkissedhimoverhisshoulder,slippedhisbottomlipbetweenmyteeth,twistedmyhandsintohishairuntilheturnedhimselfaroundandpulledmeintohischest.
Butthere’snomoreroomforthatwhat-if,andIknowthat.Ithinkheknowsittoo,becauseheclearshisthroatandglancesaway.“Wantmetogetyourbacktoo?”
“Mm-hm,”Imanage,andwebothturnagainsothatnowhe’sfacingmyback,andthewholetimehishandsareonme,I’mactivelytryingnottoregisterit.TryingnottofeelsomethinghotterthanthePalmSpringssungatheringbehindmybellybuttonashispalmsgentlyscrapeoverme.
Itdoesn’tmatterthattherearebabiessquealingandpeoplelaughingandpreteenscannonballingintofar-too-smallspacesinthepool.There’snotenoughstimuliinthisbusypooltodistractme,soImoveontoahastilyformedplanB.
“DoyouevertalktoSarah?”Iblurtout,myvoiceafulloctavehigherthanusual.
“Um.”Alex’shandsliftoffme.“Sometimes.You’redone,bytheway.”
“Cool.Thanks.”Iturnaroundandshiftbackontomychaise,puttingagoodfootofspacebetweenus.“IsshestillteachingatEastLinfield?”Withhowcompetitiveteachingjobswerethesedays,itseemedlikeadreamwhentheybothfoundpositionsatthesameschoolandmovedbacktoOhio.Thentheybrokeup.
“Yep.”HereachesintomybagandpullsoutthewaterbottleswefilledwiththepremademargaritaslushieswegotatCVS.Hehandsmeoneofthem.“She’sstillthere.”
“Soyoumustseeeachotheralot,”Isay.“Isthatawkward?”
“Nah,notreally,”heoffers.
“Youdon’treallyseeeachotheralotorit’snotreallyawkward?”
Hebuyssometimewithalongchugonthewaterbottle.“Uhh,Iguesseither.”
“Is…sheseeinganyone?”Iask.
“Why?”Alexsays.“Ididn’tthinkyouevenlikedher.”
“Yeah,”Isay,embarrassmentcoursingthroughmyveinslikeaquick-hittingdrug.“Butyoudid,soIwanttomakesureyou’reokay.”
“I’mokay,”hesays,buthesoundsuncomfortablesoIdropit.
NoshittingonOhio,notalkingaboutAlex’sridiculouslyfitbody,nolookinghimdeepintheeyesfromfewerthansixinchesaway,andnobringingupSarahTorval.
Icandothat.Probably.
“Shouldwegetinthewater?”Iask.
“Sure.”
Butaswepickourwaythroughtheherdofbabiestomovedownthewhitewashedpoolsteps,itrapidlybecomesclearthatthisisn’tthesolutiontothetouch-and-goawkwardnessbetweenus.Foronething,thewater,withallthemanybodiesstanding(andpotentiallypeeing)init,feelsnearlyashotastheairandsomehowevenmoreunpleasant.
Foranotherthing,it’ssocrowdedthatwehavetostandsoclosethattheuppertwo-thirdsofourbodiesarealmosttouching.Whenastockymaninacamohatpushespastme,IcollidewithAlexandalightningboltofpanicsizzlesthroughmeatthefeelingofhisslickstomachagainstmine.Hecatchesmebythehips,atoncesteadyingmeandeasingmeaway,backtomyrightfulplacetwoinchesawayfromhim.
“Youokay?”heasks.
“Mm-hm,”Isay,becauseallIcanreallyfocusonisthewayhishandsspreadovermyhipbones.Iexpecttheretobealotofthatonthistrip.Themm-hming,notthegiganticAlex-handsonmyhips.
Heletsgoofmeandcraneshisneckoverhisshoulder,lookingbacktoourlounges.“Maybeweshouldjustreaduntilit’slesscrowded,”hesuggests.
“Goodidea.”Ifollowhiminazigzaggingpathbacktothepoolsteps,totheburning-hotcement,tothetoo-shorttowelsspreadonthechaises,whereweliedowntowait.HepullsoutaSarahWatersnovel,whichhefinishes,thenfollowswithanAugustusEverettbook.ItakeoutthelatestissueofR+R,planningtoskimeverythingIdidn’twrite.MaybeI’llfindasparkofinspirationIcantakebacktoSwapnasoshewon’tbemadatme.
Ipretendtoreadfortwosweatyhoursandthepoolneveremptiesout.
???
ASSOONASweopenthedoortotheapartment,Iknowthingsaregoingtogetworse.
“Whatthehell,”Alexsays,followingmeinside.“Diditgethotter?”
Ihurrytothethermostatandreadthenumbersilluminatedthere.“Eighty-two?!”
“Maybewe’repushingittoohard?”Alexsuggests,comingtostandbesideme.“Let’sseeifwecangetitbackdowntoeightyatleast.”
“Iknoweightyis,technicallyspeaking,betterthaneighty-two,Alex,”Isay,“butwe’restillgoingtomurdereachotherifwehavetosleepineighty-degreeheat.”
“Shouldwecallsomeone?”Alexasks.
“Yes!Weshoulddefinitelycallsomeone!Goodthinking!”Iriflethroughthebeachbagformyphoneandsearchmyemailforthehost’sphonenumber.Ihitcall,anditringsthreetimesbeforeagruff,smokyvoicecomesovertheline.“Yeah?”
“Nikolai?”
Twosecondsofsilence.“Whoisthis?”
“ThisisPoppyWright.I’mstayingin4B?”
“Okay.”
“We’rehavingsometroublewiththethermostat.”
Threesecondsofsilencethistime.“DidyoutryGooglingit?”
Iignorethequestionandforgeahead.“Itwassettoeightydegreeswhenwegothere.Wetriedtoturnitdowntoseventytwohoursagoandnowit’seighty-two.”
“Oh,yeah,”Nikolaisays.“You’repushingittoohard.”
IguessAlexcanhearwhatNikolai’ssaying,becausehenods,like,Toldyou
“So…itcan’thandle…goingcolderthanseventy-eight?”Isay.“Becausethatwasn’tintheposting,andneitherwastheconstructionoutsidethe—”
“Itcanonlydoadegreeatatime,honey,”Nikolaisayswithabeleagueredsigh.“Youcan’tjustpushathermostatdowntoseventydegrees!Andwhokeepsanapartmentseventydegreesanyway?”
AlexandIexchangealook.“Sixty-seven,”hewhispers.
Sixty-five,Imouth,gesturingtomyself.“Well—”
“Look,look,look,honey.”Nikolaicutsmeoffagain.“Turnitdowntoeighty-one.Whenitgetsdowntoeighty-one,turnitdowntoeighty.Thenturnitdowntoseventy-nine,andwhenitgetsdowntoseventy-nine,yousetittoseventy-eight.Andonceit’sseventy-eight—”
“—goaheadandjustcutoffyourownhead,”Alexwhispers,andIpullthephoneawayfrommebeforeNikolaicanhearmelaugh.
Idragitbacktomycheek,andNikolai’sstillexplaininghowtocountbackwardfromeighty-two.“Gotit,”Isay.“Thanks.”
“Noprob,”Nikolaisayswithanothersigh.“Haveagoodstay,honey.”
AsIhangup,Alexcrossesbacktothethermostatandturnsitbackuptoeighty-one.“Heregoesliterallynothing.”
“Ifwecan’tgetittowork…”Itrailoffasthefullforceofoursituationhitsme.Iwasgoingtosaythat,ifwecouldn’tgetittowork,I’djustbookusahotelroomwiththeR+Rcard.
Butofcoursewecan’t.
Icouldputitonmyowncreditcard,but,livinginNewYork,inatoo-nice-for-meapartment,Idon’tactuallyhaveatonofexpendableincome.Theperksofmyjobarearguablythebiggestformofincome.Icouldtrytoscoreusaroomthroughanadvertisingtrade,butI’vebeenslackingonmysocialmediaandblogging,andI’mnotsureIstillhaveenoughclout.Besides,alotofplaceswon’tdothatwithinfluencers.Somewillevenscreenshotyouremailrequestsandpostthemonlinetoshameyou.It’snotlikeI’mGeorgeClooney.I’mjustsomegirlwhotakesprettypictures—Imightbeabletolandusadiscount;afreeroom’sunlikely.
“We’llfiguresomethingout,”Alexsays.“Doyouwanttoshowerfirst,orshouldI?”
Icantellfromthewayhe’sholdinghisarmsslightlyawayfromhisbodythathe’sdesperatetobeclean.Andifhehopsintheshowernow,maybeI’llevenmanagetogetthetemperaturedownafewdegreesinthemeantime.
“Goahead,”Itellhim,andheslipsaway.
ThewholetimeIcanhearthewaterrunning,I’mpacing.Fromthefoldoutpseudobedtotheplastic-wrappedbalconytothethermostat.Finally,itdropsdowntoeighty-one,andIresetthegoaltemperaturetoeightyandkeeppacing.
AfterdecidingtodocumentthissoIcanreportittoAirbnbandtrytogetsomemoneyback,Itakepicturesofthechairbedandtheporch—theconstructionupstairshasmercifullyceasedforthedaysoatleastit’squiet,thehumofconversationandsplashofwaterdriftingupfromthepool—thenheadbacktothethermostat,downtoeightynow,totakeapictureofthattoo.
JustasI’mresettingthetemperatureforseventy-nine,theshowerturnsoff,soIswingmysuitcaseupontothefoldoutchair,unzipthebag,andstartrootingthroughitforsomethinglightweighttoweartodinner.
Alexstepsoutofthebathroominacloudofsteamwithatowelwrappedaroundhiswaist,onehandsecuringitatthehipastheotherswipesthroughhiswethair,leavingitstickingupandoutmessily.“Yourturn,”hesays,butittakesmeasecondtocomputethroughthehazeofhislong,leantorsoandthesharpjutofhislefthipbone.
Whyisitsodifferentseeingsomeoneinatowelthaninabathingsuit?Thirtyminutesago,Alexwastechnicallymorenakedthanthis,butnow,thesmoothlinesofhisbodyfeelmorescandalous.Ifeellikeallthebloodinmybodyisjustbobbingtothesurface,pressingagainstmyskinsothateveryinchofmeismorealert.
Itneverusedtobelikethis.
ThisisallbecauseofCroatia.
Damnyouandyourgorgeousislands,Croatia!
“Poppy?”Alexprompts.
“Mm-hm,”Isay,thenremembertoatleastadd,“Yeah.”Ispinbacktomybagandgrabadress,bra,andunderwearatrandom.“Okay.Bedroom’sallyours.”
IhurryintothesteamybathroomandshutthedoorasI’mstrippingoffmybikinitoponlytofreeze,stunnedatthesightofahugeblue-tintedglasscapsulethatoccupiestheentiretyofonewall,completewithareclinedseatoneitherside,likeit’ssomekindofgroupshowerfromTheJetsons
“Ohmygod.”This,I’msure,wasnotinthephotographs.Infact,thiswholeroomisunrecognizablefromtheoneonthewebsite,transformedfromthesubtle,beachygraysofitsformerselfintotheglowingblueandsterilewhitesofthehypermodernsightbeforeme.
Isnatchatowelofftherack,wrappingitaroundmyself,andthrowthedooropen.“Alex,whydidn’tyousayanythingaboutthe—”
AlexgrabsforhistowelandpullsitaroundhimselfandIdomyabsolutebesttopickupwheremysentencestumbledoffandpretendthatdidn’thappen.“—spaceshipbathroom?”
“Ifiguredyouknew,”Alexsays,hisvoicehoarse.“Youbookedthisplace.”
“Theymust’veremodeledsincethephotosweretaken,”Isay.“Howdidyouevenfigureouthowtoworkthatthing?”
“Honestly,”Alexsays,“thehardestthingwasjustwrestingcontrolfromthe2001:ASpaceOdyssey–styleartificialintelligencesystem.Afterthat,thebiggestissuewasjustthatIkeptmixingupthecontrolsforthesixthshowerheadwiththeonesforthefootmassager.”
It’senoughtobreakthetension.Idissolveintolaughterandhedoestoo,anditstopsmatteringsomuchthatwe’restandinghereinourtowels.
“Thisplaceispurgatory,”Isay.Everythingisjustniceenoughtomaketheissuesthatmuchmoreglaring.
“Nikolaiisasadist,”Alexagrees.
“Yes,buthe’sasadistwithaspaceshipbathroom.”Ileanbackintothebathroomtostudythemany-headed,multiseatedshoweragain.
IburstintoanotherfitoflaughterandleanbackouttofindAlexstandingthere,grinning.He’spulledaT-shirtonoverhisdampupperbodybuthasn’triskedswappingthetowelout.
Iturnbacktothebathroom.“Okay,I’llleaveyoutodancenakedaroundtheapartmentinprivacynow.Useyourtimewisely.”
“Isthatwhatyoudo?”Alexcalls.“DancearoundtheapartmentnakedwheneverI’mintheotherroom?Youdo,don’tyou?”
IspinawayasI’mpullingthedoorshut.“Wouldn’tyouliketoknow,PornyAlex?”12
NineSummersAgo
DESPITETHEFACTthatAlexspenteverysparemomentofjunioryearpickingupshiftsatthelibrary(andthusIspenteverysparemomentsittingonthefloorbehindthereferencedeskeatingTwizzlersandteasinghimwheneverSarahTorvalbashfullydriftedby),thereisn’tmoneyforabigsummertripthisyear.
Hisyoungerbrotherisstartingcommunitycollegenextyear,withoutmuchfinancialaid,andAlex,beingasaintamongmeremen,isfunnelingallhisincomeintoBryce’stuition.
Whenhebrokethenewstome,Alexsaid,“IunderstandifyouwanttogotoPariswithoutme.”
Myreplywasinstantaneous.“Pariscanwait.Let’svisittheParisofAmericainstead.”
Hearchedabrow.“Whichis?”
“Duh,”Isaid.“Nashville.”
Helaughed,delighted.Ilovedtodelighthim,livedforit.Igotsucharushfrommakingthatstoicfacecrack,andlatelytherehadn’tbeenenoughofthat.
Nashvilleisonlyafour-hourdrivefromLinfield,andmiraculously,Alex’sstationwagonisstillkicking.SoNashvilleitis.
Whenhepicksmeupthemorningofourtrip,I’mstillpacking,andDadmakeshimsitandansweraseriesofrandomquestionswhileIfinish.Meanwhile,Momslipsintomyroomwithsomethinghiddenbehindherback,singing,“Hiiii,sweetie.”
IlookupfromtheMuppet-vomitexplosionofcolorfulclothinginmybag.“Hiii?”
Sheperchesonmybed,handsstillhidden.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Isay.“Areyouhandcuffedrightnow?Arewebeingburglarized?Blinktwiceifyoucan’tsayanything.”
Shebringstheboxforward.Iimmediatelyyelpandslapitoutofherhandontothefloor.
“Poppy!”shecries.
“Poppy?!”Idemand.“NotPoppy!Mom!Whyareyoucarryingabulkboxofcondomsaroundbehindyourback?”
Shebendsandscoopsitup.It’sunopened(luckily?),sonothingspilledout.“Ijustfiguredit’stimewetalkedaboutthis.”
“Uh-uh.”Ishakemyhead.“It’sninetwentya.m.Notthetimetotalkaboutthis.”
Shesighsandsetstheboxatopmyoverfilleddufflebag.“Ijustwantyoukidstobesafe.You’vegotalottolookforwardto.Wewantallyourwildestdreamstocometrue,honey!”
Myheartstutters.NotbecausemymomisimplyingthatAlexandIarehavingsex—nowthatit’soccurredtome,ofcoursethat’swhatshethinks—butbecauseIknowshe’sespousingtheimportanceoffinishingcollege,whichIstillhaven’ttoldherIdon’tplantodo.
I’veonlytoldAlexthatI’mnotgoingbacknextyear.I’vebeenwaitingtotellmyparentsuntilafterthetripsonobigblowupkeepsitfromhappening
Myparentsareultrasupportive,butthat’spartlybecausebothofthemwantedtogotocollegeandneitherofthemhadthesupporttodoso.They’vealwaysassumedthatanydreamIcouldhavewouldbeaidedbyhavingadegree.
Butthroughouttheschoolyear,mostofmydreamingandenergyhavebeendevotedtotraveling:weekendtripsandshortstintsoverbreaksfromschool—usuallyonmyown,butsometimeswithAlex(camping,becausethat’swhatwecanafford),orwithmyroommate,Clarissa,arichhippietypeImetinaninformationalmeetingaboutstudy-abroadprogramsattheendoflastyear(visitstoeachofherparents’separatelakehouses).She’sstartingnextyear—senioryear—inVienna,andgettingarthistorycreditsforit,butthelongerIconsideredanyofthoseprograms,thelessinterestedIfoundmyself.
Idon’twanttogotoAustraliaonlytospendalldayinaclassroom,andIdon’twanttorackupthousandsmoreindebtjusttohaveanAcademicExperienceinBerlin.Forme,travelingisaboutwandering,meetingpeopleyoudon’texpect,doingthingsyou’veneverdone.Andasidefromthat,allthoseweekendtripshavestartedtopayoff.I’veonlybeenbloggingforeightmonths,andalreadyIhaveafewthousandfollowersonsocialmedia.
WhenIfoundoutIfailedmybiologicalsciencegeneralrequirement,andthusitwouldtakemeanextrasemestertograduate,thatwasthefinalstraw.
AndI’mgoingtotellmyparentsallthis,andsomehow,I’llfindawaytomakethemunderstandthatschoolisn’trightformethewayitisforpeoplelikeAlex.Buttodayisnotthatday.Today,we’regoingtoNashville,andafterthelastsemester,allIwantistoletloose.
Justnotinthewaymymotherisimplying.
“Mom,”Isay.“IamnothavingsexwithAlex.”
“Youdon’thavetotellmeanything,”shereplieswithacool,calm,andcollectednod,thoughthatmannergoescompletelyoutthewindowasshegoeson:“Ijustneedtoknowthatyou’rebeingresponsible.Ohmygoodness,Ican’tbelievehowgrown-upyouare!It’smakingmetearyjustthinkingaboutit.Butyoustillhavetoberesponsible!I’msureyouare,though.You’resuchasmartgirl!Andyou’vealwaysknownyourself.I’msoproudofyou,honey.”
I’mbeingmoreresponsiblethansheknows.WhileI’vemadeoutwithafewdifferentguysoverthelastyear,anddidmorethanthatwithone,I’vestillstayedprettysafelyintheslowlane.WhenItipsilyadmittedthistoClarissaduringatriptohermom’slakehouseonthefarshoreofLakeMichigan,hereyeswidenedlikeshewasgazingintoascryingpool,andshesaidinthatairywayofhers,“Whatisityou’rewaitingfor?”
Ijustshrugged.Thetruthis,I’mnotsure.IjustfigureI’llknowwhenIseeit.
SometimesIthinkI’mbeingtoopractical,whichisn’tsomethingI’veeverbeenaccusedof,butwiththis,IfeelattimeslikeI’mwaitingfortheperfectcircumstancesforaFirstTime.
OthertimesIthinkitmighthavesomethingtodowithPornyPoppy.Likeafterallthat,I’mincapableoflosingmyselfinamoment,inaperson.
MaybeIjustneedtomakeadecision,choosesomeonefromalineupofthelooselyheldcrushesI’mharboringonsomeoftheguysAlexandIrunintoregularlyatparties.PeopleintheEnglishdepartmentwithhim,orcommunicationsdepartmentwithme,oranyoftheotherregularlyoccurringcharactersinourlives.
Butfornow,I’mholdingouthope,waitingforthatmagicalmomentwhenitfeelsrightwithonepersoninparticular
ThatpersonisnotgoingtobeAlex.
Actually,ifIweretojustchoosesomeone,itprobablywouldbe.I’dbestraight-upwithhim,explainwhatIwantedtodoandwhy,andprobablyinsistbothofussignsomethinginbloodsayingitwouldonlyhappenonceandwewouldneverspeakofitagain.
Butevenifitcomestothat,Imakeasilentandsolemnvowrightnow,Iwillnotbeusingacondomfromthebulkboxmymomjusttuckedintomysuitcase.
“Ireally,reallysweartoyouIdon’tneedthese,”Isay.
Shestandsandpatsthebox.“Maybenotnow,butwhynotholdontothem?Justincase.Also,areyouhungry?I’vegotcookiesintheoven,and—shoot,Iforgottorunthedishwasher.”
Shehurriesfromtheroom,andIfinishpacking,thendragmybagdownstairs.Mom’sattheisland,choppingbrownedbananasforbananabreadwhilethecookiescool,andAlexissittinginthatveryrigidwaybesidemyfather.“Ready?”Isay,andhespringsoffthestoollikeIwasbornreadytonotbesittingnexttoyourveryintimidatingfather
“Yep.”Hescrubshishandsdownthefrontsofhispantslegs.“Yeah.”It’srightaroundthenthatheclockstheboxofcondomstuckedundermyarm.
“This?”Isay.“Thisisjustfivehundredcondomsmymomgavemeincasewestartboning.”
Alex’sfaceflushes.
“Poppy!”Momcries.
Dadlooksoverhisshoulder,aghast.“Sincewhenareyoutworomanticallyinvolved?”
“Idon’t…Wedon’t…dothat,sir,”Alextries.
“Here,willyoucarrytheseouttothecar,Dad?”Itossthemovertheislandtohim.“Myarm’sgettingtiredfromholdingit.Hopefullyourhotelhasthosebigluggagecarts.”
Alexisstillnot-quite-lookingatDad.“Wereallyaren’t…”
Momdigsherhandsintoherhips.“Thatwassupposedtobeprivate.Look,you’reembarrassinghim.Don’tembarrasshim,Poppy.Don’tbeembarrassed,Alex.”
“Itwasnevergoingtobeprivateforlong,”Isay.“Ifthatboxdoesn’tfitinthetrunk,we’regoingtohavetostrapittothetopofthestationwagon.”
Dadsetstheboxonthesidetableandstartsreadingthesideofitwithafurrowinhisbrow.“Arethesereallymadeoutoflambskin?Aretheyreusable?”
Alexcannothidehisshudder.
Momoffersup,“Iwasn’tsureifeitherofthemisallergictolatex!”
“Okay,we’vegottohittheroad,”Isay.“Comegiveushugsgoodbye.Thenexttimeyouseeus,youmightjustbegrandpar—”Idropoff,stoprubbingmytummymeaningfullywhenIseethelookonAlex’sface.“Kidding!We’rejustfriends.Bye,Mom.Bye,Dad!”
“Oh,you’regoingtohaveanamazingtime.Ican’twaittohearallaboutit.”Momcomesoutfrombehindthecounterandpullsmeintoahug.“Begood,”shesays.“Anddon’tforgettocallyourbrotherswhenyougetdownthere!They’redesperatetohearfromyou!”
OverhershoulderImouthatAlex,desperate,andhefinallycracksasmile.
“Loveyou,kiddo.”Dadclambersoffthestooltogivemeasqueeze.“Youtakecareofmylittlebaby,okay?”hesaystoAlexbeforepullinghimintothebackslaphugthatstartleshimaneweverytimeithappens.“Don’tlethergetengagedtoacountrysingerorbreakherneckonamechanicalbull.”
“Ofcourse,”Alexsays.
“We’llsee,”Isay,andthentheywalkusoutside—boxofcondomsleftsafelyontheisland—andwavetousaswebackdownthedriveway,andAlexgrinsandwavesbackuntilwe’refinallyoutofsight,atwhichpointhelooksatmeandsaysflatly,“Iamverymadatyou.”
“HowcanImakeituptoyou?”Ibatmyeyelasheslikeasexycartooncat.
Herollshiseyes,butasmirktwistsupinthecornerofhismouthashiseyesreturntotheroad.“Foronething,youaredefinitelyridingamechanicalbull.”
Ikickmyfeetupontothedashboard,proudlydisplayingthecowgirlbootsIfoundatathriftstoreafewweeksago.“Wayaheadofyou.”
Hiseyesslidetome,movedownmylegstothebrightredleather.“Andthosearesupposedtokeepyouonamechanicalbullhow?”
Iclickmyheelstogether.“They’renot.They’rejustsupposedtocharmthehandsomecountrysingeratthebarintoscrapingmeoffthematandintohisfarm-buffarms.”
“Farmbuff,”Alexsnorts,unimpressedbytheidea.
“SaysGym-Buff,”Itease.
Hefrowns.“Iexerciseformyanxiety.”
“Yes,I’msureyoucouldn’tcarelessaboutthatgorgeousbody.It’sincidental.”
Hisjawpulses,andhiseyesfixontheroadagain.“Iliketolooknice,”hesaysinavoicethatimpliesanadded,Isthatacrime?
“Idotoo.”Islideoneofmyfeetalongthedashuntilmyredbootisinhisfieldofvision.“Obviously.”
Hisgazedartsovermylegdowntothemiddleconsolewherehisauxcablesitsinaneatloop.“Here.”Hehandsittome.“Whydon’tyougetusstarted?”
Thesedayswealwaystaketurnsrunningsoundinthestationwagon,butAlexalwaysgivesmethefirstshot,becauseheisAlex,andheisthebest.
Iinsistonanall-countryplaylistforthelengthofthedrive.MineispopulatedbyShaniaTwain,RebaMcEntire,CarrieUnderwood,andDollyParton.HisisallPatsyClineandWillieNelson,GlenCampbellandJohnnyCash,andahelpingofTammyWynetteandHankWilliams.
WefoundthehotelonGrouponmonthsago,andit’soneofthosekitschy,one-offplaceswithaneon-pinksign(cartooncowboyhatbalancedatopthewordVACANCY)thatmakesthenickname“Nashvegas”finallymakesensetome.
Wecheckinandtakeourstuffinside.EachroomisvaguelythemedafterafamousNashvillemusician.Meaningthereareframedpicturesofthemallovertheroom,andthenthesamehideousfloralcomfortersanddensetanfleecesonallthebeds.ItriedtorequesttheKittyWellsroom,butapparentlywhenyoubookthroughGroupon,youdon’tgettopick.
WeareintheBillyRayCyrusroom.
“Doyouthinkhegetspaidforthis?”IaskAlex,who’spullingupthebeddingtocheckforbedbugsalongthebottomofthemattresses.
“Doubtful,”hesays.“MaybetheythrowhimtheoccasionalfrozenyogurtGrouponorsomething.”Hepushesbackthedrapesandgazesoutattheflashingneonsign.“Dotheydoroomsbythehourhere?”hesaysskeptically.
“Doesn’treallymatter,”Isay,“sinceIleftthecondomcrateathome.”
Heshuddersanddropsontooneofthebeds,satisfiedthatit’sbugfree.“IfIhadn’thadtowitnessthat,itwouldactuallybeprettysweet.”
“Iwouldhavestillhadtowitnessit,Alex.Don’tImatter?”
“Yeah,butyou’reherdaughter.Theclosestmydadevercametogivingusasextalkwasleavingabookaboutpurityoneachofourbedsaroundthetimeweturnedthirteen.IthoughtmasturbatingcausedcanceruntilIwas,like,sixteen.”
Mychestsqueezestight.SometimesIforgethowhardAlexhashadit.HismomdiedfromcomplicationsduringDavid’sbirth,andMr.NilsenandthefourNilsenboyshavebeenwife-andmotherlesssince.Hisdadfinallydatedawomanfromtheirchurchlastyear,buttheybrokeupafterthreemonths,andeventhoughMr.Nilsenwastheonetoendit,hewasstillsotornupthatAlexhadtodrivehomefromschoolinthemiddleoftheweektogethimthroughit.
Alexistheonehisbrotherscalltoo,whensomethinggoeswrong.Theemotionalrock.
SometimesIthinkthat’swhywe’resodrawntoeachother.Becausehe’susedtobeingthesteadfastbigbrotherandI’musedtobeingtheannoyinglittlesister.It’sadynamicweunderstand:Ilovinglyteasehim;hemakestheentireworldfeelsaferforme.
Thisweek,though,I’mnotgoingtoneedanythingfromhim.It’smymissiontohelpAlexletloose,tobringSillyAlexbackoutofOverworked,HyperfocusedAlex.
“Youknow,”Isay,sittingonthebed,“ifyoueverwanttoborrowsomeoverbearingparents,mineareobsessedwithyou.Imean,clearly.Mymomwantsyoutotakemyvirginity.”
Heleansbackonhishands,hisheadtipping.“Yourmomthinksyouhaven’thadsex?”
Ibalk.“Ihaven’thadsex.Ithoughtyouknewthat.”Itseemslikewetalkabouteverything,butIguesstherearestillafewplaceswehaven’tgone.
“No.”Alexcoughs.“Imean,Idon’tknow.Youleftafewpartieswithpeople.”
“Yeah,butnothingseriouseverhappens.It’snotlikeIdatedanyofthem.”
“Ithoughtthatwasjustbecauseyoudidn’t,like,wanttodate.”
“IguessIdon’t,”Isay.OratleastsofarIhaven’t.“Idon’tknow.IguessIjustwantittobespecial.Notlikeithastobeafullmoonandwe’reinarosegardenoranything.”
Alexwinces.“Outsidesexisn’twhatit’scrackeduptobe.”
“Youlittleminx!”Icry.“You’vebeenholdingoutonme.”
Heshrugs,earsreddening.“Ijustdon’treallytalkaboutthis.Withanyone.Likeevenjustsayingthatmademefeelguilty,likeI’mwronginghersomehow.”
“It’snotlikeyousaidhername.”Ileanforwardanddropmyvoice.“SarahTorval?”
Hebumpshiskneeintomine,smilingfaintly.“You’reobsessedwithSarahTorval.”
“No,dude,”Isay.“Youare.”
“Itwasn’ther,”hesays.“Itwasanothergirlfromthelibrary.Lydia.”
“Oh…my…god,”Isay,giddy.“TheonewiththebigdolleyesandthesameexacthaircutasSarahTorval?”
“Stoooop,”Alexgroans,pinkspreadingoverhischeeks.Hegrabsapillowandhurlsitatme.“Stopembarrassingme.”
“Butit’ssofun!”
HeforceshisfacetorelaxintotheOn-the-Verge-of-CryingPuppyFaceandIscreamandflingmyselfbackwardonthebed,mywholebodygoinglimpwithlaughterasIdragthepillowovermyeyes.Thebeddipsunderhisweightashesitsbesidemeandtugsthepillowoffmyface,leaningoverme,handsbracedoneithersideofmyhead,insinuatinghisSadPuppyFaceintomylineofsight
“Ohmygod,”Igaspthroughamixoftearsandlaughter.“Whydoesthishavesuchaconfusingeffectonme?”
“Idon’tknow,Poppy,”hesays,theexpressiondeepeningsorrowfully.
“Itspeakstome!”Icryoutthroughlaughter,andhismouthpullsintoagrin.
Andrightthen.That.
ThatisthefirstmomentIwanttokissAlexNilsen.
Ifeelitallthewaytomytoesfortwobreathlessseconds.ThenIpackthosesecondsintoatightknot,tuckingthemdeepinmychestwhereIpromisemyselftheywillliveinsecretforever.
“Comeon,”hesayssoftly.“Let’sgogetyouonamechanicalbull.”13
ThisSummer
WEGETTHEthermostatdowntoseventy-nineandsetitforseventy-eightbeforeweleaveforaMexicanrestaurantcalledCasadeSam,whichhasagreatscoreonTripadvisorandonlyonedollarsignsignifyingitscost.
Thefoodisgreat,buttheair-conditioningistherealMVPofthenight.Alexkeepsleaningbackinthebooth,closinghiseyes,andmakingcontentedsighs
“DoyouthinkSamwillletussleephere?”Iask.
“Wecouldtryjusthidinginthebathroomuntilclosing,”Alexsuggests.
“I’mafraidtodrinktoomuchandgetheatexhaustion,”Isay,takinganothersipofthejalape?omargaritaweorderedapitcherof.
“I’mafraidtodrinktoolittleandnotbeabletoknockmyselfoutforanentirenight.”
Eventhinkingaboutithasmyneckcrawlingwithsweat.“I’msorryabouttheAirbnb,”Isay.“Noneofthereviewsmentionedfaultyair-conditioning.”ThoughnowI’mwonderinghowmanypeoplestayedthereinthedeadofsummer.
“It’snotyourfault,”Alexsays.“IholdNikolaifullyresponsible.”
Inod,andthesilenceunfurlsawkwardlyuntilIask,“How’syourdad?”
“Yeah,”Alexsays.“Good.He’sdoinggood.Itoldyouaboutthebumpersticker?”
Ismile.“Youdid.”
Hegivesaself-consciouslaughandthrustshishandthroughhishair.“God,gettingoldisboring.Mybestpartystoryisthatmydadgotanewbumpersticker.”
“Prettygreatstory,”Iinsist.
“You’reright.”Hisheadtilts.“Nextdoyouwanttohearaboutmydishwasher?”
Igaspandclutchmyheart.“Youownyourowndishwasher?Like,it’sinyourname?”
“Um.Theydon’ttypicallyregisterdishwasherstoyourname,butyes,Iboughtit.RightafterIgotthehouse.”
Anamelessemotionstabsatmychest.“You…boughtahouse?”
“Ididn’ttellyou?”
Ishakemyhead.Ofcoursehedidn’ttellme.Whenwouldhehavetoldme?Butstillithurts.EverysinglethingI’vemissedinthelasttwoyearshurts.
“Mygrandparents’house,”hesays.“Aftermygrandmapassedaway.Sheleftittomydad,andhewantedtosellit,butitneedsworkhedidn’thavethetimeormoneyfor,soI’vebeenlivinginit,fixingitup.”
“Betty?”Iswallowthetangleofemotionsrisinginmythroat.IonlymetAlex’sgrandmotherafewtimes,butIlovedher.Shewastinierthanmeandfierce,aloverofmurdermysteriesandcrocheting,spicyfoodandmodernart.She’dfalleninlovewithherpriestandhe’dleftthepriesthoodtomarryher(“Andthat’showwebecameProtestants!”)andthen(“eightmonthslater,”shetoldmewithawink),Alex’smotherhadbeenbornwithaheadofthickdarkhairjustlikehersanda“strong”noselikeAlex’sgrandfather,Godresthissoul.
Herhousewasafunkyquad-levelfromtheearlysixties.Ithadtheoriginalorangeandyellowfloralwallpaperinthelivingroom,andshe’dhadtoputuglybrowncarpetoverthehardwoodandtile—eveninthebathroom—aftersheslippedandbrokeherhipseveralyearsago.
“Betty’sgone?”Iwhisper.
“Itwaspeaceful,”Alexsays,withoutlookingatme.“Youknow,shewasreally,reallyold.”He’sstartedtofoldourstrawwrappers,precisely,intosmallsquares.Heshowsnosignofemotion,butIknowBettywasprettymuchhisfavoritefamilymember,maybetiedwithDavid.
“God,I’msorry.”Ifighttokeepmyvoicefromshaking,butmyemotionisrising,tidal-wavestyle.“FlanneryO’ConnorandBetty.Iwishyou’dtoldme.”
Hishazeleyesdraguptomine.“Iwasn’tsureyouwantedtohearfromme.”
Iblinkbacktears,glanceaway,andpretendI’msweepingmyhairoutofmyfaceratherthanwipingatmyeyes.WhenIlookbackathim,hisgazeisstillfixedonme.
“Idid,”Isay.Shit,thetremorshavearrived.
Eventhemariachibandplayinginthebackroomseemstoquiettoahum,sothatit’sjustusinthisredboothwithitscolorfulhand-carvedtable.
“Well,”Alexsayssoftly.“NowIknow.”
Iwanttoaskifhewantedtotalktomeinallthattime,ifheevertypedoutmessagesthatwentunsentorthoughtaboutcallingforsolongheactuallystartedtodial.
Ifhetoofeelslikehelosttwogoodyearsofhislifewhenwestoppedtalking,andwhyheletithappen.Iwanthimtosaythingscanbehowtheywerebefore,whentherewasnothingwecouldn’tsaytoeachother,andbeingtogetherwasaseasyandnaturalasbeingalone,withoutanyoftheloneliness.
Butthenourservercomesbywiththecheck.IinstinctivelyreachforitbeforeAlexcan.
“That’snotR+R’scard?”hesays,likeit’saquestion.
Withoutactivelydecidingto,Ilie.“Theyjustreimburseusnow.”Myhandstingle,itchwithdiscomfortoverthedeception,butit’stoolatetotakeitback.
Whenwegetoutside,it’sdarkandstarry.Theheatofthedayhasbroken,andthoughitstillmustbeintheupperseventies,it’snothingcomparedtotheonehundredandsixweweredealingwithearlier.There’sevenabreeze.We’resilentaswecrosstheparkinglottotheAspire.There’saheavinessbetweenusnowthatwe’vebrushedagainstwhathappenedinCroatia.
I’dconvincedmyselfwecouldleaveitinthepast,butnowIrealizethateverytimeIlearnsomethingnewfromthelasttwoyears,itwillpressonthatsamerawspotinmyheart.
It’sgottobehavingsomekindofeffectonhimtoo,buthe’salwaysbeengoodatbottlinguphisfeelingswhenhedoesn’twanttosharethem.
ThewholeridehomeIwanttosay,I’dtakeitback.Ifitwouldfixthis,I’dtakeitback
Whenwereachtheapartment,itisofficiallyhotterinsidethanoutside.Webothbeelineforthethermostat.“Eighty-one?”hesays.“Itwentupagain?”
Irubthebridgeofmynose.Aheadacheisstartingbehindmyeyes,fromheatoralcoholorstress,orallofit.“Okay.Okay.We’vegottoturnitbackuptoeighty,right?Andletitdroptothatbeforeweloweritagain?”
Alexstaresatthethermostatlikeitjustknockedanicecreamconeoutofhishand.ThereareunintentionalshadesofSadPuppyFaceinhisexpression.
“Onedegreeatatime.That’swhatNikolaisaid.”
Headjuststhetemperaturetoeighty,andIslideopenthedoortothebalcony
Butthewallofplasticsheetingiskeepingoutthefreshair.Inthekitchenette,IriflethroughdrawersuntilIfindapairofscissors.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Alexasks,followingmeontothebalcony.
“Justthebarefuckingminimum,”Isay,slicingthescissorsintothemiddleoftheplastic.
“Oooh,Nikolai’sgonnabemaaaaadatyou,”Alexteases.
“I’mnottoohappywithhimeither,”Isay,andcutalongflapintheplastic,pullingitasideandlooselyknottingit,sothere’sagapforairtoflowthrough.
“He’sgoingtosueus,”hedeadpans.
“Comeatme,Nicky.”
Alexchuckles,andafterafewsecondsofsilence,Isay,“TomorrowIwasthinkingwecouldcheckouttheartmuseumandgotakethetramway.Theview’ssupposedtobeamazing.”
Alexnods.“Soundsgood.”
Againwelapseintoquiet.It’sonlytenthirty,butthingsarejustawkwardenoughthatIthinkcallingitadaymightbeourbestbet.“Doyouneedintothebathroombefore…”
“No,”Alexsays.“Goahead.I’mgonnacatchuponsomeemails.”
Ihaven’tcheckedmyworkemailsinceIgothere,andI’vealsoletafewmessagesfromRachelsit,alongwiththealwaysoverflowinggrouptextbetweenmybrothersandme.It’slargelyjustthetwoofthembrainstormingideasthatwon’tgoanywhere.LastIcheckedin,theywereconcoctingaboardgamecalledWaronChristmasanddemandingIcontributepuns.
SoatleastI’llhavesomethingtodowhilelyingonthechairbed,wideawake.
Headachestillbuilding,Itugmyhairintomygo-tostubbyponytailandcrossthescuffedwoodenfloorstothespace-agebathroom.Initsstrangebluelight,Iwashmyface,butratherthanapplyinganyofthefancymoisturizersorserumsthatRachelisconstantlyoffloadingonme,IsplashmyfacewithcoldwaterwhenI’mdone,rubsomeonmytemplesandmyneck.
Inthemirror,myreflectionlooksaswretchedlystressedasIfeel.IneedtoturnthisaroundandremindAlexhowthingsusedtobe,andIonlyhavefivedayslefttodoit,thelastthreeofwhichwillbepepperedwithweddingfestivities.
Tomorrowhastobeamazing.IneedtobeFunPoppy,notWeird,HurtPoppy.ThenAlexwillloosenup,andeverythingwillsmoothout.Ichangeintoapairofsilkypajamashortsandatanktop,brushmyteeth,thenstepbackintothelivingspacetofindthatAlexhasturnedoffallthelightsexceptthelampbesidethebed,andhe’slyingonthechairmattressinapairofexerciseshortsandaT-shirt,hissamebookfromearlierinhand.
IhappentoknowthatAlexNilsenhasalwayssleptshirtless,evenwhenthetemperaturesarenotthisabsurdlyhigh,butthat’sneitherherenortherebecausethepointis,I’msupposedtotakethefoldoutchair.
“Getoutofmybed!”Isay.
“Youpaid,”hesays.“Yougetthebed.”
“R+Rpaid.”Justlikethat,I’mdeeperintothelie.It’snotlikeit’saharmfulone,butstill.
“Iwantthechair,”Alexsays.“Howoftendoesagrownmangettosleeponafuzzyfoldoutchair,Poppy?”
Isitbesidehimandmakeabigshowoftryingtopushhimoff,buthe’stoosolidformetobudgehim.Itwistaround,bracingmyfeetagainstthefloor,mykneesagainsttheedgeofthebedthing,andmyhandsagainsthisrighthip,asIgritmyteethandtrytopushhimoffofit.
“Stopit,youweirdo,”hesays.
“I’mnottheweirdo.”Iturnsideways,trytousemyhipandsidebodytoforcehimoff.“You’retheonewho’stryingtostealmyonejoyinlife,thisweirdbed.”
Inthatmoment,whenallmyweightisprettymuchfocusedinmyhip,hestopsresistingandscootssidewaysalittle,andsomehowItumblehalfwayontothechairbedandhalfwayontohischest,forcefullyknockinghisbookontothefloorintheprocess.Helaughs,andIlaughtoo,butI’malsofeelingkindoftinglyandheavyand,frankly,turnedon,lyingonhimlikethis.
Worstofall,Ican’tseemtomakemyselfmove.Hisarmhascomearoundmyback,looseoverthecurveatitsbase,andwhenhislaughtersettles,Ilookupintohiseyes,mychinrestingonhischest.“Youtrickedme,”Ihum.“Ibetyoudidn’tevenhaveemailstorespondto.”
“Forallyouknow,Idon’tevenhaveanemailaccount,”heteases.“Areyoumad?”
“Furious.”
Hislaughshiversthroughme,goosebumpschasingitdownmyspine,andtheheatoftheapartmentsinksintomyskin,gathersbetweenmylegs.
“I’dforgiveyoueventually,”Isay.“I’mveryforgiving.”
“Youare,”heagrees.“I’vealwayslikedthataboutyou.”
Hishandjustbarelybrushestheskinbetweenthebottomofmytanktopandthetopofmyshorts,andIshiftagainsthim,feelingasifwecouldmeltintoeachother.
WhatamIdoing?
Isitupsuddenlyandtakemyhairdownjusttoputitbackup.“You’resureyou’recooltosleeponthechairbed?”Myvoicecomesouttoohigh.
“Ofcourse.Yeah.”
Istandandpadovertothebed.“Okay,cool,then…goodnight.”
Iturnoffthelightandclimbontobed.Onto,notinto,becauseit’swaytoohotforblankets.14
ThisSummer
WHENISTARTLEawake,it’sstilldarkout,andI’msurewe’rebeingrobbed.
“Shit,shit,shit,”therobberissayingforsomereason,anditsoundslikehe’sinpain.
“Thepoliceareontheirway!”Iyelp—whichisneitheratruestatementnorapremeditatedone—andscrambletotheedgeofthebedtosnaponthelight.
“What?”Alexhisses,eyessquintingagainstthesuddenbrightness.
He’sstandinginthedarkinthesameblackshortshewenttosleepinandnoshirt.He’sbentslightlyatthewaistandgrippinghislowerbackwithbothhands,andasthesleepclearsfrommybrain,Irealizehe’snotjustsquintingagainstthelight.
He’sgaspingforbreathlikehe’sinpain.
“Whathappened?”Icry,halftumblingoffthebedtowardhim.“Areyouokay?”
“Backspasm,”hesays.
“What?”
“I’mhavingabackspasm,”hegetsout.
I’mstillnotsurewhathe’stalkingabout,butIcantellhe’sinhorriblepain,soIdon’tpressformoreinformationasidefromasking,“Doyouneedtositdown?”
Henods,andIguidehimtowardthebed.Heslowlylowersontoit,wincinguntilhe’sfinallysitting,atwhichpointsomeofthepainseemstoeaseup.
“Doyouwanttoliedown?”Iask.
Heshakeshishead.“Gettingupanddownisthehardestpartwhenthishappens.”
Whenthishappens?Ithinkbutdon’tsay,andguiltstabsthroughmychest.ApparentlythisisanotheroneofthosePoppy-lessdevelopmentsfromthelasttwoyears.
“Here,”Isay.“Letmepropsomepillowsupbehindyou.”
Henods,whichItakeasconfirmationthatthiswon’tmakethingsworse.Ipuffupthepillows,stackingthemagainsttheheadboard,andheslowlyreclines,hisfacecontortedinpain.
“Alex,whathappened?”Iglanceatthealarmclockonthebedsidetable.It’sfivethirtyinthemorning.
“Iwasgettinguptorun,”hesays.“ButIguessIsatupweird?Ortoofastorsomething,becausemybackspasmedand—”Hetipshisheadbackagainstthepillows,eyesscrunchingclosed.“Shit,Poppy,I’msorry.”
“Sorry?”Isay.“Whyareyousorry?”
“It’smyfault,”hesays.“Ididn’tthinkabouthowlowtothegroundthatcotthingis.Ishould’veknownpoppingoutofbedlikethatwoulddothis.”
“Howcouldyouhavepossiblyknownthat?”Isay,disbelieving.
Hemassageshisforehead.“Ishouldhave,”herepeats.“Thishasbeenhappeningfor,like,ayearnow.Ican’tevenbendovertopickupmyshoesuntilI’vebeenawakeandmovingaroundforatleasthalfanhour.Itjustdidn’toccurtome.AndIdidn’twantyoutogetamigrainefromthechair,and—”
“Andthat’swhyyoushouldneverbeahero,”Isaygently,teasing,buthisexpressionofmiserydoesn’tsomuchaswaver.
“Iwasn’tthinking,”hesays.“Ididn’tmeantomessupyourtrip.”
“Alex,hey.”Itouchhisarmlightlysoitwon’tdisturbtherestofhisbody.“Youdidn’tmessupthistrip,okay?Nikolaidid.”
Thecornersofhismouthtwistintoanunconvincedsmile.
“Whatdoyouneed?”Iask.“HowcanIhelpyou?”
Hesighs.Ifthere’sonethingAlexNilsenhates,it’sbeinghelpless.Whichgoeshandinhandwithbeingwaitedon.Incollege,whenhehadstrepthroat,heghostedmeforaweek(thefirsttimeIwastrulymadathim).WhenhisroommatetoldmeAlexwaslaidupwithafever,Imadeverybadchickennoodlesoupinourdormkitchenandbroughtittohisroom.
Helockedthedoorandwouldn’tletmeinforfearofpassingthestrepalong,soIstartedyelling,“I’mkeepingthebaby,okay?”throughthedoorwayandherelented.
Itmakeshimuncomfortabletobefussedover.Thinkingaboutthathasasimilar,ifdistilled,effectonmeaslookingattheformidableSadPuppyFace.Itoverwhelms.Theloveriseslesslikeawaveandmorelikeaninstantaneouslyerectedsteelskyscraper,shootingupthroughmycenterandknockingeverythingelseoutofitsway.
“Alex,”Isay.“Pleaseletmehelp.”
Hesighs,defeated.“Therearemusclerelaxantsinthefrontpocketofmylaptopbag.”
“Onit.”Iretrievethebottle,fillaglassofwaterinthekitchenette,andbringhimboth.
“Thanks,”hesaysapologetically,thentakesthepill.
“Noproblem,”Isay.“Whatelse?”
“Youdon’thavetodoanything,”hesays.
“Look.”Itakeadeepbreath.“ThesooneryoutellmehowIcanhelpyou,thesooneryougetbetter,andthesoonerthisisover,okay?”
Histeethskimoverhisfullbottomlip,andI’mmesmerizedbythesight.Istartlewhenhisgazecutsbacktome.“Ifthere’sanicepackhere,thatwouldhelp,”headmits.“UsuallyIalternatebetweencoldcompressesandheatingpads,buttheimportantthingisjustsittingstill.”
Hesaysthiswithdisdain.
“Gotit.”Islipmysandalsonandgrabmypurse.
“Whatareyoudoing?”heasks.
“Goingtothepharmacy.Thatfreezerdoesn’tevenhaveanicecubetray,letaloneanicepack,andIdoubtNickyhasaheatingpadeither.”
“Youdon’thavetodothat,”Alexsays.“Really,ifIsitstill,I’mfine.Gobacktosleep.”
“Whileyousituprightinthedark?Noway.Foronething,that’sextremelycreepy,andforanother,I’mup,soImightaswellbeofuse.”
“Thisisyourvacation.”
Iwalktowardthedoor,becausethere’snothinghecandotostopme.“No,”Isay.“It’soursummertrip.Don’tdancearoundnakeduntilIgetback,okay?”
Heheavesasigh.“Thanks,Poppy.Seriously.”
“Stopthankingme.I’malreadydraftinganabsurdlistofwaysforyoutorepayme.”
Thatfinallywinsafaintsmile.“Good.Iliketobeuseful.”
“Iknow,”Isay.“I’vealwayslikedthataboutyou.”15
EightSummersAgo
WEGETBACKtoourdowntownhotelroomattwothirtyinthemorning,alittlebithammered.Usually,wedon’tdrinksomuch,butthiswholetriphasbeenacelebration
WearecelebratingthefactthatAlexhasgraduatedfromcollege,andthatsoonhe’llbeleavingtogethisMFAincreativewritingfromIndianaUniversity
Itellmyselfit’snotthatfaraway.Infact,we’llbelivingclosertoeachotherthanwehavebeensinceIdroppedout.
Butthetruthis,evenwithallthetravelingI’vebeendoing,I’mitchingtogetoutofmyparents’houseinLinfield.I’vestartedlookingforapartmentsinothercities,flexiblejobsbartendingandservingwhereIcanworkmyselftoexhaustion,thentakeweeksofftotravel.
Spendingtimewithmyparentshasbeengreat,buteverythingelseaboutbeinghomemakesmefeelclaustrophobic,likethesuburbsareanetpullingtighterandtighteraroundmeasIstruggleagainstit.
Irunintomyoldteachers,andwhentheyaskwhatI’mdoing,theirmouthstwistjudgmentallyattheanswer.Iseeclassmateswhousedtobullyme,andsomethatwerefriendlyenough,andIhide.Iworkatanupscalebarfortyminutessouth,inCincinnati,andwhenJasonStanley,myfirstkiss,cameinwithhisorthodontist-perfectedsmileandthekindofclothesfull-timewhite-collarjobsrequire,Idoveintothebathroom.ToldmybossIhadvomited.
Forweeksafterthat,shekeptaskinghowIwasdoinginavoicethatmadeitperfectlyclearshethoughtIwaspregnant.
Iwasnotpregnant.JulianandIarealwayscarefulaboutthat.OratleastIam.Julian,ingeneral,isnotcarefulbynature.Heisapersonwhosaysyestotheworld,almostregardlessofwhatitasks.Whenhevisitsmeatwork,hefinishesdrinksthatgetleftonthebar,andhe’striedmostdrugs(heroinexcluded)once.He’salwaysupforweekendtripstoRedRiverGorgeorHockingHills—orslightlylongertripstoNewYork,ontheovernightbusthat’sonlysixtydollarsroundtripbutoftenhasnobathroom.HehasthesamekindofflexiblescheduleIdo—he’sacollegedropouttoo,buthelefttheUniversityofCincinnatiafteronlyoneyear.
Hewasstudyingarchitecturaldesign,butreally,hewantstobeaworkingartist.HeshowshispaintingsatDIYspotsaroundthecity,andheliveswiththreeotherpaintersinanoldwhitehousethatmakesmethinkofBuckandthetransientsofTofino.Sometimes,afteronetoomanybeers,sittingontheporchwhiletheyallsmokeweedorclovecigarettesandtalkabouttheirdreams,itmakesmesonostalgicIcouldcryfromsomemixtureofsadnessandhappinesswhoseproportionsIcanneverquitesortout.
Julianisrake-thinwithhollowed-outcheekbonesandalerteyesthatcanfeellikethey’rex-rayingyou.Afterourfirstkiss,outsidehisfavoritebar,agrungyplacedowntownthathasabikerepairshopintheback,hetoldmehedidn’teverwanttogetmarriedorhavekids.
“That’sokay,”Itoldhim.“Idon’twanttomarryyoueither.”
Helaughedgrufflyandkissedmeagain.Healwaystasteslikecigarettesorbeer,andwhenhespendshisdaysoffwork—heworksinaUPSwarehouseattheedgeoftown—paintingathome,hegetssolostinhisworkthatheforgetstoeatordrink.Whenwemeetupafterward,he’susuallyinafoulmoodbutonlyforafewminutes,untilhehasasnack,atwhichpointhemeltsbackintoasweet,sensitiveboyfriendwhoalwayskissesandtouchesmesosensuallythatIregularlyfindmyselfthinking,Ibetthiswouldlookbeautifulonfilm
Iconsidersayingittohim,askingifweshouldsetupacameraandtakesomepictures,andI’mimmediatelyembarrassedtohaveevenconsideredit.
He’sthesecondpersonI’veeversleptwith,buthedoesn’tknowthat.Hedidn’task.Thefirststillcomesintomybareveryonceinawhileandflirtsalittle,butwecanbothtellthatwhatevermildattractiontherewaswhenhefirststartedcominginfizzledafterthosetwoquickhookups.Theywerekindofawkwardbutfine,andintheend,I’mgladIgotthemoutofthewaybecauseIhaveasensethatJulianwould’vebeentoofreakedtocomenearmeifhe’dknownhowinexperiencedIwas.Hewould’vebeenafraidI’dgettooattachedtohim,andprobablyIhave,butIthinkhehastoo,sofornow,it’sokaythatwespendeveryspareminutetogether.
JulianmetAlexoncewhenAlexwashomeforChristmasbreakatmybar,asecondtimeduringspringbreakatJulian’sgrungybikebar,andathirdtimeforbreakfastatWaffleHousebeforeAlexandIleftforthistrip.
IcantellJulianhasverylittleopinionofAlex,whichismildlydisappointing,andlikewiseI’mawarethatAlexdespisesJulian,whichprobablyshouldn’thavebeenasurprise.
HethinksJulianisreckless,careless.Hedoesn’tlikethathealwaysshowsuplate,orthatsometimesIdon’thearfromhimfordays,thenspendweekswithhimalmostconstantly,orthathehasn’tmetmyparentsthoughtheyliveinthesamecity.
“It’sokay,”IinsistedwhenAlexsharedtheseopinionswithmeontheflighttoSanFranciscoafewdaysago.“Itworksforus.”Idon’tevenwanthimtomeetmyfamily.
“Icanjusttellhedoesn’tgetit,”Alexsaid.
“Getwhat?”Iasked.
“You,”hesaid.“Hehasnoideahowluckyheis.”
Itwasbothasweetandahurtfulthingforhimtosay.Alex’stakeonourrelationshipmademefeelembarrassed,evenifIwasn’tsurehewasright.
“I’mluckytoo,”Isaid.“He’sreallyspecial,Alex.”
Hesighed.“MaybeIjustneedtogettoknowhimbetter.”Iknewfromhisvoicehedidn’tthinkthatwouldfixtheproblematall.
Inmydaydreams,I’dimaginedthetwoofthembecomingbestfriends,soclosethatitmadesenseforoursummertriptoexpandtoincludeJulian,butafterseeinghowtheyinteracted,Iknewbetterthantoevenfloattheidea.
SoAlexandIheadedtoSanFranciscoonourown.Mycreditcardearnedmeenoughpointstogetoneoftheround-tripplaneticketsfree,andAlexandIsplitthecostoftheother.
Westartedwithfourdaysinwinecountry,stayingatanewSonomabed-and-breakfastthatcompedtwonightsinexchangefortheadvertisingthey’dgettomytwenty-fivethousandfollowers.Alexgood-naturedlyagreedtotakemyphotodoingallkindsofquaintthings:
Sittingononeoftheold-fashionedredbikestheBandBhasforguests,wearingagiantstrawsunhat,freshflowersinthewickerbasketfixedtothehandlebars.
Walkingonthenaturetrailsthroughthescrubbymeadowsandtheirscragglytrees.
Sippingacupofcoffeeonthepatio,andachilledold-fashionedinthesittingroom.
Weluckedoutwiththewinetastingstoo.Thefirstwinerywevisitedcompedyourtastingsifyouboughtabottle,andIresearchedthecheapestoneonlinebeforewewent.Alextookmypictureposinginbetweenrowsofvineswithaglimmeringglassofrosé,onelegkickedouttothesidetoshowoffmyridiculouspurple-and-yellow-stripedvintagejumpsuit.
Iwastipsybythen,andwhenheknelt,rightinthedried-outdirtinhislightgraypants,totakethephoto,Ialmostfelloverlaughingatthebizarreanglehe’dchosenforthepicture.“Toomanywine,”Isaid,gaspingforbreath.
“Too.Many.Wine?”herepeated,delightedanddisbelieving,andasIfellintoacrouchinthemiddleoftheaisle,laughingmyheadoff,hetookafewmorepicturesfromwaydownlow,picturesthatwouldmakemelooklikeasassilydressedskintriangle.
Hewasbeingahorriblephotographeronpurpose,notoutofprotestbuttocrackmeup.
ItwastheflipsideoftheSadPuppycoin,anotherperformanceformeandmealone.
Bythetimewehitthesecondwinery,wewerealreadysleepyfromthealcoholandsunshine,andIletmyheaddroopagainsthisshoulder.Wewereinside,onatechnicality:thewholebackofthebuildingwasawindowedgaragedoorthatpulledupsoyoucouldmovefreelyfromthepatio,withitsbougainvillea-encroachedlattice,tothelight,airybarwithitstwenty-footceilings,big-assfansspinninglazilyoverhead,theirrhythmlikealullaby.
“Howlonghaveyoutwobeentogether?”thesweet,middle-agedwomanrunningthetastingaskedasshereturnedwithournextpour,alightandcrispChardonnay.
“Oh,”Alexsaid.
Midyawn,Isqueezedhisbicepsandsaid,“Newlyweds.”
Thebartenderwastickled.“Inthatcase,”shesaidwithawink,“thisone’sonme.”
HernamewasMathilde,andshewasoriginallyfromFrancebutmovedtotheUnitedStatesaftermeetingherwifeonline.TheylivedinSonomabuthadhoneymoonedjustoutsideSanFrancisco.“It’scalledtheBlueHeronInn,”shetoldme.“It’sthemostidyllicplaceI’veeverseen.Romanticandcozy,withthisroaringfireandlovelypatio—justafewminutesfromMuirBeach.Youtwomustseeit.Itisperfectfornewlyweds.TellthemMathildesentyou.”
Beforeweleft,wetippedMathildeforthecostofthefreetastingandthensome.
Forthenextcoupledays,Ideployedthenewlywedscardregularly.Sometimeswegotadiscountorafreeglass;sometimeswegotnothingbutasmile,buteventhosefeltgenuineandmeaningful.
“Ifeelkindofbad,”Alextoldmeaswewerewalkingitoffinonevineyard
“Ifyouwanttogogetmarried,”Isaid,“wecan.”
“Somehow,Idon’tthinkJulianwouldtakethattoowell.”
“Hewon’tcare,”Isaid.“Juliandoesn’twanttogetmarried.”
Alexstoppedandlookeddownatme,andthen,entirelybecauseofthewine,Istartedcrying.Hecuppedmyfaceandangledituptohis.“Hey,”hesaid.“It’sallright,Poppy.Youdon’treallywanttomarryJulian,doyou?You’rewaytoogoodforthatguy.Hedoesn’tdeserveyou.”
Isniffedbackmytears,butthatjustletmoreout.Myvoicecameoutasasqueak.“Onlymyparentsareevergoingtoloveme,”Isaid.“I’mgoingtodiealone.”Iknewhowstupidandmelodramaticitsounded,butwithhim,itwasalwayssohardtoreinmyselfin,tosayanythingbuttheabsolutetruthofhowIfelt.Andworstofall,Ihadn’tevenknownthatwashowIfeltuntilthismoment.Alex’spresencehadawayofdrawingthetruthrighttomysurface.
Heshookhisheadandpulledmeintohischest,squeezingme,liftingmeupintohimlikeheplannedtoabsorbme.“Iloveyou,”hesaid,andkissedmyhead.“Andifyouwant,wecandiealonetogether.”
“Idon’tevenknowifIwanttogetmarried,”Isaid,wipingthetearsawaywithalittlelaugh.“IthinkI’mabouttostartmyperiodorsomething.”
Hestareddownatme,faceinscrutableforanotherbeat.Itdidn’tmakemefeelx-rayed,likeJulian’seyes.Itjustmademefeelseen.
“Toomanywine,”Isaid,andhefinallyletafractionofasmileslipoverhislipsandwewentbacktowalkingoffthebuzz.
WecheckedoutbrightandearlyfromourBandBandcalledtheBlueHeronInnonspeakerphoneasweheadedbacktowardSanFrancisco.Itwasthemiddleoftheweek,andtheyhadplentyofrooms.
“WouldyoubychancebethePoppymydarlingMathildesaidwouldbecalling?”theladyonthephoneasked.
Alexshotmeameaningfullook,andIsighedheavily.“Yes,buthere’sthething.Wetoldherwewerenewlyweds,butitwasajoke.Sowedon’t,like,wantanyfreestuff.”
Thewomanontheotherendofthephonegaveahackingcough,whichturnedouttobelaughter.“Oh,honey.Mathildewasn’tbornyesterday.Peoplepullthattrickallthetime.Shejustlikedyoutwo.”
“Welikedhertoo,”Isaid,grinningenormouslyoveratAlex.Hegrinnedenormouslyback.
“Idon’thavetheauthoritytogiveanyoneafreestay,”thewomanwenton,“butIdohaveacoupleyear-roundpassesyoucanusetovisitMuirWoodsifyoulike.”
“Thatwouldbeamazing,”Isaid.
Andjustlikethatwesavedthirtybucks.
Theplacewasadorable,awhiteTudoresquecottagetuckeddownanarrowroad.Ithadashingledroofandwarpedwindowslinedwithflowerboxesandachimneywhosesmokecurledromanticallythroughthemist,windowssoftlyaglowaswepulledintotheparkinglot.
Fortwodays,wemovedbetweenthebeach,theredwoods,theinn’scozylibrary,andthediningroomwithitsdarkwoodentablesandblazingfire.WeplayedUNOandHeartsandsomethingcalledQuiddler.WedrankfoamybeersandhadbigEnglishbreakfasts.
Wetookpicturestogether,butIdidn’tpostanyofthem.Maybeitwasselfish,butIdidn’twanttwenty-fivethousandpeopledescendingonthisplace.Iwantedittostayexactlyasitwas.
Ourlastnightwebookedaroomatamodernhotelthatbelongedtothefatherofoneofmyfollowers.WhenIpostedabouttheupcomingtripandaskedfortips,sheDMedmetooffertheroomforfree.
Iloveyourblog,shesaid,andIlovereadingaboutParticularManFriend,whichiswhatIcallAlexwhenImentionhimatall.Imostlytrytoleavehimoutofit,becausehe,liketheBlueHeronInn,isn’tsomethingIwanttosharewiththousandsofpeople,butsometimesthethingshesaysaretoofunnytoleaveout.Apparentlyhe’sbledthroughmorethanIrealized.
Idecidedtotryhardertokeephimoutofit,butIacceptedthefreeroom,becauseMoney.Alsothehotelhasfreeparkingforguests,which,inSanFrancisco,istheequivalentofahotelgivingoutfreekidneytransplants.
Wedroppedourbagsassoonaswegotintothecity,thenheadedbackouttomakethemostofouronlydayindowntownSanFrancisco.Weleftthecarandtookcabs.
FirstwewalkedtheGoldenGateBridge,whichwasamazing,butalsocolderthanI’dexpectedandsowindywecouldn’theareachother.Forprobablytenminutes,wepretendedtobehavingaconversation,wavingourarmsexaggeratedlyandshoutingnonsenseateachotheraswepowerwalkedoverthecrowdedwalkway.
ItmademethinkaboutthatwatertaxirideinVancouver,howBuckkeptvaguelygesturing,talkingataneasycliplikeoneofthoseorthodontistswhocan’tstopaskingyouopen-endedquestionswhilehishandsareinyourmouth.
Luckilytheweatherhaddecidedtobesunny;otherwise,wewouldhaveprobablygottenhypothermiaonthebridge.Westoppedhalfwayacross,andIpretendedtoclimbovertherailing.Alexmadehistrademarkgrimaceandshookhishead.Hegrabbedmyhandsandtuggedmeawayfromtherailing,leaninginclosesoIcouldhearhimoverthewindwhenhesaidagainstmyear,“ThatmakesmefeellikeI’mgoingtohavediarrhea.”
Ibrokeintolaughterandwekeptwalking,himontheinside,meclosesttotherailing,resistingapowerfulurgetokeepmessingwithhim.ProbablyI’daccidentallyactuallyfalloverandnotonlydiebuttraumatizepoorAlexNilsen,andthatwasthelastthingIwanted.
Atthefarendofthebridge,therewasarestaurant,theRoundHouseCafe,around,windowedbuilding.Weduckedinsidetodrinkacupofcoffeewhilewegaveourearsachancetostopringingfromthewind.
ThereweredozensofbookshopsandvintagestoresinSanFrancisco,butwedecidedtwoofeachshouldbeenough.
WetookacabtoCityLightsfirst,abookstoreandpublisherinonethathadbeenaroundsincetheheightofthebeatnikera.Neitherofuswasabigbeatperson,butthestorewasexactlythekindofold,meanderingshopthatAlexlivedfor.FromtherewestoppedbyastorecalledSecondChanceVintage,whereIfoundasequinedbagfromthefortiesforeighteendollars.
Afterthat,we’dplannedtogototheBooksmith,overbytheHaight-Ashbury,butbythen,thatbigEnglishbreakfastfromtheBlueHeronInnhadwornoffandtheRoundHousecoffeehadusbothfeelingalittlejittery
“Guesswejusthavetocomeback,”IsaidtoAlexaswelefttheshopinsearchofdinner.
“Guessso,”heagreed.“Maybeforourfiftiethanniversary.”
Hesmileddownatme,andmyheartswelleduntilitfeltsobigandlightmybodycouldfloataway.“Justsoyouknow,”Isaid,“Iwouldmarryyoualloveragain,AlexNilsen.”
Hisheadtippedsideways.HeaffectedtheSadPuppyFace.“Isthatjustbecauseyouwantmorefreewine?”
Itwashardtochoosearestaurantinacitywiththismuchtooffer,butweweretoohungrytoporeoverthelistI’dcompiled,sowejustwentclassic.
Farallonisnotacheapplace,butontheseconddayofwinetasting,whenwewerebothslaphappy,Alexhadorderedanotherdrink,crying,“WheninRome!”andeversince,wheneveroneofushadwaffledaboutbuyingsomething,theotherhadinsisted,“WheninRome!”
Sofar,thishadbeenlimitedmostlytoenormousicecreamconesandusedpaperbackbooks,andlotsofwine.
ButFarallonisgorgeous,andaSanFranciscostaple,andifweweregoingtospendtoomuchmoney,itmightaswellhappenthere.Assoonaswewalkedintothebuilding,withitsopulent,roundedceilingsandgildedlightfixturesandgolden-edgedbooths,Isaid,“Noregrets,”andforcedAlextohigh-fiveme
“Givinghighfivesmakesmefeellikemyinsideshavepoisonivy,”hemurmured.
“Mightaswellgetthatoutofthewayincaseyou’reabouttofindoutyou’reallergictoseafood.”
Iwassoenrapturedbytheover-the-topdecorthatItrippedthreetimesonourwaytothetable.ItwaslikebeinginthecastlefromTheLittleMermaid,exceptnotanimatedandeveryonewasfullyclothed.
Whenourserverleftuswithourmenus,Alexdidthatold-manthing,whereheopeneditandrearedbackfromthepriceswithwideningeyes,likeastartledhorse.
“Really?”Isaid.“Thatbad?”
“Itdepends.Doyouwantmorethanonehalf-ounceofcaviar?”
Itwasn’tthekindofexpensivethattheuppermiddleclassofLinfieldwouldavoid,butforus,yes,itwasexpensive.
Wesplitatwo-personplatterofoysters,crab,andshrimpalongwithonecocktail.
Ourserverhatedus.
Whenweleft,wewalkedpasthim,andIthoughtIheardAlexsayingunderhisbreath,“Sorry,sir.”
Wewentstraighttoawalk-uppizzaplaceandscarfeddownawholelargecheesepizzabetweenthetwoofus.
“Iatewaytoomuch,”Alexsaidaswewerewalkingalongthestreetafterward.“ItwaslikesomekindofMidwesterndemonpossessedmewhileIwassittinginthatrestaurantandthattinyplattercameout.Icouldhearmydadinmyheadsaying,‘Now,that’snoteconomical.’”
“Iknow,”Iagreed.“Halfwaythrough,Iwasjustlike,getmeoutofhere,IneedtogettoaCostcoandbuyafive-dollarbagofnoodlesthatcouldfeedafamilyforweeks.”
“IthinkI’mbadatvacation,”Alexsaid.“Allthislivinglargemakesmefeelguilty.”
“You’renotbadatvacation,”Iargued.“Andprettymucheverythingmakesyoufeelguilty,sodon’tblamethatonthelivinglarge.”
“Touché,”heagreed.“Butstill.Youprobablywould’vehadmorefunifyou’dtakenthistripwithJulian.”Hedidn’tsayitlikeaquestion,butthewayhiseyesdartedovertome,thenbacktothesidewalkaheadofus,Icouldtellthatitwasone.
“Ithoughtaboutinvitinghim,”Iadmitted.
“Yeah?”Alexpulledonehandfromhispocketandsmoothedhishair.Forsomereason,thestreetlightspassingoverhimonthedarksidewalkmadehimseemtaller.Evenslouching,hewastoweringoverme.Iguesshealwayswas.Ijustdidn’talwaysnoticebecausehesooftenbroughthimselfdowntomylevelorpulledmeuptohis.
“Yeah.”Iloopedmyarmthroughhiselbow.“ButI’mgladIdidn’t.I’mgladit’sjustus.”
Helookeddownoverhisshoulderatmeandslowed.Islowedbesidehim.“Areyougoingtobreakupwithhim?”
Thequestioncaughtmeoffguard.Thewayhewaslookingatme,hiseyebrowspinchedandmouthsmall,caughtmeoffguardtoo.Myhearttrippedoveritsnextbeat.
Yes,Ithoughtrightaway,withoutanyconsideration.
“Idon’tknow,”Isaid.“Maybe.”
Wekeptwalking.UpaheadwestumbleduponabarthatwasHemingwaythemed.Thatmayseemratherambiguousasatheme,buttheypulleditoffwiththeirsleekdarkwoodandamberlightandfishnets(notthestockings,actualnetsforfish)suspendedfromtheceiling.Thedrinkswereallrumcocktails,namedafterHemingwaybooksandshortstories,andoverthenexttwohours,AlexandIhadthreeeach,alongwithashot.Ikeptsaying,“We’recelebrating!Comeon,Alex!”butreally,IfeltliketherewassomethingIwastryingtoforget
Andnow,aswe’restumblingbackintoourhotelroom,itoccurstomethatIdon’trememberwhatIwastryingtoforget,soIguessitworked.
IkickoffmyshoesandcollapseontothenearestbedwhileAlexdisappearsintothebathroomandcomesbackwithtwocupsofwater.
“Drinkthis,”hesays.Igruntandtrytoswathishandaway.“Poppy,”hesaysmorefirmly,andIbrattilypushmyselfuprightandacceptthecupofwater.HesitsonthebedbesidemeuntilI’vedrainedmyglass,thengoesbacktorefillbothofthem.
I’mnotsurehowmanytimeshedoesthis—I’medgingclosertosleepallthewhile.AllIknowisthateventually,hesetstheglassesasideandstartstostandup,andfrommyhalf-dream,full-drunkstate,Ireachforhisarmandsay,“Don’tgo.”
Hesettlesbackdownonthebedandliesbesideme.IfallasleepcurledupagainsthissideandwhenIwakeupthenextmorningtomyalarmgoingoff,he’salreadyintheshower.
Thehumiliationathavingmadehimsleepnexttomeisinstantaneousandflaminghot.IknowrightthenIcan’tbreakupwithJulianwhenIgethome.Ihavetowait,longenoughtobesureI’mnotconfused.LongenoughthatAlexwon’tthinkthetwoeventsareconnected.
They’renot,Ithink.I’mprettysurethey’renot.16
ThisSummer
IFINDATWENTY-FOUR-HOURpharmacyinPalmSpringsanddrivetowarditthroughthefirstsoftraysofsunrise.Afterward,Igetbacktotheapartmentbeforemostotherstoreshaveopened.BythentheparkinglotoftheDesertRosehasstartedtobakeagain,andthecoolhoursofpredawnshrinktoadistantmemoryasIclimbthesteps,loadedwithgrocerybags.
“Howareyoudoing?”IaskAlexasIshutthedoorbehindme.
“Better.”Heforcesasmile.“Thanks.”
Liar.Hispainiswrittenalloverhisface.He’sworseathidingthatthanhisemotions.IputthetwoicepacksIboughtintothefreezer,thengotothebedandplugintheheatingpad.“Leanforward,”Isay,andAlexshiftsenoughformetoslidethepaddownthestackofpillowswhereitcansitacrosshismidback.Itouchhisshoulder,helpingtoslowhisdescentasheleansback.Hisskinissowarm.I’msuretheheatingpadwon’tbecomfortable,buthopefullyitwilldothetrick,warmingthemuscleuntilitrelaxes.
Inhalfanhour,we’llswitchtotheicepacktotrytobringdownanyinflammation.
Imayhavereaduponbackspasmsinthequiet,fluorescent-litaislesofthedrugstore.
“I’vegotsomeIcyHottoo,”Isay.“Doesthateverhelp?”
“Maybe,”hesays.
“Well,it’sworthatry.IguessIshould’vethoughtofthatbeforeyouleanedbackandgotcomfortableagain.”
“It’sfine,”hesays,wincing.“Ineverreallygetcomfortablewhenthishappens.Ijustsortofwaitforthemedicinetoknockmeout,andbythetimeIwakeup,Iusuallyfeelalotbetter.”
Islideofftheedgeofthebedandgathertherestofthebags,carryingthembacktohim.“Howlongdoesitlast?”
“UsuallyjustadayifIstaystill,”hesays.“I’llhavetobecarefultomorrow,butI’llbeabletomovearound.YoushouldgodosomethingyouknowI’dhate.”Heforcesanothersmile.
IignorethecommentandsearchthroughthebaguntilIfindtheIcyHot.“Needhelpleaningforwardagain?”
“No,I’mgood.”Butthefacehemakessuggestsotherwise,soIshiftbesidehim,takehisshouldersinmyhands,andslowlyhelphimeaseupright.
“Ifeellikeyou’remynurserightnow,”hesaysbitterly.
“Like,inahotandsexyway?”Isay,tryingtolightenhismood.
“Inasad-old-man-who-can’t-take-care-of-himselfway,”hesays.
“Youownahouse,”Isay.“Ibetyouevenrippedthecarpetoutofthebathroom.”
“Idid,”heagrees.
“Clearlyyoucantakecareofyourself,”Isay.“Ican’tevenkeepahouseplantalive.”
“That’sbecauseyou’reneverhome,”hesays.
ItwistthetopofftheIcyHotandgetaglobontomyfingers.“Idon’tthinkso.Igotthesehardythings,pothosandZZplantsandsnakeplants—they’re,like,thekindsofplantstheystickinlightlessmallsformonthsatatimeandtheystilldon’tdie.Thentheymoveintomyapartmentandimmediatelygiveuponlife.”IsteadyhisribcagewithonehandsoIdon’tjostlehimtoomuchand,withmyother,reacharoundtocarefullymassagethecreamontohisback.
“Isthattherightplace?”Iask.
“Alittlehigherandtotheleft.Myleft.”
“Here?”Ilookupathim,andhenods.Itearmygazeawayandfocusonhisback,myfingersturninggentlecirclesoverthespot.
“Ihatethatyouhavetodothis,”hesays,andmyeyeswanderbacktohis,whicharelowandseriousbeneathafurrowedbrow.
Myheartfeelslikeitdropsthroughmychestandsoarsbackup.“Alex,hasiteveroccurredtoyouthatImightliketakingcareofyou?”Isay.“Imean,obviouslyIdon’tlovethatyou’reinpain,andIhatethatIletyousleepinthatabominablechair,butifsomeone’sgoingtohavetobeyournurse,I’mhonoredit’sme.”
Hismouthpressesclosed,andneitherofussaysanythingforafewmoments.
Ipullmyhandsawayfromhim.“Hungry?”
“I’mokay,”hesays.
“Well,that’stoobad.”IgotothekitchenandrinsetheleftoverIcyHotoffmyhands,grabacoupleofglasses,andfillthemwithice,thenreturntothebedandarrangetheremaininggrocerybagsinarow.“Because…”Ipulloutaboxofdonutswithaflourish,likeamagicianproducingabunnyfromahat.Alexlooksdubious.
Heisn’tabigsugarperson.Ithinkthat’spartlywhyhesmellssogood,likeeventheobsessivecleanlinessaside,hisbreathandbodyodorarealwaysjustsortofgoodandI’mguessingit’sbecausehedoesnoteatlikeaten-year-old.OraWright.
“Andforyou,”Isay,anddumpouttheyogurtcups,boxofgranola,andberrymix,alongwithabottleofcold-brew.Theapartment’swaytoohotfordripcoffee.
“Wow,”hesays,grinning.“You’rearealhero.”
“Iknow,”Isay.“Imean,thankyou.”
Wesitandfeast,picnic-style,onthebed.IeatmostlydonutsandafewbitesofAlex’syogurt.Heeatsmostlyyogurtbutalsodevourshalfofastrawberrydonut.“Inevereatthisstuff,”hesays.
“Iknow,”Isay.
“It’sprettygood,”hesays.
“Itspeakstome,”Isay,butifhecatchesthereferencetothatveryfirsttripwetooktogether,heignoresit,andmyheartsinks.
It’spossiblethatallthoselittlemomentsthatmeantsomuchtomenevermeantquitethesamethingtohim.It’spossiblethathedidn’treachouttomefortwofullyearsbecause,whenwestoppedspeaking,hedidn’tlosesomethingpreciousthewaythatIdid.
Wehavefivemoredaysofthistrip,countingtoday—thoughtodayandtomorrowareourlastwedding-event-freedays—andrightnowIdreadsomethingbiggerthanawkwardness.
Ithinkaboutheartbreak.Thefull-fledgedversionofthisthingI’mfeelingrightnow,butsprawlingoutfordaysonendwithnorelieforescape.Fivedaysofpretendingtofeelfine,whileinsidemesomethingistearingintosmallerandsmallerpiecesuntilit’snothingbutscraps.
Alexsetshiscoldbrewonthesidetableandlooksatme.“Youreallyshouldgoout.”
“Idon’twantto,”Isay.
“Ofcourseyouwantto,”hesays.“Thisisyourtrip,Poppy.AndIknowyouhaven’tgotteneverythingyouneedforyourarticle.”
“Thearticlecanwait.”
Hisheadcocksuncertainly.“Please,Poppy,”hesays.“I’llfeelterribleifyou’restuckinsidewithmeallday.”
IwanttotellhimI’llfeelterribleifIleave.Iwanttosay,AllIwantedforthistripwastobeanywherewithyoualldayorWhocaresaboutseeingPalmSpringswhenit’sonehundreddegreesoutorIloveyousomuchitsometimeshurts.InsteadIsay,“Okay.”
ThenIgetupandgotothebathroomtogetready.BeforeIgo,IbringAlexanicepackandswapouttheheatingpad.“Areyougoingtobeabletodothisonyourown?”Iask.
“I’mjustgonnasleepwhenyouleave,”hesays.“I’llbefinewithoutyou,Poppy.”
ThisisthelastthingIwanttohear.
???
NOOFFENSETOthePalmSpringsArtMuseum,butIjustdon’treallycare.MaybeIcouldunderdifferentcircumstances,butunderthesecircumstances,itiscleartomeandeveryoneworkingherethatI’mjustkillingtime.I’veneverreallyknownhowtolookatartwithoutsomeoneelsetheretobemyguidepost.
Myfirstboyfriend,Julian,usedtosay,Youeitherfeelsomethingoryoudon’t,buthewasnevertakingmetoMoMAortheMet(whenwetooktheovernightbustoNewYorkweskippedthoseentirely)oreventheCincinnatiArtMuseum;hewastakingmetoDIYgallerieswhereartistswouldlienakedonthefloorwiththeircrotchestarred-and-featheredwhilerecordingsofaudiofromtheP.F.Chang’sdiningroomplayedatfullvolume.
Itwaseasierto“feelsomething”inthosecontexts.Embarrassment,revulsion,anxiety,amusement.Therewassomuchyoucouldfeelfromsomethingthatover-the-top,andthesmallestdetailscouldtipyouonewayoranother.
Butmostvisualartdoesn’ttriggeravisceralreactioninme,andI’mneversurehowlongI’msupposedtostandinfrontofapainting,orwhatfaceI’msupposedtomake,orhowtoknowifI’vechosenthedullestonefromthelotandallthedocentsaresilentlyjudgingme.
I’mfairlysureI’mnotspendingtheappropriateamountoftimegazingmeaningfullyatthearthere,becauseI’mfinishedwalkingthroughinlessthananhour.AllIwanttodoisgobacktotheapartment,butnotifAlexspecificallywantsmenotto.
SoIdoasecondlap.Andthenathird.ThistimeIreadalltheplacards.IpickuptheliteratureatthefrontreceptionareaandtakeitwithmesoIhavesomethingelsetostudyintensely.Abaldingdocentwithpaper-thinskingivesmetheevileye.
HeprobablythinksI’mcasingthejoint.ForallthetimeI’vespentinhere,Imightaswellhavebeen.Twobirds,onestone,etcetera,etcetera,etcetera.
Finally,IacceptthatI’vewornoutmywelcome,andIheadtoPalmCanyonDrive,wherethere’ssupposedtobesomeamazingantiquesshopping.
Andthereis.Galleriesandshowroomsandantiquesstoresalllinedupinaneatrow,sprinkledwithbrightpopsofmidcenturymodernistcolors—robin’s-eggblues,brilliantoranges,andsourgreens,vibrantmustardyyellowlampsthatlookalmostillustratedandSputnik-patternedcouchesandelaboratemetallightfixtureswithspokesstickingoutineverydirection.
It’slikeI’monvacationinthe1960s’imageofthefuture.
It’senoughtoholdmyinterestforalloftwentyminutes.
ThenIfinallybitethebulletandcallRachel.
“Helloooooooo,”shecriesonthesecondring.
“Areyoudrunk?”Iask,surprised.
“No?”shesays.“Areyou?”
“Iwish.”
“Uh-oh,”shesays.“Ithoughtyouweren’ttextingmebackbecauseyouwerehavinganamazingtime!”
“I’mnottextingyoubackbecausewe’restayinginafour-footshoeboxthat’satrilliondegreesandIhaveneitherthespacenormentalfortitudetosendyouadetailedmessageabouthowbadit’sgoing.”
“Oh,darling,”Rachelsighs.“Doyouwanttocomehome?”
“Ican’t,”Isay.“There’saweddingattheendofthis,remember?”
“Youcould,”shesays.“Icouldhavean‘emergency.’”
“No,that’sokay,”Isay.Idon’twanttogohome—Ijustwantthingstogobetter.
“Betyou’rewishingyouwereinSantorinirightnow,”shesays.
“MostlyIjustwishAlexweren’tlaidupbackintheroomwithabackspasm.”
“What?”Rachelsays.“Young,fit,rockin’-bodAlex?”
“Theverysame.Andhewon’tletmedoanythingtohelphim,really.HekickedmeoutandIwenttotheartmuseum,like,fourtimesalreadytoday.”
“Four…times?”shesays.
“Imean,”Isay,“Ididn’t,like,leaveandcomeback.IjustfeellikeItookfourfull-lengthseventh-gradefieldtripsinarow.AskmeanythingaboutEdwardRuscha.”
“Oh!”Rachelsays.“WhatwashispseudonymwhenhewasworkingatArtforummagazineinlayout?”
“Okay,don’taskmeanything,”Isay.“TurnsoutIdidnotactuallyreadthepamphletIwasstaringatthatwholetime.”
“EddieRussia,”ArtSchoolRachelblurtsout.“Don’tatallrememberwhy.Imean,obviouslyitjustsoundslikehisname,butwhynotuseyourrealnameinthatcase,youknow?”
“Totally,”Iagree,startingbacktothecar.There’ssweatgatheringatmyarmpitsandinthebacksofmyknees,andIfeellikeI’mgettingasunburnevenstandingundertheawningofthiscoffeeshop.“ShouldIstartwritingunderthenamePopRight,withouttheW?”
“OrbecomeaDJinthenineties,”Rachelsaysflatly.“DJPop-Right.”
“Anyway,”Isay.“Howareyou?How’sNewYork?Howarethepooches?”
“Good,”shesays,“hot,andokay.Otishadaminorsurgerythismorning.Tumorremoval—benign,thankGod.I’monmywaytopickhimupnow.”
“Givehimkissesforme.”
“Obviously,”shesays.“I’malmosttothevet,soIshouldgo,butletmeknowifyouneedmetogetinjuredorwhateversoyoucancomehomeearly.”
Isigh.“Thanks.Andyouletmeknowifyouneedanyexpensivemodfurniture.”
“Um.Sure.”
Wehangup,andIcheckthetime.I’vesuccessfullymadeittofourthirtyp.m.Ithinkthatmeansit’sappropriatelylatetopickupsandwichesandheadbacktotheDesertRose.
WhenIgetinside,thebalconydoorisshutagainsttheheatoftheday,buttheapartmentisstillnastilyhot.AlexhasputagrayT-shirtbackonandissittingupwhereIlefthimwithhisbookopenandtwomoresittingonthemattressbesidehim.
“Hey,”hesays.“Haveagoodtime?”
“Yep,”Ilie.Itipmychintowardthedoor.“You’vebeenupandwalkingaround.”
Hismouthtwistsintoaguiltyfrown.“Justalittlebit.Ihadtopeeanyway,andtakeanotherpill.”
Iclimbontothebedandsetthebagofsandwichesbetweenus,pullingmylegsunderneathme.“Howdoyoufeel?”
“Alotbetter,”hesays.“Imean,I’mstilltrappedhere,butithurtsless.”
“Good.Ibroughtyouasandwich.”Itiptheplasticbagupsidedownandthepaper-wrappedsandwichslidesoutofit
Hetakeshisandslightlysmilesasheunwrapsit.“AReuben?”
“Iknowit’snotthesamethingasstealingitfromDelallo,”Isay.“Butifyouwant,I’llputitinthefridgeandgotothebathroomlongenoughforyoutohobbleoverandtakeit.”
“That’sokay,”hesays.“Inmyheart,it’sstolenfromDelallo,andsomewouldsaythat’swhatreallymatters.”
“We’relearningsomanyimportantlessonsonthistrip,”Isay.“P.S.,IleftNikolaiavoicemailonmywayhomeabouttheairsituation.Prettysurehe’sscreeningmycalls.”
“Oh!”Alexsays,brightening.“Iforgottotellyou!Igotitdowntoseventy-eight.”
“Seriously?”Ispringoffthebedandgocheck.“That’samazing,Alex!”
Helaughs.“Thisisapatheticthingtocelebrate.”
“ThethemeofthistripisTakingWhatWeCanGet,”IsayasIsitbackdownbesidehim.
“IthoughtitwasAspire,”Alexsays.
“Aspiretoreachseventy-fivedegrees.”
“Aspiretofitinsidetheswimmingpoolatsomepoint.”
“AspiretogetawaywiththemurderofNikolai.”
“Aspiretogetoutofbed.”
“Youpoooooorthing,”Imoan.“Trappedinbedwithabook—yourpersonalhell!—whileIrubmentholonyourbackandhanddeliveryouyouridealbreakfastandlunch.”
Alexmakesthepuppyface.
“Unfair!”Isay.“YouknowIcan’tuseself-defenseagainstyourightnow!”
“Okay,”hesays.“I’llstopuntilyou’recomfortablecausingmebodilyharmagain.”
“Whendidthisstarthappening?”Iask.
“Idon’tknow,”hesays.“IguessacouplemonthsafterCroatia?”
Thewordlandslikeafireworkinthemiddleofmychest.ItrytokeepmyfaceplacidbuthavenoideahowI’mfaring.He,forhispart,showsnosignofdiscomfort.“Doyouknowwhy?”Irecover.
“Ihunchalot?”hesays.“EspeciallywhenI’mreadingoronmycomputer.Amassagetherapisttoldmemyhipmuscleswereprobablyshortening,pullingonmyback.Idon’tknow.Mydoctorjustprescribedmemusclerelaxants,thenleftbeforeIcouldthinkofanyquestions.”
“Andithappensalot?”Isay.
“Notalot,”hesays.“Thisisthefourthorfifthtime.IthappenslesswhenI’mexercisingregularly.Iguesssittingontheplaneandinthecarandallthat…andthenthechairbed.”
“Makessense.”
Afteramoment,heasks,“Youokay?”
“IguessIjust…”Itrailoff,unsurehowmuchIwanttosay.“IfeellikeImissedalot.”
Hisheadtiltsbackagainstthepillows,andhiseyeswanderdownmyface.“Metoo.”
Ahalf-heartedlaughrisesoutofme.“No,youdidn’t.Mylife’sexactlythesame.”
“That’snottrue,”hesays.“Youcutyourhair.”
Thistime,thelaughismoregenuine,andacontainedsmilecurvesoverAlex’slips.“Yeah,well,”Isay,fightingablushasIfeelhisgazemoveovermybareshoulder,downthelengthofmyarmtowheremyhandrestsonthebednearhisknee.“Ididn’tgetahouseorbuymyowndishwasheroranything.IdoubtI’lleverbeableto.”
Hiseyebrowarches,andhiseyesretrainonmyface.“Youdon’twantto,”hesaysquietly.
“Yeah,you’reprobablyright,”Isay,buthonestlyI’munsure.That’stheproblem.Ihaven’twantedthethingsIusedtowant,thethingsIwantedwhenImadejustabouteverybiglifedecisionI’vemade.I’mstillpayingoffstudentloansforadegreeIdidn’tfinish,andevenifIsavedmyselfanotheryear-and-a-half’sworthoftuition,latelyIfindmyselfwonderingifthatwastherightchoice.
IfledLinfield.IfledtheUniversityofChicago,andifI’mbeinghonest,IsortoffledAlexwheneverythinghappened.Hefledmetoo,butIcan’tplacealltheblameonhim.
Iwasterrified.Iran.AndIleftituptohimtofixit.
“RememberwhenwewenttoSanFrancisco,andwekeptsaying‘wheninRome’wheneverwewantedtobuysomething?”Iask.
“Maybe,”hesays,soundinguncertain.I’mguessingmyexpressionmustbesomethingalongthelinesofcrushed,becauseheapologeticallyadds,“Idon’thaveagreatmemory.”
“Yeah,”Isay.“Thatmakessense.”
Hecoughs.“Doyouwanttowatchsomething,orareyougoingbackout?”
“No,”Isay,“let’swatchsomething.IfIgobacktothePalmSpringsArtMuseum,IthinktheFBIwillbewaitingforme.”
“Why,didyoustealsomethingpriceless?”Alexasks.
“Iwon’tknowuntilIhaveitappraised,”Ijoke.“HopefullythisClaudeMoan-ayguyturnsouttobeabigdeal.”
Alexlaughsandshakeshishead,andeventhatsmallgestureseemstocosthimashockofpain.“Shit,”hesays.“Youhavetostopmakingmelaugh.”
“YouhavetostopassumingI’mjokingwhenI’mtalkingaboutrobbingartmuseums.”
Hecloseshiseyesandpresseshismouthintoastraightline,smotheringanymorelaughter.Afterasecondheopenshiseyes.“Okay,I’mgoingtogopeefor—hopefully—thelasttimetodayandtakeanotherpill.YoucangrabmylaptopfromthebagandpullupNetflix,ifyouwant.”Hecautiouslyturns,setshisfeetontheground,andstands.
“Gotit,”Isay.“Anddoyouwantmetoleavethenudiemagsinthereorgetthoseouttoo?”
“Poppy,”hegroanswithoutlookingback.“Nojoking.”
IpushoffthebedandtugAlex’slaptopbagontothechairasIsortthroughitforthecomputer,thencarryitbacktothebedwithme,openingitasIgo.
Hehasn’tshutitdown,andwhenIbrushthemousepad,thescreenflarestolife,demandingthatIlogin.“Password?”Icalltowardthebathroom.
“FlanneryO’Connor,”hecallsback,thenflushesthetoiletandturnsonthesink.
Idon’taskaboutspaces,capitalization,orpunctuation.Alexisapurist.Itypeitinandthelog-inscreenvanishes,replacedbyanopenwebbrowser.BeforeI’verealizedit,I’minadvertentlysnooping.
Myheartisracing.
Thewaterturnsoff.Thedooropens.Alexstepsout,andwhileitmightbebettertopretendIdidn’tseethejobpostingAlexhadpulledup,something’scomeoverme,yankedoutthepartofmybrainthat—atleastoccasionally—filtersoutthingsIshouldn’tsay.
“You’reapplyingtoteachatBerkeleyCarroll?”
Theconfusiononhisfacequicklytransformsintosomethingakintoguilt.“Oh,that.”
“That’sinNewYork,”Isay.
“Sothewebsitesuggested,”Alexsays
“NewYorkCity,”Iclarify.
“Wait,thatNewYork?”hedeadpans.
“You’removingtoNewYork?”Isay,andI’msureI’mtalkingloud,buttheadrenalinehasmefeelinglikethewholeworldisstuffedwithcotton,deadeningallsoundtoamuffledhum.
“Probablynot,”hesays.“Ijustsawtheposting.”
“ButyouwouldloveNewYork,”Isay.“Imean,thinkaboutthebookstores.”
Nowhegivesasmilethatseemsbothamusedandsad.Hecomesbacktothebedandslowlylowershimselfdownnexttome.“Idon’tknow,”hesays.“Iwasjustlooking.”
“Iwon’tbotheryou,”Isay.“Ifyou’reworriedI’ll,like,showuponyourdoorstepeverytimeIhaveacrisis,IpromiseIwon’t.”
Hiseyebrowliftsskeptically.“AndifyoufindoutIhaveabackspasm,willyoubreakintomyapartmentwithdonutsandIcyHot?”
“No?”Isay,pitchliftingguiltily.Hissmilewidens,butstill,there’ssomethingvaguelysadaboutit.“Whatisit?”
Heholdsmyeyesforawhile,likewe’recaughtinagameofchicken.Thenhesighsandrunsahandoverhisface.“Idon’tknow,”hesays.“There’ssomestuffI’mstilltryingtoworkout.InLinfield.BeforeImakeadecisionlikethat.”
“Thehouse?”Iguess.
“That’spartofit,”hesays.“Ilovethathouse.Idon’tknowifIcouldbeartosellit.”
“Youcouldrentitout!”Isuggest,andAlexgivesmealook.“Right.You’rewaytoohigh-strungtobealandlord.”
“Ibelieveyoumeanthateveryoneelseiswaytoolaxtobeatenant.”
“Youcouldrentittooneofyourbrothers,”Isay.“Oryoucanjustkeepit.Imean,yourgrandmaownedit,right?Doyouoweanythingonit?”
“Justpropertytaxes.”Hepullsthecomputerawayfrommeandexitsoutofthejobposting.“Butit’snotjustthehouse.Andit’snotjustbecauseofmydadandbrotherseither,”headdswhenheseesmymouthopening.“Imean,obviouslyI’dmissmyniecesandnephewalot.Butthereareotherthingskeepingmethere.Or,Idon’tknow,theremightbe.I’mjustkindof…waitingtoseewhathappens.”
“Oh,”Isay,realizationdawning.“So,like…awoman.”
Againheholdsmygaze,asifdaringmetopushthematter.ButIdon’tblink,andhecracksfirst.“Wedon’thavetotalkaboutthis.”
“Oh.”Andnowallthatvibratingexcitedenergyseemstobefreezingover,sinkinglowinmystomach.“Soit’sSarah.Youaregettingbacktogether.”
Hebowshishead,rubsathisbrow.“Idon’tknow.”
“Shewantsto?”Isay.“Oryoudo?”
“Idon’tknow,”hesaysagain.
“Alex.”
“Don’tdothat.”Helooksup.“Don’tchastiseme.It’sreallygrimoutthere,dating-wise,andSarahandIhavealotofhistory.”
“Yeah,asordidhistory,”Isay.“There’sareasonyoubrokeup.Twice.”
“Andareasonwedated,”hefiresback.“Noteveryonecanjustnotlookbacklikeyou.”
“What’sthatsupposedtomean?”Idemand.
“Nothing,”hesaysquickly.“We’rejustdifferent.”
“Iknowwe’redifferent,”Isay,defensive.“Ialsoknowit’sgrimoutthere.I’msingletoo,Alex.I’macard-carryingmemberoftheUnsolicitedDickPicSupportGroup.Doesn’tmeanI’mrunningtogetbackwithoneofmyexes.”
“It’sdifferent,”heinsists.
“How?”Isnap.
“Becauseyoudon’twantthesamethingsIwant,”hesays,halfshouting,possiblytheloudestI’veeverheardhimspeak,andwhilehisvoiceisn’tangry,it’sdefinitelyfrustrated.
WhenIrearbackfromhim,Iseehimdeflatealittle,embarrassed.
Hegoeson,quietandcontrolledoncemore.“Iwantallthatstuffmybrothershave,”hesays.“Iwanttogetmarriedandhavekidsandgrandkidsandgetreallyfuckingoldwithmywife,andtoliveinourhouseforsolongthatitsmellslikeus.Like,IwanttopickoutfuckingfurnitureandpaintcolorsanddoallthatLinfieldstuffyouthinkissounbearable,okay?That’swhatIwant.AndIdon’twanttowait.Nooneknowshowlongtheyget,andIdon’twanttenmoreyearstogobyandtofindoutIhavefuckingdickcancerorsomethingandit’stoolateforme.Thatstuffiswhatmatterstome.”
Anyremainingfiregoesoutofhim,butI’mstillquiveringwithnervesandhurtandshame,andmostofallangerwithmyselffornotunderstandingwhatwasgoingoneverytimehedefendedourPodunkhometown,orchangedthetopicfromSarah,oranythingelse.
“Alex,”Isay,onthevergeoftears.Ishakemyhead,tryingtoclearthestormcloudsofgatheringemotion.“Idon’tthinkthatstuffisunbearable.Idon’tthinkanyofit’sunbearable.”
Hiseyesliftheavilytomine,dartawayagain.Carefulnottoknockhim,Ishiftcloserandpullhishandintomine,foldmyfingersthroughhis.“Alex?”
Helooksdownatme.“Sorry,”hemurmurs.“I’msorry,Poppy.”
Ishakemyhead.“IloveBetty’shouse,”Isay.“AndIlovethinkingaboutyouhavingit,andasmuchasIhatedschool,Ilovethinkingaboutyouteachingthereandhowluckythosekidsare.AndIlovewhatagoodbrotherandsonyouare,and—”Mywordscatchinmythroat,andIhavetostammertearilythroughtherestofthem.“AndIdon’twantyoutomarrySarah,becauseshetakesyouforgranted.Shewouldneverhavebrokenupwithyouinthefirstplaceifshedidn’t.Andhonestly,asidefromthat,Idon’twantyoutomarryher,becausesheneverlikedme,andifyoumarryher…”ItrailoffbeforeIcanstartsobbing.
Ifyoumarryher,Ithink,Iwillloseallofyouforever
Andthen,Probablynomatterwhoyoumarry,Iwillhavetoloseyouforever.
“Iknowthat’ssoselfish,”Isay.“Butit’snotjustthat.Ireallythinkyoucandobetter.Sarahwillbegreatforsomeone,butnotforyou.Shedoesn’tlikekaraoke,Alex.”
Thislastpartcomesoutpatheticallyteary,andashegazesdownatme,hetrieshisbesttohidethesmilethatpullsathismouth.Hefreeshishandfrommineandwrapshisarmaroundme,pressingmelightlytohim,butIdon’tletmyselfsinkintohimlikeIwantforfearofhurtinghim.
Thisinjury,whilemiserableforhim,isactuallyturningouttobeagoodbuffer,becauseeverywherewe’retouchinghasstartedtobuzz,likemynervesarejockeyingformoreofhim.Hepressesakisstothetopofmyhead,anditfeelslikesomeonecrackedaneggthere,somethingwarmandsultrydrippingdownoverme.
IshovedownthehazymemoriesofeverythingthatmouthdidinCroatia.
“I’mnotsureIactuallycandobetter,”Alexsays,drawingmeoutofablushworthyscene.“WhenIopenTinder,itjustshowsmeamiddlefinger.”
“Seriously?”Isitup.“YouhaveaTinderaccount?”
Herollshiseyes.“Yes,Poppy.GrandpahasaTinder.”
“Letmeseeit.”
Hisearsgored.“No,thanks.I’mnotinthemoodtogetbrutallyheckled.”
“Icanhelpyou,Alex,”Isay.“I’mastraightwoman.Iknowhowmen’sTinderprofilesarereceived.Icanfigureoutwhatyou’redoingwrong.”
“WhatI’mdoingwrongistryingtofindameaningfulconnectiononadatingapp.”
“Well,obviously,”Isay.“Butlet’sseewhatelse.”
Hesighs.“Fine.”Hepullshisphoneoutofhispocketandhandsittome.“Butgoeasyonme,Poppy.I’mfragilerightnow.”
Andthenhemakestheface.17
SevenSummersAgo
NEWORLEANS.
Alexiscuriousaboutthearchitecture—allthoseoldCrayola-coloredbuildingswiththeirwrought-ironbalconiesandtheancienttreeswrithinguprightthroughthesidewalks,rootssprawlingoutforyardsineverydirection,breakingupcementlikeit’snothing.Thetreespredateit,andthey’lloutlastit
I’mexcitedforalcoholinslushyformandkitschysupernaturalshops.
Luckilythereisnoshortageofanyofit.
I’mthrilledtofindalargestudioapartmentnotfarfromBourbonStreet.Thefloorsarestaineddark,andthefurnitureisheavywood,andcolorfulpaintingsofjazzmusicianshangonexposedbrickwalls.Thebedsarecheaplooking,asisthebedding,butthey’requeens,andtheplaceisclean,andtheair-conditioninggameissostrongwehavetocrankitdownsothateverytimewecomeinafteradayintheheat,ourteethdon’tchatter.
AlltherereallyistodoinNewOrleans,itseems,iswalk,eat,drink,look,andlisten.Thisisbasicallywhatwedooneverytrip,butthefactisunderscoredherebythehundredsofrestaurantsandbarssittingshouldertoshoulderoneveryslenderstreet.Andthethousandsofpeoplemillingthroughthecitywithtallneonnoveltycupsandmismatchedstraws.Everyblockorsothesmellsofthecityswitchfromfriedanddelicioustostinkingandrotten,thehumiditytrappingthesewageandputtingitondisplay.
ComparedtomostAmericancities,everythinglookssooldthatIimaginewe’resmellingwastefromthe1700s,whichmiraculouslymakesitmorebearable.
“Itfeelslikewe’rewalkingaroundinsidesomeone’smouth,”Alexsaysmorethanonceaboutthehumidity,andfromthenon,wheneverthesmellhits,Ithinkoffoodtrappedbetweenmolars.
Butthethingis,itneverlasts.Abreezesweepsthroughtoclearitout,orwewanderpastanotherrestaurantwithallitsdoorsproppedopen,orweroundthecornerandstumbleontosomebeautifulsidestreetwhereeverybalconyoverheadisdrippingwithpurpleflowers.
Besides,I’vebeeninNewYorkforfivemonthsnow,andduringthelasttwomonthsofsummer,it’snotlikemysubwaystophassmelledlikeroses.I’veseenthreedifferentpeoplepeeingonthestepsinside,andwatchedoneofthosepeopledoitasecondtimeaweeklater.
IloveNewYork,but,wanderingNewOrleans,IwonderifIcouldbejustashappyhere.IfmaybeIcouldbehappier.IfmaybeAlexwouldvisitmemoreoften
Sofarhe’svisitedNewYorkonce,afewweeksafterhisfirstyearofgradschoolended.Hebroughtacarloadofmystufffrommyparents’housetomyapartmentinBrooklyn,andonthelastdayofhistrip,wecomparedcalendars,talkedaboutwhenwe’dnextseeeachother.
TheSummerTrip,obviously.Possibly(butprobablynot)Thanksgiving.ChristmasifIcouldgettimeoffworkattherestaurantwhereI’mserving.ButeveryonewantsoffforChristmas,soinsteadIfloatedtheideaofNewYear’sEveandweagreedtofigureitoutlater.
Sofarwehaven’ttalkedaboutanyofthatonthistrip.Ihaven’twantedtothinkaboutmissingAlexwhileI’mwithhim.Itseemslikeawaste.
“Ifnothingelse,”hejoked,“we’llalwayshavetheSummerTrip.”
Ihadtoactivelydecidetoseethatascomforting.
Frommorninguntilhoursafterdark,wewander.BourbonStreetandFrenchmen,andCanalandEsplanade(Alexisparticularlyenamoredofthestatelyoldhousesonthisstreet,withtheiroverflowingflowerbedsandsun-blanchedpalmsrisingupalongsidecraggyoaks).
Weeatfluffy,sugar-dustedbeignetsinanopen-aircaféandspendhourspickingourwaythroughtheknickknacksbeingsoldoutsidetheFrenchMarket(alligator-headkeychainsandsilverringssetwithmoonstones),thefreshlybakedbreadsandchilledlocalproduceanddenselittlecakestoppedwithkiwiandstrawberriesandbourbon-soakedcherriesandpralines(ineveryimaginablemanner)beingsoldintheboothsinside.
WedrinkSazeracsandhurricanesanddaiquiriseverywherewego,because“Stayingonthemematters,”asAlexsaysdramaticallywhenItrytoorderaginandtonic,andfromthere,wehavebothourmantraandouralteregosfortheweek.
GladysandKeithVivantareaBroadwaypowercouple,wedecide.Trueperformers,totheirverycores,andastheirmatchingtattoosread,Alltheworld’sastage!
Theystarteverydaywithsomeactingexercises,sticktoonepromptforawholeweekatatime,lettingitguidetheireveryinteractionsoastobetterinhabittheCharacter.
Andtheme,ofcourse,isvital.
Or,youcouldsay,itmatters.
“Themematters!”wescreambackandforth,stompingourfeetwheneverwewanteachothertodosomethingtheotherisn’tthrilledabout.
Thereareawholelotofvintagestoresthatseemtohaveneverbeencleanedbefore,andAlexisnotthrilledabouttryingonthesuedeleatherpantsIpickoutforhiminoneofthese,justasIamnotthrilledwhenhewantstospendsixhoursinanartmuseum.
“Themematters!”Ishoutwhenherefusestoenterabarwithan—nojoke—all-saxophonebandplayinginthemiddleoftheday.
“Themematters!”hecrieswhenIsayIdon’twanttobuyshirtsthatsayDrunkBitch1andDrunkBitch2likethoseThing1andThing2shirtstheysellatthemeparks,andweleavetheshopwearingtheshirtsoverourclothes.
“Ilovewhenyougetweird,”Itellhim.
Hesquintstipsilyatmeaswewalk.“Youmakemeweird.I’mnotlikethiswithanyoneelse.”
“Youmakemeweirdtoo,”Isay;then,“Shouldwegetrealtattoosthatsay‘Alltheworld’sastage’?”
“GladysandKeithwould,”Alexsays,takingalongdrinkfromhiswaterbottle.Hepassesittomeafterward,andIgreedilychughalfofit.
“Sothat’sayes?”
“Pleasedon’tmakeme,”hesays.
“But,Alex,”Icry.“Themematt—”
Hepopsthewaterbottlebackintomymouth.“Onceyou’resober,Ipromiseyouwon’tthinkit’sfunnyanymore.”
“IwillalwaysthinkeveryjokeImakeishilarious,”Isay,“butpointtaken.”
Wehithappyhourafterhappyhour,withvaryingresults.Sometimesthedrinksareweakandbad,sometimesthey’restiffandgood,oftenthey’restiffandbad.Wegotoahotelbarthat’smountedtoacarouselandeachbuyonefifteen-dollarcocktail.Wegoto,allegedly,thesecond-oldestcontinuouslyoperatingbarinLouisiana.It’sanoldblacksmithshopwithstickyfloorsthatlookslikeahalf-assedlivingmuseum,exceptforthegigantictriviamachinesetupinthecorner.
AlexandIsipslowlyononeshareddrinkwhilewewaitourturn.Wedon’tbreaktherecord,butwemakethescoreboard.
Thefifthnight,wewindupatafrattykaraokebarwithanover-the-topstageandlaser-lightsshow.AftertwoshotsofFireball,AlexagreestosingSonnyandCher’s“IGotYouBabe”onstageincharacterastheVivants.
Halfwaythroughthesong,wegetintoamikedfightaboutthefactthatIknowhe’ssleepingwithShellyfrommakeup.“Itdoesn’ttakeanhourtoputonafreakingfakebeard,Keith!”Ishout.
Theapplauseattheendismutedanduncomfortable.WetakeanothershotandheadtoaplaceGuillermotoldmeaboutthatservesafrozencoffeecocktail.
Halftheplaceswe’vegonehavebeenplacesGuillermorecommended,andI’velovedallofthem,especiallythehole-in-the-wallpo’boyshop.Havingachefforaboyfriendhasperks.
WhenItoldhimwhereAlexandIweregoing,hegotoutapieceofpaperandstartedwritingdowneverythinghecouldrememberfromhislasttrip,alongwithnotesaboutpricingandwhattoorder.Hestarredallhismust-eats,butthere’snowaywe’llgettoallofthem.
ImetGuillermoacouplemonthsaftermovingtoNewYork.Mynew(firstNewYork)friendRachelgotarequesttoeatathisnewrestaurantforfree,inexchangeforpostingafewpicturesofitonhersocialmedia.Shedoesthatkindofthingalot,andsinceI’mafellowInternetPerson,wedothesesortsofthingstogether.
“Lessembarrassing,”sheinsists.“Pluscross-promotion.”
Everytimeshepostsapicturewithme,mysubscribercountgoesupbyhundreds.I’dbeenhangingaroundthirty-sixthousandforsixmonths,buthaveballoonedtofifty-fivethousandthroughsheerassociationwithHerBrand.
SoIwentwithhertothisrestaurant,andafterthemeal,thechefcameouttotalktous,andhewasgorgeousandsweet,withsoftbrowneyes,darkhairsweptbackoffhisforehead.Hislaughwassoftandunassuming,andbythatnight,he’dmessagedmeonInstagram,beforeIcouldevenpostthepicturesI’dtakentomyaccount.
HefoundmethroughRachel,andIlikedthewayhetoldmethatrightupfront,withoutembarrassment.Heworksmostnights,soonourfirstdate,wewentforbreakfastinstead,andhekissedmewhenhepickedmeupratherthanwaitinguntilhedroppedmeoffafterward.
Atfirst,Iwasseeingafewotherpeopleandhewastoo,butseveralweeksintoit,wedecidedneitherofuswantedtoseeanyoneelse.Helaughedwhenhetoldme,andIlaughedtoo,justbecauseI’dgotteninthehabitofgivingencouraginglaughterfrombeingaroundhim.
It’snotlikeitwaswithJulian,notall-consumingandunpredictable.Weseeeachothertwoorthreetimesaweek,andit’snice,thewaythisleavesspaceinmylifeforotherthings.
SpinclasseswithRachelandlongwalksdownthemallofCentralParkwithadrippingicecreamconeinhand,galleryopeningsandspecialmovienightsatneighborhoodbars.PeopleinNewYorkarefriendlierthantherestoftheworldwarnedmetheywouldbe.
WhenItellRachelthis,shesays,“Mostpeopleherearen’tassholes.They’rejustbusy.”
ButwhenIsaythesamethingtoGuillermo,hegentlycupsmyjaw,laughs,andsays,“Youaresosweet.Ihopeyoudon’tletthisplacechangeyou.”
It’ssweet,butitalsoworriesme.LikemaybethethingGuilovesbestaboutmeisn’tsomeessentialpart,butsomethingchangeable,somethingthatcouldbestrippedawaybyafewyearsintherightclimate.
AswewanderthestreetsofNewOrleans,IthinkmultipletimesoftellingAlexaboutwhatGuillermosaid,buteverytimeIcatchmyself.IwantAlextolikeGuillermo,andIworryhe’dbeoffendedonmybehalf.
SoItellhimotherthings.LikehowcalmGuillermois,thathelaughseasily,howpassionateheisabouthisjob,andfoodingeneral.
“You’lllikehim,”Isay,andIreallybelieveit.
“I’msureIwill,”Alexinsists.“Ifyoulikehim,I’lllikehim.”
“Good,”Isay.
AndthenhetellsmeaboutSarah,hisunrequitedcollegecrush.HeranintoherwhenhewasupinChicagovisitingfriendsafewweeksago.Theygrabbedadrink.
“And?”
“Andnothing,”hesays.“ShelivesinChicago.”
“It’snotMars,”Isay.“It’snoteventhatfarfromIndianaUniversity.”
“She’sbeentextingmealittle,”headmits.
“Ofcoursesheis,”Isay.“You’reacatch.”
Hissmileisbashfulandadorable.“Idon’tknow,”hesays.“MaybenexttimeI’mintownwe’llmeetupagain.”
“Youshould,”Ipress.
I’mhappywithGuillermo,andAlexdeservestobehappytoo.Anytensionthatfivepercentofourrelationship—thewhat-if—letinseemstohavebeenresolved.
WhilestayingintheFrenchQuarterhadseemedidealwhenIbookedourAirbnb,itturnsoutthenightsareprettyloud.Themusicgoesonuntilthreeorfourandstartsupsurprisinglyearlyinthemorning.WefindourselvesventuringtotherooftoppoolattheAceHotel,whichisfreeonweekdays,andnappingonacoupleofchaiseloungesinthesun.
It’sprobablythebestsleepIgetallweek,sobythetimewetakethecemeterytouronthelastdayofthetrip,I’mslaphappyfromfatigue.AlexandIexpectedhauntingghoststories.InsteadwegetinformationabouthowtheCatholicChurchcaresforsomegraves—theonesforwhichpeoplebought“perpetualcare”generationsago—andletstheotherscrumbletodust.
Itisdecidedlyboring,andwe’rebakinginthesun,andmybackhurtsfromwalkinginsandalsallweek,andI’mexhaustedfrombarelysleeping,andhalfwaythrough,whenAlexrealizeshowmiserableIam,hestartsraisinghishandeverytimewestopatanothergraveformoreblandfactoidsandasking,“Soisthisgravehaunted?”
Atfirstourtourguidelaughshisquestionoff,buthe’slessamusedeverytimeithappens.Finally,Alexasksaboutabigwhitemarblepyramidatoddswiththerestofthestacked,rectangularFrench-andSpanish-stylegraves,andthetourguidehuffs,“Icertainlyhopenot!ThatonebelongstoNicolasCage!”
AlexandIdeteriorateintocackles.
Itturnsouthe’snotjoking.
Thiswassupposedtobeabigreveal,probablywithabuilt-injoke,andweruinedit.“Sorry,”Alexsays,andpasseshimatipaswe’releaving.I’mtheonewhoworksinabar,buthe’stheonewhoalwayshascash.
“Areyousecretlyastripper?”Iaskhim.“Isthatwhyyoualwayshavecash?”
“Exoticdancer,”hesays.
“You’reanexoticdancer?”Isay.
“No,”hesays.“It’sjusthelpfultocarrycash.”
Thesunisgoingdown,andwe’rebothbone-tired,butit’sourlastnight,sowedecidetogetcleanedupandrally.WhileI’msittingonthefloorinfrontofthefull-lengthmirror,puttingonmakeup,IperuseGuillermo’slistandshoutoutsuggestionstoAlex.
“Eh,”hesaysaftereachone.Afterahandful,hecomestostandbehindme,makingeyecontactinthemirror.“Canwejustwander?”
“I’dloveto,”Iadmit.
WehitacoupledingypubsbeforewewindupattheDungeon,asmall,darkgothbarattheendofaskinnyalleyway.We’retoldthatpicturesareexpresslyforbidden,beforethebouncerletsusintothered-litfrontroom.It’ssopackedthatIhavetoholdontoAlex’selbowaswemakeourwayupstairs.Thereareplasticskeletonshangingonthewall,andared-satin-linedcoffinstandswaitingforaphotoopthatyou’renotallowedtotake.
Despiteourmantraforthistrip,andallthefreepersonalshoppingI’vedoneforhim,Alexhascontinuedtolargelyloathethemedparties,events,andapparentlybarstoo.
“Thisplaceishorrible,”hesays.“Youloveit,don’tyou?”
Inod,andhegrins.WehavetostandsocloseIhavetotipmyheadallthewaybacktoseehimatall.Hebrushesmyhairfrommyeyesandcupsthebackofmyneck,asiftostabilizeit.“I’msorryforbeingsotall,”hesaysoverthemetalmusicthrummingthroughthebar.
“I’msorryforbeingsoshort,”Isay.
“Ilikeyoushort,”hesays.“Neverapologizeforbeingshort.”
Ileanintohim,ahugminusthearms.“Hey,”Isay.
“Hey,what?”heasks.
“Canwegotothatcountry-westernbarwepassed?”
I’msurehedoesn’twantto.I’msurehefindsthewholethinghumiliating.Butwhathesaysis,“Wehaveto.Themematters,Poppy.”
Sowegotherenext,andit’sthepolaroppositeoftheDungeon,abigopenbarwithsaddlesforseatsandKennyChesneyblaringouttonoonebutus.
Alexischagrinedatthethoughtofsittingonthesaddles,butIhopupandtrytomakehisSadPuppyFaceathim.
“Whatisthat?”hesays.“Areyouokay?”
“I’mbeingpathetic,”Isay.“SothatyouwillpleasemakemethehappiestwomaninthestateofLouisianaandsitononeofthesesaddleseats.”
“Ican’tdecideifyou’retooeasytopleaseortoohard,”hesays,andswingsonelegover,pullinghimselfontothesaddlenexttomine.“Excuseme,”hesays,toaburlybartenderinablackleathervest.“Givemesomethingthatwillmakemeforgetthiseverhappened.”
Stillpolishingaglass,heturnsandglares.“I’mnomindreader,kid.Whatdoyouwant?”
Alex’scheeksflush.Heclearshisthroat.“Beer’sfine.Whateveryou’vegot.”
“Makethattwo,”Isay.“Twoofthosealcohols,please.”
Asthebartenderturnstogetourdrinks,IleanovertoAlexandalmostfalloffmysaddleintheprocess.HecatchesmeandholdsmeupasIwhisper,“He’ssoontheme!”
It’sonlyeleventhirtywhenweleave,butI’mwipedoutandasunthirstyasI’veeverbeeninmylife.Sowejustwalkdownthemiddleofthestreetwithalltheotherrevelers:familiesinmatchingreunionT-shirts;white-cladbrideswithsilkypinkBACHELORETTEsashesandtoweringheels;drunkmiddle-agedmenhittingonthegirlsinpinkBACHELORETTEsashes,stuffingdollarbillsintheirdressstrapsastheywalkpast.
Overhead,peoplelinetheupstairsbalconiesofbarsandrestaurants,wavingpurple,gold,andgreenbeadsaround,andwhenamanwolf-whistlesandshakesahandfulofnecklacesatme,Iholdmyarmsuptocatchthem.Heshakeshisheadandpantomimesliftinghisshirtup.
“Ihatehim,”IsaytoAlex.
“Metoo,”Alexagrees.
“ButIhavetoadmit,heisontheme.”
Alexlaughs,andwewalkonward,withnodestinationinmind.Gradually,thefoottrafficslowsasweapproachabrassband(saxophone-and-other-woodwindfree)that’ssetupshopinthemiddleofthestreet,hornsblasting,drumsrattling.Westoptowatch,andafewcouplesstartdancing.Inthetwistofthecentury,Alexoffersmehishand,andwhenItakeit,hetwirlsmeinalazycircleandpullsmeinclose,onehandaroundmyback,theotherfoldedagainstmine.Herocksmebackandforth,andwebothgigglesleepily.We’renotonthebeat,butitdoesn’tmatter.It’sjustus.
Maybethat’swhyhecanhandlethepublicaffection.Maybe,likeme,whenwe’retogetherhefeelslikenooneelseisthere,likethey’rephantomswedreamedupassetdressing.
EvenifJasonStanleyandeveryotherbullyfrommypastwerehere,mockingmethroughamegaphone,Idon’tthinkI’dstopdancingclumsilywithAlexinthestreet.Hespinsmeoutandbackin,triestodipme,almostdropsme.Iyelpwhenithappens,laughsohardIsnortwhenhecatchesmeandswingsmeuprightontomyfeet,rockingmesomemore.
Whenthesongends,webreakapartandjointhecrowdinapplause.Alexcrouchesforasecond,andwhenhestandsup,he’sholdingoutastrandofchippedpurpleMardiGrasbeads.
“Thosewereontheground,”Isay.
“Youdon’twantthem?”
“No,Iwantthem,”Isay.“Buttheywereontheground.”
“Yes,”hesays.
“Wherethere’sdirt,”Isay.“Andspilledbooze.Possiblyvomit.”
Hewinces,startstolowerthebeads.Icatchhiswrist,stillinghim.“Thankyou,”Isay.“Thankyoufortouchingthesefilthybeadsforme,Alex.Ilovethem.”
Herollshiseyes,smiles,slipsthebeadsovermyneckasIduckmyhead.
WhenIlookbackupathim,he’sbeamingatme,andIthink,IloveyoumorenowthanIeverhave.Howisitpossiblethatthiskeepshappeningwithhim?
“Canwetakeapicturetogether?”Iask,butwhatI’mthinkingis,IwishIcouldbottlethismomentandwearitasaperfume.Itwouldalwaysbewithme.EverywhereIwent,he’dbetheretoo,andsoI’dalwaysfeellikemyself.
Hetakeshisphoneout,andwehuddletogetherashesnapsapicture.Whenwelookatit,hemakesasoundofstrangledsurprise.Probablyinaneffortnottolooksosleepy,hethrewhiseyeswideinthelastpossiblesecond.
“Youlooklikeyousawsomethinghorribleexactlywhentheflashwentoff,”Isay.
Hetriestopullthephoneoutofmyhands,butIspinawayfromhim,jogoutofreachasItextittomyself.Hefollows,fightingasmile,andwhenIhanditback,Isay,“There,nowthatIhaveacopy,youcandeleteit.”
“Iwouldneverdeleteit,”Alexsays.“I’mjustonlygoingtolookatitwhenI’malone,lockedinmyapartment,sothatnooneelseeverseesmyfaceinthispicture.”
“I’mgoingtoseeit,”Isay.
“Youdon’tcount,”hesays.
“Iknow,”Iagree.Ilovethat,beingtheonewhodoesn’tcount.Theonewho’sallowedtoseeallofAlex.Theonewhomakeshimweird.
Whenwegetbacktotheapartment,Iaskwhenhe’sgoingtoletmereadtheshortstorieshe’sbeenworkingon.
Hesayshecan’t—ifIdon’tlikethem,he’llbetooembarrassed.
“YougotintoanamazingMFAprogram,”Isay.“You’reobviouslygood.IfIdon’tthinkthey’regood,I’mobviouslywrong.”
HesaysthatifIdon’tthinkthey’regood,thenUofIiswrong.
“Please,”Isay.
“Okay,”hesays,andgetsouthiscomputer.“JustwaituntilI’mintheshower,okay?Idon’twanttohavetowatchyoureadingit.”
“Okay,”Isay.“Ifyouhaveanovel,Icouldreadthatinstead,sinceI’llhavethewholelengthofanAlexNilsenshower.”
Hetossesapillowatmeandgoesintothebathroom.
Thestoryreallyisshort.Ninepages,aboutaboywhowasbornwithapairofwings.Allhislife,peopletellhimthatthismeansheshouldtrytofly.He’safraidto.Whenhefinallydoes,jumpsoffatwo-storyroof,hefalls.Hebreakshislegsandwings.Henevergetsthemreset.Asherecovers,thebonehealsinitsmisshapenform.Finally,peoplestoptellinghimthathemust’vebeenborntofly.Finally,he’shappy
WhenAlexcomesbackout,I’mcrying.
Heasksmewhat’swrong.
Isay,“Idon’tknow.Itjustspeakstome.”
HethinksI’mmakingajokeandchucklesalong,butforonce,Iwasn’treferencingthegallerygirlwhotriedtosellusatwenty-one-thousand-dollarbearsculpture.
IwasthinkingaboutwhatJulianusedtosayaboutart.Howiteithermakesyoufeelsomethingoritdoesn’t.
WhenIreadhisstory,IstartedcryingforareasonIcan’ttotallyexplain,noteventoAlex.
WhenIwasakid,IusedtohavethesepanicattacksthinkingabouthowIcouldneverbeanyoneelse.Icouldn’tbemymomormydad,andformywholelife,I’dhavetowalkaroundinsideabodythatkeptmefromevertrulyknowinganyoneelse.
Itmademefeellonely,desolate,almosthopeless.WhenItoldmyparentsaboutthis,IexpectedthemtoknowthefeelingIwastalkingabout,buttheydidn’t.
“Thatdoesn’tmeanthere’sanythingwrongwithfeelingthatway,though,sweetie!”Mominsisted.
“Whoelsedoyouthinkaboutbeing?”mydadsaidwithhisparticularbluntfascination.
Thefearlessened,butthefeelingneverwentaway.Everyonceinawhile,I’drollitbackout,pokeatit.WonderhowIcouldeverstopfeelinglonelywhennoonecouldeverknowmealltheway.WhenIcouldneverpeerintosomeoneelse’sbrainandseeitall.
AndnowI’mcryingbecausereadingthisstorymakesmefeelforthefirsttimethatI’mnotinmybody.Likethere’ssomebubblethatstretchesaroundmeandAlexandmakesitsowe’rejusttwodifferentcoloredglobsinalavalamp,mixingfreely,dancingaroundeachother,unhindered.
I’mcryingbecauseI’mrelieved.BecauseIwillneveragainfeelasaloneasIdidduringthoselongnightsasakid.AslongasIhavehim,Iwillneverbealoneagain.18
ThisSummer
ALEX!”ISHRIEKatthesightofhisTinderprofile.“No!”
“What?What?”hesays.“There’snowayyou’vereadeverythingbynow!”
“Um,firstofall,”Isay,brandishinghisphoneoutinfrontofus,“don’tyouthinkthat’saproblem?Yourbiolookslikethecoverlettertoarésumé.Ididn’tevenknowTinderbioscouldbethislong!Isn’ttheresomekindofcharacterlimit?Nooneisgoingtoreadthiswholething.”
“Ifthey’rereallyinterested,theywill,”hesays,slippingthephoneoutofmyhand.
“Maybeifthey’reinterestedinharvestingyourorgans,they’llskimtothebottomjusttomakesureyoudon’tmentionyourbloodtype—doyou?”
“No,”hesays,soundinghurt,thenadds,“justmyweight,height,BMI,andsocialsecuritynumber.IswhatIwrotegoodatleast?”
“Oh,we’renottalkingaboutthatjustyet.”Ipluckhisphonefromhishandagain,anglethescreentowardhim,andzoominonhisprofilepicture.“Firstwehavetotalkaboutthis.”
Hefrowns.“Ilikethatpicture.”
“Alex…”Isaycalmly.“Therearefourpeopleinthispicture.”
“So?”
“Sowehavefoundthefirstandlargestproblem.”
“ThatIhavefriends?Ithoughtthatwouldhelp.”
“Youpoorinnocentbabycreature,freshlyarrivedtoearth,”Icoo.
“Womendon’twanttodatemenwhohavefriends?”hesaysdryly,disbelieving.
“Ofcoursetheydo,”Isay.“Theyjustdon’twanttoplayDatingAppRoulette.Howaretheysupposedtoknowwhichoneoftheseguysisyou?Thatguyontheleftis,like,eighty.”
“Biologyteacher,”hesays.Hisfrowndeepens.“Idon’treallytakepicturesbymyself.”
“YousentmethoseSadPuppyselfies,”Ipointout.
“That’sdifferent,”hesays.“Thatwasforyou…YouthinkIshoulduseoneofthose?”
“God,no,”Isay.“Butyoucouldtakeanewpicturewhereyou’renotmakingthatface,oryoucouldcroponethat’syouandthreebiologyteachersofacertainagesothatit’sjustyou.”
“I’mmakingaweirdfaceinthatpicture,”hesays.“I’malwaysmakingaweirdfaceinpictures.”
Ilaugh,butreally,warmaffectionisgrowinginmybelly.“Youhaveafaceformovies,notphotographs,”Isay.
“Meaning?”
“Meaningyou’reextremelyhandsomeinreallife,whenyourfaceismovinghowitdoes,butwhenonemillisecondiscaptured,yes,sometimesyou’remakingaweirdface.”
“SobasicallyIshoulddeleteTinderandthrowmyphoneintothesea.”
“Wait!”IjumpoutofbedandsnatchmyphoneoffthecounterwhereIleftit,thenclimbbackupbesideAlex,tuckingmylegsunderneathme.“Iknowwhatyoushoulduse.”
Hedubiouslywatchesmescrollthroughmyphotos.I’mlookingforapicturefromourTuscanytrip,thelasttripbeforeCroatia.We’dbeensittingoutsideonthepatio,eatingalatedinner,andheslippedawaywithoutaword.Ifiguredhe’dgonetothebathroom,butwhenIwentinsidetogetdessert,hewasinthekitchen,bitinghislipandreadinganemailonhisphone.
Helookedworried,didn’tseemtonoticeIwasthereuntilItouchedhisarmandsaidhisname.Whenhelookedup,hisfacewentslack.
“Whatisit?”Iasked,andthefirstthingthatjumpedintomymindwasGrandmaBetty!Shewasgettingold.Actually,aslongasI’dknownhershe’dbeenold,butthelasttimewe’dgonetoherhousetogether,she’dbarelygottenupfromthechairshedidherknittingin.Untilthen,she’dalwaysbeenabustler.Bustlingtothekitchentogetuslemonade.Bustlingovertothesofatofluffthecushionsbeforewesatdown.
Butthethoughtdidn’thavetimetogestatebecauseAlex’stiny,ever-suppressedsmileappeared.
“TinHouse,”hesaid.“They’republishingoneofmystories.”
Hegaveasurprisedlaughafterhesaidit,andIthrewmyarmsaroundhim,lethimdrawmeupandinagainsthimtight.Ikissedhischeekwithoutthinking,andifithadfeltanylessnaturaltohimthanitdidtome,hedidn’tshowit.Heturnedmeinhalfacircle,setmedowngrinning,wentbacktostaringathisphone.Heforgottohidehisemotions.Heletthemrunwildoverhisface.Ituggedmyphoneoutofmypocket,pulledupthecamera,andsaid,“Alex.”
Whenhelookedup,IcapturedmyfavoritepictureofAlexNilsen.
Unfilteredhappiness.NakedAlex.
“Here,”Isay,andshowhimthepicture.Him,standinginawarmgoldenkitcheninTuscany,hishairstickinguplikeitalwaysdid,hisphonelooseinhishand,andhiseyeslockedontothecamera,hismouthsmilingbutajar.“Youshouldusethisone.”
Heturnsfromthephonetome,ourfacesclosethough,asever,hishangsovermine,hismouthsoftwithatraceofsmile.“Iforgotaboutthat,”hesays.
“It’smyfavorite.”Forawhileneitherofusmoves.Welingerinthismomentofclosesilence.“I’llsendittoyou,”Isayweakly,andbreakeyecontact,pullingupourtextthreadanddroppingthepictureintoit.
Alex’sphonebuzzesinhislapwhereImust’vedroppedit.Hepicksitup,doeshishalf-coughtic.“Thanks.”
“So,”Isay.“Aboutthatbio.”
“Shouldweprintitoutandfindaredpen?”hejokes.
“Noway,man.Thisplanetisdying.NowayI’mwastingthatmuchpaper.”
“Hahaha,”hesays.“Iwastryingtobethorough.”
“AsthoroughasDostoyevsky.”
“Yousaythatlikeit’sabadthing.”
“Shh,”Isay.“Reading.”
AlreadyknowingAlex,Idofindthebiokindofcharming.Mostlyinthatitspeakstothatlovablegrandpasideofhim.ButifIdidn’tknowhim,andoneofmyfriendsreadmethisbio,Iwouldsuggestthatperhapsthismanwasaserialkiller.
Unfair?Probably.
Butthatdoesn’tchangethings.Helistswherehewenttoschool,whenhegraduated,talksindepthaboutwhathestudied,thelastfewjobshehad,hisstrengthsatsaidjobs,thefactthathehopestogetmarriedandhavekids,andthatheis“closewith[his]threebrothersandtheirspousesandchildren”and“enjoysteachingliteraturetogiftedhighschoolstudents.”
Imustbemakingaface,becausehesighsandsays,“It’sreallythatbad?”
“No?”Isay.
“Isthataquestion?”heasks.
“No!”Isay.“Imean,no,it’snotbad.It’skindofcute,but,Alex,whatareyousupposedtotalkaboutwhenyougooutwithagirlwho’salreadyreadallthis?”
Heshrugs.“Idon’tknow.ProbablyI’djustaskthemquestionsaboutthemselves.”
“Thatfeelslikeajobinterview,”Isay.“Imean,yes,itisarareandwonderfulthingwhenyourTinderdateasksyouasinglequestionaboutyourself,butyoucan’tjustnottalkaboutyourselfatall.”
Herubsatthelineinhisforehead.“God,Ireallyhatehavingtodothis.Why’sitsohardtomeetpeopleinreallife?”
“Itmightbeeasier…inanothercity,”Isaypointedly.
Heglancesaskanceatmeandrollshiseyes,buthe’ssmiling.“Okay,whatwouldyouwrite,ifyouwereaguy,tryingtowooyourself?”
“Well,I’mdifferent,”Isay.“Whatyou’vegotherewouldtotallyworkonme.”
Helaughs.“Don’tbemean.”
“I’mnot,”Isay.“Yousoundlikeasexy,child-rearingrobot.LikethemaidfromTheJetsonsbutwithabs.”
“Poppyyyyy,”hegroan-laughs,throwinghisforearmoverhisface.
“Okay,okay.I’lltakeacrackatit.”Itakehisphoneagainanderasewhathewrote,committingittomemoryaswellasIcanincasehewantstorestoreit.Ithinkforaminute,thentypeandpassthephonebacktohim.
Hestudiesthescreenforalongtime,thenreadsaloud,“‘Ihaveafull-timejobandanactualbedframe.Myhouseisn’tfullofTarantinoposters,andItextbackwithinacouplehours.AlsoIhatethesaxophone’?”
“Oh,didIputaquestionmark?”Iask,leaningoverhisshouldertosee.“That’ssupposedtobeaperiod.”
“It’saperiod,”hesays.“Ijustwasn’tsureifyouwereserious.”
“OfcourseI’mserious!”
“‘Ihaveanactualbedframe’?”hesaysagain.
“Itshowsthatyou’reresponsible,”Isay,“andthatyou’refunny.”
“Itactuallyshowsthatyou’refunny,”Alexsays.
“Butyou’refunnytoo,”Isay.“You’rejustoverthinkingthis.”
“YoureallythinkwomenwillwanttogooutwithmebasedonapictureandthefactthatIhaveabedframe.”
“Oh,Alex,”Isay.“Ithoughtyousaidyouknewhowgrimitwasoutthere.”
“AllI’msayingis,Iwalkaroundalldaywiththisfaceandajobandabedframe,andnoneofthathasgottenmeveryfar.”
“Yeah,that’sbecauseyou’reintimidating,”Isay,savingthebioandgoingbacktotheslideshowofwomen’saccounts.
“Yeah,that’sit,”Alexsays,andIlookupathim.
“Yes,Alex,”Isay.“Thatisit.”
“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
“RememberClarissa?MyroommateatUofChicago?”
“Thetrust-fundhippie?”hesays.
“WhataboutIsabel,mysophomore-yearroommate?OrmyfriendJaclynfromthecommunicationsdepartment?”
“Yes,Poppy,Irememberyourfriends.Itwasn’ttwentyyearsago.”
“Youknowwhatthosethreepeoplehadincommon?”Isay.“Theyallhadcrushesonyou.Allofthem.”
Heblushes.“You’refullofshit.”
“No,”Isay.“I’mnot.ClarissaandIsabelwerebothconstantlytryingtoflirtwithyou,andJaclyn’s‘communicationskills’justutterlyfailedwheneveryouwereintheroom.”
“Well,howwasIsupposedtoknowthat?”hedemands.
“Bodylanguage,prolongedeyecontact,”Isay,“findingeveryexcusetotouchyou,makingovertsexualinnuendos,askingyouforhelpwithpapers.”
“Wealwaysdidthatoveremail,”Alexsays,likehe’sfoundaholeinmylogic.
“Alex,”Isaycalmly.“Whoseideawasthat?”
Thelookofvictoryleachesfromhisface.“Wait.Seriously?”
“Seriously,”Isay.“Sowiththatinmind,wouldyouliketotakeyournewphotoandbioforaspin?”
Helooksaghast.“I’mnotgoingtogoonadateduringourtrip,Poppy.”
“Damnright,you’renot!”Isay.“Butyoucanatleasttryitout.Besides,Iwanttoseewhatkindsofgirlsyouswiperightfor.”
“Nuns,”hesays,“andaidworkers.”
“Wow,you’resuchagoodperson,”IsayinabreathyMarilynMonroevoice.“Pleaseallowmetoshowmyappreciationwitha—”
“Okay,okay,”hesays.“Don’tgiveyourselfanasthmaattack.I’llswipe,justgogentlyonme,Poppy.”
Ibumpmyshoulderlightlyagainsthis.“Always.”
“Never,”hesays.
Ifrown.“PleasecallmeonitifIevermakeyoufeelbad.”
“Youdon’t,”hesays.“It’sfine.”
“IknowIjokeroughsometimes.ButIneverwanttohurtyou.Notever.”
Hedoesn’tsmile,justgazesbacksteadilylikehe’stakingthetimetoletthewordssoakin.“Iknowthat.”
“Okay,good.”Inod,trainmyeyesonhisphonescreen.“Ooh,whatabouther?”
Thegirlon-screenistannedandpretty,bendingatthekneeandblowingakissatthecamera.“Nokissyfaces,”hesays,andswipesheroffthescreen.
“Fairenough.”
Agirlwithalipringanddarkeyemakeupappearsinherplace.Herbioreads,Allmetal,allthetime
“That’salotofmetal,”Alexsays,andswipesherawaytoo.
Nextup,agirlinagreenleprechaunhat,grinninginagreentanktop,holdingupagreenbeer.Shehasbigboobsandabiggersmile.
“Oh,aniceIrishgirl,”Ijoke.
Alexvanishesthatonewithoutcomment.
“Hey,what’swrongwithher?”Iask.“Shewasgorgeous.”
“Notmytype,”hesays.
“Hokay.Movingon.”
Herejectsarockclimber,aHooterswaitress,apainter,andahip-hopdancerwithabodytorivalAlex’sown.
“Alex,”Isay.“I’mbeginningtothinktheproblemliesnotwiththebiobutwiththebiographer.”
“They’rejustnotmytype,”hesays.“AndI’mdefinitelynottheirs.”
“Howdoyouknowthat?”
“Look,”hesays.“Here.She’scute.”
“Ohmygod,you’vegottobekiddingme!”
“What?”hesays.“Youdon’tthinkshe’spretty?”
Thestrawberryblondesmilesupatmefrombehindapolishedmahoganydesk.Herhairisclippedbackintoahalfponytailandshe’swearinganavyblueblazer.Accordingtoherbio,she’sagraphicdesignerwholovesyoga,sunshine,andcupcakes.“Alex,”Isay.“She’sSarah.”
Herearsback.“ThisgirllooksnothinglikeSarah.”
Isnort.“Ididn’tsayshelookslikeSarah”—thoughshedoes—“IsaidsheisSarah.”
“Sarah’sateacher,notagraphicdesigner,”Alexsays.“She’stallerthanthisgirlandherhairisdarkerandherfavoritedessertischeesecake,notcupcakes.”
“Theydressexactlythesame.Theysmileexactlythesame.Whydoallguyswantgirlswholooklikethey’recarvedoutofsoap?”
“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”Alexsays.
“Imean,youhadnointerestinallthosecool,sexygirlsandthenyouseethiswannabekindergartenteacherandshe’sthefirstpersonyouevenconsider.It’sjust…typical.”
“She’snotakindergartenteacher,”hesays.“Whatdoyouhaveagainstthisgirl?”
“Nothing!”Isay,butitdoesn’tsoundlikeit’strue,eventome.Isoundannoyed.Iopenmymouth,hopingtowalkmyreactionbackalittle,butthat’snotwhathappensatall.“It’snotthegirl.It’s—it’sguys.Youallthinkyouwantasexy,independenthip-hopdancer,butwhenthatpersonappearsinfrontofyou,whenshe’sarealperson,she’stoomuchandyou’renotinterestedandyou’llgoforthecutekindergartenteacherintheturtleneckeverytime.”
“Whydoyoukeepsayingshe’sakindergartenteacher?”Alexcries.
“Becauseshe’sSarah,”Iblurtout.
“Idon’twanttodateSarah,okay?”hesays.“AndalsoSarahteachesninthgrade,notkindergarten.Andalso,”hegoeson,pickingupsteam,“youtalkabiggame,Poppy,butIguaranteethatwhenyou’reonTinder,you’reswipingrightforfirefightersandERsurgeonsandprofessionalfuckingskateboarders,sono,Idon’tfeelbadforhominginonwomenwholooklikethey’reprobablysweet—andtoyou,yes,maybealittlebitboring—becauseitdoesn’tseemtohaveoccurredtoyouthatmaybewomenlikeyouthinkI’mboring.”
“Fuckthat,”Isay.
“What?”hesays.
“Isaid,fuckthat!”Irepeat.“Idon’tthinkyou’reboring,sothatwholeargumentfails.”
“We’refriends,”hesays.“Youwouldn’tswiperightonme.”
“Iwouldtoo,”Isay.
“Youwouldnot,”heargues.
Andhere’smychancetoletitgo,butI’mstilltoofiredup,tooannoyedtolethimthinkhe’srightaboutthis.
“I.Would.”
“Well,Iwouldforyoutoo,”heretorts,likesomehowthisisallsomesortofargument.
“Don’tsaysomethingyoudon’tmean,”Iwarn.“Iwouldn’tbewearingablazerorsittingbehindadesk,smiling.”
Hislipspressclosed.Hisjawmusclesbounceasheswallows.“Okay,showme.”
IopenmyownTinderappandhandmyphoneoversohecanseethepicture.I’msmilingsleepily,dressedlikeanalieninasilverdressandfacepaintwithaluminumantennaehot-gluedtomyheadband.Halloween,obviously.Orwait,wasitRachel’sX-Files-themedbirthdayparty?
Alexconsidersthephotoseriously,thenscrollsdowntoreadmybio.Afteraminute,hehandsmyphonebacktomeandlooksmedeadintheeye.“Iwould.”
Mywholebodytingleswithpinsandneedles.“Oh,”Isay,thenmanageasmall“okay.”
“So,”hesays,“areyoudonebeingmadatme?”
Itrytosaysomething,butmytonguefeelstooheavy.Mywholebodyfeelsheavy,especiallywheremyhipistouchinghis.SoIjustnod.
ThankGodforhisbackspasm,Ithink.OtherwiseI’mnotsurewhatwouldhappennext.
Alexstudiesmeforafewseconds,thenreachesfortheforgottenlaptop.Hisvoicecomesoutthick.“Whatdoyouwanttowatch?”19
SixSummersAgo
ALEXANDIwerebothprettystrappedforcashwhentheresortinVail,Colorado,reachedouttooffermeafreestay.
Atthatpoint,whetherthetripwouldhappenwasupintheair.
Foronething,whenGuillermobrokeupwithmeforanewhostessinhisrestaurant(awaifishblue-eyedgirlalmostfreshofftheplanefromNebraska)—sixweeksafterItooktheplungeandmovedintohisapartment—Ihadtoscrambletofindanewplacetolive.
Hadtotakeanapartmentonthehighendofmypricerange.
HadtopayforaU-Haulforthesecondtimeintwomonths.
Hadtobuynewfurnituretoreplacethestuffthathadbecomeredundantandthusbeendiscarded—Guialreadyhadnicerversionsofmythings:sofa,mattress,Danish-lookkitchentable.We’dkeptmydresser,becausethelegonhiswasbroken,andmybedsidetable,becauseheonlyhadtheone,butotherthanthat,prettymucheverythingwe’dkeptwashis.
Thebreakupcamejustafterwe’dgonetoLinfieldforMom’sbirthday.
Forweeksbeforehand,I’ddebatedwhethertowarnGuiwhattoexpect.
Forexample,theBeverlyHillbillies–stylejunkyardthatwasourfrontlawn.OrMom’sMuseumtoOurChildhood,asmeandmybrotherscalledthehouseitself.Thebakedgoodsmymotherwouldpileuparoundthekitchenthewholetimewewerethere,oftenwithafrostingsothickandsweetitmadenon-Wrightscoughastheyate,orthefactthatourgaragewasriddledwiththingslikeonce-usedducttapeDadwassurehecouldrepurpose.Orthatwe’dbeexpectedtoplayadays-spanningboardgamewe’dinventedaskidsbasedonAttackoftheKillerTomatoes
Thatmyparentshadrecentlyadoptedthreeseniorcats,oneofwhomwasincontinenttothepointofhavingtowearadiaper.
Orthattherewasadecentchancehe’dhearmyparentshavingsex,becauseourhousehadthinwalls,andaspreviouslystated,theWrightsarealoudclan.
Orthatthere’dbeaNewTalentShowattheendoftheweekend,whereeveryonewasexpectedtoperformsomenewfeatthey’donlystartedlearningatthestartofthevisit.
(LasttimeI’dbeenhome,Prince’stalenthadbeenhavinguscalloutthenameofanymovieandtryingtoconnectitbacktoKeanuReeveswithinsixdegrees.)
SoIshould’vewarnedGuillermowhathewaswalkinginto,definitely,butdoingsowould’vefeltliketreason.LikeIwassayingtherewassomethingwrongwiththem.Andsure,theywereloudandmessy,buttheywerealsoamazingandkindandfunny,andIhatedmyselfforevenconsideringbeingembarrassedbythem.
Guiwouldlovethem,Itoldmyself.Guilovedme,andthesewerethepeoplewho’dmademe.
Attheendofourfirstnightthere,weshutourselvesintomychildhoodbedroomandhesaid,“IthinkIunderstandyoubetternowthaneverbefore.”
Hisvoicewasastenderandwarmasever,butinsteadoflove,itsoundedlikesympathy.
“IgetwhyyouhadtofleetoNewYork,”hesaid.“Itmust’vebeensohardforyouhere.”
Mystomachsunkandmyheartsqueezedpainfully,butIdidn’tcorrecthim.Again,Ijusthatedmyselfforbeingembarrassed.
BecauseIhadfledtoNewYork,butIhadn’tfledmyfamily,andifI’dkeptthemseparatefromtherestofmylife,itwasonlytoprotectthemfromjudgment,andmyselffromthisfamiliarfeelingofrejection.
Therestofthetripwasuncomfortable.Guiwaskindtomyfamily—hewasalwayskind—butIsaweveryinteractiontheyhadthroughalensofcondescensionandpityafterthat.
Itriedtoforgetthetriphadhappened.Wewerehappytogether,inourreallife,inNewYork.Sowhatifhedidn’tunderstandmyfamily?Helovedme.
Afewweekslater,wewenttoadinnerpartyathisfriend’sbrownstone,someonehe’dknownfromboardingschool,aguywithatrustfundandaDamienHirstpaintinghangingoverthediningroomtable.Iknewthis—wouldneverforgetit—becausewhensomeonesaidthename,unrelatedtothepainting,Isaid,“Who?”andlaughterfollowed.
Theyweren’tlaughingatme;theygenuinelythoughtIwasmakingajoke.
Fourdaysafterthat,Guillermoendedourrelationship.“We’rejusttoodifferent,”hesaid.“Wegotsweptupinourchemistry,butlongterm,wewantdifferentthings.”
I’mnotsayinghedumpedmefornotknowingwhoDamienHirstwas.ButI’mnotnotsayingthateither.
WhenImovedoutoftheapartment,Istoleoneofhisfancycookingknives.
Icould’vetakenthemall,butmymildformofrevengewasimagininghimlookingeverywhereforit,tryingtofigureoutifhetookitwithhimtoadinnerpartyoritfellintothegapbetweenhisenormousrefrigeratorandthekitchenisland.
Frankly,Iwantedtheknifetohaunthim.
NotinaMy-Ex-Is-Going-to-Go-All-Glenn-Close-in-Fatal-Attractionway,butinaSomething-About-This-Missing-Knife-Seems-to-Be-Conjuring-a-Strong-Metaphor-and-I-Can’t-Figure-Out-What-It’s-Sayingway.
Istartedfeelingguiltyafteraweekinmynewapartment—oncethesobbingworeoff—andconsideredmailingtheknifebackbutthoughtthatmightsendthewrongmessage.IimaginedGuishowinguptothepolicedepartmentwiththepackage,anddecidedI’djustlethimbuyanewknife.
Ithoughtaboutsellingthestolenoneonline,andworriedtheanonymousbuyerwouldturnouttobehim,soIjustkeptitandresumedmysobbinguntilIwasdonethreeishweekslater.
Thepointis,breakupssuck.Breakupsbetweencohabitatingpartnersinoverpricedcitiessuckalittleextra,andIwasn’tsureI’dbeabletoaffordasummertripthisyear.
AndthentherewasthematterofSarahTorval.
Adorable,willowyyetathletic,clean-faced,brown-eyeliner-wearingSarahTorval.
WhoAlexhasbeenseriouslydatingforninemonths.AftertheirfirstchanceencounterwhenAlexwasvisitingfriendsinChicago,theirtextinghadquicklyevolvedintophonecalls,andthenanothervisit.Afterthatthey’dgottenseriousfast,andaftersixmonthslongdistance,she’dtakenateachingjobandmovedtoIndianatobewithhimwhiletherewhileheworkstowardhisdoctorate,andwillprobablyfollowhimwhereverhelandsafterward.
Whichwouldmakemehappyifnotformyincreasingsuspicionthatshehatesme
WhenevershepostspicturesofherselfholdingAlex’sbrand-newbabyniecewithcaptionslikefamilytime,orthislittlelovebug,Ilikethepostandcomment,butsherefusestofollowmeback.Ievenunfollowedandrefollowedheronce,incaseshehadn’tnoticedmethefirsttime.
“Ithinkshefeelskindofweirdaboutthetrip,”Alexadmitsononeofour(nowfewerandfartherbetween)calls.I’mprettysureheonlycallsmefromthecar,whenhe’sonhiswaytoorfromthegym.Iwanttotellhimthatcallingmeonlywhenshe’snotaroundprobablyisn’thelping.
Butthetruthis,Idon’twanttotalktohimwhileanyoneelseisaround,soinsteadthisiswhathasbecomeofourfriendship.Fifteen-minutecallseverycoupleweeks,notexting,nomessaging,hardlyanyemailingexcepttheoccasionalone-linerwithapictureofthetinyblackcathefoundinthedumpsterbehindhisapartmentcomplex.
Shelookslikeakitten,butaccordingtothevetshe’sfullygrown,justsmall.Hesendsmepicturesofhersittinginshoesandhatsandbowls,alwayswritingforscale,butreallyIknowhejustthinkseverythingshedoesisadorable.Andsure,it’scutethatcatsliketositinthings…butit’squitepossiblycuterthatAlexcan’tstophimselffromtakingpicturesofit.
Hehasn’tnamedheryet;he’stakinghistime.Hesaysitwouldn’tfeelrighttonameagrownthingwithoutknowingit,sofornowhecallshercatortinysweetieorlittlefriend
SarahwantstocallherSadie,butAlexdoesn’tthinkthatfitssohe’sbidinghistime.Thecatistheonlythingweevertalkaboutthesedays.I’msurprisedAlexwouldbesoforthrightastotellmethatSarahfeelsweirdabouttheSummerTrip.
“Ofcourseshedoes,”Itellhim,“Iwouldtoo.”Idon’tblameheratall.IfmyboyfriendhadafriendshipwithagirllikeAlex’sandmine,IwouldwindupinTheYellowWallpaper
There’snowayinhellIcouldbelieveitwaswhollyplatonic.Especiallyhavingbeeninthisfriendshiplongenoughtoacceptthatfive(tofifteenish)percentofwhat-ifaspartofthedeal.
“Sowhatdowedo?”heasks.
“Idon’tknow,”Isay,tryingnottosoundmiserable.“Doyouwanttoinviteher?”
He’squietforaminute.“Idon’tthinkthat’sagoodidea.”
“Okay…”Andthen,afterthelongestpauseever,Isay,“Shouldwejust…cancel?”
Alexsighs.HemusthavemeonspeakerphonebecauseIcanhearhisturnsignalclicking.“Idon’tknow,Poppy.I’mnotsure.”
“Yeah.Meneither.”
Westayonthephone,butneitherofussaysanythingelsefortherestofhisdrive.“Ijustgothome,”hesayseventually.“Let’stalkaboutthisagaininafewweeks.Thingscouldchangebythen.”
Whatthings?Iwanttoask,butdon’t,becauseonceyourbestfriendissomeoneelse’sboyfriend,theboundariesbetweenwhatyoucanandcan’tsaygetawholelotfirmer.
Ispendthewholenightafterourphonecallthinking,Ishegoingtobreakupwithher?Isshegoingtobreakupwithhim?
Ishegoingtotrytoreasonwithher?
Ishegoingtobreakupwithme?
WhenIgettheofferofafreestayfromtheresortinVail,IsendhimthefirsttextI’vesentinmonths:Hey!Givemeacallwhenyou’vegotasec!
Atfivethirtythenextmorning,myphoneringsmeawake.Ipeerthroughthedarkathisnameonthescreenandfumblethecallontohearhisturnsignaltappingoutarhythm.He’sonhiswaytothegym.“What’sup?”heasks.
“I’mdead,”Igroan.
“Whatelse?”
“Colorado,”Isay.“Vail.”20
ThisSummer
IWAKEUPNEXTtoAlex.HeinsistedthatthebedinNikolai’sAirbnbwasplentybig,thatneitherofusshouldriskanothernightonthefoldoutchair,butwe’rerightinthemiddleofthemattressbythetimemorningcomes.
I’monmyrightside,facinghim.He’sonhisleft,facingme.There’shalfafootbetweenus,exceptthatmyleftlegissprawledoverhim,mythighhookedupagainsthiship,hishandrestinghighuponit.
Theapartmentishellishlyhot,andwe’rebothdrenchedwithsweat.
IneedtoextricatemyselfbeforeAlexwakesup,buttheludicrouspartofmybrainwantstostayhere,replayingthelookhegaveme,thewayhisvoicesoundedlastnightwhenhesizedupmydatingprofileandsaid,“Iwould.”
Likeadare.
Thenagain,hewasonmusclerelaxantsatthetime.
Today,ifheremembersthatatall,hewillalmostdefinitelyberegretfulandembarrassed.
Ormaybehe’llremembersittingnexttomeforthelengthofanegregiouslyunderwhelmingdocumentaryabouttheKinksandfeelinglikealivewire,sparkingeverytimeourarmsbrushed.
“Youusuallyfallasleepduringthese,”hepointedoutwithamildsmile,jostlinghislegagainstmine,butwhenhelookeddownatme,hishazeleyesseemedtobepartofadifferentexpressionentirely,onewithsharpedgesandevensomehunger.
Ishrugged,saidsomethinglike,“Justnottired,”andtriedtofocusonthemovie.Timemovedatanoilyslog,everysecondbesidehimstrikingmewithnewintensityasifwe’djuststartedtouchingagainandagainandagainforalmosttwohours.
Itwasearlywhenthemovieended,sowestartedanotherdocumentarythatwasboringandmindless,justbackgroundnoisetomakeitfeelokaythatwewereridingthisline.
AtleastIwasprettysurethatwaswhatwe’dbeendoing.
Thewayhishandisspreadovermythighnowsendsanotherpricklyrushofwantthroughme.Averynonsensicalpartofmewantstonestlecloser,untilwe’retouchingallover,andwaittoseewhathappenswhenhewakesup.
AllthosememoriesfromCroatiafrothtothesurfaceofmymind,sendingdesperateflashesoutthroughmybody.
Ipullmylegoffhim,andhishandtightensonmereflexively,looseningwhenIdragmyselfclearfromunderit.IrollawayandsitupjustasAlexisstirringawake,hiseyesslittingopensleepily,hairwildwithbedhead.“Hey,”herasps.
Myownvoicecomesoutthick.“How’dyousleep?”
“Good,Ithink,”hesays.“You?”
“Good.How’syourback?”
“Letmesee.”Slowly,hepusheshimselfup,turningtoslidehislonglegsoverthesideofthebed.Hecautiouslystands.“Alotbetter.”
HehasanenormouserectionandseemstonoticeatthesametimeIdo.Hefoldshishandsinfrontofhimselfandlooksaroundtheapartmentsquinting.“There’snowayitwasthishotwhenwefellasleep.”
He’sprobablyright,butIhavenorealrecollectionofhowhotitwaslastnight.
Iwasn’tthinkingclearlyenoughtoprocesstheheat.
Todaycannotgothewayofyesterday.
Nomoreloungingaroundtheapartment.Nomoresittingtogetheronthebed.NomoretalkingaboutTinder.Nomorefallingasleeptogetherandhalfmountinghimwhileunconscious.
Tomorrow,weddingfestivitieswillbeginforDavidandTham(bachelorparties,rehearsaldinner,wedding).Today,AlexandIneedtohaveenoughuncomplicated,unconfusingfunthatwhenwegethome,hedoesn’tneedanothertwo-yearbreakfromme.
“I’llcallNikolaiabouttheACagain,”Isay.“Butweshouldgetmoving.We’vegotalottodo.”
Alexrunshishanduphisforeheadintohishair.“DoIhavetimetoshower?”
Myheartgivesasharppulse,andjustlikethatI’mimaginingtakingashowerwithhim.
“Ifyouwant,”Imanage.“Butyouwillbedrenchedinsweatagaininseconds.”
Heshrugs.“Idon’tthinkIcanmakemyselfleavetheapartmentfeelingthisdirty.”
“You’vebeendirtier,”Ijoke,becauseIhavemisplacedmyalreadyfaultyfilter.
“Onlyinfrontofyou,”hesays,andrustlesmyhairashewalkspasttothebathroom.
MylegsfeellikejellyundermeasIstandtherewaitingfortheshowertoturnon.OnlyonceitdoesdoIfeelcapableofmovingagain,andmyfirststopisthethermostat.
Eighty-five?!
Eighty-fivemiserabledegreesinthisapartmentandthethermostat’sbeensettoseventy-ninesincelastnight.Sowecanofficiallyruletheairconditionerfullybroken.
IwalkontothebalconyanddialNikolai,buthesendsmetovoicemailonthethirdring.Ileaveanothermessage,thisonealittleangrier,thenfollowupwithanemailandatexttoobeforegoinginsidetosearchforthelightest-weightpieceofclothingIbrought.
Aginghamsundressthat’ssobaggyithangsonmelikeapaperbag.
Thewaterturnsoff,andAlexdoesnotmakethemistakeofcomingoutinhistowelthistime.Heemergesfullydressed,hairwickedbackandwaterdropletsstillclinging(sensuously,Imightadd)tohisforeheadandneck.
“So,”hesays.“Whatdidyouhaveinmindtoday?”
“Surprises,”Isay.“Lotsofthem.”Itrytodramaticallyflingthecarkeystohim.Theyfalltothefloortwofeetshort.Helooksdownatwheretheylie.
“Wow,”hesays.“Wasthat…oneofthesurprises?”
“Yes,”Isay.“Yes,itwas.Buttheothersarebettersopickthoseupandlet’shitit.”
Hismouthtwists.“Iprobably…”
“Oh,right!Yourback!”Irunoverandretrievethekeys,handingthemtohimlikeanormaladulthumanmight.
WhenwewalkoutontotheexteriorhallwayoftheDesertRose,Alexsays,“Atleastit’snotjustourapartmentthatfeelslikeSatan’sanalglands.”
“Yes,it’smuchbetterthattheentirecitybethisungodlyhot,”Isay.
“You’dthinkwithalltherichpeoplevacationingherethey’dhavemoneytojustair-conditionthewholeplace.”
“Firststop:citycouncil,topitchthatbomb-assidea.”
“Haveyouconsideredbuildingadome,Councilwoman?”hesaysdrylyasweploddownthesteps.
“Hey,thatoneguydiditinthatoneStephenKingnovel,”Isay.
“I’llprobablyleavethatoutofthepitch.”
“Ihavegoodideas.”Itryagaintogivehimthepuppyfaceaswe’recrossingtheparkinglot,andhelaughsandshovesmyfaceaway.
“You’renotgoodatthat,”hesays.
“Yourseverereactionwouldsuggestotherwise.”
“Youlegitimatelylooklikeyou’reshitting.”
“That’snotmyshittingface,”Isay.“Thisis.”IstrikeaMarilynMonroepose,legswide,onehandbracedagainstmythigh,theothercoveringmyopenmouth.
“That’snice,”hesays.“Youshouldputthatonyourblog.”Quickly,stealthily,hewhipshisphoneoutandsnapsapicture.
“Hey!”
“Maybeatoiletpapercompanywillendorseyou,”hesuggests.
“That’snotbad,”Isay.“Ilikethewayyouthink.”
“Ihavegoodideas,”heparrots,andunlocksthedoorforme,thencirclestothedriver’sseatasIgetinandtakeadeepwhiffoftheperma-weedsmell
“Thankyoufornevermakingmedrive,”Isayashegetsin,hissingatthefeelofthehotseat,andclickshisseatbelt.
“Thankyouforhatingdrivingandallowingmetohavesomemodicumofcontrolovermylifeinthisvastandunpredictableuniverse.”
Iwinkathim.“Noprob.”
Helaughs.
Weirdly,heseemsmorerelaxedthanhehasthiswholetrip.Ormaybeit’sjustthatI’mbeingmoreinsistentlynormalandchatty,andthisreallywasthekeytoasuccessful,old-schoolPoppyandAlexsummertripallalong.
“Soareyougoingtotellmewherewe’regoing,orshouldIjustaimforthesunandgo?”
“Neither,”Isay.“I’llnavigate.”
Evendrivingfullspeedwithallthewindowsdown,itfeelslikewe’restandinginfrontofanopenfurnace,itsblastsracingthroughourhairandclothes.Today’sheatmakesyesterday’slooklikethefirstdayofspring.
Wearegoingtobespendingalotoftimeoutdoorstoday,andImakeamentalnotetobuyenormouswaterbottlesthefirstchanceweget.
“Thisnextleft,”Isay,andwhenthesignappearsahead,Icry,“Ta-da!”
“TheLivingDesertZooandGardens,”Alexreads.
“Oneofthetoptenbestzoosintheworld,”Isay.
“Well,we’llbethejudgeofthat,”hereplies.
“Yeah,andiftheythinkwe’regoingtogoeasyonthemjustbecausewe’redelusionalfromheatexhaustion,they’vegotanotherthinkcoming.”
“Butiftheysellmilkshakes,I’minclinedtoleavethemalargelypositivereview,”Alexsaysquicklyunderhisbreath,andturnsthecaroff.
“Well,we’renotmonsters.”
It’snotlikewe’rezoopeople,butthisplacespecializesinanimalsnativetothedesert,andtheydoalotofrehabilitationwiththegoalofreleasinganimalsbackintothewild.
Alsotheyletyoufeedgiraffes.
Idon’ttellAlexthisbecauseIwanthimtobesurprised.Whileheisayoung,hotcatladyinhisheart,he’salsojustageneralanimallover,soIexpectthistogooverwell.
Thefeedinggoesuntileleventhirtya.m.,soIfigurewehavetimetowanderfreelybeforeIhavetofigureoutwherethegiraffesare,andifwehappenuponthembyaccidentbeforethen,allthebetter.
Alexstillhastobecarefulwithhisback,sowemoveslowly,wanderingfromaninformativereptileshowtooneaboutbirds,duringwhichAlexleansoverandwhispers,“IthinkIjustdecidedtobeafraidofbirds.”
“It’sgoodtofindnewhobbies!”Ihissback.“Itmeansyou’renotstagnant.”
Hislaughisquietbutunsuppressed,rattlingdownmyarminawaythatmakesmefeellight-headed.Ofcourse,thatcouldalsobetheheat.
Afterthebirdshowweheadtothepettingzoo,wherewestandamongacoterieoffive-year-oldsandusespecialbrushestocombNigeriandwarfgoats.
“Imisreadthatsignasghosts,notgoats,andnowI’mjustdisappointed,”Alexsaysunderhisbreath.Hepunctuatesitwiththeface.
“Itissofreakinghardtofindagoodghostexhibitthesedays,”Ipointout.
“Tootrue,”heagrees.
“RememberourcemeterytourguideinNewOrleans?Hehatedus.”
“Huh,”Alexsaysinawaythatsuggestshedoesn’tremember,andmystomach,whichhasbeensomersaultingallday,rollsintoawallandsinks.Iwanthimtoremember.Iwanteverymomenttomatterasmuchtohimasithastome.Butiftheoldonesdon’t,thenmaybeatleastthistripcan.I’mdeterminedthatitwill.
Inthepettingzoo,wemeetsomeotherAfricanlivestock,includingafewSiciliandwarfdonkeys.
“Theresurearealotoftinythingsinthedesert,”Isay.
“Maybeyoushouldmovehere,”Alexteases.
“You’rejusttryingtogetmeoutofNewYorksoyoucanswoopinandgetmyapartment.”
“Don’tberidiculous,”hesays.“Icouldneveraffordthatapartment.”
Afterthepettingzoo,wetrackdownsomemilkshakes—Alexgetsvanilladespiteallmydesperatepleading.“Vanillaisn’taflavor.”
“Itistoo,”Alexsays.“It’sthetasteofthevanillabean,Poppy.”
“Youmightaswelljustbedrinkingfrozenheavycream.”
Hethinksforasecond.“Iwouldtrythat.”
“Atleastgetchocolate,”Isay.
“Yougetchocolate,”hesays.
“Ican’t.I’mgettingstrawberry.”
“See?”Alexsays.“LikeIsaidlastnight,youthinkI’mboring.”
“Ithinkvanillamilkshakesareboring,”Isay.“Ithinkyouaremisguided.”
“Here.”Alexholdshispapercupouttome.“Wantasip?”
Iheaveasigh.“Fine.”Ileanforwardandtakeasip.Hearcheshiseyebrow,waitingforareaction.“It’sokay.”
Helaughs.“Yeah,honestlyit’snotthatgood.Butthat’snotVanillaasaFlavor’sfault.”
Afterwe’vepolishedoffourmilkshakesandtossedthecups,IdecideweshouldridetheEndangeredSpeciesCarousel
Butwhenwegetthere,wefindit’sclosedduetoheat.
“Globalwarming’sreallyhittingtheendangeredspecieswhenthey’redown,”Alexmuses.Hewipeshisforearmuphishead,catchingthesweatgatheringthere.
“Youneedsomewater?”Iask.“Youdon’tlooksogood.”
“Yeah,”hesays.“Maybe.”
Wegobuyacouplebottlesandsitonabenchintheshade.Afewsipsin,though,Alexlooksworse.“Shit,”hesays.“I’mprettydizzy.”Hehunchesoverhiskneesandhangshishead.
“CanIgetyousomething?”Iask.“Maybeyouneedrealfood?”
“Maybe,”heagrees.
“Here.StayhereandI’llgetyou,like,asandwich,okay?”
Iknowhemustbefeelingawfulbecausehedoesn’targue.Iwalkbacktothelastcaféwepassed.There’salonglinebynow—it’salmostlunchtime.
Icheckmyphone.Elevenohthree.Justunderthirtyminuteslefttofeedthegiraffes.
Istandinlinefortenminutestogetthepremadeturkeyclub,thenjogbacktofindAlexsittingwhereIlefthim,hisheadrestinginhishands.
“Hey,”Isay,andhisglasseyesrise.“Feelinganybetter?”
“I’mnotsure,”hesays,andacceptsthesandwich,unwrappingit.“Wantsome?”
Hegivesmehalf,andItakeacouplebites,tryingmybestnottotimehimasheslowlymunchesonhishalf.Ateleventwenty-two,Iask,“Isithelping?”
“Ithinkso.Ifeellessdizzyanyway.”
“Doyouthinkyou’reokaytowalk?”
“Arewe…inahurry?”heasks
“No,ofcoursenot,”Isay.“There’sjustthisthing.Yoursurprise.Itendsprettysoon.”
Henods,buthelooksqueasy,soI’mtornbetweenpushinghimtorallyorinsistinghestayput.“I’mokay,”hesays,climbingtohisfeet.“Justneedtoremembertodrinkmorewater.”
Wemakeittothegiraffesateleventhirty-five.
“Sorry,”ateenageemployeetellsme.“Giraffefeedingisoverfortheday.”
Asshewalksaway,Alexlooksatmehazily.“Sorry,Pop.Ihopeyou’renottoodisappointed.”
“Ofcoursenot,”Iinsist.Idon’tcareaboutfeedinggiraffes(atleastnotmuch).WhatIcareaboutismakingthistripgood.Provingweshouldkeeptakingthem.Thatwecansalvageourfriendship.
That’swhyI’mdisappointed.Becauseit’sthefirststrikeoftheday.
Myphonebuzzeswithamessage,andatleastit’ssomegoodnews.
Nikolaiwrites,Gotallofyou[sic]messages.I’llseewhatIcando.
Okay,Iwriteback.Justkeepusupdated.
“Comeon,”Isay,“let’sgosomewhereair-conditioneduntilournextstop.”21
SixSummersAgo
IDON’TKNOWHOWAlexgotSarahonboardwiththeVailtrip,buthedid.
Askinghowstrikesmeasdangerous.Therearethingswetalkaroundthesedays,tokeepeverythingaboveboard,andAlexiscarefulnottoshareanythingthatmightembarrassSarah.
There’snotalkofjealousy.Maybethereisnojealousy.Maybethere’ssomeotherreasonshedidn’tinitiallyliketheideaofthetrip.Butshechangeshermind,andthetripison,andonceAlexandIaretogether,Istopworryingaboutit.Thingsfeelnormalbetweenusagain,thatfifteenishpercentofwhat-ifshrunkenbacktoamanageabletwo.
Werentbikesandrumbleoverthecobblestonestreets,takeagondolaupthemountain,andposeforphotoswiththevastblueskybehindus,windblowingourhairacrossourfacesinmidlaugh.Wesitonpatios,sippingchilledgreenteaorcoffeeinthemorningsbeforeitgetshot,takelonghikesonmountaintrailsduringthedaywithoursweatshirtsshedandtiedaroundourwaists,onlytowindupatdifferentoutdoorpatios,drinkingredwineandsharingthreeordersoffrieswithpressedgarlicandfreshlygratedParmesan.Wesitoutsideuntilwe’regoose-bump-coveredandshivering,andthenpullonoursweatshirts,andIdrawmykneesuptomychestinsidemine.EverytimeIdothis,Alexleansoverandflicksmyhoodupovermyhead,thentugsthedrawstringstightsothatonlytheverymiddleofmyfaceisvisible,andmostofthatisblockedbytuftsofwind-tangledblondhair.
“Cutie,”hesays,grinning,thefirsttimehedoesthis,butitfeelsalmostbrotherly.
Onenight,there’salivebandplayingVanMorrisonhitswhilewe’reeatingdinneroutsideunderstrandsofglobelightsthatremindmeofthenightwemetasfreshmen.Wefollowoldercouplesontothedancefloor,handinhand.WemovelikewedidbackinNewOrleans—clumsyandrhythmlessbutlaughing,happy.
Nowthatit’sbehindus,Icanadmitthatthingsweredifferentthatnight.
Inthemagicofthecityanditsmusicandsmellsandglimmeringlights,IfeltsomethingI’dneverfeltwithhimbefore.Scarierthanthat,I’dknownfromthewayAlexlookedintomyeyes,smoothedhishanddownmyarm,easedhischeekagainstmine,thathefeltittoo.
Butnow,dancingto“BrownEyedGirl,”theheathasgoneoutofhistouch.AndI’mhappy,becauseIneverwanttolosethis.
IwouldratherhaveonetinysliverofhimforeverthanhaveallofhimforjustamomentandknowI’dhavetorelinquishallofitwhenwewerethrough.IcouldneverloseAlex.Icouldn’t.Andsothisisgood,thispeaceful,sparklessdance.Thissparklesstrip.
AlexcallsSarahtwiceaday,morningandnight,butneverinfrontofme.Inthemorning,theytalkwhilehejogs,beforeI’mevenoutofbed,andwhenhegetsback,hewakesmeupwithcoffeeandapastryfromthecaféintheresort’sclubhouse.Atnight,hestepsoutontothebalconytocallherandshutsthedoorbehindhim.
“Idon’twantyoutomakefunofmyphonevoice,”hesays.
“God,I’manasshole,”Isay,andthoughhelaughs,Idofeelbad.Teasinghasalwaysbeenabigpartofourdynamic,andit’sfeltlikeourthing.Buttherearethingshewon’tdoinfrontofmenow,partsofhimhedoesn’ttrustwithme,andIdon’tlikehowthatfeels.
Whenhecomesinsideafterhisjogandmorningcallthenextday,Isitupsleepilytoaccepttheprofferedcoffeeandcroissantandsay,“AlexNilsen,forwhateverit’sworth,I’msureyourphonevoiceisamazing.”
Heblushes,rubsthebackofhishead.“It’snot.”
“Ibetyou’reallbutteryandwarmandsweetandperfect.”
“Areyoutalkingtomeorthecroissant?”heasks.
“Iloveyou,croissant,”Isay,andtearapieceoff,loweringitintomymouth.Hestandsthere,handsinhispockets,grinning,andmyheartswells,Grinch-style,justlookingathim.“ButI’mtalkingaboutyou.”
“You’resweet,Poppy,”hesays.“Andbutteryandwarmandwhatever.ButIstillwouldjustrathertalkonthephonealone.”
“Heard,”Isay,nodding,andholdmycroissantouttohim.Hetearsofftheteensiestpieceandpopsitbetweenhislips.
Laterthatday,whilewe’resittingatlunch,somethingbrilliantoccurstome.“Lita!”Icry,seeminglyoutofnowhere.
“Blessyou?”Alexsays.
“RememberLita?”Isay.“ShewaslivinginthatdumpyhouseinTofino.WithBuck?”
Alexnarrowshiseyes.“Isshetheonewhotriedtoputherhanddownmypantswhileshewasgivingmea‘tour’?”
“Um,one,youdidn’ttellmethathappened,andtwo,no.ShewashangingoutwithmeandBuck.Shewasleavingsoon,remember?MovingtoVailtobearaftingguide!”
“Oh,”Alexsays.“Yeah.Right.”
“Doyouthinkshe’sstillhere?”
Hesquints.“Onthisearthlyplane?I’mnotsureanyofthosepeopleare.”
“I’vegotBuck’snumber,”Isay.
“Youdo?”Alexgivesmeapointedlook.
“Ihaven’tusedit,”Isay.“ButIhaveit.I’lltexthimandseeifhehasLita’snumber.”
Hey,Buck!Iwrite.Notsureifyourememberme,butyougavemeandmyfriendAlexawatertaxiridetothehotsprings,like,fiveyearsago,rightbeforeyourfriendLitamovedtoColorado?Anyway,I’minVailandwasgonnaseeifshewasstillhere!Hopeyou’rewellandthatTofinoisstillthemostbeautifulplaceonthiswholeentireplanet.
Bythetimewe’vefinishedeating,Buckhaswrittenback.
Damn,girl,hesays.IsthissexylittlePoppy?Tookyoulongenoughtousethosedigits.GuessIshouldn’thavekickedyououtofmyroom.
Isnort-laugh,andAlexleansoverthetabletoreadthemessageupsidedown.Herollshiseyes.“Yeah,youfuckingthink,pal?”
No,no,noworriesaboutthat,Itellhim.Itwasagreatnight.Wehadanamazingtime.
Sweet,hesays.Ihaven’ttalkedtoLitainyearsbutI’llshootuhercontactinfoifuwant.
Thatwouldbeamazing,Itellhim.
Ifyouevermakeitbacktotheislandrugonnatellme?heasks.
Obviously,Isay.Ihavenoideahowtooperateawatertaxi.You’llbeinvaluable.
Lol,hesays,ursuchafreakIloveit.
Bythatnight,we’vebookedaraftingtripwithLita,whodoesnotrememberusbutinsistsonthephonethatshe’ssurewehadagreattimetogether.
“Tobefair,Iwason,like,atonofdrugsbackthen,”shesays.“Iwasalwayshavingagreattime,andIrememberalmostnoneofit.”
Alex,overhearingthis,pullsafacethatreadsasanxietywithasideofunansweredquestions.Iknowexactlywhathewantsmetofindout.
“So,”Isay,ascasuallyasIcan,“doyoustill…use…drugs?”
“Threeyearssober,mama,”shereplies.“Butifyou’relookingtobuysomething,Icansendyoumyolddude’snumber.”
“No,no,”Isay.“That’sokay.We’lljust…do…thestuff…webrought…fromhome.”
Lookingbeleaguered,Alexshakeshishead.
“Allright,then.Seeyoutwobrightandearly.”
WhenIhangup,Alexsays,“DoyouthinkBuckwasondrugswhenhedroveourwatertaxi?”
Ishrug.“Weneverdidfindoutwhathewasrantingtonooneabout.MaybehethoughtJimMorrisonwashoveringonthewaterjustinfrontofhim.”
“Iamsogladwe’restillalive,”Alexsays.
ThenextmorningwemeetLitaattheraftrentalplace,andshelooksalmostexactlyasIrememberher,butwithaweddingbandtattooandasmallbabybump
“Fourmonths,”shesays,joggingitinherhands.
“Andit’s…safe?Todothis?”Alexasks.
“Babynumberonedidjustfine,”Litaassuresus.“Youknow,inNorway,theysticktheirbabiesoutsidetotakenaps.”
“Oh…kay,”Alexsays.
“IwouldlovetogotoNorway,”Isay.
“Oh,you’vegotto!”shesays.“Mywife’stwinsisterlivesthere—shemarriedaNorwegian.GailsometimestalksaboutlegallydivorcingmeandofferingtopayacoupleniceNorwegianstomarryussowecanbothgetcitizenshipandmovethere.Callmeold-fashioned,butIjustdon’tfeelrightaboutpayingformyshammarriage.”
“Well,Iguessyou’lljusthavetosurviveonNorwegianvacations,then,”Isay.
“Guessso.”
Outofanabundanceofcaution,weoptforthebeginnerroute,andwesoondiscoverthatthismeansthatour“raftingtrip”consistslargelyofsunbathingandfloatingwiththecurrent,stickingoutouroarstoshoveoffofrockswhenwegettooclose,andampingupourrowingwheneverarapidcropsup.
Lita,itturnsout,remembersalotmorethansheletonaboutBuckandtheotherpeopleshelivedwithintheTofinohouse,andsheregalesuswithstoriesofpeoplejumpingofftheroofontoatrampoline,anddrunkenlygivingeachotherstick-and-poketattooswithredinkpens.
“Turnsoutsomepeopleareallergictoredink,”shesays.“Whoknew?”
Everystoryshetellsismoreludicrousthanthelast,andbythetimewedragtheraftontotheriverbankattheendofourroute,myabsachefromlaughing.
Shewipeslaugh-tearsawayfromthejust-starting-to-wrinklecornersofhereyesandheavesacontentedsigh.“IcanlaughbecauseIsurvivedit.MakesmehappyknowingBuckdidtoo.”Sherubshertummy.“Makesmesohappyeverytimeyoufindouthowsmalltheworldis,youknow?Like,wewereinthatplaceatthesametimeandnowhereweare.Atdifferentpointsinourlivesbutstillconnected.Likequantumentanglementorsomeshit.”
“IthinkaboutthateverytimeI’minanairport,”Itellher.“It’sonereasonIlovetravelingsomuch.”Ihesitate,searchingforhowtopourthislong-steepingsoupythoughtintoconcretewords.“Asakid,Iwasaloner,”Iexplain,“andIalwaysfiguredthatwhenIgrewup,I’dleavemyhometownanddiscoverotherpeoplelikemesomewhereelse.WhichIhave,youknow?Buteveryonegetslonelysometimes,andwheneverthathappens,Ibuyaplaneticketandgototheairportand—Idon’tknow.Idon’tfeellonelyanymore.Becausenomatterwhatmakesallthosepeopledifferent,they’realljusttryingtogetsomewhere,waitingtoreachsomeone.”
AlexgivesmeanoddlookwhosemeaningIcan’tinterpret.
“Ah,shit,”Litasays.“You’regonnamakemecry.Thesedamnpregnancyhormones.IreactworsetothemthanIdidtoayahuasca.”
Beforewepartways,Litapullseachofusintoalonghug.“Ifyou’reeverinNewYork…”Isay.
“Ifyoueverfeelliketakingarealraftingtrip,”sheanswerswithawink
Severalsilentminutesintoourdrivebacktotheresort,withworriedcreasesshootingupfromtheinsidesofhiseyebrows,Alexsays,“Ihatethinkingaboutyoubeinglonely.”
Imustlookconfused,becauseheclarifies:“Thethingabouthowyougototheairport.Whenyoufeellikeyou’realone.”
“I’mnotreallythatlonelyanymore,”Isay.
IhavethegrouptextwithParkerandPrince—we’vebeenplanningoutano-budgetJawsmusical.Thentherearetheweeklycallswithbothmyparentsonspeakerphone.Plusthere’sRachel,who’sreallycomethroughformepost-Guillermo,withinvitestoexerciseclassesandwinebarsandvolunteeringdaysatdogshelters.
EventhoughAlexandIdon’ttalkasmuchasweusedto,therearealsotheshortstorieshe’sbeenmailingmewithbriefhand-scribblednotesonPost-its.Hecouldemailthem,buthedoesn’t,andafterI’vereadeachhardcopy,IputitinashoeboxwhereI’vestartedkeepingthethingsthatmattertome.(Oneshoebox,soIdon’tendupwithhugeplasticbinsofmyfuturechildren’sdragondrawingslikeMomandDadhave.)
Idon’tfeelalonewhenIreadhiswords.Idon’tfeelalonewhenIholdthosePost-itsinmyhandandthinkaboutthepersonwhowrotethem.
“I’msorryifIhaven’tbeenthereforyou,”Alexsaysquietly.Heopenshismouthasiftogoon,thenshakeshisheadandclosesitagain.We’vemadeitbacktotheresort,pulledintoourparkingspace,andwhenIturninmyseattofacehim,heanglestowardmetoo.
“Alex…”Ittakesmeafewsecondstogoon:“I’veneverreallyfeltalonesinceImetyou.Idon’tthinkI’lleverfeeltrulyaloneinthisworldagainaslongasyou’reinit.”
Hisgazesoftens,holdssteadyforabeat.“CanItellyousomethingembarrassing?”
Foronce,itdoesn’toccurtometojoke,tobesarcastic.“Anything.”
Herunshishandoverthesteeringwheelinaslowback-and-forth.“Idon’tthinkIknewIwaslonelyuntilImetyou.”Heshakeshisheadagain.“Athome,aftermymomdiedandmydadfellapart,Ijustwantedeveryonetobeokay.IwantedtobeexactlywhatDadneeded,andexactlywhatmylittlebrothersneeded,andatschool,Iwantedtobewhoeveryonewanted,soItriedtobecalmandresponsibleandsteady,andIthinkIwasnineteenyearsoldthefirsttimeitoccurredtomethatmaybethatwasn’thowsomepeoplelived.ThatmaybeIjustwassomeone,beyondwhoItriedtobe.
“Imetyou,andhonestly…atfirst,Ithoughtitwasanact.Theshockingclothes,theshockingjokes.”
“Whateverdoyoumean?”Iteasequietly,andasmilewinksinthecornerofhismouth,briefasabeatofahummingbird’swings.
“OnthatfirstdrivebacktoLinfield,youaskedmeallthesequestionsaboutwhatIlikedandwhatIhated,andIdon’tknow.Itjustfeltlikeyoureallywantedtoknow.”
“OfcourseIdid,”Isay.
Henods.“Iknow.YouaskedmewhoIwas,and—itwasliketheanswercameoutofnowhere.SometimesitfeelslikeIdidn’tevenexistbeforethat.Likeyouinventedme.”
Heatrushestomycheeks,andIadjustmypositioninmyseat,pullingmykneesintomychest.“I’mnotsmartenoughtohaveinventedyou.Noone’sthatsmart.”
Themusclesalonghisjawleapasheconsidershisnextwords,neveronetoblurtanythingoutwithoutfirstweighingit.“Mypointis,noonereallyknewmebeforeyou,Poppy.Andevenif…thingschangebetweenus,you’llneverbealone,okay?I’llalwaysloveyou.”
Tearscloudmyeyes,butmiraculouslyIblinkthemclear.Somehow,myvoicecomesoutsteadyandlight,andnotlikesomeonereachedintomyribcageandheldmyheartinsidehishandjustlongenoughtorunathumbacrossasecretwound.
“Iknow,”Itellhim,and,“Iloveyoutoo.”
It’strue,butnotthefulltruth.Therearen’twordsvastorspecificenoughtocapturetheecstasyandtheacheandloveandfearIfeeljustlookingathimnow.
Sothemomentsweepspast,andthetripgoeson,andnothingisdifferentbetweenus,exceptthatapartofmehaswokenup,likeabearemergingfromhibernationwithahungerithasmanagedtosleepthroughformonthsbutcan’tignoreonesecondlonger.
Thenextday,thesecondtolastofthetrip,wetakeahikeupamountainpass.Nearthetop,Isteptotheedgeofthepathtotakeaphotothroughanopeninginthetreesofthedeepbluelakebelowandlosemyfooting.Myanklerolls,hardandfast.Itfeelslikethebonejabsthroughmyfoottohittheground,andthenI’msprawledinmudandleaves,hissingoutswearwords.
“Staystill,”Alexsays,crouchingbesideme.
AtfirstIcanbarelybreathe,soI’mnotcrying,justchoking,“DoIhaveabonestickingoutofmyskin?”
Alexglancesdown,checksmyleg.“No,Ithinkyoujustsprainedit.”
“Fuck,”Igaspfrombeneathawaveofpain.
“Squeezemyhandifyouneedto,”hesays,andIdo,astightasIcan.Inhisgiant,masculinepalm,myownlookstiny,myknucklesknobbyandbulbous.
Thepainletsupenoughthatmaniarushesintoreplaceit.Tearsfallingingreatgushes,Iask,“DoIhaveslowlorishands?”
“What?”Alexasks,understandablyconfused.Hisworriedexpressionjudders.Heturnsalaughintoacough.“Slowlorishands?”herepeatsseriously.
“Don’tlaughatme!”Isqueakout,fullyregressedintoaneight-year-oldlittlesister.
“I’msorry,”hesays.“No,youdon’thaveslowlorishands.NotthatIknowwhataslowlorisis.”
“It’skindoflikealemur,”Isaytearfully.
“Youhavebeautifulhands,Poppy.”Hetriesvery,veryhard—perhapshishardestever—nottosmile,butslowlyithappensanyway,andIbreakintoatearylaugh.“Doyouwanttotrytostand?”heasks.
“Can’tyoujustrollmedownthemountain?”
“I’drathernot,”hesays.“Theremightbepoisonivyoncewegetoffthetrail.”
Isigh.“Okay,then.”Hehelpsmeup,butIcan’tputanyweightonmyrightfootwithoutalightningboltofpaincracklingupmyleg.Istopshamblingalong,starttocryagain,andburymyfaceinmyhandstohidethesnottymessI’mcrumblinginto.
Alexrubshishandsslowlyupanddownmyarmsforafewseconds,whichonlymakesmecryharder.PeoplebeingnicetomewhenI’mupsetalwayshasthiseffect.Hepullsmeinagainsthischestandhookshisarmsagainstmyback.
“AmIgoingtohaveto,like,payforahelicoptertogetdownthere?”Igetout.
“We’renotthatfar,”hesays.
“I’mnotkidding,Ican’tputanyweightonit.”
“Here’swhat’sgoingtohappen,”hesays.“I’mgoingtopickyouup,andI’mgoingtocarryyou—veryslowly—downthetrail.AndI’mprobablygoingtohavetostopalotandsetyoudown,andyou’renotallowedtocallmeSeabiscuit,orscreamFaster!Faster!inmyear.”
Ilaughintohischest,nodagainsthim,leavingwetmarksbehindonhisT-shirt.
“AndifIfindoutyoufakedthiswholethingjusttoseeifIwouldcarryyouhalfamiledownamountain,”hesays,“I’mgoingtobereallyannoyed.”
“Scaleofonetoten,”Isay,leaningbacktolookintohisface.
“Sevenatleast,”hesays.
“Youareso,sonice,”Isay.
“Youmeanbutteryandwarmandperfect,”heteases,wideninghisstance.“Ready?”
“Ready,”Iconfirm,andAlexNilsensweepsmeupintohisarmsandcarriesmedownamotherfuckingmountain.
No.Ireallycouldnothaveinventedhim.22
ThisSummer
FULLYRECHARGEDAFTERtwowaterbottlesandfortyminutesinazoogiftshopfullofstuffedcamels,weheadtoournextdestination.
TheCabazonDinosaursareprettymuchexactlywhattheysoundlike:twobig-assdinosaursculpturesonthesideofthehighwayinthemiddleofnowhere,California.
Atheme-parksculptorbuiltthesteelmonstershopingtodrivebusinesstohisroadsidediner.Sincehedied,theproperty’sbeensoldtoagroupthatputinacreationistmuseumandgiftshopinsidethetailofoneofthedinosaurs.
It’sthekindofplaceyoustopatbecauseyou’realreadydrivingpast.It’salsothekindofplaceyoudriveto,outofyourway,whenyou’retryingtofilleverysecondofyourday.
“Well,”Alexsayswhenwegetoutofthecar.ThedustyT.rexandbrontosaurustoweroverus,afewspikypalmtreesandscragglybushesdottingthesandbeneaththem.Timeandsunlighthavedrainedthedinosofalmostanycolor.Theylookthirsty,likethey’vebeenshamblingthroughthisplaceanditsharshsunlightformillennia.
“Well,indeed,”Iagree.
“Guessweshouldgetsomepictures?”Alexsays.
“Definitely.”
Hetakeshisphoneoutandwaitsformetostrikesomeposesinfrontofthedinosaurs.AfteracoupletameInstagram-appropriatepictures,Istartjumpingandflailingmyarms,hopingtomakehimlaugh.
Hesmilesbutstilllooksalittlepeaked,andIdecideit’sbestifwegetintotheshade.Weamblethroughthegrounds,takeacouplemorephotoscloserupandwiththesmallerdinosaursthathavebeenaddedwithinthescrubbybrushsurroundingthetwomainofferings.Thenweclimbthestepstopokearoundthegiftshop.
“Youcanhardlytellwe’reinsideadinosaur,”Alexjokinglycomplains.
“Right?Wherearethegiantvertebrae?Wherearethebloodvesselsandtailmuscles?”
“ThisisnotgettingafavorableYelpreview,”Alexmutters,andIlaugh,buthedoesn’tjoinin.I’msuddenlyawareofhowpathetictheACisinthisshop.Nothingcomparedtothezoogiftshop.WemightaswellbebackinNikolai’shellhole.
“Shouldwegetoutofhere?”Iask.
“God,yes,”Alexsays,andsetsdownthedinosaurfigurinehe’sbeenholding.
Icheckthetimeonmyphone.It’sonlyfourp.m.andwe’veburnedthrougheverythingIhadplannedfortoday.Iopenmynotesappandscanthelistforsomethingelsetodo.
“Okay,”Isay,tryingtomaskmyanxiety.“I’vegotit.Comeon.”
TheMoortenBotanicalGarden.It’soutside,butit’ssuretohaveabettercoolingsystemthanthegiftshopinsideasteeldinosaur.
OnlyIdon’tthinktocheckthehoursandwedriveallthewaythereonlytofinditclosed.“Closesatoneduringthesummer?”Ireadthesignincredulously.
“Doyouthinkithasanythingtodowiththedangerouslyhightemperature?”Alexsays.
“Okay,”Isay.“Okay.”
“Maybeweshouldjustgohome,”Alexsays.“SeeifNikolaihasfixedtheAC.”
“Notyet,”Isay,desperate.“There’ssomethingelseIwantedtodo.”
“Fine,”Alexsays.Backatthecar,Iheadhimoffatthedriver’s-sidedoor,andheasks,“Whatareyoudoing?”
“Ihavetodriveforthispart,”Isay.
Hearchesaneyebrowbutgetsintothepassengerseat.IopenmyGPSandenterthefirstaddressonthelistforthe“self-guidedarchitecturetourofPalmSprings.”
“It’s…ahotel,”Alexsays,confused,whenwepulluptothefunkyangularbuildingwithitsflagstonesidingandorange-outlinedsign.
“TheDelMarcosHotel,”Isay.
“Isthere…asteeldinosaurinside?”heasks.
Ifrown.“Idon’tthinkso.Butthiswholeneighborhood,theTennisClubneighborhood,issupposedtobefullofalltheseridiculouslyamazingbuildings.”
“Ah,”hesays,likethat’sallhecanmusterinthewayofenthusiasm.
MystomachdropsasIpunchinthenextaddress.Wedrivearoundfortwohours,stopforacheapdinner(whichwedragoutforanotherhourbecauseColdAir),andwhenwereturntothecar,Alexcutsmeoffatthedriver’s-sidedoor.“Poppy,”hesayspleadingly.
“Alex,”Isay.
“Youcandriveifyouwant,”hesays,“butI’mgettingalittlecarsick,andIdon’tknowifIcantakeseeinganymorestrangers’mansionstoday.”
“Butyoulovearchitecture,”Isaypathetically.
Hisbrowfurrows,hiseyesnarrow.“I…what?”
“InNewOrleans,”Isay,“youjustwalkedaroundpointingat,like,windowsthewholetime.Ithoughtyoulovedthiskindofthing.”
“Pointingatwindows?”
Ithrowmyarmsouttomysides.“Idon’tknow!Youjust,like…fuckinglovedlookingatbuildings!”
Heletsoutafatiguedlaugh.“Ibelieveyou,”hesays.“MaybeIdolovearchitecture.Idon’tknow.I’mjust…reallytiredandhot.”
Iscrambletogetmyphoneoutofmypurse.There’sstillnowordfromNikolai.Wecannotgobacktothatapartment.“Whatabouttheairmuseum?”
WhenIlookup,he’sstudyingme,headtiltedandeyesstillnarrow.Herunsahaplesshandthroughhishairandglancesawayforasecond,setshishandonhiship.“It’s,like,seveno’clock,Poppy,”hesays.“Idon’tthinkit’sgoingtobeopen.”
Isigh,deflating.“You’reright.”Icrossbacktothepassengerseatandflopdown,feelingdefeatedasAlexstartsthecar.
Fifteenmilesdowntheroad,wegetaflattire.
“Oh,god,”IgroanasAlexpullsofftothesideoftheroad.
“There’sprobablyaspare,”hesays.
“Andyouknowhowtoputthaton?”Isay.
“Yes.Iknowhowtoputthaton.”
“Mr.Homeowner,”Isay,tryingtosoundplayful.TurnsoutItooamdeeplygrumpyandthat’showmyvoiceportraysme.Alexignoresthecommentandgetsoutofthecar.
“Doyouneedhelp?”Iask.
“Mightneedyoutoshinealight,”hesays.“It’sstartingtogetdark.”
Ifollowhimtothebackofthecar.Hepopsthehatchdoor,movessomeofthematsaround,andswears.“Nospare.”
“Thiscaraspirestodestroyourlives,”Isay,andkickthesideofthecar.“Shit,I’mgoingtohavetobuythisgirlanewtire,aren’tI?”
Alexsighsandrubsthebridgeofhisnose.“We’llsplitit.”
“No,that’snotwhatIwas…Iwasn’tsayingthat.”
“Iknow,”Alexsays,irritated.“ButI’mnotlettingyoupayforthewholething.”
“Whatdoweevendo?”
“Wecallatowingcompany,”hesays.“WeUberhome,andwemesswithittomorrow.”
Sothat’swhatwedo:Wecallthetowingcompany.Sitinsilenceonthetailgatewhilewewaitforthemtocome.RidebacktotheshopinthefrontofthetowtruckwithamannamedStanwhohasanakedladytattooedoneacharm.Signsomepapers,callanUber.StandoutsidewhilewewaitfortheUbertocome.
GetintoacarwithaladynamedMarlawhoAlexwhispersunderhisbreath“looksexactlylikeDelallo,”andatleastthat’ssomethingtolaughabout.
AndthenMarla’sappmessesupandshegetslost.
Andourseventeen-minutedrivebecomesatwenty-nine-minutedrivebeforeoureyes.Andneitherofusislaughing.Neitherofusissayinganything,makinganysound.
Finally,we’realmosttotheDesertRose.It’sprettymuchpitch-blackoutside,andI’msurethestarsoverheadwouldbeamazingifweweren’ttrappedinthebackofMarla’sKiaRioinhalinglungfulafterlungfulofthesugarcookieBath&BodyWorksspraysheseemstohavedousedtheentirecarin.
WhentrafficsuddenlystopshalfamilefromtheDesertRose,Ialmostcry.
“Mustbeanaccidentblockingtheroad,”Marlasays.“Noreasononheavenorearthtrafficshouldbethisbackedup.”
“Doyouwanttowalk?”Alexasksme.
“Whythehellnot,”Isay,andwegetoutofMarla’scar,watchherturntheKiaaroundinafifteen-pointturn,andstartdownthedarkshoulderoftheroadtowardhome.
“I’mgettinginthatpooltonight,”Alexsays.
“It’sprobablyclosed,”Igrunt.
“I’llclimbthefence,”Alexsays.
Afizzy,tiredchucklemovesthroughmychest.“Okay,I’min.”23
FiveSummersAgo
OURLASTNIGHTonSanibelIsland,Ilieawake,listeningtotherainthrumagainsttheroof,replayingtheweekasifwatchingthroughasheenthat’sthickandhazyandeverrippling,tryingtocapturethisonesplitsecondthatseemstowinkoutofvieweverytimeIreachforit.
Iseethestormybeaches.TheTwilightZonemarathonAlexandIsnoozethroughonthecouch.Theseafoodplacewherehe’dfinallygivenmethegrislydetailsofhisandSarah’sbreakup—thatshe’dtoldhimtheirrelationshipwasaboutasexcitingasthelibrarywherethey’dmet,beforedumpinghimandleavingforathree-weekyogaretreat.Ifshewantsexcitement,I’dsaid,I’mhappytokeyhercar.Mymemoryskipsforward,tothebarcalledBAR,withitsstickyfloorsandthatchedfans,whereIstepoutofthebathroomandseehimatthebar,readingabook,andfeelsomuchloveIcouldsplitopen,andhowafterItriedtojarhimfromhispost-Sarahsadnesswithanover-the-top“Hey,tiger!”
ThentherecomesthemomentthatweranthroughthedownpourfromBARtoourcar,theonesspentlisteningtothewindshieldwiperssqueakacrosstheglassasweslicedthroughthetorrentialrainbacktoourrain-soakedbungalow.
I’mgettingclosertothatmoment,thatoneIkeepreachingforandcomingupempty-handed,asifitwerenothingbutabitofreflectedlight,dancingonthefloor.
IseeAlexaskingtotakeapicturetogether,surprisingmewiththeflashonthecountoftwoinsteadofthree.Thebothofuschokingoverlaughter,moaningattheheinousnessofourpicture,arguingwhethertodeleteit,AlexpromisingIdon’tlookanythinglikethat,metellinghimthesame.
Thenhesays,“Nextyearlet’sgosomewherecold.”
Isayokay,thatwewill.
Andhereitcomes,themomentthatkeepsslippingthroughmyfingers,likeit’sthegame-changingdetailinaninstantreplayIcan’tseemtopauseorslowdown.
Wearejustlookingateachother.Therearenohardedgestograbholdof,nodistinctmarkersonthismoment’sbeginningorend,nothingtoseparateitfromthemillionsjustlikeit.
Butthis,thisisthemomentIfirstthinkit.
Iaminlovewithyou
Thethoughtisterrifying,probablynoteventrue.Adangerousideatoentertain.Ireleasemyholdonit,watchitslipaway.
Buttherearepointsinthecenterofmypalmsthatburn,scorched,proofIoncehelditthere.24
ThisSummer
THEAPARTMENTHASbecometheseventhringofhell,andthere’snosignNikolaihasbeenthere.Inthebathroom,IchangeintomybikiniandanoversizedT-shirt,thenfireoffanotherangrytextdemandinganupdate.
Alexknocksonthedoorwhenhe’sfinishedchanginginthelivingroom,andweskulkdowntothepool,towelsinhand.Wesneakovertocheckthegatefirst.“Locked,”Alexconfirms,butI’vejustnoticedthebiggerproblem.
“What.The.Hell.”
Helooksupandseesit:theemptyconcretebasinofthepool.
Behindus,someonegasps.“Oh,hon,Itoldyouitwasthem!”
AlexandIspinaroundasamiddle-agedleathery-tannedcouplecomesboundingup.Aredheadedwomaninsparklycorkheelsandwhitecaprisbesideathick-neckedmanwithashavedheadandpairofsunglassesbalancedonthebackofhishead.
“Youcalledit,babe,”themansays.
“TheNewwwwwlyweds!”thewomansings,andgrabsmeinahug.“Whydidn’ty’alltellusyouwereheadedtotheSprings?”
That’swhenitclicks.HubbyandWifeyfromthecabrideoutofLAX.
“Wow,”Alexsays.“Hi.How’sitgoing?”
Thewoman’sneon-orangefingernailsreleaseme,andshewavesahand.“Oh,youknow.Wasgoinggooduntilthisnonsense.Withthepool.”
Hubbygruntsagreement.
“Whathappened?”Iask.
“Somekidwentanddiarrhea’dinit!Alot,Iguess,becausetheyhadtogoanddrainthewholething.Theysayitshouldbeupandrunningagaintomorrow!”Shefrowns.“Ofcourse,tomorrow,we’reofftoJoshuaTree.”
“Oh,cool!”Isay.It’sastraintosoundbrightandchipperwhenreally,mysoulisquietlyshrivelingwithintheemptyshellofmybody.
“Wonafreestaythere.”Shewinksatme.“I’mgoodluck.”
“Sureare,”Hubbysays.
“I’mnotjustsayingthat!”shegoeson.“Wewonthelotteryafewyearsback—notoneofthosequadrillion-dollaronesbutanicelittlechunk,andIswear,eversincethenit’slikeIwineveryraffle,sweepstakes,andcontestIsomuchaslookat!”
“Amazing,”Alexsays.Hissoul,itsoundslike,hasalsoshriveled.
“Anyway!We’llleaveyoutwolovebirdstodoyourbidding.”Shewinksagain.Ormaybeherfalseeyelashesarejuststickingtogether.Hardtosay.“Justcouldn’tbelievewhatweirdluckitwasthatwewerestayinginthesameplace!”
“Luck,”Alexsays.Hesoundslikehe’sinabad-luck-inducedtrance.“Yeah.”
“It’satinyworld,ain’tit?”Wifeysays.
“Itis,”Iagree.
“Anyway,y’allenjoytherestofyourtrip!”ShesqueezesoneofeachofourshouldersandHubbynods,andthenthey’reoffandwe’releftstandinginfrontoftheemptypool.
Afterthreesilentseconds,Isay,“I’lltrytocallNikolaiagain.”
Alexsaysnothing.Wegobackupstairs.It’sninetydegrees.Notmetaphorically.It’sliterallyninetydegrees.Wedon’tturnonanylightsexcepttheoneinthebathroom,likeevenonemoreilluminatedbulbcouldgetustoanevenhundreddegrees.
Alexstandsinthemiddleoftheroom,lookingmiserable.It’stoohottositonanything,totouchanything.Theairfeelsdifferent,stiffasaboard.IdialNikolairepeatedlyasIpace.
Thefourthtimeherejectsthecall,Iletoutascreamandstompbacktothekitchenetteforthescissors.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Alexasks.Ijuststormpasttothebalconyandstabtheplasticsheeting.“That’snotgoingtohelp,”hesays.“It’sashotoutthereasitisinheretonight.”
ButIcan’tbereasonedwith.I’mhackingawayattheplastic,cuttingdowngiantstripaftergiant,tatteredstripandtossingthemontotheground.Finallyhalfofthebalconyisopentothenightair,butAlexwasright.Itdoesn’tmatter.
ItissohotIcouldmelt.Imarchbackinsideandsplashmyfacewithcoldwater.
“Poppy,”Alexsays,“Ithinkweshouldcheckintoahotel.”
Ishakemyhead,toofrustratedtospeak.
“Wehaveto,”hesays.
“That’snothowthisissupposedtogo,”Ibiteout,asuddenthrobgoingthroughmyeye.
“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”hesays
“We’resupposedtodothishowweusedto!”Isay.“We’resupposedtobekeepingthingscheapand—androllingwiththepunches.”
“Wehaverolledwithalotofpunches,”Alexinsists.
“Hotelscostmoney!”Isay.“Andwe’realreadygoingtohavetodroptwohundredtogetthathorriblecaranewtire!”
“Youknowwhatcostsmoney?”hesays.“Hospitals!We’regonnadieifwestayhere.”
“Thisisn’thowit’ssupposedtogo!”Ihalfshout,abrokenrecord.
“It’showit’sgoing!”hefiresback.
“Ijustwantedittobehowitusedtobe!”Isay.
“It’snevergoingtobelikethat!”hesnaps.“Wecan’tgobacktothat,okay?Thingsaredifferent,andwecan’tchangethat,sojuststop!Stoptryingtoforcethisfriendshipbacktowhatitusedtobe—it’snotgoingtohappen!We’redifferentnow,andyouhavetostoppretendingwearen’t!”
Hisvoicebreaksoff,eyesdark,jawtaut.
Therearetearsblurringmyvision,andmychestfeelslikeit’sbeingsawedinhalfaswestandthereinthehalfdark,facingoffinsilence,breathinghard.
Somethingdisruptsthesilence.Alow,distantrumble,andthen,aquiettap-tap-tapping.
“Doyouhearthat?”Alex’svoiceisadimrasp.
Igiveoneuncertainnod,andthenanotherrumbleshiversout.Oureyesfindeachother’s,wideanddesperate.Weruntotheedgeofthebalcony.
“Holyshit.”Ithrowmyarmsouttocatchthefallingrain.Istarttolaugh.Alexjoinsin.
“Here.”Hegrabstheremainderoftheplasticsheetingandstartstotearintoit.Iretrievethescissorsfromthecafétableandwehackawaytherestoftheplastic,tossingitoverourshoulders,therainpouringinfreely,untilfinally,it’salloutofourway.Westandbackwithourfacestiltedupandlettherainwashoverus.Anotherlaughbubblesupinme,andwhenIlookoveratAlex,he’swatchingme,hissmilewidefortwobeatsbeforeitdisintegratesintoconcern.
“I’msorry,”hesays,voicequietundertherain.“Ijustmeant…”
“Iknowwhatyoumeant,”Isay.“Youwereright.Wecan’tgoback.”
Histeethskimoverhisbottomlip.“Imean…wouldyoureallywantto?”
“Ijustwant…”Ishrug.
You,Ithink.
You.
You.
You.Sayit
Ishakemyhead.“Idon’twanttoloseyouagain.”
Alexreachesoutforme,andIgotohim,lethimcatchmyhipsandpullmein.IpressmyselfagainsthisdampT-shirtashewrapshisarmsaroundmeandliftsmeupandintohim.Ipushupontotiptoesandheholdsmethere,hisfaceburiedintomyneck,andmyoversizedT-shirtsoakingthrough.Ithreadmyarmsaroundhiswaistandshiverashishandsslideupmyback,catchingonthelumpwheremybathingsuittiesareknottedundermyshirt.
Evenafterafulldayofsweating,hesmellssogood,feelssogoodagainstmeandunderneathmyhands.Combinedwiththeintensereliefofthedesertrain,thishasmefeelinglight-headed,spinny,uninhibited.Myhandsskimuphisneckandslipintohishair,andhedrawsbackenoughtolookmeintheface,butneitherofusletsgo,andallthestressandworryhaslefthisbrowandjawjustasit’sliftedfrommybodylikesteam.
“Youwon’tloseme,”hesays,voicedimmedbytherain.“Aslongasyouwantme,I’mhere.”
Iswallowdownthelumpinmythroat,butitkeepsrising.Tryingtokeepthewordsinside.Itwouldbeamistaketosaythem,right?Wetelleachothereverything,buttherearesomethingsthatcan’tbeunsaid,justliketherearethingsthatcouldn’tbeundone.
Hishandrisestosweepadampcurloutofmyeyes,tuckingitbehindmyear.Thelumpseemstomelt,andthetruthslipsoutofmelikeabreathI’vebeenholdingallthistime.
“Ialwayswantyou,Alex,”Iwhisper.“Always.”
Inthisdimlight,hiseyeslookalmostsparkly,andhismouthgoessoft.Whenhebendstopresshisforeheadtomine,mywholebodyfeelsheavy,likemywantisaweightedblanketpushingonmefromeveryside,whilehishandsbrushovermyskinassoftlyassunlight.Hisnoseslidesdownthesideofmine,theinchbetweenourreaching,unsuremouthspulsing.
Thereisstillakindofplausibledeniabilitytothis,achancewe’llletthismomentpasswithouteverclosingthatfinaldistance.But,asIlistentohisunsteadybreath,feelthewayittugsagainstmeashislipspart,comecloser,hesitate,IforgeteveryreasonIwastryingtoputthisoff.
We’remagnets,tryingtodrawtogetherevenaswecradlethecarefuldistancebetweenus.Hishandskimsovermyjaw,gingerlyanglesitsothatournosesgrazeagainsteachother,testingthissmallgapbetweenus,ouropenmouthstastingtheairbetweenus.
Everybreathhetakesnowwhispersagainstmybottomlip.Eachofmyshakyinhalationstriestodrawhimcloser.Thiswasn’tsupposedtohappen,Ithinkfoggily.
Then,andmoreloudly,Thishadtohappen
Thishastohappen.
Thisishappening25
FourSummersAgo
THISYEARISgoingtobedifferent.I’vebeenworkingforRest+Relaxationmagazineforsixmonths.Inthattime,I’vealreadybeento:
MarrakechandCasablanca.
MartinboroughandQueenstown.
SantiagoandEasterIsland.
NottomentionallthecitiesintheUnitedStatesthey’vesentmeto.
ThesetripsarenothingliketheonesAlexandIusedtotake,butImayhavedownplayedthatwhenIpitchedcombiningoursummertripwithaworktrip,becauseIwanttoseehisreactionwhenweshowuptoourfirstresortwithourrattyT.J.Maxxluggageonlytobegreetedwithchampagne.
FourdaysinSweden.FourinNorway.
Notcold,exactly,butcoolatleast,andsinceIreachedouttoLitatheRiverRaftGuide’sexpatriatesister-in-law,she’sbeenemailingmeweeklywithsuggestionsforthingstodoinOslo.UnlikeLita,Danihasasteel-trapmemory:sheseemstorecalleveryamazingrestaurantshe’seatenatandknowspreciselywhattotellustoorder.Inoneemail,sheranksvariousfjordsbyaslewofcriteria(beauty,crowdedness,size,convenienceoflocation,beautyofthedrivetotheconvenient/inconvenientlocation).
WhenLitapassedalonghercontactinformation,Iwasexpectingtogetalistwithaspecificnationalparkandacoupleofbars,maybe.AndDanididdothat—inherfirstemail.Butthemessageskeptcomingwhenevershethoughtofsomethingelsewe“absolutelycouldnotleavewithoutexperiencing!”
Sheusesalotofexclamationpoints,andwhileusuallyIthinkpeoplefallbackonthisinanattempttoseemfriendlyanddefinitely-not-at-all-angry,eachoneofhersentencesreadsasacommand.
“Youmustdrinkaquavit!”
“Besuretodrinkitatroomtemperature,perhapsalongsideabeer!”
“Haveyourroom-temperatureaquavitonthewaytotheVikingShipMuseum!DONOTMISSTHIS!”
Eachnewemailburnsitsexclamationpointsintomymind,andIwouldbeafraidtomeetDani,ifnotforthefactthatshesignseveryemailwithxoxo,whichIfindsoendearingthatI’mconfidentwe’lllikeheralot.OrI’lllikeheralotandAlexwillbeterrified.
Eitherway,I’veneverbeenmoreexcitedforatripinmylife.
InSweden,there’sahotelmadeentirelyofice,called(forsomemysteriousreason)Icehotel.It’sthekindofplaceAlexandIcouldneverhaveaffordedonourown,andallmorningleadinguptothepitchmeetingwithSwapna,Iwassweatingprofuselyatmydesk—notnormalsweat,butthehorriblereekingkindthatcomeswithanxiety.It’snotlikeAlexwouldn’thavegonealongwithanotherhotbeachsidevacation,buteversinceIfoundoutaboutIcehotel,Iknewitwouldbetheabsoluteperfectsurpriseforhim.
Ipitchthearticleasa“CoolDownforSummer”feature,andSwapna’seyeslightupapprovingly.
“Inspired,”shesays,andIseeafewoftheother,moreestablishedwritersmouthingthewordtooneanother.Ihaven’tbeentherelongenoughtonoticeherusingthatword,butIknowhowsheisabouttrends,soIfigureinspiredisdiametricallyopposedtotrendyinhermind.
Sheisfullyonboard.Justlikethat,Iamclearedtospendwaytoomuchmoney.Ican’ttechnicallybuyAlexmealsorplaneticketsorevenadmissiontotheVikingmuseum,butwhenyou’retravelingwithR+R,doorsopenforyou,bottlesofchampagneyoudidn’torderfloatouttoyourtable,chefsdropbywithsomething“alittleextra,”andlifegetsabitshinier.
There’salsothematterofthephotographerwhowillbetravelingwithus,butsofareveryoneI’veworkedwithhasbeenpleasant,ifnotfun,andeverybitasindependentasIam.Wemeetup,weplanshots,wepartways,andthoughIhaven’tworkedwiththenewphotographerI’mpairedwith—we’vebeencaughtonoppositeschedulesofin-officedays—Garrett,theothernewstaffwriter,saysPhotographerTrey’sgreat,soI’mnotworried.
AlexandItextincessantlyintheweeksleadinguptothetrip,butneveraboutthetripitself.ItellhimI’mtakingcareofeverything,thatit’sallasurprise,andevenifthelackofcontroliskillinghim,hedoesn’tcomplain.
Insteadhetextsabouthislittleblackcat,FlanneryO’Connor.Shotsofherinshoesandcupboardsandsprawledonthetopofbookshelves.
Sheremindsmeofyou,hesayssometimes.
Becauseoftheclaws?Iask.Orbecauseoftheteethorbecauseofthefleas,andeverytime,nomatterwhatcomparisonItrytodraw,hejustwritesbacktinyfighter
Itmakesmefeelflutteryandwarm.Itmakesmethinkabouthimpullingthehoodofmysweatshirttightaroundmyfaceandgrinningatmethroughthechillydark,murmuringunderhisbreath:cutie
Inthelastweekbeforeweleave,IgeteitherahorriblecoldortheworstboutofsummerallergiesIcanremember.Mynoseisconstantlystuffedupand/ordripping;mythroatfeelsscratchyandtastessour;mywholeheadfeelscloggedwithpressure;andeverymorning,I’mwipedoutbeforethedayevenbegins.ButIhavenofever,andaquicktriptourgentcareinformsmethatIdon’thavestrepthroat,soIdomybestnottoslowdown.Thereisalottogetdonebeforethetrip,andIdoitallwhilecoughingprofusely.
Threedaysbeforeweleave,IhaveadreamthatAlextellsmehegotbacktogetherwithSarah,thathecan’ttakethetripanymore.
Iwakeupfeelingsicktomystomach.AlldayItrytogetthedreamoutofmyhead.Attwothirty,hesendsmeapictureofFlannery.
DoyouevermissSarah?Iwriteback.
Sometimes,hesays.Butnottoomuch.
Pleasedon’tcancelourtrip,Isay,becausethisdreamisreally,reallymessingwithme.
WhywouldIcancelourtrip?heasks.
Idon’tknow,Isay.Ijustkeepgettingnervousthatyou’regoingto.
TheSummerTripisthehighlightofmyyear,hesays.
Minetoo,Itellhim.
Evennowthatyougettotravelallthetime?You’renotsickofit?
Icouldnevergetsickofit,Isay.Don’tcancel.
HesendsmeanotherpictureofFlanneryO’Connorsittinginhisalreadypackedsuitcase.
Tinyfighter,Iwrite.
Iloveher,hesays,andIknowhe’stalkingaboutthecat,obviously,buteventhatmakesthatfluttery,warmfeelingcomealiveundermyskin.
Ican’twaittoseeyou,Isay,feelingsuddenlylikesayingthisverynormalthingisbold,riskyeven.
Iknow,hewritesback,it’sallIcanthinkabout.
Ittakesmehourstofallasleepthatnight.Ijustlieinbedwiththosewordsrunningthroughmymindonrepeat,makingmefeellikeIhaveafever.
WhenIwakeup,IrealizethatIactuallydid.ThatIstilldo.Thatmythroatfeelsmoreswollenandrawthanbefore,andmyheadispounding,andmychestisheavy,andmylegsache,andIcan’tgetwarmnomatterhowmanyblanketsI’munder.
Icallinsickhopingtosleepitoffbeforemyflightthenextafternoon,butbylatethatnight,Iknowthere’snowayI’mgettingonthatairplane.Ihaveafeverofonehundredandtwo.
Mostofthethingswehavebookedarenowcloseenoughthatthey’renonrefundable.Wrappedinblanketsandshiveringinmybed,IdraftanemailonmyphonetoSwapna,explainingthesituation.
I’munsurewhattodo.Unsureifthiswillsomehowgetmefired.
IfIdidn’tfeelsohorrible,I’dprobablybecrying.
Gobacktothedoctorfirstthinginthemorning,Alextellsme.
Maybeit’sjustpeaking,Iwrite.MaybeyoucanflyoutontimeandIcanmeetyouinacoupledays.
Youshouldn’tbefeelingworsethislateintoacold,hesays.Pleasegotothedoctor,Poppy.
Iwill,Iwrite.I’msosorry.
ThenIdocry.BecauseifIdon’tmakeitonthistrip,there’sagoodchanceIwon’tseeAlexforayear.He’ssobusywithhisMFAandteaching,andI’mrarelyhomenowthatI’mworkingforR+R,andinLinfieldevenless.ThisChristmas,Momwasexcitedtotellme,sheconvincedDadtocometothecity.Mybrothersevenagreedtocomeforadayortwo,somethingtheyinsistedtheywouldneverdooncetheymovedtoCalifornia(ParkertopursuewritingforTVinL.A.andPrincetoworkforavideogamedeveloperinSanFrancisco),asifuponsigningtheirleasesthey’dalsocommittedtoadie-hardrivalrybetweenthetwostates.
WheneverI’msick,IjustwishIwereinLinfield.Lyinginmychildhoodbedroom,itswallspaperedinvintagetravelposters,thepalepinkquiltMommadewhileshewaspregnantwithmepulleduptightaroundmychin.Iwishshewerebringingmesoupandathermometer,andcheckingthatIwasdrinkingwater,keepinguponibuprofentolowermyfever.
Foronce,Ihatemyminimalistapartment.Ihatethecitysoundsbouncingoffmywindowsatallhours.IhatethesoftgraylinenbeddingIpickedoutandthestreamlinedimitationDanishfurnitureI’vestartedtoaccumulatesincelandingmyBig-GirlJob,asDadcallsit.
Iwanttobesurroundedinknickknacks.Iwantfloral-patternedlampshadesandmismatchedthrowpillowsonaplaidcouch,itsbackdrapedinascratchyafghanblanket.Iwanttoshuffleuptoanoldoff-whitefridgecoveredinhideousmagnetsfromGatlinburgandKingsIslandandtheBeachWaterpark,withdrawingsImadeasakidandflash-blanchedfamilyphotos,andtoseeacatinadiaperstalkpastonlytobumpintoawallitdidnotsee.
Iwantnottobealone,andforeverybreathnottotakeanimmenseeffort.
Atfiveinthemorning,Swapnarepliestomyemail.
Thissortofthinghappens.Don’tbeatyourselfupaboutit.You’rerightabouttherefunds,though—ifyou’dliketoletyourfriendusetheaccommodationsyou’vebooked,feelfree.Forwardmewhatyouhadinthewayofitineraryagain,andwe’llgoaheadandsendTreytoshoot.Youcanfollowwhenyou’rewellagain.
And,Poppy,whenthishappensagain(whichitwill),donotgoinsohardontheapology.YouarenotthemasterofyourimmunesystemandIcanassureyouthatwhenyourmalecolleagueshavetocancelatrip,theyshownoindicationthattheyfeeltheyhavepersonallywrongedme.Don’tencouragepeopletoblameyouforsomethingbeyondyourcontrol.Youareafantasticwriter,andweareluckytohaveyou.
NowgetyourselftoadoctorandenjoysometrueR&R.We’llspeakaboutnextstepswhenyou’reonthemend.
I’dprobablybemorerelievedifnotforthehazesuperimposedovermyentireapartmentandtheextremediscomfortofsimplyexisting.
IscreenshottheemailandtextittoAlex.Gohavefun!!!Iwrite.I’lltrytomeetyouforthesecondhalf!
Bythen,theverythoughtofgettingoutofbedmakesmefeeldizzy.Isetmyphoneasideandclosemyeyes,lettingsleeprushuptoswallowmelikeawellreachingup,up,uparoundmeasIdropthroughit.
It’snotapeacefulsleep,butacold,glitchingkind,wheredreamsandsentencesstartover,againandagain,interruptingthemselvesbeforetheycangetofftheground.Itossinbed,wakinglongenoughtoregisterhowcoldIam,howuncomfortableboththebedandmybodyhavebecome,onlytotumblebackintorestlessdreams.
Idreamaboutagiantblackcatwithhungryeyes.Itchasesmeincirclesuntilit’stoohardtobreathe,toohardtokeepgoing,andthenitpounces,joltingmeawakeforafewfitfulseconds,onlytostartagainthemomentIshutmyeyes.
Ishouldgotothedoctor,Ithinkonoccasion,butI’msureI’munabletositup.
Idon’teat.Idon’tdrink.Idon’tevengetuptopee.
ThedayspinspastuntilIopenmyeyestotheyellowy-goldlightofsunsetglaringoffmybedroomwindow,andwhenIblink,it’schangedtoadeepperiwinkle,andthere’sapoundinginmyheadsorealitmakesathumpingsoundthatsendsshockwavesthroughmybody.
Irollover,pullapillowovermyface,butthatdoesn’tstopit.
It’sgettinglouder.Itstartstosoundlikemyname,thewaythatsoundssometimestransformintomusicwhenyou’resotiredyou’rehalfdreaming.
Poppy!Poppy!Poppy,areyouhome?
Myphoneclattersonthebedsidetable,vibrating.Iignoreit,letitringout.Itstartsagain,andafterthat,athirdtime,soIrolloverandtrytoreadthescreendespitethewaytheworldseemstobemelting,likeaswirlofduo-tonedicecreamstwirlingaroundeachother.
TherearedozensofmessagesfromALEXANDERTHEGREATEST,butthelastonereads,I’mhere!Letmein!
Thewordshavenomeaning.I’mtooconfusedtobuildacontextforthem,toocoldtocare.He’scallingmeagain,butI’mnotsureIcanspeak.Mythroatfeelstootight.
Thepoundingstartsagain,thevoicecallingmyname,andthefogliftsjustenoughforallthepiecestosnaptogetherintoperfectclarity.
“Alex,”Imumble.
“Poppy!Areyouinthere?”he’sshoutingontheothersideofthedoor.
I’mdreamingagain,whichistheonlyreasonIthinkIcanmakeittothedoor.I’mdreamingagain,whichmeansthatprobably,whenIdogettothedoorandpullitopen,thathugeblackcatwillbetherewaiting,SarahTorvalridingitlikeahorse.
Butmaybenot.MaybeitwilljustbeAlex,andIcanpullhiminsideand—
“Poppy,pleaseletmeknowyou’reokay!”hesaysontheothersideofthedoor,andIslideoffthebed,takingthelinen-coveredduvetwithme.Isweepitaroundmyshouldersanddragmyselftothedooronlegsthatfeelweakandwatery.
Ifumbleoverthelock,finallygetitswitched,andthedoorswingsopenasifbymagic,becausethat’showdreamswork.
OnlywhenIseehimstandingontheothersideofthedoor,handstillrestingonitsknob,beat-upsuitcasebehindhim,I’mnotsosureit’sadreamanymore.
“Oh,god,Poppy,”hesays,steppinginandexaminingme,thecoolbackofhishandpressingtomyclammyforehead.“You’reburningup.”
“You’reinNorway,”Imanageinaraspywhisper.
“I’mdefinitelynot.”Hedragshisbaginsideandclosesthedoor.“Whenwasthelasttimeyoutookibuprofen?”
Ishakemyhead.
“Nothing?”hesays.“Shit,Poppy,youweresupposedtogotothedoctor.”
“Ididn’tknowhowto.”Itsoundssopathetic.I’mtwenty-sixyearsoldwithafull-timejobandhealthinsurance,andanapartmentandstudentloanbills,andIlivealoneinNewYorkCity,buttherearejustsomethingsyoudon’twanttohavetodoonyourown.
“It’sokay,”Alexsays,pullingmegentlyintohim.“Let’sgetyoubackinbedandseeifwecangetridofthefever.”
“Ihavetopee,”Isaytearfully,thenadmit,“Imayhavealreadypeedmyself.”
“Okay,”hesays.“Gopee.I’llfindyousomecleanclothes.”
“ShouldIshower?”Iask,becauseapparentlyI’mhelpless.IneedsomeonetotellmeexactlywhattodolikemymomusedtodowhenIstayedhomefrommiddleschoolwatchingCartoonNetworkalldaylong,doingnothingformyselfuntilshetoldmeto.
“I’mnotsure,”hesays.“I’llGoogleit.Fornowjustpee.”
Ittakeswaytoomuchefforttogetintothebathroom.Idroptheblanketsjustoutsideitandpeewiththedooropen,shiveringthewholetimebutcomfortedbythesoundofAlexmovingaroundinmyapartment.Quietlyopeningdrawers.Clickingonthegasstovetop,movingtheteakettleontoit.
Hecomestocheckonmewhenhe’sfinishedwithwhateverhe’sdoing,andI’mstillsittingonthetoiletwithmysleepshortsaroundmyankles.
“Ithinkyou’reokaytoshowerifyouwantto,”hesays,andstartsthewaterup.“Maybedon’twashyourhair.Idon’tknowifthat’sarealthing,butGrandmaBettyswearsthatwethairmakesyousick.Areyousureyouwon’tfalldownoranything?”
“Ifit’sfastI’llbeokay,”Isay,suddenlyawareofhowstickyIfeel.IamalmostpositiveIwetmyself.Laterthiswillprobablybehumiliating,butrightnowIdon’tthinkanythingcouldembarrassme.I’mjustsorelievedtohavehimhere.
Helooksuncertainforasecond.“Justgoaheadandgetin.I’llstaycloseby,andifyoufeellikeit’sgettingtobetoomuch,justtellme,okay?”HeturnsawayfrommewhileIforcemyselfontomyfeetandstripoutofmypajamas.Iclimbintothehotwaterandpullthecurtainclosed,shudderingasthewaterhitsme.
“Youokay?”heasksimmediately.
“Mm-hm.”
“I’mgoingtostayhere,okay?”hesays.“Ifyouneedanything,justtellme.”
“Mm-hm.”
Afteronlyacoupleminutes,I’vehadenough.IturnoffthewaterandAlexpassesmeatowel.I’mcolderthanevernowthatI’mallwet,andIstepoutwithteethchattering.
“Here.”Hewrapsanothertowelaroundmyshoulderslikeacape,triestorubheatintothem.“ComesitintheroomwhileIchangeyourbedding,okay?”
Inod,andheleadsmetotheantiquerattanpeacockchairinthecornerofmybedroom.“Sparebedding?”heasks.
Ipointtothecloset.“Topshelf.”
Hegetsitout,andhandsmeafoldedpairofsweatpantsandaT-shirt.SinceIdon’thaveahabitoffoldingmyclothes,hemust’veinstinctivelyfoldedthemwhenhegotthemoutofthedresser.WhenItakethemfromhim,heturnspointedlyawayfrommetoworkonmakingthebedandIdropthetowelsontotheflooranddress.
Whenhe’sfinishedmakingthebed,AlexpullsbackacornerofthebeddingandIslidein,lettinghimtuckmein.Inthekitchen,thekettlestartswhistling.Heturnstogoforit,butIgrabontohisarm,half-drunkonthefeelingofbeingwarmandclean.“Idon’twantyoutogo.”
“I’llberightback,Poppy,”hesays.“Ineedtogetyousomemedicine.”
Inod,releasehim.Whenhecomesback,he’scarryingaglassofwaterandhislaptopbag.HesitsontheedgeofthebedandpullsoutpillbottlesandboxesofMucinex,liningthemuponthesidetable.“Iwasn’tsurewhatyoursymptomswere,”hesays.
Itouchmychest,tryingtoexplainhowtightandawfulitfeels.“Gotit,”hesays,andhechoosesabox,peelstwopillsout,andhandsthemtomewiththeglassofwater.
“Haveyoueaten?”heaskswhenI’vetakenthem.
“Idon’tthinkso.”
Hegivesafaintsmile.“IgrabbedsomestuffonthewayheresoIwouldn’thavetogobackout.Doessoupsoundokay?”
“Whyareyousonice?”Iwhisper.
Hestudiesmeforamoment,thenbendsandpressesakisstomyforehead.“Thinktheteawillbereadybynow.”
Alexbringsmechickennoodlesoupandwaterandtea.HesetstimersforwhenI’mabletotakemoremedicine,checksmytemperatureeverycouplehoursthroughoutthenight.
WhenIsleep,it’sdreamless,andeverytimeIstirawake,he’sthere,halfsnoozingonthebedbesideme.Heyawnshimselfawake,looksoveratme.“Howyoudoing?”
“Better,”Ianswer,andI’mnotsureifit’strueinaphysicalsense,butatleastmentally,emotionally,Idofeelbetterhavinghimhere,andIcanonlymanageawordortwoatatime,sothere’snouseexplainingthat.
Inthemorning,hehelpsmedownthestairstoacabandwegotothedoctor.
Pneumonia.Ihavepneumonia.Notthekind,though,that’ssobadIneedtobeinthehospital.
“Aslongasyoukeepaneyeonherandshestickstotheantibiotics,sheshouldbefine,”thedoctortellsAlex,morethanme,IguessbecauseIdon’treallylooklikethekindofpersonwhocanmakesenseofwordsrightnow.
WhenAlexgetsmehomeafterward,hetellsmehehastogobackout,andIwantsobadlytobeghimtostay,butI’mjusttootired.Besides,I’msureheneedsabreakfrommyapartmentandmeafterawholenightofplayingnurse.
HecomesbackhalfanhourlaterwithJell-Oandicecreamandeggsandmoresoup,andallkindsofvitaminsandspicesI’veneverevenconsideredkeepinginmyapartmentbeforenow.
“Bettyswearsbyzinc,”hetellsmewhenhebringsmeahandfulofvitaminswithacupofredJell-Oandanotherglassofwater.“Shealsotoldmetoputcinnamoninyoursoup,soifittastedbad,blameher.”
“Howareyouhere?”Istruggletogetout.
“ThefirstlegofmyflighttoNorwaywasthroughNewYork,”hesays.
“So,what,”Isay.“Youpanickedandlefttheairportinsteadofboardingthenextplane?”
“No,Poppy,”hesays.“Icameheretobewithyou.”
Immediately,tearsspringintomyeyes.“Iwasgoingtotakeyoutoahotelmadeofice.”
Aquicksmileflitsacrosshismouth.“Ihonestlydon’tknowifthat’sthefevertalking.”
“No.”Iscrunchmyeyesshut,feelingthetearscuttingtrailsdownmycheeks.“It’sreal.I’msosorry.”
“Hey.”Hebrushesthehairoutofmyface.“YouknowIdon’tcareaboutthat,right?Ionlycareaboutgettingtospendtimewithyou.”Histhumblightlytracesthewetstreakmakingitswaydownthesideofmynose,headingitoffjustbeforeitreachesmytoplip.“I’msorryyoudon’tfeelwell,andthatyou’remissingtheicehotel,butI’mokayrighthere.”
Everyounceofdignityobliteratedbyhavinghadthismanchangemypee-drenchedbedding,Ireachupforhisneckandpullhimtowardme,andheshiftsontothebedbesideme,maneuveringcloseatthebeckoningofmyhands.HewrapsanarmaroundmybackanddrawsmeintohischestandIslipanarmaroundhiswaisttoo,andwelietheretangledtogether.
“Icanfeelyourheartbeat,”Itellhim.
“Icanfeelyours,”hesays.
“I’msorryIpeedthebed.”
Helaughs,squeezesmetohim,andrightthen,mychestacheswithhowmuchIlovehim.IguessImustsaysomethinglikethisaloud,becausehemurmurs,“That’sprobablythefevertalking.”
Ishakemyhead,nestlecloser,untiltherearenospacesleftbetweenus.Hishandmoveslightlyupintomyhair,andashiverrunsdownmyspinefromwherehisfingerstrailalongmyneck.Itfeelssogood,inaseaofbadfeelings,thatitmakesmearchalittle,myhandtighteningonhisback,andIfeelthewayhisheartbeatspeeds,whichonlymakesmineskyrockettomatchit.Hishandmovestomythigh,wrappingitaroundhiship,andmyfingerstwistagainsthimasIburymymouthagainstthesideofhisneckwhereIfeelhispulsethuddingurgentlybeneathit.
“Areyoucomfortable?”heasksthickly,likeourlyinglikethiscouldjustbeamatterofalignment,likewe’rebuildingupanarrativethatprotectsusfromthetruthofwhat’shappening.Thateventhroughthefogofbeingsick,IcanfeelhimwantingmelikeIwanthim.
“Mm-hm,”Imurmur.“Areyou?”
Hishandtightensonmythigh,andhenods.
“Yeah,”hesays,andwebothgoverystill.
Idon’tknowhowlongweliethere,buteventually,thecoldmedicinewinsoutoverthesparking,alertnerveendingsinmybodyandIfallasleep,onlytofindhimsafelyontheothersideofthebedthenexttimeIwakeup.
“Youwereaskingforyourmom,”hetellsme.
“WheneverI’msick,Imissher,”Isay.
Henods,tucksastrandofhairbehindmyear.“SometimesIdotoo.”
“Tellmeabouther?”Iask.
Heshifts,liftinghimselfhigheragainsttheheadboard.“Whatdoyouwanttoknow?”
“Anything,”Iwhisper.“Whatyouthinkaboutwhenyouthinkabouther.”
“Well,Iwasonlysixwhenshedied,”hesays,smoothingmyhairagain.Idon’targueorpressformore,buteventually,hegoeson.“Sheusedtosingtouswhenshetuckedusinatnight.AndIthoughtshehadabeautifulvoice.Imean,like,Iwouldtellkidsinmyclassthatshewasasinger.Orshewould’vebeenifshewasn’tastay-at-homemomorwhatever.Andyouknow…”Hishandstillsinmyhair.“Mydadcouldn’ttalkabouther.Like,atall.Imean,hestillcan’treallywithoutbreakingdown.SogrowingupmybrothersandIdidn’ttalkabouthereither.AndwhenIwasprobablyfourteen,fifteen,IwentovertoGrandmaBetty’shousetocleanherguttersandmowherlawnandstuff,andshewaswatchingtheseoldhomemoviesofmymom.”
Istudyhisface,thewayhisfulllipscurlandhiseyescatchthestreaksofstreetlightcomingthroughmywindowsothathealmostlookslitfromwithin.“Weneverdidthatatmyhouse,”hesays.“Icouldn’tevenrememberwhatshesoundedlike.Butwewatchedthisvideoofherholdingmeasababy.SingingthisoldAmyGrantsong.”Hiseyescuttome,hissmiledeepeninginonecorner.“Andhervoicewashorrible.”
“Howhorriblearewetalkinghere?”Iask.
“BadenoughthatBettyhadtoturnitoffsoshedidn’thaveaheartattackfromlaughing,”hesays.“AndyoucouldtellMomknewshewasbad.Imean,youcouldhearBettylaughingwhileshefilmed,andmymomkeptlookingoverhershoulderwiththisgrin,butshedidn’tstopsinging.IguessIthinkaboutthatalot.”
“Shesoundslikemykindoflady,”Isay.
“Formostofmylife,”hesays,“she’skindoffeltlikethisboogeyman,youknow?Likethebiggestpartshe’splayedinmylifeisjusthowwreckedmydadwasfromlosingher.Howscaredhewastohavetoraiseusonhisown?”
Inod;makessense.
“Alotoftimes,whenIthinkabouther,it’slike…”Hepauses.“She’smoreacautionarytalethanaperson.ButwhenIthinkaboutthatvideo,Ithinkaboutwhymydadlovedhersomuch.Andthatfeelsbetter.Tothinkaboutherasaperson.”
Forawhile,we’requiet.IreachoverandfoldAlex’shandinmine.“Shemust’vebeenprettyamazing,”Isay,“tomakeapersonlikeyou.”
Hesqueezesmyhandbutdoesn’tsayanotherword,andeventuallyIdriftbacktosleep.
Thenexttwodaysareablur,andthenI’montherise.Nothealthybutmoreawake,lighter,clearerheaded.
There’snomoreintensecuddling,justalotofwatchingoldcartoonstogetheronthebed,sittingoutonthefireescapeinthemorningwhileweeatbreakfast,takingpillswheneverthealarmsgooffonAlex’sphone,drinkingteaonthesofaatnightwithaplaylistof“traditionalNorwegianfolkmusic”playinginthebackground.
Fourdayspass.Thenfive.AndthenI’mdoingwellenoughthatIcouldtheoreticallyleavethecountry,butit’stoolate,andthere’snomoretalkofit.There’snomoretouchingeither,excepttheoccasionalbumpofthearmorleg,orthecompulsivereachacrossthetabletostopmefromspillingonmychin.Atnight,though,whenAlexislyingonthefarsideofmybed,Istayawakeforhourslisteningtohisunevenbreath,feelinglikewe’retwomagnetstryingdesperatelytodrawtogether.
Iknowdeepdownthatit’snotagoodidea.Thefeverloweredmydefenses,andhistoo,butwhenitcomesdowntoit,AlexandIarenotforeachother.Theremightbeloveandattractionandhistory,butthatjustmeansthere’smoretoloseifwetrytotakethisfriendshipintoaplaceitdoesn’tbelong.
Alexwantsmarriageandkidsandahomeinoneplace,andhewantsitallwithsomeonelikeSarah.Someonewhocanhelphimbuildthelifethathelostwhenhewassixyearsold.
AndIwantatetherlesslifeofspontaneoustripsandexcitingnewrelationships,differentseasonswithdifferentpeople,andquitepossiblytoneversettledown.Ouronlyhopeofmaintainingthisrelationshipisthroughtheplatonicfriendshipwe’vealwayshad.Thatfivepercenthasbeencreepingupforyears,butit’stimetotampitbackdown.
Attheendoftheweek,whenIdrophimoffattheairport,IgivehimthemostchastehugIcanmuster,despitethewaythathisliftingmeagainsthimsendsthatsamespine-archingshiverdownmybackandheatpoolinginalltheplaceshe’snevertouchedme.
“I’llmissyou,”hesaysinalowgrowlagainstthesideofmyear,andIforcemyselftostepbackasensibledistance.
“Youtoo.”
Ithinkabouthimallnight,andwhenIdream,he’spullingmythighoverhisleg,rollinghishipsagainstmine.Everytimehe’sabouttokissme,Iwakeup.
Wedon’ttalkforfourdays,andwhenhefinallytextsmeit’sjustapictureofhistinyblackcatsittingonanopencopyofWiseBloodbyFlanneryO’Connor.
Fate,hewrites.26
ThisSummer
STANDINGONTHEbalcony,ourrain-drenchedbodiesflush,hisgazesoft,Ifeelmylastvestigeofself-controlwashingoffme,rinsedclearalongwiththedesertheatandgrimeoftheday.There’snothingleftbutAlexandme.
Hislipspressclosedthenpart,andminemirrorthem,hisbreathwarmagainstmymouth.EveryshallowinhaleItakedrawsusalittlecloseruntilmytonguejustbarelygrazeshisrain-dampenedbottomlip,andthenheadjuststocatchmymouthjustalittlemorewithhis.
Afractionofakiss.Andthenanotherone,abitfuller.Atwistofmyhandsinhishair,thehissofbreathbetweenhisteeth,andthenanotherbrushofhislips,deeper,slower,carefulandintent,andI’mmeltingagainsthim.Shiveringandterrifiedandexhilaratedandeveryshadebetweenasourmouthssinktogetherandpullapart,histongueslidingovermineforasecond,thenalittledeeper,myteethcatchingonthefullestpartofhisbottomlip,hishandsmovingdownovermyhips,mychestarchingupintohisasmyhandsglidedownhiswetneck.
Wecometogetherandapart,thelittlegapsandshortbreathlessinhalationsnearlyasintoxicatingaseachtaste,test,scrapeofhisrain-slickedmouthmovingovermine.Hedrawsback,leaveshismouthjusthoveringovermine,whereIcanstillfeelhisbreath.“Isthisokay?”heasksmeinahush.
IfIcouldspeak,I’dtellhimthisisthebestkissI’vehadinmyentirelife.ThatIdidn’tknowjustkissingcouldfeelthisgood.ThatIcouldjustmakeoutwithhimforhoursanditwouldbebetterthanthebestsexI’veeverhad.
ButIcan’tthinkclearlyenoughtosayanyofthis.Mymindistoobusywiththegripofhishandsonmyassandthefeelofhischestflatteningmineout,hiswetskinandthethin,drenchedclothesbetweenus,soIjustnodandcatchhisbottomlipbetweenmyteethagain,andheturnsmeagainstthestuccowall,pressesmebackintoitashekissesmemoreurgently.
OneofhishandstwistsintothehemofmyT-shirtwhereithangsagainstmythigh,andtheothergrazesupmystomachbeneathit.“Whataboutthis?”heasks.
“Yes,”Ibreathe.
Hishandliftshigher,slipsundermybathingsuittop,makingmeshiver.“This?”hesays.
Mybreathcatches,heartstumblesoverabeatashisfingerslightlycircle.Inod,pullhishipsbacktomine.He’shardbetweenmylegs,andinstantlyIfeelalittlelight-headed.“Ithinkaboutyouallthetime,”hesays,andkissesmeslowly,dragshismouthdownmyneck,goosebumpsflutteringoutinhiswake.“Ithinkaboutthis.”
“Idotoo,”Iadmitinawhisper.Hismouthmovesovermychest,kissingmethroughmywetT-shirtevenashishandsworkthefabricupovermyhips,myribs,andthenmyshoulders.Hepullsawaylongenoughtopeelitovermyheadanddiscarditamongtheplasticsheeting.
“Yourstoo,”Isay,heartleaping.Ireachforthehemofhisshirt,pullitoverhishead.WhenItossitaside,hetriestomovetowardme,butIholdhimbackforasecond.
“Doyouwanttostop?”heasks,hiseyesdark.
Ishakemyhead.“Ijust…nevergettolookatyoulikethis.”
Thecornerofhismouthtwitchesintoasmile.“Youcouldhavealwayslooked,”hesaysinalowvoice.“Justsoyouknow.”
“Well,youcould’vetoo,”Isay.
“Trustme,”hesays.“Idid.”
AndthenI’mdragginghiminagainstme,andhe’sroughlyliftingmythighagainsthiship,andI’msinkingmyfingersintohiswideback,myteethintohisneck,andhishandsaremassagingmychest,myass.Hismouthmovesdownmycollarbones,slidingundermybikini,teethcarefulonmynipple,andI’mfeelinghimthroughhisshorts,thenreachingintothem,lovinghowhetensesandshifts.Ipushhisshortsdownoverhishipbones,mymouthgoingdryatthefeelingofhimagainstme.
“Shit,”Isay,arealizationhittingmelikeabucketoficewater,“Iwentoffbirthcontrol.”
“Ifithelps,”hesays,“Ihadavasectomy.”
Idrawback,shockedoutofthemoment.“Youwhat?”
“They’rereversible,”hesays,blushingforthefirsttimesincewestartedthis.“AndItook…precautions,incaseIwantkidsandthereversaldoesn’twork.Theyusuallydo,but…anyway,Ijust…didn’twanttoaccidentallygetsomeonepregnant.I’mstillalwayssafe—it’snotlike…Whyareyoulookingatmelikethat?”
IknewAlexwasablack-and-whitethinker.Iknewhewasultracautious,andIknewhewasthemostthoughtful,courteouspersonontheplanet.ButsomehowI’mstillsurprisedallofthataddeduptothisbigdecision.Itmakesmyheartfeellikeasoremuscle,allheatandachytenderness,becauseitisjustsohim.Itightenmyarmsaroundhiswaist,squeezehimtome.“It’sjustthatofcourseyoudidthat,”Isay.“Aboveandbeyondcautionandconsideration.You’reaprince,AlexNilsen.”
“Uh-huh,”hesays,hisexpressionbothamusedandunconvinced.
“I’mserious,”Isay,pressingcloser.“You’reincredible.”
“Wecanfindacondomifyouwant,”hesays.“ButI’mnot—there’snooneelse.”
I’msureI’mblushingnowandprobablysmilingridiculously.“That’sokay,”Isay.“It’sjustus.”
WhatImeantosayis,ifthere’sanyoneIwoulddothiswith,itwouldbehim.Ifthere’sonepersonItrulytrust,wantallofinthisway,it’shim.
Butthat’showIsayit:It’sjustus.Andhesaysitbacktome,likeheknowsexactlywhatImean,andthenwe’reontheground,inaseaofdiscardedplastic,andhe’stearingmytopoff,pullingmybottomsofftoo,pressinghismouthbetweenmylegs,clutchingmyassinhishands,makingmegaspandriseagainsthimashistonguemovesoverme.“Alex,”Iplead,knottingmyhandsintohishair,“stopmakingmewaitforyou.”
“Stopbeingimpatient,”heteases.“I’vewaitedtwelveyears.Iwantthistolast.”
Ashiverracesdownmyspine,andIarchintohim.Finally,hecrawlsupthelengthofme,handstanglinginmyhair,roamingovermyskin,andheslowlypushesintome.Wefindourrhythmtogether,anditallfeelssogood,soelectric,sorightthatIcan’tbelieveallthetimewewastednotdoingthis.Twelveyearsofsubparlovemakingwhenallalong,thiswashowitwassupposedtobe.
“God,howareyousogoodatthis,”Isay,andhislaughgratesagainstmyearashekissesbehindit.
“BecauseIknowyou,”hesaystenderly,“andIrememberwhatyousoundlikewhenyoulikesomething.”
Everythinginmepullstautinwaves.Everymoveofhishands,everythrustthreatenstounravelme.
“IcouldhavesexwithyouuntilIdie,”Ipant.
“Good,”hesays,andhemovesalittlefaster,harder,theintensepleasureofitmakingmebuckandswearandmovetomatchhim.
“Iloveyou,”Ihiss,byaccident.IthinkImeanttosayIlovehavingsexwithyouorIloveyouramazingbody,ormaybeIdidmeantosayIloveyou,thesamewayIalwayssayittohimwhenhedoessomethingthoughtful,butthisisalittlebitdifferentbecausewe’rehavingsex,andmyfacegoeshotandI’mnotsurehowtofixit,butthenAlexjustsitsupanddrawsmeintohislap,holdingmecloseashepushesintomeagainslow,deep,hard,andsays,“Iloveyoutoo.”
Andallatonce,mychestloosens,mystomachunwinds,andanyembarrassmentandfearevaporates.There’snothingleftbutAlex.
Alex’sroughhandsmovinggentlythroughmyhair.
Alex’swidebackripplingundermyfingers.
Alex’ssharphipsworkingslowly,purposefullyagainstmine.
Alex’ssweatandskinandraindropsonmytongue.
Hisperfectarmsholdingontome,keepingmethere,againsthim,aswerockandclutch.
Hissensuallipstuggingatmymouth,coaxingitopentotastemeaswedrawtogetherandapart,findingnewwaystotouchandkisseachothereverytimewereunite.
Hekissesmyjaw,mythroat,myshoulder,histonguehotandcarefulagainstmyskin.ItouchandtasteeveryhardlineandsoftcurveofhimIcangettoandheshiversundermyhands,mymouth.
Heliesbackanddrawsmeontopofhim,andthisisthebestyet,becauseIcanseesomuchofhim,gettoeveryplaceIwant.
“AlexNilsen,”Isaybreathlessly.“Youarethehottestmanalive.”
Helaughs,justasbreathlessly,andkissesthesideofmyneck.“Andyouloveme.”
Mystomachflutters.“Iloveyou,”Imurmur,thistimeonpurpose.
“Iloveyousomuch,Poppy,”hesays,andsomehow,justthesoundofhisvoicetipsmeovertheedgeandI’mcomingundone.Weare,together.
AndIdon’tknowwhatwe’vedone,whatchainreactionwemighthavejusttriggered,howthiswillallpanout,butrightthenIcan’tthinkaboutanythingelsebutthecrushofloveloopingbetweenus.27
ThisSummer
AFTERWARD,WELIEontheplastic-strewnbalcony,curledtogetherandsoakedtothebone,thoughalreadythestormisbreakingup,theheatpushingintoburnthemoistureoffourskin.
“Alongtimeagoyoutoldmethatoutdoorsexwasn’tallitwascrackeduptobe,”Isay,andAlexgivesahoarselaugh,hishandsmoothingmyhair.
“Ihadn’thadoutdoorsexwithyou,”hesays.
“Thatwasamazing,”Isay.“Imean,forme.It’sneverbeenlikethatformebefore.”
Hepropshimselfupandlooksdownatme.“It’sneverbeenlikethatformeeither.”
Iturnmyfaceintohisskinandkisshisribcage.“Justmakingsure.”
Afterafewseconds,hesays,“Iwanttodoitagain.”
“Metoo,”Isay.“Ithinkweshould.”
“Justmakingsure,”heparrots.Idrawlazypatternsoverhischest,andthearmhehasslunglowacrossmybacksqueezestight.“Wereallycan’tstayheretonight.”
Isigh.“Iknow.Ijustdon’twanttomove.Everagain.”
Heflipsmyhairbehindmyshoulder,thenkissestheskinleftexposedthere.
“Doyouthinkthatwould’vehappenedifNikolai’sAChadn’tgoneout?”Iask.
NowAlexleanstokissmerightovertheheart,sendingchillsdownmystomachandupmylegsthathisfingerstraceover.“Thatwould’vehappenedifNikolaihadneverbeenborn.Itjustmightnothavehappenedonthisbalcony.”
Isitupandswingonekneeoverhiswaist,settlingontohislap.“I’mgladitdid.”
Hishandsrunupmythighs,andheatgathersanewbetweenmylegs.
That’swhenwehearthepoundingonthedoor.
“ANYONEHOME?”amanshouts.“IT’SNIKOLAII’MGONNALETMYSELF—”
“Holdonasec!”Iyell,andscrambleoffAlex,snatchingthewetT-shirtup
“Shit,”Alexsays,searchingforhisswimtrunksinthejumbleofplasticsheeting.
Ifindthewadofblackfabricandshoveittowardhim,thenpullthehemofmyshirtdownovermythighsjustasthedoor’sstartingtounlock.“Heyyyyy,Nikolai!”Icallwaytooloudly,headinghimoffbeforehecanseeeitherLiterallyNakedAlexortheshreddedplastic.
Nikolaiisshortandbalding,dressedinanentirelymaroonoutfit—seventies-stylegolfshirt,pleatedpants,loafers.Hesticksonemeatyhandout.“YoumustbePoppy.”
“Yes,hi.”Ishakehishandandholdintenseeyecontact,hopingtogiveAlexachancetodiscreetlygetdressedoutonthemostlydarkbalcony.
“Look,I’mafraidit’sbadnews,”hesays.“TheAC’sout.”
Noshit,Ijustbarelykeepmyselffromsaying
“Notjustforthisunit,butthiswholewing,”hesays.“We’vegotsomeonecomingoutfirstthinginthemorning,butIfeelrealbadaboutthedelay.”
Alexappearsatmyshoulder.Atthispoint,Nikolaiseemstoclockthatwe’rebothsoakingwetandrumpled,butluckily,hesaysnothingaboutit.“Anyway,Ifeelreal,realbad,”herepeats.“Ithoughtyoutwowerejustbeingdifficult,tobequitefrank,butwhenIgothere…”Hetugsonthecollarofhisshirtandshudders.
“Anyway,I’mrefundingyouforthelastthreedays,and…well,Ihesitatetotellyoutocomebacktomorrow,incasethingsdon’tgetsortedout.”
“That’sfine!”Isay.“Ifyourefundthewholetrip,we’llfindsomeplaceelsetostay.”
“Yousure?”hesays.“Thingscangetprettypriceywhenyoubooklastminutelikethat.”
“We’llfiguresomethingout,”Iinsist.
Alexbumpsanarmagainstmyback.“Poppy’sanexpertontravelingonthecheap.”
“Thatso?”Nikolaicouldn’tsoundlessinterested.Hepullsouthisphoneandtypeswithonefinger.“Refund’sissued.Notsurehowlongit’lltake,solemmeknowifthere’saproblem.”
Nikolaiturnstogobutswivelsback.“Almostforgot—foundthisonthewelcomematoutside.”Hehandsusapieceofpaperfoldedinhalf.Inloopingcursive,itsaysonthefrontTHENEWLYWEDSwith,like,twenty-fivelittleheartsdrawnaroundit.
“Congratsonthenuptials,”Nikolaisays,andletshimselfout.
“Whatisit?”Alexasks.
Iunfoldthepieceofpaper.It’saGrouponprintedinshoddyblackink.Atthetop,scrawledinthemargininthesamehandwritingasonthefront,isanote.
Hopey’alldon’tthinkit’screepywefiguredoutwhatapartmentyouwerein!Wethoughtwemight’veheardthesoundsofpassioncomingfromthisone.??AlsoBobsaidhesawyouleavingthismorning(wearethreedoorsdown).Anyway!Wehavetotakeoffbrightandearlyforthenextstageofourvacation(JoshuaTree!!!Yay!Ifeellikeacelebrityjustwritingthat!)andunfortunatelywenevergotachancetousethis.(Barelymadeitoutofourbedroom—youtwowillknowhowitis,LOL.)Hopey’allhaveagreatrestofyourtrip!
Xoxo,yourfairygodparents,Stacey&Bob
Iblinkatthevoucher,stunned.“It’saone-hundred-dollargiftcertificate,”Isay.“Foraspa.IthinkIreadaboutthisplace.It’ssupposedtobeamazing.”
“Wow,”Alexsays.“FeelingkindofbadthatIdidn’tevenremembertheirnames.”
“Theydidn’taddressittousdirectly,”Ipointout.“Idoubttheyknowourseither.”
“Andyettheygaveusthisanyway,”Alexsays.
“Iwonderifthere’sawaywecouldcreatealong-lastingfriendshipwiththem,getsuperclose,taketripstogether,allofit,andkeepthemfromeverfindingoutournames.Justforfun.”
“Weabsolutelycould,”Alexsays.“Youjusthavetomakeitlongenoughthatit’stooawkwardtoask.Ihadsomany‘friends’likethatincollege.”
“Oh,god,yeah,andthenyouhavetousethattrickwhereyouasktwopeopleifthey’vebeenintroduced,andwaitforthemtosaytheirnames.”
“Exceptsometimes,theyjustsayyes,”Alexpointsout.“Ortheysayno,butjustkeepwaitingforyoutointroducethem.”
“Maybethey’redoingtheexactsamething,”Isay.“Maybethosepeopledon’tevenremembertheirnames.”
“Well,IdoubtI’lleverforgetStaceyandBobnow,”Alexsays.
“IdoubtI’llforgetmuchaboutthistrip,”Isay.“Exceptthegiftshopinthedinosaur.Thatcango,ifIneedtomakeroomformoreimportantthings.”
Alexsmilesdownatme.“Agreed.”
Afteranawkwardbeatofsilence,Isay,“So.Shouldwefindahotel?”28
ThisSummer
THELARREAPALMSpringsHotelisseventydollarsanightinthesummer,andeveninthedark,itlookslikeakid’sMagicMarkerdrawing.Inagoodway.
Theoutsideisanexplosionofcolors—banana-yellowpoolcabanas,hot-sauce-redchaiseslineduparoundthewater,eachblockofthethree-storybuildingpaintedadifferentshadeofpink,red,purple,yellow,green.
Theroomwecheckintoiseverybitaslively:orangewallsanddrapesandfurniture,greencarpet,stripedbeddingmatchedtothebuilding’sexterior.Mostimportant,it’sverycold.
“Youwanttoshowerfirst?”Alexasksassoonaswe’reinside.Irealizethenthatthewholedriveover—andbeforethat,whenwewerepackingourstuffup,tidyingNikolai’sapartment—he’sbeenwaitingtobeclean,suppressingadesiretosayoverandoveragain,God,Ineedashower,whileallIwasdoingwasthinkingaboutwhathappenedonthebalconyandgoinghotallover.
Idon’twantAlextogotakeashowerrightnow.Iwanttogetintheshowertogetherandmakeoutsomemore.
ButIalsorememberhimconfidingoncethathehatedshowersex(worsethanoutdoorsex)becausewhenhewasintheshower,hejustwantedtobeclean,andthatwashardtodowithsomeoneelse’shairanddirtpouringdownyou,whilethesexpartwasjustaschallengingbecausetherewasconstantlysoapinyoureyesoryouwerebrushingupagainstthewallandthinkingaboutthelasttimethetileswerecleaned,etcetera,etcetera,etcetera.
SoIjustsay,“Goforit!”andAlexnodsbuthesitates,likemaybehe’sgoingtosaysomething,butultimatelydecidesnottoanddisappearsintothebathroomforalong,hotshower.
MyT-shirtandhairhavebothdriedout,andwhenIgotositoutonthe(non-plastic-wrapped)balconyofournewroom,Irealizethat’salreadymostlydrytoo.
Anysignoftherainthatbroketheheathasburnedoff,likeitneverhappened.
ExceptthatmylipsfeelbruisedandmybodyismorerelaxedthanI’vebeenallweek.Andtheairislightertoo,breezyeven.
“Allyours,”Alexsaysbehindme.
WhenIturn,he’sstandingthereinhistowellookingshiny-cleanandperfect.Mypulsequickensatthesightofhim,butI’mawareofhowfilthyIam,soIswallowmywant,standup,andsay,“Cool!”tooloudly.
Toputitlightly,Idon’tenjoyshowering.
Beingclean,yes.Theactofbeingintheshower,alsoyes.Buteverythingabouthavingtobrushoutmytangledhairbeforehand,steppingoutontoarattybathmatortilefloors,gettingdry,combingmyhairoutagain—Ihateallofthat,whichmeansI’mathree-shower-a-weekpersontoAlex’sonetotwoshowersaday.
Buttakingthisshower,aftertheweekwe’vehadsofar,isabsolutelyluxurious.
Standinginhot,hotwaterwithinacold,coldbathroom,watchinglegitimatedirtandgrimedripoffmeandswirlaroundthedraininshimmerygrayspirals,islifegiving.Massagingcoconut-scentedshampoointomyscalpandgreen-tea-scentedcleanserontomyface,andrunningacheaporazorupmylegs,feelsdivine
It’sthelongestshowerI’vetakeninmonths,andwhenIfinallyemergefromthebathroomfeelinglikeanewwoman,Alexisfastasleepinoneofthebeds,ontopofthebeddingwithallthelightsstillon.
Forasecond,Idebatewhichbedtoclimbinto.Ingeneral,Ilovebeingabletosprawloutinaqueenbedonthesetrips,butthere’sabigportionofmethatwantstocurlupnexttoAlex,fallasleepwithmyheadinthecrookofhisshoulderwhereIcansmellhisclean,bergamotsmell,maybeconjureupadreamabouthim.
Intheend,though,Idecideit’stoocreepytoassumehewantstoshareabedwithmejustbecausewehookedup.
Thelasttimeanythinghappenedbetweenus,therecertainlywasn’tanybedsharingafterward.Therewasjustchaos.
I’mdeterminedthatthiswon’tenduplikethat.Nomatterwhathappenedorhappensbetweenusonthistrip,Iwon’tletitruinourfriendship.Iwon’tmakeassumptionsaboutwhatanyofthismeansorfoistanyexpectationsontoAlex.
Ipullthestripedcomforterupoverhim,flickoffthelights,andclimbintotheemptybedacrossfromhis.29
ThreeSummersAgo
HEY,ALEXTEXTSmethenightbeforeweleaveforTuscany.
Heyyourself,Iwriteback.
Canyoutalkforasec?Justwanttofinalizesomestuff.
Immediately,Ithinkhe’scallingtocancel.Whichdoesn’tmakesense.
Forthefirsttimeinyearswe’resettohaveatension-freetrip.We’rebothincommittedrelationships,ourfriendshipisbetterthanever,andIhaveneverbeensohappyinmylife.
Threeweeksaftermypneumoniadebacle,ImetTrey.Amonthafterthat,AlexandSarahwerebacktogether—hesaysit’sbetterthistime,thatthey’reonthesamepage.Nearlyasimportant,thistimearoundsheseemstohavefinallystartedwarmingtome,andthefewtimesthatAlexandTreyhavemet,they’vegottenalongtoo.Soonceagain,asalways,I’vecometotheplaceofbeingso,soecstaticallyhappythatAlexandIneverletanythinghappenbetweenus.
Istarttotexthimback,thendecidetojustcallhimfromthefoldingchaironmybalconyinsteadsinceI’mhomealone.Trey’sstillatGoodBoyBar,upthestreetfrommynewapartment,butIcamehomeearlyafteraboutofnausea,awarningsignofanoncomingmigraineIneedtofightoffbeforeourflight.
Alexanswersonthesecondring,andIsay,“Everythingokay?”
Icanhearhisturnsignalgoing.Okay,somaybewe’rebacktohimcallingmefromthecar,onhiswayhomefromthegym,butthingsreallydoseembetter.Foronething,theysentmeajointbirthdaycard.AndChristmascard.ShenotonlyfollowedmebackonInstagrambutshelikesmyphotos—evencommentslittleheartsandsmileyfacesonsomeof
SoIthoughtthingsweregood,butnowAlexskipsrightoverhelloandgoesstraightto,“We’renotmakingamistake,arewe?”
“Um,”Isay,“what?”
“Imean,acouples’trip.That’ssortofintense.”
Isigh.“Howso?”
“Idon’tknow.”Icanheartheanxietyinhisvoice,imaginehimgrimacing,tuggingathishair.“TreyandSarahhaveonlymetonce.”
Inthespring,TreyandIflewtoLinfieldsohecouldmeetmyparents.Dadwasn’timpressedbythetattoosortheholesinTrey’searsfromthegaugeshegotwhenhewasseventeen,orthatheturnsDad’squestionsaroundonhim,orthathedoesn’thaveadegree.
ButMomwasimpressedbyhismanners,whichreallyaretop-notch.AlthoughIthinkforher,ithadmoretodowiththejuxtapositionofhisappearancewithhiseasy,warmwayofsayingthingslike,“Excellents’morescake,Ms.Wright!”and“CanIhelpyouwiththedishes?”
Bytheendoftheweekend,she’ddecidedhewasaveryniceyoungman,andwhenIsneakedoutontothedecktogetDad’sopinionwhileTreyandMomwereinsidedishinguphomemadeFunfetticake,Dadlookedmeintheeyewithasolemnnodandsaid,“Isupposeheseemsrightforyou.Andheobviouslymakesyouhappy,Pop.That’sallthatmatterstome.”
Hedoesmakemehappy.Sohappy.Andheisrightforme.Freakilyso.Imean,weworktogether.Wegettospendprettymucheverydaytogether,eitherintheofficeorhalfwayaroundtheworld,butwe’realsobothindependent,likehavingourownapartments,ourownfriends.HeandRachelgetalong,butwhenTreyandIareinthecity,he’smostlyhangingwithhisskateboardingfriendswhileRachelandIaretryinganewbrunchplaceorreadingintheparkorhavingourwholebodiesscrubbedrawinourfavoriteKoreanspa.
TwodayshomeinLinfieldandbothofuswerealreadyalittlerestless,buthedidn’tmindthemessandhelikedthemenagerieofdyinganimalsandhejoinedrightinwhenwedidaNewTalentShowoverSkypewithParkerandPrince
Still,afterhoweverythingwentdownwithGuillermo—andprettymucheveryoneelseintheentireworld—Iwasrestless,eagertogetoutofLinfieldbeforesomethingscaredTreyoff,soweprobablywould’veheadedbackearlyifnotforthefactthatitwasMr.Nilsen’ssixtiethbirthday,andAlexandSarahwerecomingdowntosurprisehimwithavisit.We’ddecidedthefourofusshouldgrabdinnerbeforetheparty.
“I’msoexcitedtomeetthisguy,”TreykeptsayingwheneveranewtextcameinfromAlex,andeverytime,itmademynervesinchclosertothesurface.Ifeltfiercelyprotective—Ijustwasn’tsureoverwhom.
“Justgivehimachance,”Ikeptsaying.“Hetakesawhiletoopenup.”
“Iknow,Iknow,”Treyinsisted.“ButIknowhowmuchhemeanstoyou,soI’mgoingtolikehim,P.Ipromise.”
Dinnerwasokay.Imean,thefoodwasgreat(Mediterranean),buttheconversationcould’vebeenbetter.Trey,Icouldn’thelpbutthink,cameoffalittleshow-offywhenAlexaskedhimwhathe’dstudied,butIknewhislackofformaleducationwassomethingofachiponhisshoulder,andIwishedtherewassomeeasywayformetosignalthattoAlexasTreylaunchedintothestoryofhowitallhappened.
Howhe’dbeeninametalbandallthroughhighschoolbackinPittsburgh.Howthey’dtakenoffwhenhewaseighteen,gottenofferedanopeningslotonthetourofamuchbiggerband.Treywasanamazingdrummer,butwhathereallylovedwasphotography.Whenhisbandbrokeupafterfouryearsofnear-constanttouring,hetookajobtakingpicturesonanotherband’stour.Helovedtraveling,meetingpeople,seeingnewcities.Andasthoseconnectionsbuiltup,otherjoboffersrolledin.Hewentfreelance,eventuallystartedworkingwithR+R,andthencameonasastaffphotographer.
Hefinishedhismonologuebyputtinganarmaroundmyshouldersandsaying,“AndthenImetP.”
TheflickeronAlex’sexpressionwassosubtleIwassureTreydidn’tnoticeit.MaybeSarahhadn’teither,buttome,itfeltlikeapocketknifeplungingintomybellybuttonanddraggingupwardfiveorsixinches.
“Sooosweet,”Sarahsaidinhersaccharinevoice,andprobablymyfacemadeamuchbiggertwitch.
“Thefunnythingis,”Treysaidthen,“weweresupposedtomeetsooner.IwasscheduledtogoonthatNorwaytripwithyoutwo.Beforeshegotsick.”
“Wow.”Alex’seyesflickedtomine,thendippedtotheglassofwaterinfrontofhim.ItwassweatingasbadlyasIwas.Hepickeditup,slowlysipped,setitdown.“Thatisfunny.”
“Anyway,”Treysaidawkwardly.“Whataboutyou?Whatdidyoustudy?”
TreyknewexactlywhatAlexhadgonetoschoolfor(wasstillgoingtoschoolfor),butIfiguredthatbyphrasingitasaquestion,hewasgivingAlexachancetotalkmoreabouthimself.
Instead,Alextookanothersipandsaidonly,“Creativewriting,thenliterature.”
Ihadtositandwatchmyboyfriendstruggletofindanappropriatefollow-upquestion,giveup,andgobacktostudyingthemenu.
“He’sanamazingwriter,”Isaidawkwardly,andSarahshiftedinherseat.
“Heis,”shesaid,hertonesoacidicyou’dthinkI’djustsaidAlexNilsenhasanincrediblysexybody!
Afterdinner,wewenttothepartyatGrandmaBetty’shouseandthingsimprovedabit.Alex’sgoofybrotherswereallclamoringtomeetTrey,bombardinghimwithallkindsofquestionsaboutthebandandR+RandwhetherIsnored.
“Alexwouldnevertellus,”theyoungest,David,said,“butIassumePoppysoundslikeamachinegunwhenshesleeps.”
Treylaughed,tookitallinstride.He’sneverjealous.Neitherofuscanaffordtobe:wearebothrelentlessflirts.Itsoundsstrange,butIlovethatabouthim.Ilovewatchinghimgouptothebartoordermeadrinkandseeinghowthebartenderssmileandlaugh,leanacrossthebartobattheireyelashesathim.Ilovewatchinghimcharmhiswaythrougheverycitywegoto,andthatwheneverhe’snexttome,he’stouchingme:anarmaroundtheshoulders,ahandonmylowback,orpullingmeintohislaplikewe’rehomealoneratherthandiningatafive-starrestaurant.
I’veneverfeltsosecure,sosurethatI’monthesamepageassomeone.
Attheparty,hekepthishandsonmeatalltimes,andDavidteasedusaboutit.
“Youdon’tthinkshe’sgoingtomakearunforitifyouletgo,doyou?”hejoked.
“Oh,she’lldefinitelymakearunforit,”Treysaid.“Thisgirlcan’tsitstillforlongerthanfiveminutes.That’sonethingIloveabouther.”
ThepartywasthefirsttimeallofAlex’sbrothershadbeeninthesameplaceinalongtime,andtheywereasrowdyandsweetasIrememberedthembeingwhenAlexandIwerenineteen,homefromcollegeandchargedwithdrivingthemaroundinAlex’scar,sincenoneofthemhadtheirownyetandtheirdadwasasweetmanbutalsoaforgetful,flakyonewhowasincapableofkeepingtrackofwhoneededtobewhereandwhen.
WhileAlexhadalwaysbeencalmandstillbydefault,hisbrotherswerethekindofboyswhoneverstoppedwrestlingorgivingoneanotherwetwillies.Eventhoughsomeofthemhavekidsnow,theywerestilllikethatattheparty.
Mr.andMrs.Nilsenhadnamedtheminalphabeticalorder.Alexfirst,thenBryce,thenCameron,thenDavid,andweirdlythey’remostlysizedlikethattoo.WithAlexthetallestandbroadest,Brycejustastallbutlankyandnarrowshouldered,Cameronafewinchesshorterandthick.Thenthere’sDavid,who’saninchtallerthanAlexwiththebuildofaprofessionalathlete.
They’reallhandsome,withvaryingshadesofblondhairandmatchinghazeleyes,butDavidlookslikeamoviestar(whichlately,Alexsaidatdinner,he’sbeentalkingaboutmovingtoL.A.tobecome),withhisthick,wavyhairandwide,thoughtfuleyes,andhisexcitability,thewayhelightsupwheneverhestartstalking.Hestartsfiftypercentofhissentenceswiththenameofwhoeverhe’saddressing,orwhoeverhethinkswillbemostinterested.
“Poppy,AlexbroughtabunchofissuesofR+RhomesoIcouldreadyourarticles,”hesaidatonepointatBetty’shouse,andthatwasthefirsttimeIfoundoutAlexevenreadmyarticles.“They’rereallygood.TheymakemefeellikeI’mthere.”
“Iwishyouwere,”Itoldhim.“Sometimeweshouldalltakeatriptogether.”
“Hellyeah,”Davidsaid,thenlookedoverhisshoulder,grinningashecheckedwhetherhisdadhadheardhimswear.He’satwenty-one-year-oldbaby,andIlovehim.
Atsomepoint,Bettyaskedformyhelpinthekitchen,andIfollowedherintoputcandlesintheGermanchocolatecakeshehadbakedforherson-in-law.“YouryoungmanTreyseemslikeaniceone,”shetoldmewithoutlookingupfromwhatshewasdoing.
“He’sgreat,”Isaid.
“AndIlikehistattoos,”sheadded.“They’rejustbeautiful!”
Shewasn’tbeinganasshole.Bettycouldbesarcastic,butshecouldalsocatchyouoffguardwithheropinionsoncertainthings.Shewaschangeable.Ilikedthatabouther.Evenatherage,sheaskedquestionsinconversationlikeshedidn’talreadyhavealltheanswers.
“Ilikethemtoo,”Isaid.
IwasattractedtoTrey’senergymorethanhisappearanceduringourfirstworktriptogether(HongKong),andIlikedthathewaitedtoaskmeoutuntilwewerehomebecausehedidn’twanttomakeanythingweirdformeifIsaidno
I’dbelying,though,ifIsaidAlexplayednopartinmysayingyes.
He’djusttoldmethatheandSarahhadbeentalkingalotmoreatwork,thatthingsseemedokaybetweenthem.Atthatpoint,Iwasstillregularlywakingupfromdreamsabouthimshowingupatmydoor,lookingsleepyandworriedandtoocomforting,whileIwasinthethroesofafever.
Itdidn’tmatterthathe’dsaidnothingaboutgettingbacktogetherwithSarah.
Hewouldorhewouldn’t,butintheend,therewouldbesomeone,andIdidn’tthinkmyheartcouldtakeit.SoIsaidyestoTreythatnightandwewenttoabarwithfreeSkee-Ballandhotdogs,andbytheendofthatnight,IknewIcouldfallinlovewithhim.
TreywastomewhatSarahTorvalwastoAlex.Someonewhofit.
SoIkeptsayingyes.
“Doyoulovehim?”Bettyaskedme,stillnotlookingupfromthetaskathand.
Ihadthesensethatshewasgivingmealevelofprivacy.Theoptiontolie,withoutherlookingstraightintomyeyes,ifthatwaswhatIneeded.ButIdidn’tneedtolie.“Ido.”
“Good,honey.That’sgreat.”Herhandsstilled,holdingtwothinsilvercandlesintothefrostingliketheymighttrytojumpout.“DoyoulovehimlikeyouloveAlex?”
Irememberwithvividclaritythefeelingofmyheartstumblingoveritsnextseveralbeats.Thatquestionwasmorecomplicated,butIcouldn’tlietoher.
“Idon’tthinkI’lleverloveanyonethewayIloveAlex,”Isaid,andthenIthought,ButmaybeIwon’teverloveanyonelikeIloveTreyeither.
Ishould’vesaidit,butIdidn’t.Bettyshookherheadandlookedmeintheeye.“Wishheknewthat.”
Thenshewalkedoutofthekitchen,leavingmetofollow.AlexandSarahhadbroughtFlanneryO’Connorwiththem,andshechosethatmomenttomakeherdramaticentrance,walkinguptomewithherspinearchedupandeyeswide,staringintomyfaceandmeowingloudly,inafull-bodyexpressionthatAlexandIcallHalloweenKitty
“Hi,”Isaid,andsherubbedagainstmylegs,soIreachedtopickherup,andshehissedandswungahandfulofclawstowardmejustasSarahwalkedintothekitchenwithastackofdirtydishes.Shelaughedandsaidinthatsweetvoiceofhers,“Wow!Shedoesnotlikeyou!”
Soyes,IseewhereAlexiscomingfromwithhisnervesaboutthiscouplestrip,butwe’remakingprogress.WiththeInstagramlikesandtheperfectlypleasanttimeTrey,Alex,andIhadatanarcadebarthelasttimeAlexvisited.Andbesides,beingintheTuscancountrysidewithanIVdripofincrediblewineisnotgoingtobethesameasoneawkwarddinnerinOhiofollowedbyasixty-year-oldteetotaler’sbirthdayparty.
“They’regoingtogetalonggreat,”Itellhimnow,proppingmylegsuponthebalconyrailingandadjustingthephonebetweenmyfaceandshoulder.
Ihearhisturnsignalclickoff,andhesighs.“Howcanyoubesure?”
“Becausewelovethem,”Ireason.“Andweloveeachother.Sothey’llloveeachother.Andwe’lljustallloveeachother.YouandTrey.MeandSarah.”
Helaughs.“Iwishyoucouldhearhowmuchyourvoicechangedforthatlastpart.Itsoundedlikeyouwereinhalinghelium.”
“Look,I’mstillworkingonforgivingherfordumpingyouthelasttime,”Isay.“Itseemslikeshe’sfiguredoutthatwasthebiggestmistakeofherlife,though,soI’mgivingherachance.”
“Poppy,”hesays.“Itwasn’tlikethat.Thingswerecomplicated,butthey’rebetternow.”
“Iknow,Iknow,”Isay,eventhough,really,Idon’t.Heinsiststherearenohardfeelingsbetweenthemabouttheirlastbreakup,butwheneverIthinkaboutwhatshesaid—thattheirrelationshipwasaboutasexcitingastheschoollibrarywherethey’dmet—Istillseeredforasecond.
Anotherwaveofnauseahitsme,andIgroan.“I’msorry,”Isay.“IreallyneedtogotobedsoIcanbeflight-readytomorrow,butI’mtellingyou.Thistripisgoingtobeamazing.”
“Yeah,”hesaysstiffly.“I’msureI’mworryingfornothing.”
Mostly,itturnsoutthat’strue.
We’restayinginavilla.It’shardtobeinabadmoodwhenyou’restayinginavilla,withagleamingpoolandoldstonepatio,anoutdoorkitchenwithbougainvilleadrippingallovereverythinginsoftpinksandpurples.
“Wow,okay,”Sarahsayswhenwewalkin.“I’mnevermissingoneofthesetripsagain.”
IflashAlexalookthat’sthefacialequivalentofathumbs-up,andhesmilesfaintlyback.
“Iknow,right?”Treysays.“Weshould’vethoughttotakeagrouptripsooner.”
“Definitely,”Sarahsays,thoughobviouslywithherscheduleatahighschoolandAlex’steachingcourseloadattheuniversity,it’snotlikethey’vegotmuchtimetojet-setaround,evenforsteeplydiscountedTuscanvillas.
“Thereare,like,tenMichelin-starredrestaurantswithintwentymilesofhere—andIfiguredAlexwouldwanttocookonenightatleast.”
“That’dbeamazing,”Alexagrees.
Sure,it’salittlestiffandawkwardthatfirstdayatthevilla,asthefourofusmeanderaroundbetweenjet-laggednapsinourroomsandquickdipsinthepool.Treyshootssometestphotos,andIgointotowntograbsnacks:agedcheesesandmeats,freshbread,andavarietyofjamsintinyjars.Andwine,plentyofwine.
Bytheendofthefirstnightsittingoutsideontheterrace,anddrinkingthefirsttwobottlesofwine,everyonehassoftened,loosened.Sarah’sbecomedownrightchatty,tellingstoriesaboutherstudents,aboutFlanneryO’ConnorandlifeinIndiana,andAlexoffersquiet,dryasidesthatmakemelaughsohardwinespewsoutofmynose,twice.
Itfeelslikethefourofusarefriends,realfriends.
WhenTreypullsmeintohislapandrestshischinonmyshoulder,Sarahtouchesherchestandawws.“Youtwoaresosweet,”shesays,lookingtoAlex.“Aren’ttheysweet?”
“Andbuttery,”Alexsays,justbarelyglancingmyway.
“What?”Sarahsays.“What’sthatsupposedtomean?”Heshrugs,andshegoeson:“IwishAlexlikedPDA.Webarelyevenhuginpublic.”
“I’mnotabighugger,”Alexsays,embarrassed.“Ididn’tgrowuphugging.”
“Yeah,butit’sme,”Sarahsays.“I’mnotsomegirlyoumetatabar,babe.”
NowthatIthinkofit,I’mnotsureI’veseenhimandSarahtouch.Butit’snotlikehe’stouchedmeallthatmuchinpubliceither,unlessyoucountdancinginthestreetsofNewOrleans,orthattimeinVail(andtherewasafairamountofalcoholinvolvedinboth).
“Itjustfeels…rudeorsomething,”Alextriestoexplain.
“Rude?”Treylightsacigarette.“We’realladults,man.Holdontoyourgirlifyouwant.”
Sarahsnorts.“Don’tbother.Thishasbeenayears-longconversation.I’veacceptedmylot.I’mgoingtomarryamanwhohatesholdinghands.”
Mychestjoltsatthewordmarry.Isitreallythatseriousbetweenthem?Imean,obviouslyit’sserious,buttheyhaven’tbeenbacktogetherthatlong.TreyandItalkaboutmarriageoccasionally,butinalofty,far-off,maybe-who-knows-let’s-not-put-pressure-on-thisway.
“Now,thatIcanunderstand,”Treysays,blowinghiscigarettesmokeawayfromus.“Hand-holdingsucks.It’snotcomfortable,anditlimitsmovement,andinacrowdit’sinconvenient.Like,youmightaswelljusthandcuffyouranklestogether.”
“Nottomentionyourhandsgetallsweaty,”Alexsays.“It’sall-arounduncomfortable.”
“Iloveholdinghands!”Ichimein,tuckingthewordmarrydeepinsidemybraintopuzzleoverlater.“Especiallyinacrowd.Itmakesmefeelsafe.”
“Well,itlookslikeifwegointoFlorencebeforethistripisover,”Sarahsays,“it’sgonnabemeandPoppyholdinghands,andyoutwolonewolvesgettingutterlylostinthemasses.”
SarahholdsherwineglassouttomeandIclinkminetohers,andwebothlaugh,andthatmightbethefirstmomentthatIlikeher.ThatIrealizemaybeIcould’velikedherallalong,ifIhadn’tbeenholdingsotighttoAlexthattherewasnoroomforher.
Ihavetostopdoingthat.IdecideIwill,andfromthenon,thewinetakesover,andallfourofusaretalking,joking,laughing,andthisnightsetsthetonefortherestofthetrip.
Long,sunnydayswanderingeveryoldtownspreadoutaroundus.Drivingtovineyardsandswirlingglassesofwinewithourmouthsheldajartoinhaletheirdeep,fruityscent.Latelunchesinancientstonebuildingswithworld-renownedchefs.Alexleavingbrightandearlyeachmorningtorun,Treydippingoutnotmuchlatertoscoutlocationsorcapturephotoshe’salreadyplanned.SarahandIsleepinginmostdays,thenmeetingforalongswim(ortofloatonraftswithplasticcupsfulloflimoncelloandvodka),talkingaboutnothingtooimportantbutwithfarmoreeasethanthatdayatLinfield’sloneMediterraneanrestaurant.
Atnight,wegooutforlatedinners—andwine—thencomebacktoourvilla’spatioandtalkanddrinkuntilit’snearlymorning.
Weplayeverygamewerecognizefromtheclosetfullofthem.Lawngameslikebocceandbadminton,andboardgameslikeClueandScrabbleandMonopoly(whichIhappentoknowAlexhates,thoughhedoesn’tadmitthatwhenTreysuggestsweplay).
Westayuplaterandlatereachnight.Wescribblecelebrities’namesontopiecesofpaper,mixthemup,andstickthemtoourforeheadsforagameoftwentyquestionsinwhichweguesswho’sonourheads,withtheaddedobstacleofeveryquestionaskedrequiringanotherdrink.
Itquicklybecomesobviousthatnoneofushasthesamecelebrityreferences,whichmakesthegametwohundredtimesharder,butalsofunnier.WhenIaskifmycelebrityisarealityTVstar,Sarahpretendstogag.
“Really?”Isay.“IloverealityTV.”
It’snotlikeI’munusedtothisreaction.ButpartofmefeelslikeherdisapprovalequalsAlex’sdisapproval,andasorespotappearsalongwithanurgetopressonit.
“Idon’tknowhowyoucanwatchthatstuff,”Sarahsays.
“Iknow,”Treysayslightly.“I’veneverunderstoodherinteresteither.It’satoddswitheveryotherthingabouther,butP’sallaboutTheBachelor.”
“Notallaboutit,”Isay,defensive.IstartedwatchingacoupleseasonsagowithRachelwhenagirlfromherartprogramwasacontestant,andwithinthreeorfourepisodes,Iwashooked.“Ijustthinkit’s,like,thisincredibleexperiment,”Iexplain.“Andyougettowatchhoursofthefootagecompiledinit.Youlearnsomuchaboutpeople.”
Sarah’seyebrowsflickup.“Likewhatnarcissistsarewillingtodoforfame?”
Treylaughs.“Dead-on.”
Iforceoutalaugh,takeanothersipofmywine.“NotwhatIwastalkingabout.”Ishiftuncomfortably,tryingtofigureouthowtoexplainmyself.“Imean,there’salotthatIlike.Butonething…Ilikehowintheend,itseemslikeit’sactuallyaharddecisionforsomepeople.Therewillbetwoorthreecontestantstheyfeelastrongconnectionwith,anditdoesn’tjustcomedowntochoosingthestrongestone.Instead,it’slike…you’rewatchingthemchoosealife.”
Andthat’showitisinreallifetoo.Youcanlovesomeoneandstillknowthefutureyou’dhavewiththemwouldn’tworkforyou,orforthem,ormaybeevenforbothofyou.
“Butdoanyofthoserelationshipsreallyworkout?”Sarahasks.
“Mostdon’t,”Iadmit.“Butthat’snotthepoint.Youwatchsomeonedateallthesepeople,andyouseehowdifferenttheyarewitheachofthem,andthenyouwatchthemchoose.Somepeoplechoosethepersontheyhavethebestchemistrywith,orthattheyhavethemostfunwith,andsomechoosetheonetheythinkwillmakeanamazingfather,orwhothey’vefeltthesafestopeningupto.It’sfascinating.Howsomuchofloveisaboutwhoyouarewithsomeone.”
IlovewhoIamwithTrey.I’mconfidentandindependent,flexibleandcoolheaded.I’matease.I’mthepersonIalwaysdreamedIwouldbe.
“Fair,”Sarahallows.“It’sthepartaboutmakingoutwith,like,thirtyguysthengettingengagedtosomeoneyou’vemetfivetimesthat’sharderformetoswallow.”
Treytipshisheadback,laughing.“You’dtotallysignupforthatshowifwebrokeup.Wouldn’tyou,P?”
“Now,thatIwouldwatch,”Sarahsays,giggling.
Iknowhe’sjokingaround,butitirksme,feelinglikethey’reunitedagainstme.
Ithinkaboutsaying,Whydoyouthinkthat?BecauseI’manarcissistwho’swillingtodoanythingtogetfamous?
Alexbumpshislegintomineunderthetable,andwhenIglanceathim,he’snotevenlookingmyway.He’sjustremindingmethathe’shere,thatnothingcanreallyhurtme.
Ibitedownonmywordsandletitgo.“Morewine?”
Thenextnight,weeatalong,latedinneroutontheterrace.WhenIgoinsidetodishupgelatofordessert,IfindAlexstandinginthekitchen,readinganemail.
HehasjustgottenwordthatTinHouseacceptedoneofhisstories.Helookssohappy,sobrilliantlyhimself,thatIsneakapictureofhim.IloveitsomuchIwouldprobablysetitasmybackgroundifbothofusweresingleandthatwasn’textremelyweirdforbothSarahandTrey.
Wedecidewehavetocelebrate(asifthatisn’twhatthiswholetriphasbeen),andTreymakesusmojitosandwesitoutonthechaiseloungesoverlookingthevalley,listeningtothesoft,twinklysoundsofnighttimeinthecountryside.
Ibarelysiponmydrink.I’vebeennauseatedallnight,andforthefirsttime,Iexcusemyselftogotosleeplongbeforetheothers.Treyclimbsintobedhourslater,tipsyandkissingonmyneck,pullingonme,andafterwehavesex,hefallsasleepimmediately,andmynauseacomesback.
That’swhenitoccurstome.
Iwassupposedtostartmyperiodatsomepointonthistrip.
Probablyit’safluke.Therearealotofreasonstowindupnauseatedwhiletravelinginternationally.AndTreyandIarefairlycareful.
Still,Igetoutofbed,stomachroiling,andtiptoedownstairs,openingmynotesapptoseewhenIwasexpectingmyperiod.Rachel’sconstantlytellingmetogetthisperiodtrackerapp,butuntilnowIhaven’treallyseenthepoint.
Myearsarepounding.Myheartisracing.Mytonguefeelstoobigformymouth
Iwassupposedtostartyesterday.Atwo-daydelayisn’tunheard-of.Nauseaafterdrinkingbucketsofredwineisn’teither.Especiallyforamigraineur.Butstill,I’mfreakingout.
Igrabmyjacketoffthecoatrack,stuffmyfeetintosandals,andtaketherentalcarkeys.Thenearesttwenty-four-hourgrocerystoreisthirty-eightminutesaway.Imakeitbacktothevillawiththreedifferentpregnancytestsbeforethesunhasevenstartedtorise.
BythenI’minafull-blownpanic.AllIcandoispacebackandforthontheterrace,grippingthemostexpensivepregnancytestinonehandandremindingmyselftoinhale,exhale,inhale.MylungsfeelworsethantheydidwhenIhadpneumonia.
“Couldn’tsleep?”Aquietvoicestartlesme.Alexisleanedagainsttheopendoorinapairofblackshortsandrunningshoes,hispalebodycastbluebythepredawn.
Alaughdiesinmythroat.I’mnotsurewhy.“Areyougettinguptorun?”
“It’scoolerbeforethesun’sup.”
Inod,wrapmyarmsaroundmyself,andturnbacktogazeoverthevalley.Alexcomestostandbesideme,andwithoutlookingoverathim,Istarttocry.Hereachesoutformyhandandunfurlsittoseethepregnancytestclenchedthere.
Fortenseconds,heissilent.Wearebothsilent.
“Haveyoutakenoneyet?”heaskssoftly.
Ishakemyheadandstarttocryharder.Hepullsmein,wrapshisarmsaroundmybackasIletmybreathoutinafewrushesofquietsobs.Iteasessomeofthepressure,andIdrawbackfromhim,wipingmyeyeswiththeheelsofmyhands.
“WhatamIgoingtodo,Alex?”Iaskhim.“IfI’m…WhatthehellamIsupposedtodo?”
Hestudiesmyfaceforalongtime.“Whatdoyouwanttodo?”
Iwipeatmyeyesagain.“Idon’tthinkTreywantstohavekids.”
“That’snotwhatIasked,”Alexmurmurs.
“IhavenoideawhatIwant,”Iadmit.“Imean,Iwanttobewithhim.Andmaybesomeday…Idon’tknow.Idon’tknow.”Iburymyfaceinmyhandsasafewmoreugly,soundlesssobsworkoutofme.“I’mnotstrongenoughtodothatonmyown.Ican’t.Icouldn’tevenhandlebeingsickbymyself,Alex.HowamIsupposedto…”
Hetakesmywristsgentlyandpullsthemawayfrommyface,duckinghisheadtopeerintomyeyes.“Poppy,”hesays.“Youwon’tbealone,okay?I’mhere.”
“So,what?”Isay.“I’d,like,movetoIndiana?GetanapartmentnextdoortoyouandSarah?How’sthatgoingtowork,Alex?”
“Idon’tknow,”headmits.“Itdoesn’tmatterhow.I’mhere.Justgotakethetest,andthenwe’llfigureitout,okay?You’llfigureoutwhatyouwanttodo,andwe’lldoit.”
Itakeadeepbreath,nod,goinsidewiththebagoftestsI’vesetdownonthegroundandtheoneI’mstillgrippinglikealiferaft.
Ipeeonthreeatonce,thentakethemallbackoutsidetowait.Welinethemuponthelowstonewallsurroundingtheterrace.Alexsetsatimeronhiswatch,andwestandtheretogether,sayingnothinguntilitbeeps.
Onebyonetheresultscomein.
Negative.
Negative.
Negative.
Istarttocryagain.I’mnotsureifit’srelieforsomethingmorecomplicatedthanthat.Alexpullsmeintohischest,rocksmesoothinglysidetosideasIregaincomposure.
“Ican’tkeepdoingthistoyou,”IsaywhenI’mfinallyoutoftears.
“Doingwhat?”heasksinawhisper.
“Idon’tknow.Needingyou.”
Heshakeshisheadagainstthesideofmine.“Ineedyoutoo,Poppy.”It’sthenthatIrealizehowthickandwetandtremblinghisvoiceis.WhenIpullbackfromhim,Irealizethathe’scrying.Itouchthesideofhisface.“Sorry,”hesays,closinghiseyes.“Ijust…Idon’tknowwhatI’ddoifsomethinghappenedtoyou.”
AndthenIunderstand.
TosomeonelikeAlex,wholosthismotherhowhedid,pregnancyisn’tjustalife-changingpossibility.It’sapotentialdeathsentence.
“I’msorry,”hesaysagain.“God,Idon’tknowwhyI’mcrying.”
Ipullhisfacedownintomyshoulder,andhecriessomemore,hishugeshouldersheavingwithit.Inalltheyearswe’vebeenfriends,hehasprobablyseenmecryhundredsoftimes,butthisisthefirsttimehe’severcriedinfrontofme.
“It’sokay,”Iwhispertohim,andthen,asmanytimesasittakes,“It’sokay.You’reokay.We’reokay,Alex.”
Heburieshisdampfaceinthesideofmyneck,hishandscurlingintightagainstthesmallofmybackasIrunmyfingersthroughhishair,hisdamplipswarmagainstmyskin.
Iknowthefeelingwillpass,butrightthenIwishsobadlythatwewereherealone.ThatwehadyettoevenmeetSarahandTrey.ThatwecouldholdontoeachotheraslongandtightasIthinkwemightneedto.
We’vealwaysexistedinakindofworldfortwo,butthat’snotthecaseanymore.
“I’msorry,”hesaysonelasttimeasheunwindshimselffromme,straighteningup,lookingoutoverthevalleyasthefirstraysoflightsplashacrossit.“Ishouldn’thave…”
Itouchhisarm.“Pleasedon’tsaythat.”
Henods,stepsback,puttingmoredistancebetweenus,andIknow,witheveryfiberofmybeing,thatit’stherightthingtodo,butitstillhurts.
“Treyseemslikeagreatguy,”hesays.
“Heis,”Ipromise.
Alexnodsafewmoretimes.“Good.”Andthat’sit.Heleavesforhismorningrun,andI’maloneagainonthestillterrace,watchingmorningchasetheshadowsacrossthevalley.
Myperiodarrivestwenty-fiveminuteslater,whileI’mscramblingeggsforbreakfast,andtherestofourtripisafantasticallynormalcouples’trip.
Exceptthat,deepdown,Iamcompletelyheartbroken.
Ithurtstowantitall,somanythingsthatcan’tcoexistwithinthesamelife.
Morethananything,though,IwantAlextobehappy.Tohaveeverythinghe’salwayswanted.Ihavetostopgettingintheway,togivehimthechancetohaveallofthat.
Wedon’tsomuchasbrushagainsteachotheruntilwehuggoodbye.Weneverspeakaboutwhathappenedagain.
Igoonlovinghim.30
ThisSummer
SOIGUESSwe’renottalkingaboutwhathappenedonNikolai’sbalcony,andthatneedstobefine.WhenIwakeupinourTechnicolorhotelroomoftheLarreaPalmSprings,Alex’sbedisemptyandmade,andahandwrittennoteonthedeskreads,RUNNING—BEBACKSOONP.S.ALREADYPICKEDUPTHECARFROMTHESHOP
It’snotlikeIexpectedabunchofhugsandkissesandpledgesoflove,buthecould’vesparedaLastnightwasgreat.Ormaybeacheeryexclamationpoint.
Also,howisherunninginthisheat?There’sjustalotgoingoninthatveryshortnoteandmyparanoiahelpfullysuggeststhathe’srunningtoclearhisheadafterwhathappened.
InCroatia,he’dfreakedout.Webothhad.Butthathadhappenedatthetailendofthetrip,whenwecouldretreattoourseparatecornersofthecountryafterward.Thistime,we’vegotabachelorparty,rehearsaldinner,andweddingtogetthrough.
Still,IpromisedIwasn’tgoingtoletthismessusup,andImeantit.
Ineedtokeepthingslight,todomypartinpreventingapostcoitalfreak-out.
IthinkabouttextingRachelforadvice,orjusttohavesomeonetosquealwith,butthetruthis,Idon’twanttotellanyoneaboutthis.IwantittobesomethingonlybetweenAlexandme,likesomuchoftheworldiswhenwe’retogether.Itossmyphonebackontothebed,grabapenfrommypurse,andaddtothebottomofAlex’snote,Atpool—meetmethere?
Whenheshowsup,he’sstilldressedinhisrunningclothesandcarryingasmallbrownbagandapapercoffeecup,andthesightofallthiscombinedmakesmefeeltinglyandeager.
“Cinnamonroll,”hesays,passingmethebag,thenthecup.“Latte.AndtheAspire’soutinthelotwithitsflashynewtire.”
Iwavemycoffeecupinavaguecircleinfrontofhim.“Angel.Howmuchwasthetire?”
“Don’tremember,”hesays.“I’mgonnagoshower.”
“Beforeyou…comesweatbythepool?”
“BeforeIcomesitinthatpoolfortheentireday.”
It’snotmuchofanexaggeration.Weloungetoourhearts’content.Werelax.Wealternatebetweensunandshade.Weorderdrinksandnachosfromthepoolsidebarandreapplysunblockeveryhour,andstillmakeitbacktotheroomwithplentyoftimetogetreadyforDavid’sbachelorparty.HeandThamdecidedtodoseparateones(thoughbotharecoed),andAlexjokesthatDavidchosethisplantoforceapopularitycontest.
“Nooneismorepopularthanyourbrother,”Isay.
“Youhaven’tmetThamyet,”hesays,thenwalksintothebathroomandstartsthewater.
“Areyouseriouslyshoweringagain?”
“Rinsing,”hesays.
“Rememberinelementaryschoolhowkidsusedtostandbehindyouinlineforthewaterfountainandsay‘Savesomeforthewhales’?”
“Yes,”hesays.
“Well,savesomeforthewhales,buddy!”
“Youhavetobenicetome,”hesays.“Ibroughtyouacinnamonroll.”
“Butteryandwarmandperfect,”Isay,andheblushesasheshutsthebathroomdoor.
Ireallyhavenoideawhat’sgoingon.Forexample:whydidn’twejuststayintheroomandmakeoutallday?
Islipintoaseventieslime-greenhalterjumpsuitandstartworkingonmyhairatthemirroroutsidethebathroom,andafewminuteslater,Alexemergesalreadydressedandalmostreadytogo.
“Howlongdoyouneed?”heasks,lookingovermyshouldertomeetmyeyesinthemirror,hiswethairstickingupineverydirection.
Ishrug.“Justlongenoughtospraymyselfwithadhesiveandrollinavatofglitter.”
“Sotenminutes?”heguesses.
Inod,setmycurlingwanddown.“Areyousureyouwantmetocome?”
“Whywouldn’tI?”
“Becauseit’syourbrother’sbachelorparty,”Isay.
“And?”
“Andyouhaven’tseenhiminmonths,andmaybeyoudon’twantmetaggingalong.”
“You’renottaggingalong,”hesays.“You’reinvited.AlsotherewillprobablybemalestrippersandIknowhowyouloveamaninuniform.”
“IwasinvitedbyDavid,”Isay.“Ifyouwantedalonetimewithhim…”
“Thereare,like,fiftypeoplecomingtonight,”hesays.“I’llbeluckyifImakeeyecontactwithDavid.”
“Butyourotherbrotherswillbetheretoo,right?”
“They’renotcoming,”hesays.“They’renotevenflyingoutuntiltomorrow.”
“Okay,butwhataboutallthehotdesertbroads?”Isay.
“Hotdesertbroads,”herepeats.
“You’regoingtobethestraight-manbelleoftheball.”
Hisheadtilts.“Soyouwantmetogomakeoutwithsomehotdesertbroads.”
“Notparticularly,butIfigureyoushouldknowthatyoustillhavethatoption.Imean,justbecausewe…”
Hisbrowcrinkles.“Whatareyoudoing,Poppy?”
Iabsentlytouchmyhair.“Iwastryingforabeehive,butIthinkI’mgoingtohavetosettleforabouffant.”
“No,Imean…”Hetrailsoff.“Doyouregretlastnight?”
“No!”Isay,myfacegoingred-hot.“Doyou?”
“Notatall,”hesays.
Iturntofacehimhead-oninsteadofthroughthemirror.“Areyousure?Becauseyou’vebarelylookedatmetoday.”
Helaughs,touchesmywaist.“Becauselookingatyoumakesmethinkaboutlastnight,andcallmeold-fashioned,butIdidn’twanttoliebythehotelpoolwitharaginghard-onallday.”
“Really?”You’dthinkhejustrecitedalovepoemtomebythesoundofmyvoice.
Hepressesmebackontotheedgeofthesinkashekissesmeonce,slowandheavy,hishandscirclingmynecktofindtheclaspofthejumpsuit’shalter.Itfallsloose,andIarchbackasheslidesthefabricdowntomywaist.Hecupsmyjawanddrawsmymouthbacktohis,andIwrapmylegsaroundhimasourkissesdeepen,hisfreehandmovingdownmybarechest.
“DoyourememberwhenIwassick?”Iwhisperagainsthisear.
Hishipsgrindagainstmine,andhisvoicecomesoutlowandhusky:“Ofcourse.”
“Iwantedyousobadlythatnight,”Iadmit,untuckinghisshirt.
“Thatwholeweek,”hesays,“Ikeptwakinguponthevergeofcoming.Ifyouhadn’tbeensick…”
Iliftmyselfagainsthim,andhismouthsinksintothesideofmyneckasIworkatthebuttonsonhisshirt.“InVailwhenyoucarriedmedownthatmountain…”
“God,Poppy,”hesays.“Ispentsomuchtimetryingnottowantyou.”Heliftsmeoffthesinkandcarriesmetothebed.
“Andnotnearlyenoughtimekissingme,”Isay,hislaughrattlingagainstmyearashelaysusdown.“Howlongdowehave?”
Hekissestheverycenterofmychest.“Wecanbelate.”
“Howlate?”
“Aslateasittakes.”
???
“OH.MY.GOD,”Isayaswestepoutontothedrivewayofthemidcenturymansion,withitsGoogie-styleswoopedroof.“Thisisamazing.Hehasthiswholeplacerentedout?”
“DidIforgettomentionthatThamisVeryFancy?”
“Mayhave,”Isay.“Isittoolateformetomarryhim?”
“Well,therearetwodaysuntiltheweddingandhe’sgay,”hesays.“SoIreallydon’tseewhynot.”
Ilaugh,andhecatchesmyhand,slipsitintohisown.SomehowwalkingintoabachelorpartyholdingAlexNilsen’shandismoresurrealthaneverysurrealthingthatjusthappenedatthehotel.Itmakesmefeelbuzzyandgiddyandintoxicatedinthebestpossibleway.
Wefollowthemusicupthedriveway,eachholdingoneofthebottlesofwinewepickedoutonthewayhere,andstepintothecooldarkofthefoyer.
Alexsaidthere’dbefiftypeople.Makingourwaythroughthehouse,I’dguessthereareatleastahundred,leaningonwallsandsittingonthebacksoffabulouslygildedfurniture.Thebackwallofthehouseisentirelyglassandoverlooksamassivepool,lituppurpleandgreen,withawaterfallflowingintoitononeside.Peopleloungeoninflatableflamingosandswansinvariousstatesofundress:womenanddragqueensinfull-length,sparklygowns;meninswimtrunksandthongs;peopleinangelwingsandmermaidcostumesalongsideAssumedLinfieldPeopleinsuitsandpeplumdresses.
“Wow,”Alexsays.“Ihaven’tbeentoapartythisoutofcontrolsince,like,highschool.”
“YouandIhadverydifferenthighschoolexperiences,”Isay.
JustthenanAdonisofamanwithacharminglyboyishgrinandamopofgoldenwavesspotsusandspringsoutoftheegg-shapedhangingchairwherehewassitting.
“Alex!Poppy!”Davidcomestowarduswitharmsopenandalightlydrunksheeninhishazeleyes.HehugsAlexfirst,thengrabsthesidesofmyfaceandplantssloppykissesonbothmycheeks.“I’msohappyyou’re—”Hiseyesfalltoourclaspedhandsandheclapshistogether.“Holdinghands!”
“You’rewelcome,”Isay,andhechortles,clampsahandoneachofourshoulders.
“Youneedsomewater?”Alexaskshim,big-brothermodeactivated.
“No,Dad,”hesays.“Youneedsomebooze?”
“Yes!”Isay,andDavidwaveshishandtoaserverIhadnotnoticedinthecornerlargelybecauseshe’sspray-paintedgold.
“Wow,”Alexsays,acceptingtwoflutesofchampagnefromthefauxstatue’stray.“Thanksfor…Wow.”
Sheretreats,goesstone-stillagain.
“Sowhat’sThamdoingtonight?”Iask.“Abonfireofdollarbillsonasolid-goldyacht?”
“Ireallyhatetotellyouthis,Pop,”Davidsays,“butagoldenyachtwouldsink.Trustme.Wetried.Doyoutwowantshots?”
“Yes,”IsayatthesametimeAlexsays,“No.”
Asifbymagic,shotsarealreadybeinghandedtous,vodkaandGoldschl?ger,withitslittlegoldshavingsfloatingintheglasses.Thethreeofusclinkthemtogetheranddownthespicy-sweetliquidinonegulp.
Alexcoughs.“Ihatethat.”
Davidslapshimontheback.“I’msogladyou’rehere,dude.”
“OfcourseIam.Yourlittlebrothersonlygetmarried…threetimes.”
“Andyourfavoriteoneonlygetsmarriedonce,”Davidsays.“Fingerscrossed.”
“IhearyouandThamareamazingtogether,”Isay.“AndthatheisVeryFancy.”
“Thefanciest,”Davidagrees.“He’sadirector.Wemetonset.”
“Onset!”Icry.“Listentoyou!”
“Iknow,”hesays.“I’maninsufferableL.A.person.”
“No,no,definitelynot.”
SomeoneshoutsforDavidthenfromthepool,andhegivesheraoneminutesignal,thenfacesusagain.“Makeyourselvesathome—notourhome,obviously,”headdstoAlex,“but,like,asuper-loud,super-fun,super-gayhomewithadanceflooroutback—whichIexpecttoseeyoubothonshortly.”
“StoptryingtomakePoppyfallinlovewithyou,”Alexsays.
“Yeah,youreallydon’tneedtowasteyourtime,”Isay.“I’malreadysold.”
Davidgrabsmyheadandsmoochesthesideofitagain,thendoesthesamethingtoAlexanddancesovertothegirlinthepoolpretendingtoreelhiminwithaninvisiblefishingrod.
“SometimesIworryhetakeshimselftooseriously,”Alexsaysflatly,andwhenalaughrocketsoutofme,thecornerofhismouthtwitchesinandoutofasmile.Westandtheregrinningforafewmoreseconds,ourlockedhandsswingingbackandforthbetweenus.
“Ithoughtyoudidn’tlikeholdinghands,”Isay.
“Andyousaidyoudid,”hesays.
“So,what?IjustgetwhateverIwantnow?”Itease.
Hissmileflickersbackintoplace,calmandrestrained.“Yes,Poppy,”hesays.“Yougetwhateveryouwantnow.Isthataproblem?”
“WhatifIwantyoutohavewhatyouwant?”
Hearchesaneyebrow.“AreyoujustsayingthatbecauseyouknowwhatI’mgoingtosay,andyouwanttomakefunofmeforit?”
“No?”Isay.“Why?Whatareyougoingtosay?”
Ourhandsgostillbetweenus.“IhavewhatIwant,Poppy.”
Myheartflutters,andIpullmyhandfromhis,coilitaroundhiswaist,andtipmyheadbacktopeerintohisface.“IamresistingtheurgetoPDAalloveryourightnow,AlexNilsen.”
Hebendshisneckandkissesmesolongthatafewpeoplestartcheering.Whenwepullapart,he’spinkcheekedandbashful.“Damn,”hesays.“Ifeellikeahornyteenager.”
“MaybeifweutilizetheJ?gerBombstationinthebackyard,”Isay,“we’llgobacktofeelinglikedemure,maturethirty-year-olds.”
“Thatsoundsrealistic,”Alexsays,tuggingmetowardthebackpatio.“I’min.”
There’sabaroutbackandafoodtruckservingfishtacosparkedonthegrass.Behindthat,agardenstretchesoutlikesomethingfromaJaneAustennovel,righthereinthemiddleofthedesert.
“Probablynotgreatforconservation,”Alexremarksintruegrandpaform.
“Probablynot,”Iagree.“Butpossiblygreatforconversation.”
“True,”hesays.“Whenallelsefails,youcanalwaysengageastrangerinthoughtfulsmalltalkaboutthedyingearth.”
Atsomepointwefindourselvessittingontheedgeofthepool,pantsandjumpsuitlegsrolledupandlegsdanglinginthewarmwater,andthat’swhenwehearDavidshoutingexcitedlyfromwithinacrowd,“Where’smybrother?He’sgottobepartofthis.”
“Soundslikeyou’reneeded.”
Alexsighs.Davidspotshimandjogsover.“Ineedyoutodothisgame.”
“Drinkinggame?”Iguess.
“NotforAlex,”Davidsays.“Ibethewon’thavetodrinkonesingletime.It’saDavidTriviagame.Youin?”
Alexwinces.“Doyouwantmetobe?”
Davidcrosseshisarms.“Asthegroom,Idemandit.”
“YoureallyareneverallowedtodivorceTham,”Alexsays,lumberingtohisfeet.
“Foramultitudeofreasons,”Davidsays,“Iagree.”
Alexwalksovertothelong,candlelittablewherethegameisstartingup,butDavidlingersbyme,watchinghimgo.“Heseemsgood,”hesays.
“Yeah,”Iagree.“Ithinkheis.”
David’sgazedropstome,andhelowershimselfontotheslicksideofthepool,slippinghislegsintothewater.“So,”hesays.“Howdidthishappen?”
“This?”
Heliftshisbrowskeptically.“This.”
“Um.”Itrytothinkofhowtoexplainit.Yearsofundyinglove,occasionaljealousy,missedopportunities,badtiming,otherrelationships,buildingsexualtension,afightandthesilenceafterward,andthepainoflivinglifewithouthim.“OurAirbnb’sair-conditioningbroke.”
Davidstaresatmeforafewseconds,thendropshisfaceintohishands,chuckling.“Damn,”hesays,straighteningup.“IhavetosayI’mrelieved.”
“Relieved?”
“Yeah.”Davidshrugs.“Youknow.It’slike…nowthatI’mgettingmarried—nowthatIknowI’mstayinginL.A.—IguessI’vejustbeenworriedabouthim.BackinOhio.Onhisown.”
“IthinkhelikesLinfield,”Isay.“Idon’tthinkhe’sthereoutofnecessity.Besides,Iwouldn’tsayhe’sonhisown.Yourwholefamily’sthere.Alltheniecesandnephew.”
“That’smypoint.”Davidlookstowardthetriviagameatthetable,watchesasthethreeothercontestantsdownshotsofsomethingcaramelcoloredandAlexsipsonacupofwatervictoriously.“He’skindofanemptynesternow.”Hismouthtwistsintoafrownthat’ssolikehisbrother’sthatIfeelaquick,painfulimpulsetokissitaway.
WhenIthinkaboutwhatDavid’sactuallysaying,thepaingetsworse,harboringitselfbehindmyribcagelikealittleredknot.“Youthinkhefeelslikethat?”
“Likeheraisedus?Putallhisemotionalenergyintomakingsurethethreeofuswereokay?DrivingBettyaroundtodoctorappointments,packingourfuckingschoollunchesandgettingDadoutofbedwhenhehadoneofhisepisodes,andthen,allofasudden,weallwentoffandgotmarriedandstartedhavingkidsofourown,whilehe’slefttomakesureDad’sallright?”Stonyserious,Davidlooksbackatme.“No.Alexwouldneverthinklikethat.ButIthinkhe’sbeenlonely.Imean…weallthoughthewasgoingtomarrySarah,andthen…”
“Yeah.”Iliftmylegsoutofthepoolandcrosstheminfrontofme.
“Imean,hehadtheringandeverything,”Davidgoeson,andmystomachdrops.“Hewassupposedtopropose,andthen—shewasjustgone,and…”Hetrailsoffwhenheseesthelookonmyface.
“Don’tgetmewrong,Poppy.”Hesetshishandonmine.“Ialwaysthoughtitshouldbeyoutwo.ButSarahwasgreat,andtheylovedeachother,and—Ijustwanthimtobehappy.Iwanthimtostopworryingaboutotherpeopleandhavesomethingthat’sjusthis,youknow?”
“Yeah.”Icanbarelygetthewordout.I’mstillsweating,butmyinsideshaveswiftlygonecold,becauseallIcanthinkis,Hewasgoingtomarryher
ShesaiditinTuscany,andafterafewweeks,Ibrusheditoffasanoffhandcomment,butnowIcan’thelpbutseeeverythingthathappenedonthattripinadifferentlight.
Itwasthreeyearsago,butIstillseeitsovividly:Alexandmeoutontheterraceminutesbeforethesunrose,myarmscrossedtight,nailsbittentothequick.PregnancytestslineduponthestonewallandAlex’swatchchirpingatusthatitwastimetofindoutwhatthefutureheld.
Thewayhe’dbrokendownonceIfinallygatheredmyself,hunchedhishead,andcriedagainstme.
Ican’tkeepdoingthistoyou,I’dsaid.Needingyou
He’dtoldmeheneededmetoo,butwithTreyandSarahthere,thebubblethatalwaysseemedtoenvelopus,separateusfromtheworld,hadpopped,andI’dfeltsodeeplyashamedforwantingsomuchofhim,andIcouldtellhehadtoo.
Treyseemslikeagreatguy,he’dsaid,andthatwasasclosetosayingWehavetostopthisaswecouldget.Sayingthatwould’vebeenanadmissionofguilt.Evenifweneverkissed,neversaidthewordsoutright,wewerekeepingwholepartsofourheartsforeachotheronly.
AlexhadwantedtomarrySarah,andIknownowthatI’dkepthimfrombeingableto.She’dbrokenupwithhimasecondtimeafterTuscany,andevenifsheneverknewexactlywhathadtranspired,Iwassureithadleftamarkonhim,shiftedthingsbetweenthemfortheworse.
IfIhadbeenpregnant,ifI’ddecidedtohavethebaby,IknowbeyondanydoubtAlexwouldhavebeenthereforme,givenupanythinghehadjusttohelp.
Sarah,likealways,would’vehadtodealwiththerealityofmeormoveon.Ican’thelpbutwonderifI’dforcedhertothatpoint.Ifourfriendshiphadcosthimthewomanhewantedtomarry.Ifeelsick,ashamedbythethought.GuiltyoverhowIignoredmymorecomplicatedfeelingsforhimsoIcouldjustifystayinginhislife.
It’sonethingwhenyourboyfriend’srowdybrothers,orhiswidowerfather,needhim.
ButIwasjustsomeotherwoman,whoseneedshe’dalwaysputfirsttothedetrimentofhisownwantsandhappiness.Andthisweek,I’dstumbledintothisselfishly,becausethatwasmydefaultwithhim.ToaskforwhatIwanted,tolethimgiveittomeevenifitwasn’tnecessarilythebestthingforhim.
I’mnolongergiddyorbuzzyoranythingbutsicktomystomach.
Davidsetshishandonmyshoulderandsmilesatme,jarringmeoutofthekaleidoscopeofcomplicated,painfulfeelingspinwheelingthroughme.“I’mgladhehasyounow.”
“Yeah,”Iwhisper,butaviciouslittlevoiceinsidemesays,No,youhavehim31
ThisSummer
ASI’MDIGGINGthroughmypurseforthehotelkey,Alexleansintome,hishandsheavyonmywaist,hislipssoftagainstthesideofmyneck,anditwouldbeunwindingmeifnotforthebuzzinginmyskull,thesteadythrobsofalternatingguiltandpaniclowinmystomach.
Ipressthekeycardtothelock,thennudgethedooropen,andAlexreleasesme,steppingintotheroomafterme.Ibeelineforthesink,slippingthebacksoffmyoversizedplasticearringsandsettingthemonthecounter.Alexgoesstillandanxiousjustinsidethedoor.
“DidIdosomething?”heasks.
Ishakemyhead,grabacottonswabandthebluebottleofeyemakeupremover.IknowIneedtosaysomething,butIdon’twanttocry,becauseifIcry,thisbecomesaboutme,andthewholepointofitislost.Alexwillbendoverbackwardtomakemefeelsafe,whenreallywhatIneedisforhimtobehonest.Iswipethecottonovermylids,looseningtheblackliquideyelineruntilIlooklikeCharlizeTheroninMadMax:FuryRoad,gunpowdersmearedacrossmyfacelikewarpaint.
“Poppy,”Alexsays.“JusttellmewhatIdid.”
Ispintowardhim,andhedoesn’tevencrackasmileaboutmymakeup.That’showworriedheis,andIhatemyselfformakinghimfeellikethat.“Youdidn’tdoanything,”Isay.“You’reperfect.”
Histwoexpressionsnowaresurprisedandoffended.“I’mnotperfect.”
Ineedtodothisquick,ripitofflikeaBand-Aid.“WereyougoingtoproposetoSarah?”
Hislipspart.Buthisshockquicklymeltsintohurt.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
“Ijust…”Iclosemyeyes,pressthebackofmyhandtomyheadasifthatcanstopthebuzzing.Iopenmyeyesagainandhisexpressionhasbarelyshrunk.He’snotreelinginhisemotions:I’mgoingtogetNakedAlexforthisconversation.“Davidsaidyouhadaring.”
Hejamshismouthshutandswallowshard,lookstowardtheslidingbalconydoors,thenbacktome.“I’msorryIdidn’ttellyou.”
“It’snotthat.”Iforcetherisingtearsbackdown.“Ijust…Ididn’trealizehowmuchyoulovedher.”
Hehalflaughs,butthere’snohumorinhistenseface.“OfcourseIlovedher.Iwaswithheronandoffforyears,Poppy.Youlovedtheguysyouwerewithtoo.”
“Iknow.I’mnotaccusingyouofanything.Just…”Ishakemyhead,tryingtoorganizemythoughtsintosomethingshorterthananhour-longmonologue.“Imean,youboughtaring.”
“Iknowthat,”hesays,“butwhyareyoumadatmeforthat,Poppy?YouwerewithTrey,fuckingjet-settingaroundtheworld,sittinginhislapinallfourcornersoftheworld—wasIsupposedtothinkyouweren’thappy?Tojustwaitforyou?”
“I’mnotmadatyou,Alex!”Icry.“I’mmadatmyself!FornotcaringthatIwasgettingintheway.Foraskingsomuchofyouand—andkeepingyoufromwhatyouwant.”
Hescoffs.“WhatisitIwant?”
“Whydidshebreakupwithyou?”Ibiteback.“Tellmeithadnothingtodowithme.ThatSarahdidn’tendthingsbecauseofthis—thisthingbetweenus.ThatsinceI’vebeenoutofyourlife,shehasn’tbeenreconsideringeverything.Justtellmethat,ifthat’sthetruth,Alex.TellmeI’mnotthereasonyou’renotmarriedwithkidsrightnow,andeverythingelseyouwanted.”
Hestaresatme,faceterse,eyesdarkandcloudy.
“Tellme,”Ibeg,andhejuststaresatme,thesilenceoftheroomaddingtothebuzzinsidemyskull.
Finally,heshakeshishead.“Ofcourseit’sbecauseofyou.”
Itakeastepback,likehiswordsmightburnme.
“ShebrokeupwithmebeforewewenttoSanibel,andIfeltsoguiltythatwholetripbecauseallIcouldthinkwas,IhopePoppydoesn’tthinkI’mboringtoo.Ididn’tevenremembertomissheruntilIgothome.That’showitalwaysiswhenI’mwithyou.Nooneelsematters.Andthenyou’regoneagain,andlifegoesbacktonormaland…whenSarahandIgotbacktogether,Ithoughtthingsweresodifferent,somuchbetter,butthetruthis,shedidn’twanttogotoTuscanyandItoldherIneededherto,sosheagreed.BecauseIwasn’twillingtogiveyouupandIthoughtifyoutwowerefriends,itwouldbeeasier,”hesays,sointenselystillnowherivalsthefaux-statueserversattheparty.
“ThenyouthoughtyouwerepregnantanditscaredmesomuchIgotafuckingvasectomy.Anditdidn’tevenoccurtometoaskSarahwhatshethought.Ijustmadetheappointment,andafewdaysafter,IwaswalkingpastthisantiquestoreandIsawthisring.Anold,yellow-goldartdecothingwithapearl.Isawitandthought,Thatwouldbeaperfectengagementring.MaybeIshouldbuyit.Andmyverynextthoughtafterthatwas,WhatthefuckamIdoing?Notjustthering––whichSarahwould’vehated,bytheway––butthevasectomy,allofit.Iwasdoingitallforyou,andIknowthat’snotnormal,anditdefinitelywasn’tfairtoher,soIendedthings.Thatday.”
Heshakeshishead.“IscaredmyselfsomuchthatIcouldn’ttellyouwhathadhappened.ItwasterrifyingtorealizehowmuchIlovedyou.AndthenyouandTreybrokeup,and––God,Poppy,ofcourseallofitwasbecauseofyou.Everythingisbecauseofyou.Everything.”
Hiseyesarewetnow,shimmeringinthedimlightoverthesink,andhisshouldersarerigid,andmygutfeelslikethere’saknifetwistingintoit.
Alexshakeshishead,asmall,restrainedgesture,littlemorethanatwitch.“It’snotsomethingyou’vedonetome,”hesays.“Ikepthopingthingswouldchangeforme,buttheyneverhave.”
Hetakesasteptowardme,andIfighttomaintainmycomposure.
Abreathslipsoutofme,myshouldersrelaxing,andAlextakesanothersteptowardme,hiseyesheavy,mouthtwisted.“AndIdoubtedmyselfforalongtimebeforeIendedthings,becauseIdidloveher,”hesays,“andIwantedtomakeitworkbecauseshe’samazing,andwe’regoodtogether,andwewantallthesamethings,andIlovedherinthiswaythatfeels…soclearandeasytounderstand,andmanageable.”
Hebreaksoff,shakinghisheadagain.Thetearsinhiseyesmakethemlooklikethesurfaceofsomeriver,dangerousandwildandgorgeous.“Idon’tknowhowtolovesomeoneasmuchasIloveyou,”hesays.“It’sterrifying.AndIgettheseburstsofthinkingIcanhandleitandthenIthinkaboutwhatitwilldotomeifIloseyou,andIpanicandpullaway,and—I’veneverknownifI’llbeabletomakeyouhappy.Buttheothernight—itsoundssoridiculous,butwewerelookingatTinder,andyousaidyou’dswiperightonme—andthat’sthekindoftinythingthatfeelssohugewhenit’syou.Ilayawaketryingtofigureoutwhatyoumeantforhoursthatnight.I’mbroken,and,yeah,probablyrepressed,andIknowI’mnotwhoyou’veeverpicturedyourselfwith.Iknowitdoesn’tseemlikewemakeanysense,andweprobablydon’t,andmaybeIcouldnevermakeyouhappy—”
“Alex.”Ireachoutforhimwithbothhands,pullhiminagainstme.Hisarmscomearoundme,andhisheadbowsuntilhe’sagiantquestionmark,hangingoverme.“It’snotyourjobtomakemehappy,okay?Youcan’tmakeanyonehappy.I’mhappyjustbecauseyouexist,andthat’sasmuchofmyhappinessasyouhavecontrolover.”
Hishandscurveinagainstmyspine,andItwinemyfingersintohisshirt.
“Idon’tknowexactlywhatitallmeans,butIknowIloveyouthesamewayyouloveme,andyou’renottheonlyonethatscares.”Iscrunchmyeyesshut,gatheringthecouragetogoon.
“Ifeelbrokentoo,”Itellhim,myvoicecrackingintosomethingthinandhoarse.“I’vealwaysfeltlikeoncesomeoneseesmedeepdown,that’sit.There’ssomethinguglyinthere,orunlovable,andyou’retheonlypersonwho’severmademefeellikeI’mokay.”Hishandsweepsgentlyacrossmyface,andIopenmyeyes,meethishead-on.“There’snothingscarierthanthechancethat,onceyoureallyhaveallofme,thatchanges.ButIwantallofyou,soI’mtryingtobebrave.”
“NothingwillchangehowIfeelaboutyou,”hemurmurs.“I’vebeentryingtostoplovingyousincethatnightyouwentinsidetomakeoutwiththepotheadwatertaxidriver.”
Ilaugh,andhesmilesjustalittle.Itakehisjawinmyhandsandkisshimsoftlyonthemouth,andafterasecond,hestartstokissmeback,andit’sdampfromtearsandurgentandpowerful,sendingshockwavesthroughme.
“Canyoujustdomeonefavor?”Iask
Heknotshishandsagainstmyspine.“Hm?”
“Onlyholdmyhandwhenyouwantto.”
“Poppy,”hesays,“theremaycomeadaywhenInolongerneedtobetouchingyouatalltimes,butthatdayisnottoday.”
???
THEREHEARSALDINNERisatabistrothatThaminvestedinduringitsearlydays,aplaceablazeincandlelightanddrippingwithbespokecrystalchandeliers.There’snoweddingparty,justthegroomsandtheirofficiant,thusthelackofatruerehearsal,butTham’swholeextendedfamilylivesinnorthernCaliforniaandhaveshownup,alongwithalotofDavid’sfriendswhowereatthepartylastnight.
“Woooow,”Isayaswewalkinside.“ThisisthesexiestplaceI’veeverbeen.”
“Nikolai’sfumigation-tentbalconyisdeeplyoffended,”Alexsays.
“Thatfumigationtentwillalwaysbeinmyheart,”Ipromise,andsqueezehishand,whichemphasizesoursizedifferenceinawaythatmakesmyspinetingle.“Hey,doyourememberwhenImelteddownabouthavingslowlorishands?InColorado?AfterIrolledmyankle?”
“Poppy,”hesayspointedly,“Iremembereverything.”
Inarrowmyeyesathim.“Butyousaid—”
Hesighs.“IknowwhatIsaid.ButI’mtellingyounow,Irememberitall.”
“Somewouldsaythatmakesyoualiar.”
“No,”hesays,“whatitmakesmeissomeonewhowasembarrassedtostillrememberexactlywhatyouwerewearingthefirsttimeIsawyou,andwhatyouorderedonceatMcDonald’sinTennessee,andwhoneededtopreservesomesmallmeasureofdignity.”
“Aw,Alex,”Icoo,teasingevenasmyheartfluttershappily.“YouforfeitedyourdignitywhenyoushoweduptoO-Weekinkhakis.”
“Hey!”hesays,tonechiding.“Don’tforgetthatyouloveme.”
Mycheeksflushwarmwithoutanyhintofembarrassment.“Icouldneverforgetthat.”
Ilovehim,andherememberseverything,becausehelovesmetoo.Myinsidesfeellikeanexplosionofgoldconfetti.
Someonecallsfromthefarsideoftherestaurantthen.“IsthatMissPoppyWright?”
Mr.Nilsenstridestowardusinabaggygraysuit,hisblondmustachetheexactsizeandshapeasthedayImethim.Alex’shandfreesitselffrommine.Forwhateverreason,heobviouslydoesnotwanttoholdmyhandinfrontofhisfather,andIfeelarushofhappinessthathefeltcomfortabledoingwhatheneededto.
“Hi,Mr.Nilsen!”Isay,andhestopsabruptlyafewfeetinfrontofme,kindlysmilinganddefinitelynotplanningtohugme.He’swearingacomicallylargerainbowpinonhislapel.Itlookslike,withonewrongmove,itcouldtiphimover.
“Oh,please,”hesays.“You’renotakidanymore.YoucancallmeEd.”
“Whatthehell,youcancallmeEdtoo,”Isay.
“Uh,”hesays.
“She’sjoking,”Alexsupplies.
“Oh,”EdNilsensaysuncertainly.Alexgoesred.Igored.
Nowisnotthetimetoembarrasshim.“IwassosorrytohearaboutBetty,”Irecover.“Shewasanamazingwoman.”
Hisshouldersslump.“Shewasarocktoourfamily,”hesays.“Justlikeherdaughter.”Atthat,hestartstotearup,pullsoffhiswire-frameglasses,andblowsabreathoutashewipesathiseyes.“Notsurehowwe’regoingtogetbywithoutherthisweekend.”
AndIfeelsympathyforhim,ofcourse.He’slostsomeoneheloved.Again.
Butsohavehissons,andstandingherewithhim,whilehetearsupfreely,grieveslikeeverypersondeservesto,there’salsosomethinglikeangerbuildingupinme.
Becausenexttome,Alexironedoutallhisownemotionassoonashesawhisfatherapproaching,andIknowthat’snocoincidence.
Idon’tmeantosayitaloud,butthat’showitcomesout,withthesubtletyofabatteringram:“Butyouwillgetthroughit.Becauseyourson’sgettingmarried,andheneedsyou.”
EdNilsengivesmeanunironicSadPuppyFace.“Well,ofcourse,”hesays,soundingmildlystunned.“Ifyou’llexcuseme,Ihaveto…”Heneverfinishesthesentence,justlooksatAlexwitharatherblankconfusionandsqueezeshisson’sshoulderbeforedriftingaway.
Besideme,Alexletsoutananxiousbreath,andIwheeltowardhim.“I’msorry!Ijustmadethatweird.Sorry.”
“No.”Heslipshishandbackintomine.“Actually,IthinkIjustdevelopedafetishthat’sspecificallyyoudeliveringhardtruthstomyfather.”
“Inthatcase,”Isay,“let’sgohavesomewordswithhimaboutthatmustache.”
Istarttowalkaway,andAlexpullsmebacktohim,hishandslightonmywaist,voicelowbesidemyear.“IncaseIdon’tkissyouaspornographicallyasIwanttofortherestofthenight,pleaseknowthatafterthistrip,I’llbeinvestingintherapytounderstandwhyIfeelincapableofexpressinghappinessinfrontofmyfamily.”
“AndthusmyfetishofAlexNilsenExhibitingSelf-Carewasborn,”Isay,andhesneaksaquickkissonthesideofmyhead.
Justthen,awashofsquealsandshrieksfloatsthroughthefrontdoorsofthebistro,andAlexstepsbackfromme.“Andthatwillbetheniecesandnephew.”32
ThisSummer
BRYCE’SKIDSAREsixandfouryearsold,bothgirls,andCameron’ssonisjustovertwo.Tham’ssisterhasasix-year-olddaughtertoo,andtogether,thefourofthemrunwildthroughtherestaurant,gigglesricochetingoffthechandeliers.
Alexishappytochaseafterthem,toflinghimselfontothefloorwhentheytrytoknockhimover,andtohoistthem,happilyshrieking,intotheairwhenhecatchesthem.
HeistheAlexIknowwiththem,funnyandopenandplayful,andevenifI’mnotsurehowtointeractwithkids,whenhepullsmeintothegame,Itrymybest.
“We’reprincesses,”Tham’sniece,Kat,tellsme,takingmyhand.“Butwe’realsowarriorssowehavetokillthedragon!”
“AndUncleAlexisthedragon?”Iconfirm,andshenods,wide-eyedandsolemn.
“Butwedon’thavetokillhim,”sheexplainsbreathlessly.“Ifwecantamehim,hecanbeourpet.”
Fromhalfwayunderatablewherehe’sfendingofftheNilsenbroodoneatatime,heshootsmeanabbreviatedSadPuppylook.
“Okay,”IsaytoKat.“What’stheplan?”
Thenightmovesinebbsandflows.Cocktailhourfirst,thendinner,amyriadoftinygourmetpizzasalldeckedoutingoatcheeseandarugula,summersquashandbalsamicdrizzle,pickledredonionandgrilledbrusselssprouts,andallkindsofthingsthatwouldmakepizzapuristslikeRachelKrohnscoff.
Wetakeseatsatthekids’table,whichBryce’swife,Angela,thanksmetipsilyforaboutahundredtimesafterthemealisover.“Ilovemykids,butsometimesIjustwanttositdowntodinnerandtalkaboutsomethingotherthanPeppaPig.”
“Huh,”Isay,“wemostlytalkedaboutRussianliterature.”
Sheslapsmyarmharderthanshemeanstowhenshelaughs,thengrabsBrycebythearmandpullshimover.“Honey,youhavetohearwhatPoppyjustsaid.”
Shehangsonhim,andhe’salittlestiff—aNilsendeepdown—buthealsokeepsahandonherlowback.Hedoesn’tlaughwhenAngelamakesmerepeatmyself,butsaysinhisflat,sincere,Nilsenway,“That’sfunny.Russianliterature.”
Beforedessertandcoffeeareserved,Tham’ssister(hugelypregnant,withtwins)standsandclinksaforktoherwaterglass,callingattentionattheheadofthearrangementoftables.“Ourparentsaren’tmuchforpublicspeaking,soIagreedtogivealittletoasttonight.”
Alreadyteary-eyed,shetakesadeepbreath.“Whowould’vethoughtmyannoyinglittlebrotherwouldturnouttobemybestfriend?”ShetalksaboutherandTham’schildhoodinnorthernCalifornia,theirscreamingfights,thetimehetookhercarwithoutaskingandcrasheditintoatelephonepole.Andthentheturningpoint,whensheandherfirsthusbanddivorced,andThamaskedhertomoveinwithhim.WhenshecaughthimcryingwhilewatchingSweetHomeAlabamaand,afterteasinghimappropriately,sunkdownontothecouchtowatchtherestwithhim,untiltheywerebothcryingwhilelaughingatthemselvesanddecidedtheyneededtogooutinthemiddleofthenighttogeticecream.
“WhenIgotmarriedagain,”shesays,“thehardestthingwasknowingI’dprobablynevergettolivewithyouagain.AndwhenyoustartedtalkingaboutDavid,Icouldtellhowsmittenyouwere,andIwasscaredIwasgoingtoloseevenmoreofyou.ThenImetDavid.”
Shemakesafacethatelicitslaughter,relaxedonTham’ssideofthefamilyandrestrainedonDavid’s.“RightawayIknewIwasgettinganotherbestfriend.There’snosuchthingasaperfectmarriage,buteverythingyoutwotouchbecomesbeautifulandthiswillbenodifferent.”
There’sapplauseandhuggingandkissingofcheeks,andservershavestartedtocomeoutofthekitchenwithdessertwhensuddenlyMr.(Ed)Nilsenisonhisfeet,swayingawkwardly,tappingaknifetohiswaterglasssolightlyhemightaswellbepantomimingit.
Davidshiftsinhisseat,andAlex’sshouldersriseprotectivelyasattentionsettlesonhisfather.
“Yes,”Edsays.
“Startingoffstrong,”Alexwhisperstightly.Isqueezehiskneebeneaththetableandfoldmyhandintohis.
Edtakesoffhisglasses,holdsthemathisside,andclearshisthroat.“David,”hesays,turningtowardthegrooms.“Mysweetboy.Iknowwehaven’talwayshaditeasy.Iknowyouhaven’t,”headdsmorequietly.“Butyou’vealwaysbeenaballofsunshine,and…”Heblowsoutabreath.Heswallowssomerisingemotionandcontinues.“Ican’ttakecreditforhowyou’veturnedout.Iwasn’talwaystherehowIshould’vebeen.Butyourbrothersdidanamazingjobraisingyou,andI’mproudtobeyourfather.”Helooksdownatthefloor,gatheringhimself.“I’mproudtoseeyoumarryingthemanofyourdreams.Tham,welcometothefamily.”
Astheapplauseliftsaroundtheroom,Davidcrossestohisfather.Heshakeshishand,thenthinksbetterofitandpullsEdintoahug.It’sbriefandawkward,butithappens,andbesidemeAlexrelaxes.Maybewhenthisweddingisover,everythingwillgobacktohowitwasbefore,butmaybethey’llchangetoo.
Afterall,Mr.Nilseniswearingabig-assgay-pridepin.Maybethingscanalwaysgetbetterbetweenpeoplewhowanttodoagoodjoblovingeachother.Maybethat’sallittakes.
Thatnight,whenwegetbacktothehotel,AlextakesaquickshowerwhileIflipthroughchannelsontheTV,pausingonarerunofBachelorinParadise.WhenAlexgetsoutofthebathroom,heclimbsontothebedanddrawsmeintohim,andIliftmyarmsovermyheadsohecantakemybaggyT-shirtoff,hishandsspanningwideacrossmyribs,hismouthdroppingkissesdownmystomach.“Tinyfighter,”hewhispersagainstmyskin.
Thistimeeverythingisdifferentbetweenus.Softer,gentler,slower.Wetakeourtime,saynothingthatcan’tbesaidwithourhandsandmouthsandlimbs
Iloveyou,hetellsmeinadozendifferentways,andIsayitbackeverytime.
Whenwe’refinished,welietogether,tangledupandsheenedinsweat,breathingdeepandcalm.Ifwetalked,oneofuswouldhavetosayTomorrowisthelastdayofthistrip.We’dhavetosayWhatnext,andthere’snoanswerforthatyet.
Sowedon’ttalk.Wejustfallasleeptogether,andinthemorning,whenAlexgetsbackfromhisrunwithtwocupsofcoffeeandapieceofcoffeecake,wejustkisssomemore,furiouslythistime,liketheroom’sonfireandthisisthebestwaytoputitout.Then,whenwehaveto,whenwe’reoutoftime,weunwindfromeachothertogetreadyforthewedding.
ThevenueisaSpanish-stylehousewithwrought-irongatesandalushgarden.Palmtreesandcolumnsandlong,darkwoodentableswithhigh-backed,hand-carvedchairs.Theirfloralarrangementsareallvibrantyellow,sunflowersanddaisiesanddelicatesprigsoftinywildflowers,andawhite-cladstringquartetplayssomethingdreamyandromanticasguestsareenteringthegrounds.
Morehigh-backedchairsarelineduponastretchofuninterruptedlawn,aburstofyellowflowersliningtheaislebetweenthem.Theceremonyisshortandsweetbecause—inDavid’swords,asthey’rewalkingbackdowntheaisletoanupbeat,stringsversionof“HereComestheSun”—it’stimetoparty!
Thedayiswhooshingpast,andanachetakesupresidencebeneathmyclaviclesthatseemstodeepenwiththetwilight.It’slikeI’mexperiencingthewholenighttwiceover,twoversionsofthesamefilmreelplayingslightlyoverlapped.
There’sthemewho’sherenow,eatinganincredibleseven-courseVietnamesemeal.Thesameonewho’schasingkidsaroundthelegsofobliviousadults,playinghide-and-seekwiththemandAlexundertables.Thesameonewho’schuggingmargaritasonthedancefloorwithAlexwhile“PourSomeSugaronMe”playsattopvolumeanddropsofsweatandchampagnesprinkleoverthecrowd.Thesameonewho’spullinghimclosewhentheFlamingoscomeon,playing“IOnlyHaveEyesforYou,”andwhoburiesmyfaceinhisneck,tryingtomemorizehissmellmorethoroughlythanthelasttwelveyearshaveallowed,soIcansummonitatwill,andeverythingaboutthisnightwillcomerushingback:hishandtightonmywaist,hismouthajaragainstmytemple,hishipsjustbarelyswayingasweholdontoeachother.
There’sthatPoppy,who’sexperiencingitallandhavingthemostmagicalnightofherlife.Andthenthere’stheonewho’salreadymissingit,who’swatchingthisallhappenfromsomepointinthedistance,knowingIcannevergobackanddoitalloveragain.
I’mtooafraidtoaskAlexwhatcomesnext.I’mtooafraidtoaskmyselfthat.Weloveeachother.Wewanteachother.
Butthathasn’tchangedtherestofoursituation.
SoIjustkeepholdingontohimandtellmyselfthat,fornow,Ishouldenjoythismoment.I’monvacation.Vacationsalwaysend.
It’stheveryfactthatit’sfinitethatmakestravelingspecial.Youcouldmovetoanyoneofthosedestinationsyoulovedinsmalldoses,anditwouldn’tbethespellbinding,life-alteringsevendaysyouspentthereasaguest,lettingaplaceintoyourheartfully,lettingitchangeyou.
Thesongends.
Thedanceends.
Notlongafterthat,therearesparklersbeinglitinalongtunnelofpeoplewholoveDavidandTham,andthenthey’rerunningthroughit,theirfacesawashinwarmlightanddeeplove,andthen,asifit’sapersondriftingofftosleep,thenightends.
AlexandIsayourgoodbyes,looseenoughfromanightofdrinkinganddancingtohugdozensofpeoplewhowereperfectstrangershoursago.Wedrivehomeinsilence,andwhenwegetthere,Alexdoesn’tshower,doesn’tevenundress.Wejustgetintobedandholdontoeachotheruntilwefallasleep.
???
THEMORNINGISbetter.
Foronething,webothforgottosetalarms,andwewereuplateenoughthatevenAlex’sinternalalarmclockdoesn’twakeusintimetolazearoundthehotel.We’rerunninglatefromthemomentweopenoureyes,andthere’snothingtodobutthrowclothesintobags,checkunderthebedsfordroppedsocksandbrasandwhateverelse.
“WestillhavetotaketheAspireback!”Alexrealizesaloudashe’szippinghisluggageclosed.
“Onit!”Isay.“IfIcangetaholdofthegirlwhoownsit,maybeshe’llletusleaveitattheairportandpayheranextrafiftybucksorsomething.”
Butwedon’tgetaholdofher,soinsteadwe’rescreamingdownthehighway,crossingourfingerswemakeittotheairportintime.
“Reallyregrettingnotshoweringnow,”Alexsaysasherollshiswindowdownandrakesahandthroughhisdirtyhair.
“Showering?”Isay.“WhenIwasfallingasleep,Ihadthethought,Ihavetopee,butI’llholdituntilmorning.”
Alexglancesoverhisshoulder.“I’msureyouleftanemptycupinhereatsomepointthisweek,ifthingsgetdesperate.”
“Rude!”Isay,buthe’sright.There’soneundermyfootandanotherinthebackseat’scupholder.“Let’shopeitdoesn’tcometothat.I’mnotafamouslygoodshot.”
Helaughs,butit’swooden.“ThisisnothowIimaginedthisdaygoing.”
“Meneither,”Isay.“Butthenagain,thewholetripwassortofsurprising.”
Atthat,hesmiles,gripsmyhandagainstthegearshift,andliftsittohislipsafewsecondslater,holdingittherebutnotquitekissingit.
“What,amIsticky?”Iask.
Heshakeshishead.“Justwanttorememberwhatyourskinfeelslike.”
“That’sreallysweet,Alex,”Isay,“andnotatallsomethingaserialkillerwouldsay.”
I’mdeflecting,butI’mnotsurehowelsetohandlethis.Amaddash,together,totheairport.Ahastygoodbyeatourgates—ormaybejustsplittingoffandrunninginoppositedirections.It’stheexactantithesisofeveryrom-commovieI’veeverloved,andifIletmyselfthinkaboutit,IthinkImighthaveafull-blownpanicattack.
Byamiracleandafairamountofspeeding(andyes,bribinganUberdrivertoskimthroughafewlate-yellowlightsafterdroppingofftheAspire),wemakeittotheairportandgetcheckedintoourflights.MineleavesfifteenminutesafterAlex’s,soweheadtohisgatefirst,detouringtobuyacouplegranolabarsandthelatestissueofR+Rfromabookstoreintheterminal.
Wegettohisgatejustasboardingbegins,butwehaveafewminutesuntilhisgroupiscalled,sowestandthere,panting,sweaty,shoulderssorefromcarryingourbags,myanklescuffedfromaccidentallywhackingitintomyhard-shellcarry-onbageveryfewsteps.
“Whyareairportssohot?”Alexsays.
“Isthistheset-upforajoke?”Iask.
“No,Igenuinelywanttoknow.”
“ComparedtoNikolai’sapartment,thisisarctic,Alex.”
Hissmileistense.Neitheroneofusishandlingthiswell.
“So,”hesays.
“So.”
“HowdoyouthinkthisarticleisgoingtogooverwithSwapna?Gardensthatcloseinthemiddleoftheday,andcarouselssohotthey’reunsafetoride?”
“Oh.Right.”Icough.I’mlessembarrassedthatIliedtoAlexaboutthistripthanatthefactthatIforgottomentionituntilnow,andamforcedtouseseveralofourlastpreciousmomentstogetherexplainingit.“SoR+Rmightnothavetechnicallyapprovedthistrip.”
Hearchesaneyebrow.“Mightnothave?”
“Ormighthaveoutrightrejectedit.”
“What,seriously?Thenwhyweretheypayingfor—”Hecutshimselfshortashereadstheansweronmyface.“Poppy.Youshouldn’thavedonethat.Oryoushouldhavetoldme.”
“WouldyouhavetakenthistripifyouknewIwaspayingforit?”
“Ofcoursenot,”hesays.
“Exactly,”Isay.“AndIneededtotalktoyou.Imean,obviouslyweneededtotalk.”
“Youcouldhavecalledme,”hereasons.“Weweretextingagain.Wewere…Idon’tknow,workingonit.”
“Iknow,”Isay.“Butitwasn’tthatsimple.Iwashavingahardtimeatwork,justfeelingoverthewholething,andlostandbored,andlike—likeIdon’tevenknowwhatIwantnextinmylife,andthenItalkedtoRachel,andshepointedoutthatI’dsortof…gotteneverythingIwantedprofessionally,andmaybeIjustneededtofindsomethingnewtowant,andthenIthoughtbacktowhenIwaslasthappyand—”
“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”Alexsays,shakinghishead.“Racheltoldyouto…trickmeintogoingonatripwithyou?”
“No!”Isay,panicwrigglinginmygut.Howisthisgoingofftherailssoquickly?“Notthat!Hermom’satherapist,andaccordingtoher,it’scommontobedepressedwhenyou’vemetallyourlong-termgoals.Becauseweneedpurpose.AndthenRachelsuggestedmaybeIjustneededtotakeabreakfromlifeandletmyselffigureoutwhatIwant.”
“Abreakfromlife,”Alexsaysquietly,hismouthgoingslack,hiseyesdarkandstormy.
It’simmediatelyobviousthatI’vesaidthewrongthing.Thisisallcomingoutsowrong.Ihavetofixit.“Ijustmean,Ihadn’treallybeenhappysinceourlasttrip.”
“SoyouliedtomesoI’dtakeatripwithyou,andthenyouhadsexwithme,andyoutoldmeyoulovedmeandcametomybrother’swedding,becauseyouneededabreakfromyourreallife.”
“Alex,ofcoursenot,”Isay,reachingforhim.
Hestepsbackfromme,eyeslow.“Pleasedon’ttouchmerightnow,Poppy.I’mtryingtothink,okay?”
“Thinkaboutwhat?”Iask,emotionthickeningmyvoice.Idon’tunderstandwhat’shappening,howI’vehurthimorhowtofixit.“Whyareyousoupsetrightnow?”
“BecauseImeantit!”hesays,finallymeetingmyeyes.
Apulseofpainshootsthroughmystomach.“SodidI!”Icry.
“Imeantit,andIknewImeantit,”hesays.“Itwasn’tanimpulse.IknewforyearsthatIlovedyou,andIthoughtaboutitfromeverysingleangleandknewwhatIwantedbeforeIeverkissedyou.Wewenttwoyearswithouttalking,andIthoughtaboutyoueverydayandIgaveyouthespaceIthoughtyouwanted,andthatwholetimeIaskedmyselfwhatI’dbewillingtodo,togiveup,ifyoudecidedyouwantedtobewithmetoo.Ispentthatwholetimealternatingbetweentryingtomoveonandletyougo,soyoucouldbehappy,andlookingatjobpostingsandapartmentsnearyou,justincase.”
“Alex.”Ishakemyhead,forcethewordspasttheknotinmythroat.“Ihadnoidea.”
“Iknow.”Herubsathisforeheadashecloseshiseyes.“Iknowthat.AndmaybeIshouldhavetoldyou.But,fuck,Poppy,I’mnotsomewatertaxidriveryoumetonvacation.”
“What’sthatsupposedtomean?”Idemand.Whenheopenshiseyes,they’resotearyIstarttoreachforhimagainuntilIrememberwhathesaid:pleasedon’ttouchmerightnow
“I’mnotavacationfromyourreallife,”hesays.“I’mnotanoveltyexperience.I’msomeonewho’sbeeninlovewithyouforadecade,andyoushouldneverhavekissedmeifyoudidn’tknowthatyouwantedthis,alltheway.Itwasn’tfair.”
“Iwantthis,”Isay,butevenasIsayit,apartofmehasnoideawhatthatmeans.
DoIwantmarriage?
DoIwanttohavekids?
DoIwanttoliveinaseventiesquad-levelinLinfield,Ohio?
DoIwantanyofthethingsthatAlexcravesforhislife?
Ihaven’tthoughtanyofthatthrough,andAlexcantell.
“Youdon’tknowthat,”Alexsays.“Youjustsaidyoudon’tknow,Poppy.Ican’tleavemyjobandmyhouseandmyfamilyjusttoseeifthatcuresyourboredom.”
“Ididn’taskyoutodothat,Alex,”Isay,feelingdesperate,likeI’mgrapplingforpurchaseandrealizingeverythingundermeismadeofsand.He’sslippingthroughmygripforthelasttime,andtherewillbenopackingthisallbackintoform.
“Iknow,”hesays,rubbingthelinesinhisforehead,wincing.“God,Iknowthat.It’smyfault.Ishould’veknownthiswasabadidea.”
“Stop,”Isay,wantingsobadlytotouchhim,achingathavingtosettleforclenchingmyhandsintofists.“Don’tsaythat.I’mfiguringthingsout,okay?Ijust…Ineedtofiguresomethingsout.”
Thegateagentcallsforgroupsixtostartboardingandthelastfewstragglerslineup.
“Ihavetogo,”hesays,withoutlookingatme.
Myeyescloudupwithtears,myskinhotanditchylikemybody’sshrinkingaroundmybones,becomingtootighttobear.“Iloveyou,Alex,”Igetout.“Doesn’tthatmatter?”
Hiseyescuttowardme,dark,fathomless,fullofhurtandwant.“Iloveyoutoo,Poppy,”hesays.“That’sneverbeenourproblem.”Heglancesoverhisshoulder.Thelinehasalmostdisappeared.
“Wecantalkaboutthiswhenwe’rehome,”Isay.“Wecanfigureitout.”
WhenAlexlooksbackatme,hisfaceisanguished,hiseyesredringed.“Look,”hesaysgently.“Idon’tthinkweshouldtalkforawhile.”
Ishakemyhead.“That’sthelastthingweshoulddo,Alex.Wehavetofigurethisout.”
“Poppy.”Hereachesformyhand,takesitlightlyinhis.“IknowwhatIwant.Youneedtofigurethisout.I’ddoanythingforyou,but—pleasedon’taskmetoifyou’renotsure.Ireally—”Heswallowshard.Thelineisgone.It’stimeforhimtogo.Heforcesouttherestinahoarsemurmur.“Ican’tbeabreakfromyourreallife,andIwon’tbethethingthatkeepsyoufromhavingwhatyouwant.”
Hisnamecatchesinmythroat.Hebendsalittle,restinghisforeheadagainstmine,andIclosemyeyes.WhenIopenthem,he’swalkingontothejetbridgewithoutlookingback.
Itakeadeepbreath,gatherupmythings,andheadtomygate.
WhenIsitdowntowaitandpullmykneesintomychest,hidingmyfaceagainstthem,Ifinallyletmyselfcryfreely
Forthefirsttimeinmylife,theairportstrikesmeastheloneliestplaceintheworld.
Allthosepeople,partingways,goingoffintheirowndirections,crossingpathswithhundredsofpeoplebutneverconnecting.33
TwoSummersAgo
ANOLDERGENTLEMANtravelswithustoCroatiaastheofficialR+Rphotographer.
Bernard.He’saloudtalker,alwayswearingafleecevest,oftenstandingbetweenAlexandmewithoutnoticingthefunnylooksweexchangeoverBernard’sbaldhead.(He’sshorterthanme,thoughthroughoutthetrip,heoftentellsushewasfivesixbackinhisprime.)
Together,thethreeofusseetheancientcityofDubrovnik,OldTown,withitshighstonewallsandwindingstreets,andfurtherout,therockybeachesandpristineturquoisewateroftheAdriatic.
TheotherphotographersI’vetraveledwithhaveallbeenfairlyindependent,butBernard’sarecentwidower,unusedtolivingalone.He’saniceguy,butendlesslysocialandtalkative,andthroughoutourtimeinthecity,IwatchhimwearAlexdown,untilallBernard’squestionsareansweredinmonosyllables.Bernarddoesn’tnotice;usuallyhisquestionsaremerespringboardsforstorieshe’dliketoshare.
Thestoriesinvolvealotofnamesanddates,andhetakesplentyoftimeensuringhe’sgettingeachright,sometimesgoingbackandforthfourorfivetimesuntilhe’spositivethiseventhappenedonaWednesdayandnot,ashefirstthought,aThursday.
Fromthecity,wetakeacrammedferrytoKor?ula,anislandoffthecoast.R+Rhasbookedustwoapartment-stylehotelroomsoverlookingthewater.SomehowBernardgetsitinhisheadthatheandAlexwillbesharingoneofthese,whichmakesnosensesinceheisanR+Remployee,whoshouldobviouslygethisownaccommodations,whileAlexismyguest.
Wetrytotellhimthis.
“Oh,Idon’tmind,”hesays.“Besides,Igottwobedroomsbyaccident.”
It’salostcausetryingtoconvincehimthatthatroomwassupposedtobeAlex’sandmine,thusthetwobedrooms,andhonestly,IthinkwebothfeeltoomuchsympathyforBernardtopushthematter.Theapartmentsthemselvesaresleekandmodern,allwhitesandstainlesssteelswithbalconiesoverlookingtheglitteringwater,butthewallsarepaper-thin,andIwakeeverymorningtothesoundsofthreetinychildrenrunningaroundandscreamingintheapartmentabovemine.Furthermore,somethinghasdiedinthewallbehindthedryerinthelaundrycloset,andeverydaythatIcalldowntothedesktotellthemthis,theysendupateenageboytodosomethingaboutthesmellwhileI’mout.I’mfairlysurehejustopensallthewindowsandspraysLysolallovertheplace,because
Iexpectedthistobethebestvacationofanywe’veevertaken.
Butevenasidefromthedeathsmellandtheshrieking-at-dawnbabies,there’sthefactofBernard.AfterTuscany,withouttalkingaboutit,AlexandIbothtookastepbackfromourfriendship.Insteadofdailytexts,westartedcatchingupeverycoupleweeks.Itwould’vebeentooeasytogobacktohowthingswerethen,butIcouldn’tdothat,tohimortoTrey.
InsteadIthrewmyselfintowork,takingeverytripthatcameup,sometimesbacktoback.AtfirstTreyandIwerehappierthanever—thiswaswherewethrived:onhorsebackandcamelback,hikingvolcanoesandcliff-jumpingoffwaterfalls.Buteventuallyournever-endingvacationstartedtofeellikerunning,likeweweretwobankrobbersmakingthebestofabadsituationwhilewewaitedfortheFBItoclosein.
Westartedarguing.He’dwanttogetupearly,andI’doversleep.Iwaswalkingtooslowly,andhewaslaughingtooloud.Iwasannoyedbyhowheflirtedwithourwaitress,andhecouldn’tstandhowIhadtobrowseeveryaisleofeveryidenticalshopwepassed.
WehadaweekleftofatriptoNewZealandwhenwerealizedwe’drunourcourse.
“We’rejustnothavingfunanymore,”Treysaid.
Istartedlaughingfromrelief.Wepartedwaysasfriends.Ididn’tcry.Thelastsixmonthshadbeenaslowunbraidingofourlives.Thebreakupwasjustthesnipofonelaststring.
WhenItextedAlextotellhim,hesaid,Whathappened?Areyouokay?
It’llbeeasiertoexplaininperson,Iwrote,hearttrilling.
Fairenough,hesaid.
Afewweekslater,alsoovertext,hetoldmethatheandSarahhadbrokenupagain.
Ihadn’tseenthatcoming:They’dmovedtoLinfieldtogetherwhenhe’dfinishedhisdoctorate,wereevenworkingatthesameschool—amiraclesoprofounditseemedliketheuniverse’sexpressapprovaloftheirrelationship—andfromeverythingAlexhadtoldme,they’dbeenbetterthanever.Happier.Itwasallsonaturalforthem.Unlesshewaskeepingtheirissuesprivate,whichwouldmakeperfectsense.
Youwanttotalk?Iasked,feelingatonceterrifiedandfullofadrenaline.
Likeyousaid,hewroteback,probablyeasiertoexplaininperson.
I’dbeenwaitingtwoandahalfmonthstohavethatconversation.ImissedAlexsobadly,andfinallytherewasnothinginthewayofusspeakingplainly,noreasontoholdbackortiptoearoundeachotherortrynottotouch.
ExceptforBernard.
Hekayaksatsunsetwithus.Ridesalongonourtourofthefamilywineriesgatheredtogetherawaysinland.Joinsusforseafooddinnerseverynight.Suggestsanightcapafterward.Henevertires.Bernard,Alexwhispersonenight,mightbeGod,andIsnortintomywhitewine.
“Allergies?”Bernardsays.“Youcanusemyhankie.”
Thenhepassesmeanhonest-to-godembroideredhankie.
IwishBernardwoulddosomethingawful,likeflossatthetable,orjustanythingthatwouldgivemethecouragetodemandanhourofspaceandprivacy.
ThisisthemostbeautifulandworsttripAlexandIhaveevertaken.
Onourlastnight,thethreeofusgetroaringdrunkatarestaurantoverlookingthesea,watchingthepinksandgoldsofthesunmeltacrosseverythinguntilthewaterisasheetoflight,replacedgraduallybyablanketofdeeppurple.Backattheresort,theskygonedark,wepartways,exhaustedinmorewaysthanoneandheavywithwine.
Fifteenminuteslater,Ihearalightknockonmydoor.IanswerinmypajamasandfindAlexstandingthere,grinningandflushed.“Well,thisisasurprise!”Isay,slurringalittle.
“Really?”Alexsays.“WithhowyouwereplyingBernardwithalcohol,Ithoughtthiswaspartofsomeevilplan.”
“Ishepassedout?”Iask.
“Snoringsofuckingloud,”Alexsays,andaswebothstarttolaugh,hepresseshisforefingertomylips.“Shhh,”hewarns,“I’vetriedtosneakoverherethelasttwonightsandhewokeup—andcameoutofhisbedroom—beforeIevenmadeittothedoor.IthoughtabouttakingupsmokingjustsoIcouldhaveanironcladexcuse.”
Morelaughterbubblesthroughme,warmingmyinsides,fizzingthroughthem.“Doyoureallythinkhewould’vefollowedyouover?”Iwhisper,hisfingerstillpressedtomylips.
“Iwasn’twillingtotakethatchance.”Ontheothersideofthewall,wehearawretchedsnore,andIstartgigglingsohardmylegsgowateryandIsinktothefloor.Alexdoestoo.
Wefallintoaheap,atangleoflimbsandsilent,quakinglaughter.Ismackfutilelyathisarmasanotherhorriblethunder-rollsnoreroarsthroughthewall.
“I’vemissedyou,”Alexsaysthroughagrinasthelaughter’ssubsiding.
“Metoo,”Isay,cheeksaching.Hebrushesthehairoutofmyface,staticmakingafewstrandsdancearoundhishand.“ButatleastnowIhavethreeofyou.”Igriphiswristtosteadymyselfandcloseoneeyetoseehimbetter.
“Toomanywine?”heteases,slippinghishandaroundmyneck.
“Nah,”Isay,“justenoughtoknockoutBernard.Theperfectamount.”MyheadispleasantlyswimmingandmyskinfeelswarmbeneathAlex’shand,ringsofsatisfyingheatreverberatingoutfromitallthewaytomytoes.“Thismustbehowitfeelstobeacat,”Ihum
Helaughs.“Howso?”
“Youknow.”Irockmyheadsidetoside,nestlingmyneckagainsthispalm.“Just…”Itrailoff,toocontentedtogoon.Hisfingersscratchinandoutagainstmyskin,tugginglightlyonmyhair,andIsighwithpleasureasIsinkagainsthim,myhandsettlingonhischestasmyforeheadrestsagainsthis.
Hesetshishandonmine,andIlacemyfingersintoitasItipmyfaceuptohis,ournosesgrazing.Hischinlifts,fingersgrazemyjaw.NextthingIknow,he’skissingme.
I’mkissingAlexNilsen
Awarm,slowdrinkofakiss.Bothofusarealmostlaughingatfirst,likethiswholethingisaveryfunnyjoke.Then,histonguesweepsovermybottomlip,abrushoffieryheat.Histeethcatchitbrieflynext,andthere’snomorelaughing.
Myhandsslipintohishairandhepullsmeacrosshislap,hishandsrunningupmybackanddownagaintosqueezemyhips.Mybreathsareshudderingandquickashismouthteasesmineopenagain,histonguesweepingdeeper,histastesweetandcleanandintoxicating.
We’refrantichandsandsharpteeth,fabricpeeledawayfromskin,andfingernailsdiggingintomuscles.ProbablyBernardisstillsnoring,butIcan’thearhimoverAlex’sdeliciouslyshallowbreathorhisvoiceinmyear,sayingmynamelikeaswearword,ormyheartbeatragingthroughmyeardrumsasIrockmyhipsagainsthis.
Allthosethingswedidn’tgettosaynolongermatterbecause,really,thisiswhatweneeded.Ineedmoreofhim.Ireachforhisbelt—becausehe’swearingabelt,ofcoursehe’swearingabelt—buthecatchesmywristanddrawsback,hislipsbee-stungandhairmussed,allofhimrumpledinacompletelyunfamiliarandextremelyappealingway.
“Wecan’tdothis,”hesays,voicethick.
“Wecan’t?”Stoppingfeelslikerunningintoawall.LiketherearelittlecartoonbirdstwirlingdazedlyaroundmyheadasItrytomakesenseofwhathe’ssaying.
“Weshouldn’t,”Alexamends.“We’redrunk.”
“Nottoodrunktomakeoutbuttoodrunktosleeptogether?”Isay,almostlaughingfromtheabsurdity,orfromthedisappointment.
Alex’smouthtwists.“No,”hesays,“Imean,itshouldn’thavehappenedatall.We’vebothbeendrinking,andwe’renotthinkingclearly—”
“Mm-hm.”Iscootawayfromhim,smoothingmypajamashirtbackdown.Myembarrassmentisthetotal-bodykind,agutpunchthatmakesmyeyeswater.Ishovemyselfoffthefloor,Alexfollowingmylead.“You’reright,”Isay.“Itwasabadidea.”
Alexlooksmiserable.“Ijustmean…”
“Igetit,”Isayquickly,tryingtopatchtheholebeforetheboatcantakeonmorewater.Itwasamistaketogothere,toriskthis.ButIneedtoconvincehimeverything’sfine,thatwedidn’tjustpourgasolineontoourfriendshipandlightamatch.“Let’snotmakethisabigdeal—it’snot,”Igoon,myconvictionbuilding.“It’slikeyousaid:weeachhad,like,threebottlesofwine.Weweren’tthinkingclearly.We’llpretenditneverhappened,okay?”
Hestaresatmehard,atenseexpressionIcan’tquiteread.“Youthinkyoucandothat?”
“Alex,ofcourse,”Isay.“We’vegotwaymorehistorythanjustonedrunkennight.”
“Okay.”Henods.“Okay.”Afterabeatofsilence,hesays,“Ishouldgettobed.”Hestudiesmeforanotherbeat,thenmumbles,“Goodnight,”andslipsoutthedoor.
Afterafewminutesofmortifiedpacing,Idragmyselftobed,whereeverytimeIstartdriftingoff,thewholeencounterplaysoverinmymind:theunbearableexcitementofkissinghimandtheevenmoreunbearablehumiliationofourconversation.
Inthemorning,whenIwake,there’soneblissfulmomentwhenIthinkIdreamedthewholething.ThenIstumbletothebathroommirrorandseeagoodold-fashionedhickeyonmyneck,andthecycleofmemoriesstartsanew.
IdecidenottobringitupwhenIseehim.ThebestthingIcandoispretendtotrulyhaveforgottenwhathappened.ToproveI’mokayandnothinghastochangebetweenus.
Whenwegettotheairport—Bernard,Alex,andI—andBernardwandersofftousethebathroom,wehaveourfirstminutealoneoftheday.
Alexcoughs.“I’msorryaboutlastnight.IknowIstarteditalland—itshouldn’thavehappenedlikethat.”
“Seriously,”Isay.“It’snotabigdeal.”
“Iknowyou’renotoverTrey,”hemurmurs,lookingaway.“Ishouldn’thave…”
WoulditmakethingsbetterorworsetoadmithowlittleTreycrossedmymindforweeksbeforethistrip?ThatlastnightIhadn’tbeenthinkingaboutanyonebutAlex?
“It’snotyourfault,”Ipromise.“Webothletithappen,anditdoesn’thavetomeananything,Alex.We’rejusttwofriendswhokissedoncewhiledrunk.”
Hestudiesmeforafewseconds.“Allright.”Hedoesn’tlooklikehe’sallright.Helookslikehe’dratherbeatasaxophoneconventionwithanynumberofserialkillersrightnow.
Myheartsqueezespainfully.“Sowe’regood?”Isay,willingittobeso.
Bernardreappearsthenwithastoryaboutaheavilytoilet-paperedairportbathroomheoncevisited—ontheSundayofMother’sDay,forthosewhowanttheexactdate—andAlexandIbarelylookateachother.
WhenIgethome,somethingkeepsmefromtextinghim.
He’lltextme,Ithink.ThenI’llknowwe’reokay.
Afteraweekofsilence,IsendhimacasualtextaboutafunnyT-shirtIseeonthesubway,andhewritesbackhabutnothingelse.Twoweekslater,whenIask,Areyouokay?hejustreplies,Sorry.Beenreallybusy.Youokay?
Forsure,Isay.
Alexstaysbusy.Igetbusytoo,andthat’sit.
Ialwaysknewtherewasareasonwekeptaboundaryup.We’dletourlibidosgetthebestofusandnowhecouldn’tevenlookatme,textmeback.
TenyearsoffriendshipflusheddownthedrainjustsoIcouldknowwhatAlexNilsentasteslike.34
ThisSummer
ICAN’TSTOPTHINKINGaboutthatfirstkiss.NotourfirstkissonNikolai’sbalconybuttheonetwoyearsago,inCroatia.Allthistime,thatmemoryhaslookedonewayinmymind,butnowitlooksentirelydifferent.
I’dthoughtheregrettedwhathappened.NowIunderstoodheregrettedhowithappened.Onadrunkwhim,whenhecouldn’tbesureofmyintentions.WhenIwasn’tsureofmyintentions.He’dbeenafraidithadn’tmeantanything,andthenI’dpretendedithadn’t.
AllthistimeI’dthoughthe’drejectedme.Andhe’dthoughtI’dbeencavalierwithhimandhisheart.ItmademeachetothinkofhowI’dhurthim,andworstofall,maybehewasright.
Becauseevenifthatkisshadn’tmeantnothingtome,Ialsohadn’tthoughtitthrough.Notthefirsttime,andnotthistimeeither.NotlikeAlexhad.
“Poppy?”Swapnasays,leaningaroundmycubicle.“Doyouhaveamoment?”
I’vebeenatmydesk,staringatthiswebsitefortourisminSiberia,forupwardsofforty-fiveminutes.TurnsoutSiberiaisactuallysortofbeautiful.Perfectforaself-imposedexileifoneshouldhaveneedofsuchathing.Iminimizethesite.“Um,sure.”
Swapnaglancesoverhershoulder,checkingwhoelseisintoday,parkedattheirdesks.“Actually,areyouupforawalk?”
It’sbeentwoweekssinceIgotbackfromPalmSprings,andit’stechnicallytooearlyforfallweather,butwe’vegotarandompopofittodayinNewYork.SwapnagrabsherBurberrytrenchandIgrabmyvintageherringboneoneandwesetofftowardthecoffeeshoponthecorner.
“So,”shesays.“Ican’thelpbutnoticeyou’vebeeninafunk.”
“Oh.”IthoughtI’dbeendoinganokayjobhidinghowIwasfeeling.Foronething,I’vebeenexercisingfor,like,fourhoursanight,whichmeansIsleeplikeababy,wakeupstillexhausted,andtrudgethroughmydayswithouttoomuchbrainpowerleftforwonderingwhenAlexmightansweroneofmyphonecallsorcallmeback.
OrwhythisjobfeelsastiringasbartendingbackinOhiodid.Ican’tmakeanythingadduphowitshouldanymore.Alldaylong,Ihearmyselfsayingthissamephrase,likeI’mdesperatetogetitoutofmybodyevenasIfeelincapable:Iamhavingahardtime
Asmildasthatstatementis—everybitasmildasIcan’thelpbutnoticeyou’vebeeninafunk—itsearstomycentereverytimeIhearit.
Iamhavingahardtime,Ithinkdesperatelyathousandtimesaday,andwhenItrytoprobeformoreinformation—Ahardtimewithwhat?—thevoicereplies,Everything.
Ifeelinsufficientasanadult.Ilookaroundattheofficeandseeeveryonetyping,takingcalls,makingbookings,editingdocuments,andIknowthey’realldealingwithatleastasmuchasIam,whichonlymakesmefeelworseabouthowhardeverythingfeelstome.
Living,beingresponsibleformyself,seemslikeaninsurmountablechallengelately.
SometimesIscrapemyselfoffmysofa,stuffafrozenmealinthemicrowave,andasIwaitforthetimertogooff,Ijustthink,Iwillhavetodothisagaintomorrowandthenextdayandthenextday.Everydayfortherestofmylife,I’mgoingtohavetofigureoutwhattoeat,andmakeitformyself,nomatterhowbadIfeelortiredIam,orhowhorriblethepoundinginmyheadis.EvenifIhaveaone-hundred-and-two-degreefever,Iwillhavetopullmyselfupandmakeaverymediocremealtogoonliving.
Idon’tsayanyofthistoSwapna,because(a)she’smyboss,(b)Idon’tknowifIcouldtranslateanyofthesethoughtsintospokenwords,and(c)evenifIcould,itwouldbehumiliatingtoadmitthatIfeelexactlylikethatincapable,lost,melancholystereotypeofamillennialthattheworldissofondofragingagainst.
“IguessIhavebeeninalittlebitofafunk,”iswhatIsay.“Ididn’trealizeitwasaffectingmywork.I’lldobetter.”
Swapnastopswalking,turnsonhertoweringLouboutins,andfrowns.“It’snotonlyaboutthework,Poppy.Ihavepersonallyinvestedinmentoringyou.”
“Iknow,”Isay.“You’reanamazingboss,andIfeelsolucky.”
“It’snotaboutthateither,”Swapnasays,theslightestbitimpatient.“WhatI’msayingisthatofcourseyou’renotobligatedtotalktomeaboutwhat’sgoingon,butIdothinkitwouldhelpifyouspokewithsomeone.Workingtowardyourgoalscanbeverylonely,andprofessionalburnoutisalwaysachallenge.I’vebeenthere,trustme.”
Ishiftanxiouslyonmyfeet.WhileSwapnahasbeenamentortome,we’veneverveeredtowardanythingpersonal,andI’munsurehowmuchtosay.
“Idon’tknowwhat’sgoingonwithme,”Iadmit.
IknowmyheartisbrokenatthethoughtofnothavingAlexinmylife.
IknowthatIwishIcouldseehimeverysingleday,andthere’snopartofmethat’simaginingwhatelsecouldbeoutthere,whoImightmissoutonknowingandlovingifweweretoreallybetogether.
IknowthatthethoughtofalifeinLinfieldterrifiesthehelloutofme.
IknowIworkedsohardtobethisperson—independent,welltraveled,successful—andIdon’tknowwhoIamifIletthatgo.
Iknowthatthere’sstillnootherjobouttherecallingtome,theobviousanswertomyunhappiness,andthatthisone,whichhasbeenamazingforagoodportionofthelastfourandahalfyears,latelyhasonlyleftmetired.
AndallofthataddsuptohavingnofuckingcluewhereIgonext,andthusnorealrighttocallAlex,whichiswhyI’vefinallystoppedtryingforthetimebeing.
“Professionalburnout,”Isayaloud.“That’sathingthatpasses,right?”
Swapnasmiles.“Forme,sofar,italwayshas.”Shereachesintoherpocketandpullsoutalittlewhitebusinesscard.“ButlikeIsaid,ithelpstospeakwithsomeone.”Iacceptthecard,andshetipsherchintowardthecoffeeshop.“Whydon’tyoutakeafewminutestoyourself?Sometimesachangeofsceneryisallthat’sneededtogetalittleperspective.”
Achangeofscenery,Ithinkasshestartsbackthewaywecame.Thatusedtowork
Ilookdownatthebusinesscardinmyhandandcan’thelpbutlaugh.
Dr.SandraKrohn,psychologist
IpulloutmyphoneandtextRachel.IsDr.Momacceptingnewpatients?
IsthecurrentPopewildlytransgressive?shetextsback.
???
RACHEL’SMOTHERHASahomeofficeinherbrownstoneinBrooklyn.WhileRachel’sowndesignaestheticisairyandlight,hermother’sdecoriswarmandcozy,alldarkwoodandstainedglass,hangingleafyplantsandbookspiledhighoneverysurface,windchimestwinklingoutsidealmosteverywindow.
Inaway,itremindsmeofbeingathome,althoughDr.Krohn’sartsy,cultivatedversionofmaximalismisafarcryfromMomandDad’sMuseumtoOurChildhood.
DuringourfirstsessionItellherIneedhelpfiguringoutwhatcomesnextforme,butsherecommendswestartwiththepastinstead.
“There’snotmuchtosay,”Itellher,thenproceedtotalkforfifty-sixminutesstraight.Aboutmyparents,aboutschool,aboutthefirsttriphomewithGuillermo.
She’stheonlypersonI’vesharedanyofthiswithasidefromAlex,andwhileitfeelsgoodtogetitout,I’mnotsurehowit’shelpingwithmylife-explodingcrisis.Rachelmakesmepromisetostickwithitforatleastacouplemonths.“Don’trunfromthis,”shesays.“Youwon’tbedoingyourselfanyfavors.”
Iknowshe’sright.I’vehavetorunthrough,notaway.Myonlyhopeforfiguringthisoutistostay,sitinthediscomfort.
Inmyweeklytherapysessions.InmyjobatR+R.Inmymostlyemptyapartment.
Myblogsitsunused,butIstarttojournal.Myworktripsarelimitedtoregionalweekendgetaways,andduringmydowntime,Iscourtheinternetforself-helpbooksandarticles,lookingforsomethingthatspeakstomelikethattwenty-one-thousand-dollarbearstatuedefinitelydidnot.
Sometimes,IlookforjobsinNewYork;othertimes,IchecklistingsnearLinfield.
Ibuymyselfaplant,abookaboutplants,andasmallloom.ItrytoteachmyselfhowtoweavewithYouTubevideosandrealizewithinthreehoursthatI’masboredbyitasIambadatit.
Still,Iletthehalf-finishedweavingsitoutonmytablefordays,anditfeelslikeproofthatIlivehere.Ihavealife,here,aplacethat’smine.
OnthelastdayofSeptember,I’monmywaytomeetRachelatthewinebarwhenmybaggetscaughtinthesubwaydoorsofacrowdedtraincar.
“Shit,shit,shit!”Ihiss,whileontheotherside,afewpeopleworktoprythemopen.Abaldingbutyoungishmaninabluesuitmanagestogetthedoorsapart,andwhenIlookuptothankhim,recognitionflashesclearandsharpacrosshisblueeyes.
“Poppy?”hesays,pushingthedoorsalittlefurtherapart.“PoppyWright?”
I’mtoostunnedtoreply.Hestepsoutofthetraincar,despitehavingmadenoefforttogetoutthefirsttimethedoorsopened.Thisisn’thisstop,buthe’sgettingoutandIhavetostepbacktomakeroomforhimasthedoorssnapclosedagain.
Andthenwe’restandingthereontheplatform,andIshouldsaysomething,IknowIhaveto—hegotoffthefreakingtrain.Imanageonly,“Wow.Jason.”
Henods,grinning,touchinghischestwherealightpinktiehangsfromthepressedcollarofhiswhiteshirt.“JasonStanley.EastLinfieldHighSchool.”
Mybrainisstilltryingtoprocessthis.Itcan’treconcilehimagainstthisbackdrop.Inmycity,inthelifeIbuilttonevertouchmyoldone.Istammer,“Right.”
JasonStanleyhaslostmostofhishair.He’sputonsomeweightaroundthemiddle,butthere’sstillsomethingofthecuteboyIoncehadacrushon,whothenruinedmylife.
Helaughs,elbowsme.“Youweremyfirstgirlfriend.”
“Well,”Isay,becausethatdoesn’tseemquiteright.I’veneverthoughtofJasonStanleyasmyfirstboyfriend.First-crush-turned-bullymaybe.
“Areyoubusyrightnow?”Heglancesathiswatch.“I’vegotafewminutesifyouwanttocatchup.”
Idonotwanttocatchup.
“I’mactuallyonmywaytotherapy,”Isay,forsomefuckingreason.Itwasthefirstexcusethatcametomind.I’dprefertohaveblurtedoutthatIwastakingametaldetectortothenearestbeachtolookforquarters.Istridetowardthesteps,andJasonfollowsalong.
“Therapy?”hesays,stillgrinning.“NotbecauseofthatshitIpulledwhenIwasajealouslittleprick,Ihope.”Hewinks.“Imean,youhopetomakeanimpression,justnotthatsort.”
“Idon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout,”Ilieasweclimbthesteps.
“Really?”Jasonsays.“God,that’sarelief.Ithinkaboutitallthetime.EventriedtolookyouuponFacebookoncesoIcouldapologize.Youdon’thaveFacebook,doyou?”
“Notreally,no,”Isay.
IdohaveFacebook.IdonothavemylastnameonFacebookspecificallybecauseIdidn’twantpeoplelikeJasonStanleyfindingme.OranyonefromLinfield.Iwantedtovanishthatpartofmeandreappearfullyformedinanewcity,andthat’swhatIdid.
Weemergefromthesubwayontothetree-linedstreets.Thatsamenipisbackintheair.Fallhasfinallyswallowedupthelastbitesofsummer.
“Anyway,”Jasonsays,thefirstsignsofembarrassmentkickingin.Hestops,rubbingthebackofhishead.“I’llleaveyoualone.IsawyouandIcouldn’tbelieveit.Ijustwantedtosayhi.Andsorry,Iguess.”
ButIstoptoo,becausehaven’tIbeensayingforamonththatI’mdonerunningfromproblems,damnit?IleftLinfield,andsomehowthatwasn’tenough.He’shere.Liketheuniverseisgivingmeahardshoveintherightdirection
Itakeabreathandwheeltowardhim,crossingmyarms.“Sorryforwhat,Jason?”
Hemustseeitinmyface,thatIwaslyingaboutnotremembering,becausehelookshugelyembarrassednow.
Hetakesastiff,stutteringbreath,studieshisbrowndressshoesguiltily.“Yourememberhowawfulmiddleschoolwas,right?”hesays.“Youfeelsooutofplace—likesomething’swrongwithyouandanysecondeveryoneelseisgonnafigureitout.Youseeithappentootherpeople.Kidsyouusedtoplayfoursquarewithsuddenlygettingmeannicknames,notgettinginvitedtobirthdayparties.Andyouknowyoucouldbenext,soyouturnintoalittleasshole.Ifyoupointatotherpeople,noonewilllooktoocloselyatyou,right?Iwasyourasshole—Imean,Iwastheassholeinyourlife,forawhile.”
Thesidewalkswaysinfrontofme,awaveofdizzinesscrashingoverme.WhateverIwasexpecting,thatwasn’tit.
“Ihonestlycan’tbelieveI’mevensayingthis,”hesays.“Ijustsawyouonthattrainplatformand—Ihadtosaysomething.”
Jasontakesadeepbreath,hisfrowndrawingtiredwrinklesatthecornersofhismouthandeyes.
We’resoold,Ithink.Whendidwegetsoold?
Suddenlywe’renotkidsanymore,anditfeelslikeithappenedovernight,sofastIdidn’thavetimetonotice,toletgoofeverythingthatusedtomattersomuch,toseethattheoldwoundsthatoncefeltlikegut-levellacerationshavefadedtosmallwhitescars,mixedinamongthestretchmarksandsunspotsandlittledivotswheretimehasgrazedagainstmybody.
I’veputsomuchtimeanddistancebetweenmyselfandthatlonelygirl,andwhatdoesitmatter?Hereisapieceofmypast,rightinfrontofme,milesawayfromhome.Youcan’toutrunyourself.Notyourhistory,notyourfears,notthepartsofyourselfyou’reworriedarewrong.
Jasondartsanotherglanceathisfeet.“Atthereunion,”hesays,“someonetoldmeyouweredoinggreat.WorkingatR+R.That’samazing.Iactually,um,grabbedanissueawhilebackandreadyourarticles.It’ssocool,seemslikeyou’veseenthewholeworld.”
Finally,Imanagetospeak.“Yeah.It’s…it’sreallycool.”
Hissmilewidens.“Andyoulivehere?”
“Mm-hm.”Icoughtoclearmythroat.“Whataboutyou?”
“Nah,”hesays.“I’monbusiness.Salesstuff.I’mstillbackinLinfield.”
This,Irealize,iswhatI’vebeenwaitingforforyears.ThemomentwhenIfinallyknowI’vewon:Igotout.Imadesomethingofmyself.IfoundaplaceIbelonged.IprovedIwasn’tbrokenwhilethepersonwhowascruelesttomestayedstuckincrappylittleLinfield.
Exceptthat’snothowIfeel.BecauseJasondoesn’tseemstuck,andhecertainlyisn’tbeingcruel.He’shere,inthiscity,inanicewhiteshirt,beinggenuinelykind.
There’sastinginginmyeyes,ahotfeelinginthebackofmythroat.
“Ifyou’reeverbackthere,”Jasonsaysuncertainly,“andyouwannameetup…”
Itrytomakesomekindofnoiseofassent,butnothinghappens.It’slikethetinypersonwhositsatthecontrolpanelinmybrainhasjustpassedout.“So,”Jasongoeson.“Sorryagain.Ihopeyouknowitwasalwaysaboutme.Notyou.”
Thesidewalkswingsagain,apendulum.LiketheworldasI’vealwaysseenithasbeenjostledsohardit’srocking,mightcomecrashingdownentirely.
Obviouslypeoplegrowup,avoicesaysinmyhead.Youthinkallthosepeoplewerejustfrozenintime,justbecausetheystayedinLinfield?
Butlikehesaid,it’snotaboutthem,it’saboutme.
That’sexactlywhatIthought.
ThatifIdidn’tgetout,I’dalwaysbethatlonelygirl.Iwouldneverbelonganywhere.
“Soifyou’reinLinfield…”hesaysagain.
“Butyou’renothittingonme,right?”Isay.
“Oh!Godno!”Nowheholdsuphishand,showingoffoneofthosethickblackbandsonhisringfinger.“Married.Happily.Monogamously.”
“Cool,”Isay,becauseit’sreallytheonlyEnglishwordIrememberatpresent.WhichissayingsomethingsinceIdon’tspeakanyotherlanguages.
“Yep!”hesays.“Well…seeya.”
AndthenJasonStanley’sgone,assuddenlyasheappeared.
BythetimeIgettothewinebar,I’vestartedtocry.(What’snew?)WhenRacheljumpsupfromourusualtable,shelooksstrickenatthesightofme.“Areyouokay,babe?”
“I’mgoingtoquitmyjob,”Isaytearily.
“Oh…kay.”
“Imean”—Isniffhard,wipeatmyeyes—“notimmediately,likeinamovie.I’mnotgoingtowalkintoSwapna’sofficeandbe,like,Iquit!Andthenwalkstraightoutoftheofficeinatightreddresswithmyhairdownmybackoranything.”
“Well,that’sgood.Orangeisbetterforyourcomplexion.”
“Eitherway,Ihavetofindanotherjob,beforeIcanleave,”Isay.“ButIthinkIjustfiguredoutwhyI’vebeensounhappy.”35
ThisSummer
IFYOUNEEDme,”Rachelsays,“I’llgowithyou.Imean,Iseriouslywill.I’llbuyaticketonthewaytotheairport,andI’llgowithyou.”
Evenasshesaysit,shelookslikeI’mholdingoutagiantcobrawithhumanblooddrippingoffitsteeth.
“Iknow.”Isqueezeherhand.“ButthenwhowillkeepusuptodateoneverythinghappeninginNewYork?”
“Oh,thankGod,”shesaysinagust.“Iwasafraidyou’dtakemeuponthatforaminute.”
Shepullsmeintoahug,kissesmeoneithercheek,andputsmeintothecab.
MyparentsbothcometopickmeupfromtheCincinnatiairport.They’rewearingmatchingI–heartsymbol–NewYorkT-shirts.
“Thoughtitwouldmakeyoufeelathome!”Momsays,laughingsohardatherjokethatshe’spracticallycrying.IthinkitmightbethefirsttimesheorDadhasacknowledgedNewYorkasmyhome,whichmakesmehappyononelevelandsadonanother.
“Ialreadyfeelathomehere,”Itellher,andshemakesabigshowofclutchingherheart,andasqueakofemotionsneaksoutofher.“Bytheway,”shesaysaswebustleacrosstheparkinglot,“Imadebuckeyecookies.”
“Sothat’sdinner,butwhataboutbreakfast?”Iask.
Shetitters.NooneontheplanetthinksI’masfunnyasmymomdoes.It’sliketakingcandyfromababy.Orgivingcandytoababy.
“So,buddy,”Dadsaysoncewe’reinthecar.“Towhatdoweowethishonor?It’snotevenabankholiday!”
“Ijustmissedyouguys,”Isay,“andAlex.”
“Shoot,”Dadgrunts,puttingonhisturnsignal.“Nowyou’regonnamakemecry.”
WegohomefirstsoIcanchangeoutofmyplaneclothes,givemyselfapeptalk,andbidemytime.School’snotoutuntiltwothirty.
Untilthen,thethreeofussitontheporch,drinkinghomemadelemonade.MomandDadtaketurnstalkingabouttheirplansforthegardennextyear.Whatallthey’llbepullingup.Whatnewflowersandtreesthey’llplant.ThefactthatMomistryingtoMarieKondothehousebuthasonlymanagedtogetridofthreeshoeboxes’worthofstuffsofar.
“Progressisprogress,”Dadsays,reachingouttorubhershoulderaffectionately.“Havewetoldyouabouttheprivacyfence,buddy?Thenewnext-doorneighborisagossip,sowedecidedweneededafence.”
“Hecomesbytotellmewhateveryoneonthiscul-de-sacisupto,anddoesn’thaveanythinggoodtosay!”Momcries.“I’msurehe’ssayingthesamekindsofthingsaboutus.”
“Oh,Idoubtit,”Isay.“Yourlieswillbemuchmorecolorful.”
ThisdelightsMom,obviously:candy,meetbaby.
“Oncewegetthefenceup,”Dadsays,“he’lltelleveryonewe’rerunningamethlab.”
“Oh,stop.”Momsmackshisarm,butthey’rebothlaughing.“We’vegottovideo-callwiththeboyslater.Parkerwantstodoareadingofthenewscreenplayhe’sworkingon.”
Inarrowlyavoidaspit-take.
Thelastscreenplaymybrother’sbeenbrainstorminginthegrouptextisagrittydystopianSmurfsoriginstorywithatleastonesexscene.Hisreasoningis,somedayhe’dliketowritearealmovie,butbywritingonethatcan’tpossiblygetmade,he’stakingthepressureoffhimselfduringthelearningprocess.AlsoIthinkheenjoysscandalizinghisfamily.
Attwofifteen,Iasktotakethecarandheaduptomyoldhighschool.Onlyatthatpoint,Irealizethetank’sempty.Afterthequickdetourforgas,Ipullintotheschoolparkinglotattwofifty.Twoseparateanxietiesarewarringfordominationinsideme:theonethat’scomposedofterroratthethoughtofseeingAlex,sayingwhatIneedto
Imarchuptheconcretestepstotheglassfrontdoors,takeonelastdeepbreath,and—
Thedoordoesn’tbudge.It’slocked.
Right.
Isortofforgotthatanyrandomadultcan’twalkintoahighschoolanymore.Definitelyforthebest,ineverysituationexceptthisone.Iknockonthedooruntilabeakyresourceofficerwithahaloofgrayhairapproachesandcracksthedoorafewinches.“CanIhelpyou?”
“I’mheretoseesomeone,”Isay.“Ateacher—AlexNilsen?”
“Name?”heasks.
“AlexNilsen—”
“Yourname,”theofficersays,correctingme.
“Oh,PoppyWright.”
Heclosesthedoor,disappearingforasecondintothefrontoffice.Amomentlater,hereturns.“Sorry,ma’am,wedon’thaveyouinoursystem.Wecan’tletinunregisteredguests.”
“Couldyoujustgethim,then?”Itry
“Ma’am,Ican’tgotrackdown—”
“Poppy?”someonesaysbehindhim.
Oh,wow!Ithinkatfirst.Someonerecognizesme!Whatluck!
Andthenthepretty,leanbrunettestepsuptothedoor.Mystomachbottomsout.
“Sarah.Wow.Hi.”I’dforgottenthatIcouldpotentiallyrunintoSarahTorvalhere.Borderlinemonumentaloversight.
Sheglancesbackattheresourceofficer.“I’vegotit,Mark,”shesays,andstepsoutsidetotalktome,foldingherarmsacrossherself.She’swearingacutepurpledressanddarkdenimjacket,largesilverearringsdancingfromherears;shehasjustasplashoffrecklesacrosshernose.
Asever,sheiscompletelyadorableinthatkindergarten-teacherway.(Despitebeinganinth-gradeteacher,ofcourse.)
“Whatareyoudoinghere?”sheasks,notunkindly,thoughdefinitelynotwarmly.
“Oh,um.Visitingmyparents.”
Shearchesabrowandglancesattheredbrickbuildingbehindher.“Atthehighschool?”
“No.”Ipushthehairoutofmyeyes.“Imean,that’swhatI’mdoinghere.ButwhatI’mdoinghereis…Iwashoping,Imean…IwantedtotalktoAlex?”
Hereyerollisminimal,butitstings.
Iswallowanapple-sizedknot.“Ideservethat,”Isay.Itakeabreath.Thiswon’tbefun,butit’snecessary.“Iwasreallycarelessabouteverything,Sarah.Imean,myfriendshipwithAlex,everythingIexpectedfromhimwhileyouweretogether.Itwasn’tfairtoyou.Iknowthatnow.”
“Yeah,”shesays.“Youwerecarelessaboutit.”
We’rebothsilentforabeat.
Finally,shesighs.“Weallmadesomebaddecisions.Iusedtothinkthatifyoujustwentaway,allmyproblemswouldbesolved.”Sheuncrossesherarmsandrecrossesthemtheotherway.“Andthenyoudid—youbasicallydisappearedafterwewenttoTuscany,andsomehow,thatwasevenworseformyrelationship.”
Iswayfromfoottofoot.“I’msorry.IwishI’dunderstoodwhatIwasfeelingbeforeithadachancetohurtanyone.”
Shenodstoherself,examinestheperfectlypaintedtoenailspokingoutofhertanleathersandals.“Iwishsotoo,”shesays.“Orthathehad.OrthatIhad.Reallyifanyofushadreallyknownhowyoutwofeltabouteachother,itwould’vesavedmealotoftimeandpain.”
“Yeah,”Iagree.“Soyouandhearen’t…”
Sheletsmewaitforafewseconds,andIknowit’snotanaccident.Asemidevilishsmilecurlsupherpinklips.“Wearen’t,”sherelents.“ThankGod.Buthe’snothere.Healreadyleft.Ithinkhewastalkingaboutgettingawayfortheweekend.”
“Oh.”Myheartsinks.Iglancebackatmyparents’minivanparkedinthehalf-emptylot.“Well,thanksanyway.”
Shenods,andIstartdownthesteps.“Poppy?”
Iturnback,andthelight’sshiningsobrightonherthatIhavetoshieldmyeyestolookather.Itmakesherlooklikeshe’sasaint,earningherhalobyunwarrantedkindnesstowardme.I’lltakeit,Ithink.
“UsuallyonFridays,”shesaysslowly,“teachersgotoBirdies.It’satradition.”Shemoves,andthelightletsupenoughformetomeethereyes.“Ifhehasn’tleft,hemightbethere.”
“Thanks,Sarah.”
“Please,”shesays.“You’redoingtheworldafavorbytakingAlexNilsenoffthemarket.”
Ilaugh,butit’sleadeninmystomach.“I’mnotsurethat’swhathewants.”
Sheshrugs.“Maybenot,”shesays.“Butmostofusaretooscaredtoevenaskwhatwewant,incasewecan’thaveit.Readthatinthisessayaboutsomethingcalled‘millennialennui.’”
Istiflealaughofsurprise,clearmythroat.“Kindofacatchyname.”
“Right?”shesays.“Anyway.Goodluck.”
???
BIRDIESISACROSSthestreetfromtheschool,andthetwo-minutedriveoverisaboutfourhourstooshorttoformulateanewplan.
Thewholeflightdown,Ipracticedmyimpassionedspeechwiththethoughtthatitwouldbesaidinprivate,inhisclassroom.
Nowit’sgoingtobeinabarfullofteachers,includingsomewhoseclassesItook(andskipped).Ifthere’soneplaceIhavejudgedmoreharshlythanthefluorescent-lithallsofEastLinfieldHighSchool,it’sthedark,crampedbarwiththeglowingneonBUDWEISERsignI’menteringrightnow.
Allatonce,thelightofdayisshutoutandcolorfuldotsdanceinfrontofmyeyesastheyadjusttothisdimplace.There’saRollingStonessongplayingontheradio,andconsideringit’sonlythreeintheafternoon,thebarisalreadyhoppingwithpeopleinbusinesscasual,aseaofkhakisandbutton-upsandcottondressesinmonochrome,notwalls—clubsandgreenAstroturfandframedpicturesofgolfersandgolfcourses.
Iknowthere’sacityinIllinoiscalledNormal,butI’mguessingitdoesn’tholdacandletothissuburbancorneroftheuniverse.
TherearemountedTVsturneduptooloud,ascratchyradioplayingunderneaththat,burstsoflaughterandraisedvoicescomingfromthegroupscrowdedaroundhigh-topsorlinedupalongeithersideofnarrowrectangulartables.
AndthenIseehim.
Tallerthanmost,stillerthanall,hisshirtsleevesrolledtotheelbowsandbootsrestingonthemetalrungofhischair,hisshouldershunchedforwardandhisphoneout,thumbslowlyscrollinguphisscreen.MyheartrisesintomythroatuntilIcantasteit,allmetallicandhotandpulsingtoohard.
There’sapartofme—fine,amajority—thatwantstobolt,evenafterflyingallthewayhere,butrightthenthedoorsquealsopenandAlexglancesup,hiseyeslockingontome.
We’relookingateachother,andIimagineIlooknearlyasshockedashedoes,likeIdidn’tarrivespecificallyonahottipthathewashere.Iforcemyselftotakeafewstepstowardhim,thenstopattheendofthetable,where,gradually,theotherteacherslookupfromtheirbeersandwhitewinesandvodkatonicstoprocessthefactofme.
“Hi,”Alexsays,littlemorethanawhisper.
“Hi,”Isay.
Iwaitfortheresttopourout.Nothingdoes.
“Who’syourfriend?”anoldladyinamaroonturtleneckasks.IclockherforDelallo,evenbeforeIseetheELHSnamebadgeshe’sstillwearingaroundherneck.
“She’s…”Alex’svoicedropsoff.Hestandsfromhischair.“Hi,”hesaysagain.
Therestofthetableareexchanginguncomfortablelooks,kindofscootingtheirchairsin,anglingtheirbacksawayinanattempttogiveusalevelofprivacythat’simpossibleatthispoint.Delallo,Inotice,keepsoneeartiltedalmostpreciselytowardus.
“Icametotheschool,”Imanage.
“Oh,”Alexsays.“Okay.”
“Ihadthisplan.”Irubmysweatypalmsagainstmyorangepolyesterbell-bottoms,wishingIwasn’tdressedlikeatrafficcone.“Iwasgoingtoshowuptotheschool,becauseIwantedyoutoknowthatifthere’sonethinginthisworldthatcouldgetmetogothere,it’syou.”
Hiseyesbrieflypassoverthetableofteachersagain.Sofar,myspeechdoesn’tseemtobecomfortinghim.Hiseyescuttomine,thendroptoavaguepointonmyleft.“Yeah,Iknowyoureallyhateitthere,”hemurmurs.
“Ido,”Iagree.“Ihavealotofbadmemoriesthere,andIwantedtoshowupthere,andjust,like,tellyou,that…thatIwouldgoanywhereforyou,Alex.”
“Poppy,”hesays,thewordhalfsigh,halfplea.
“No,wait,”Isay.“IknowIhaveafifty-fiftychancehere,andthere’ssomuchofmethatwantstonotevensaytherestofthis,Alex,butIneedto,soplease,don’ttellmeyetifyouneedtobreakmyheart.Okay?LetmesaythisbeforeIlosethenerve.”
Hislipspartforamoment,hisgreen-goldeyeslikestorm-floodedrivers,brutalandrushing.Hepresseshismouthclosedagainandnods.
FeelinglikeI’mjumpingoffacliff,unabletoseewhatliesthroughthefogbeneathme,Igoon.
“Ilovedrunningmyblog,”Itellhim.“Iloveditsomuch,andIthoughtitwasbecauseIlovedtraveling—whichIdo.Butinthelastfewyears,everythingchanged.Iwasn’thappy.Travelingfeltdifferent.AndmaybeyouweresortofrightthatIcameatyoulikeyouwereaBand-Aidthatcouldfixeverything.Orwhatever—afundestinationtogivemeadopaminerushandanewperspective.”
Hiseyesdrop.Hewon’tlookatme,andIfeellikeevenifhewastheonewhosaiditfirst,myconfirmationiseatinghimalive.
“Istartedtherapy,”Iblurtout,tryingtokeepthingsmoving.“AndIwastryingtofigureoutwhyitfeelssodifferentnow,andIwaslistingallthedifferencesbetweenmylifethenandnow,anditwasn’tjustyou.Imean,you’rethebiggestone.Youwereonthosetrips,andthenyouweren’t,butthatwasn’ttheonlychange.Allthosetripswetook,thebestthingaboutthem—otherthandoingitallwithyou—wasthepeople.”
Hisgazelifts,narrowedinthought.
“Ilovedmeetingnewpeople,”Iexplain.“Iloved…feelingconnected.Feelinginteresting.Growinguphere,Iwassofuckinglonely,andIalwaysfeltliketherewassomethingwrongwithme.ButItoldmyselfifIwentsomewhereelse,itwouldbedifferent.There’dbeotherpeoplelikeme.”
“Iknowthat,”hesays.“Iknowyouhateithere,Poppy.”
“Idid,”Isay.“Ihatedit,soIescaped.AndwhenChicagodidn’tfixeverythingforme,Ilefttheretoo.OnceIstartedtraveling,though,thingsfinallyfeltbetter.Imetpeople,and—Idon’tknow,withoutthebaggageofhistoryorthefearofwhatwouldhappen,itfeltsomucheasiertoopenuptopeople.Tomakefriends.Iknowitsoundspathetic,butallthoselittlechanceencounterswehad—thosemademelesslonely.ThosemademefeellikeIwassomeonepeoplecouldlove.AndthenIgottheR+Rjob,andthetripschanged;thepeoplechanged.Ionlymetchefsandhotelmanagers,peoplewantingwrite-ups.I’dgoonamazingtrips,butI’dcomehomefeelingempty.AndnowIrealizeit’sbecauseIwasn’tconnectingtoanyone.”
“I’mgladyoufigureditout,”Alexsays.“Iwantyoutobehappy.”
“Buthere’sthething,”Isay.“EvenifIquitmyjobandstartedtakingtheblogseriouslyagain,wentbacktomeetingalltheBucksandLitasandMathildesoftheworld—it’snotgoingtomakemehappy.
“Ineededthosepeople,becauseIfeltalone.IthoughtIhadtorunhundredsofmilesawayfromheretofindsomeplacetobelong.Ispentmywholelifethinkinganyoneoutsidemyfamilywhogottooclose,sawtoomuch,wouldn’twantmeanymore.Thesafestthingwasthosequick,serendipitousmomentswithstrangers.That’sallIthoughtIcouldhave.
“Andthentherewasyou.”Myvoicewobblesdangerously.Isteelmyself,straightenmyspine.“IloveyousomuchthatI’vespenttwelveyearsputtingasmuchdistancebetweenusasIcould.Imoved.Itraveled.Idatedotherpeople.ItalkedaboutSarahallthefuckingtimebecauseIknewyouhadacrushonher,anditfeltsaferthatway.BecausethelastpersonIcouldtakebeingrejectedbywasyou.
“AndnowIknowthat.Iknowit’snottravelingthat’sgonnagetmeoutofthisslumpandit’snotanewjobandit’ssureashellnotchanceencounterswithwatertaxidrivers.Allofthat,everyminuteofit,hasbeenrunningawayfromyou,andIdon’twanttodothatanymore.
“Iloveyou,AlexNilsen.Evenifyoudon’tgivemearealchance,I’malwaysgoingtoloveyou.AndI’mscaredtomovebacktoLinfieldbecauseIdon’tknowifI’dlikeithere,orifI’dbebored,orifI’dmakeanyfriends,andbecauseI’mterrifiedtorunintothepeoplewhomademefeellikeIdidn’tmatterandforthemtodecidetheywererightaboutme.
“IwanttostayinNewYork,”Isay.“Ilikeitthere,andIthinkyouwouldtoo,butyouaskedmewhatI’dbewillingtogiveupforyou,andnowIknowtheansweris:everything.There’snothinginthiswholeworldthatI’vebuiltinmyheadthatI’mnotpreparedtoletgooftobuildanewonewithyou.I’llgointoEastLinfieldHigh—Idon’tjustmeantoday.Imeanifyouwanttostayhere,I’llgotofuckinghighschoolbasketballgameswithyou.I’llwearhand-paintedT-shirtswithplayers’namesonthem—I’lllearntheplayers’names!Iwon’tjustmakethemup!I’llgotoyourdad’shouseanddrinkdietsodaandtrymyhardestnottocussortalkaboutoursexlife,andI’llbabysityourniecesandnephewwithyouinBetty’shouse—I’llhelpyoutakedownwallpaper!Ihatetakingdownwallpaper!
“You’renotavacation,andyou’renottheanswertomycareercrisis,butwhenI’minacrisisorI’msickorI’msad,you’retheonlythingIwant.AndwhenI’mhappy,youmakemesomuchhappier.Istillhavealottofigureout,buttheonethingIknowis,whereveryouare,that’swhereIbelong.I’llneverbelonganywherelikeIbelongwithyou.NomatterwhatI’mfeeling,Iwantyounexttome.You’rehometome,Alex.AndIthinkI’mthatforyoutoo.”
BythetimeIfinish,I’mbreathinghard.Alex’sfaceistorquedwithworry,butbeyondthatIcan’treadtoomanyspecifics.Hedoesn’tsayanythingrightaway,andthesilence—orlackofit(PinkFloydhasstartedtoplayoverthespeakersandasportsannouncerisjabberingononeoftheTVsoverhead)—unfurlslikearug,stretchinglongerandlongerbetweenusuntilIfeellikeI’montheoppositesideofaverydark,beer-stickymansion.
“Andonemorething.”Ifishmyphoneoutofmybag,opentothecorrectphoto,andholditouttohim.Hedoesn’ttakethephone,justlooksattheimageon-screenwithouttouching.
“What’sthis?”hesayssoftly.
“That,”Isay,“isahouseplantI’vekeptalivesinceIgotbackfromPalmSprings.”
Aquietlaughleaksoutofhim.
“It’sasnakeplant,”Isay.“Andapparentlythey’reextremelyhardtokill.Like,Icouldprobablytakeachainsawtoitanditwouldsurvive.Butit’sthelongestI’vekeptanythingalive,andIwantedyoutoseeit.Soyou’dknow.I’mserious.”
Henodswithoutsayinganything,andItuckmyphonebackintomybag.
“That’sit,”Isay,alittlebewildered.“That’sthewholespeech.Youcantalknow.”
Thecornerofhismouthquirks,butthesmiledoesn’tstay,andevenwhileit’sthere,itholdsnothinglikemirthinitstightcurve.
“Poppy.”Mynamehasneversoundedquitesolongormiserable.
“Alex,”Isay.
Hishandsgotohiships.Heglancessidelong,thoughthere’snothingtheretolookat,exceptanAstroturfwallandafadedphotoofsomeoneinapom-pom-toppedgolfhat.Whenhelooksbackatme,therearetearsinhiseyes,butIknowrightawayhewon’tletthemfall.That’sthekindofself-restraintAlexNilsenhas.
Hecouldbestarvinginadesert,andifthewrongpersonheldoutaglassofwatertohim,he’dnodpolitelyandsayno,thanks
Iswallowthegoiterinmythroat.“Youcansayanything.Whateveryouneedto.”
Heletsoutabreath,checksthefloor,meetsmyeyesforbarelyaninstant.“YouknowhowIfeelaboutyou,”hesayssoftly,likeevenasheadmitsit,it’sstillasortofsecret.
“Yes.”Myhearthasstartedracing.IthinkIdo.AtleastIdid.ButIknowhowmuchIhurthimbynotthinkingthroughthings.Idon’ttotallyunderstandit,maybe,butI’vebarelystartedtounderstandmyself,sothat’snotallthatsurprising.
Heswallowsnow,themusclesdownthelineofhisjawdancingwithshadows.“Ihonestlydon’tknowwhattosay,”hereplies.“Youterrifiedme.Itdoesn’tmakeanysensehowquickmymindworkswithyou.Onesecondwe’rekissingandthenext,I’mthinkingaboutwhatourgrandkidsmightbenamed.Itdoesn’tmakesense.Imean,lookatus.Wedon’tmakesense.We’vealwaysknownthat,Poppy.”
Myheartisicingover,veinsofcoldworkingtheirwayintoitscenter.
Splittingitinhalfandmewithit.
Nowit’smyturntosayhisnamelikeaplea,likeaprayer.“Alex.”Itcomesoutthick.“Idon’tknowwhatyou’resaying.”
Hiseyesdrop,histeethworryingoverhisbottomlip.“Idon’twantyoutogiveanythingup,”hesays.“Iwantustojustmakesense,andwedon’t,Poppy.Ican’twatchitfallapartagain.”
I’mnoddingnow.Foralongtime.It’slikeIcan’tstopacceptingit,overandoveragain.Becausethisiswhatitfeelslike:likeI’llhavetospendtherestofmylifeacceptingthatAlexcan’tlovemethewayIlovehim.
“Okay,”Iwhisper.
Hesaysnothing.
“Okay,”onemoretime.ItearmyeyesfromhimasIfeelthetearsencroaching.Idon’twanttomakehimcomfortme,notforthis.Iturnandbarreltowardthedoor,forcingmyfeetforward,keepingmychinhighandmybackbonestraight.
WhenImakeittothedoor,Ican’thelpmyself.Ilookback.
AlexisstillfrozenwhereIlefthim,andevenifitkillsme,Ihavetobehonestrightnow.IhavetosaysomethingIcan’ttakeback,tostoprunningandhidingmyselffromhim.
“Idon’tregrettellingyou,”Isay.“IsaidI’dgiveanythingup,riskanythingforyou,andImeantit.”Evenmyownheart.
“Iloveyoualltheway,Alex,”Isay.“Icouldn’thavelivedwithmyselfifIhadn’tatleasttoldyou.”
AndthenIturnandstepoutintothebrightlyshiningsunoftheparkinglot.
OnlythendoIreallystarttocry.36
ThisSummer
I’MHEAVING.WHEEZING.SplinteringasIcrosstheparkinglot.
Onehandclampedovermymouthassobssnapthroughme,sliceandstabineverysharplittlecornerofmylungs.
It’sbothhardtokeepmovingandimpossibletostop.I’mpowerwalkingtomyparents’car,thenleaningagainstit,headbowed,horriblesoundscomingoutofme,snotdrippingdownmyface,theblueoftheskyanditsfluffycumulouscloudsandtherustlingtreesalongsidetheparkinglotallturningintoasummeryblur,thewholeworldmeltingintoaswirlofcolor.
Andthenthere’savoice,spreadthinbythebreezeandthedistance.It’scomingfrombehindme,obviouslyit’shis,andIdon’twanttolook.
Ithinkonemorelookathimmightbethetippingpoint,thethingthatbreaksmyheartforever,buthe’ssayingmyname.
“Poppy!”Once.Thenagain.“Poppy,wait.”
Ishovealltheemotionsdown.Nottoignorethem.Nottodenythem,becauseitalmostfeelsgoodtofeelsomethingsopurely,toknowwithoutquestionwhatitismybody’sexperiencing.Butbecausethesearemyfeelings,nothis.Notsomethingforhimtoswoopinandshoulder,likehedoesalmostcompulsively.
IwipemyhandsacrossmyfaceandmakemyselfbreathenormallyasIlistentohisstepsscuffingoverasphalt.Iturnashe’sslowingfromajog,takinghislaststepsatadeterminedbutcasualpaceuntilhestops,closingmeinbetweenthevanandhimself.
There’salullbeforehespeaks,apausethat’sjustforourbreathing.
Afteranothersecondofsilence,hesays,“Istartedseeingatherapisttoo.”
Despitemyself,Igiveaphlegmylaughattheideathathe’schasedmedownjusttosaythis.“That’sgood.”Iwipeatmyfacewiththeheelofmyhand.
“Shesays…”Herakeshishandsthroughhishair.“ShethinksI’mafraidtobehappy.”
Whyishetellingmethis?onevoicesaysinmyhead.
Ihopeheneverstopstalking,anothersays.Maybewecankeeptalkingforever.Maybethisconversationcanspanourentirelives,thewayourtextmessagesandphonecallsseemedtoforallthoseyears.
Iclearmythroat.“Areyou?”
Helooksatmeforalongmoment,thengivesthesmallestshakeofhishead.“No,”hesays.“IknowifIgotonaplanewithyoubacktoNewYork,Iwouldbesofuckinghappy.Foraslongasyou’dhaveme,I’dbehappy.”
Againthatkaleidoscopicswirlofcolorsblursacrossmyvision.Iblinkthetearsback.
“AndIwantthatsobadly.IdoregreteverychanceImissedtotellyouhowIfelt,allthetimesIconvincedmyselfI’dloseyouifyoureallyknew,orthatweweretoodifferent.Iwanttojustbehappywithyou.ButI’mafraidofwhatcomesafter.”Hisvoicecracks.
“I’mafraidofyourealizingIboreyou.Ormeetingsomeoneelse.Orbeingunhappyandstaying.And…”Hisvoicecatches.“I’mafraidoflovingyouforourentirelives,andthenhavingtosaygoodbye.I’mafraidofyoudying,andtheworldfeelinguseless.I’mafraidIwon’tbeabletokeepgettingoutofbedifyou’regone,andifwehadkids,they’dhavethesehorribleliveswheretheiramazingmomisgone,andtheirdadcan’tlookatthem.”
Hishandpassesoverhiseyes,catchingsomeofthemoisturethere.
“Alex,”Iwhisper.Idon’tknowhowtocomforthim.Ican’ttakeanyofhispastpainawayorpromiseitwon’thappenagain.AllIcandoistellhimthetruth,asI’veseenit.AsIknowit:“Youalreadywentthroughthat.Youlostsomeoneyouloved,andyoukeptgettingoutofbed.Youwerethereforthepeopleinyourlife,andyoulovethem,andtheyloveyouback.You’vegotallofthatinyourlifestill.Noneofitwentaway.Itdidn’tendjustbecauseyoulostoneperson.”
“Iknow,”hesays.“I’mjust…”Hisvoicedrawstaut,andhishugeshouldersshrug.“Scared.”
Ireachoutforhishandsinstinctively,andheletsmedrawhimcloser,foldinghisfingersupbetweenmypalms.“Thenwe’vefoundsomethingelsetoagreeonbesideshatingitwhenpeoplecallboats‘she,’”Iwhisper.“It’sfuckingterrifyingtobeinlovewitheachother.”
Hesniffsthroughalaugh,cupsmyjawinhishands,andpresseshisforeheadagainstmine,hiseyesclosingashisbreathsyncswithmine,ourchestsrisingandfallinglikewe’retwowavesinthesamebodyofwater.“Ineverwanttolivewithoutthis,”hewhispers,andIknotmyfistsintohisshirtasiftokeephimfromslippingthroughmyfingers.
Thecornersofhismouthtwistashebreathesout,“Tinyfighter.”
Hiseyesslitopen,andtheflutterinmychestissostrongitalmosthurts.Ilovehimsomuch.IlovehimmorethanIdidyesterday,andIalreadyknowtomorrowI’lllovehimevenmore,becauseeverypieceofhimhegivesmeisanothertofallinlovewith.
Helockshisarmstightaroundmyback,hisdampeyessoclearandopenIfeellikeIcoulddiveintohim,swimthroughhisthoughts,floatinthebrainIlovemorethananyotherontheplanet.
Hishandsmoveintomyhair,smoothingitagainstmyneck,hiseyesmovingbackandforthovermyfacewithsuchbeautifullycalmAlexianpurpose.“Youare,youknow.”
“Afighter?”Isay.
“Myhome,”hesays,andkissesme.
Weare,Ithink.We’rehomeEPILOGUE
WETAKEAbustourofthecity.WewearourmatchingIHeartNewYorksweatshirtsandBeDazzledBigApplehats.Wecarryapairofbinocularsandusethemtolockontoanyonewhobearsevenapassingresemblancetoacelebrity.
Sofarwe’vespottedDameJudyDench,DenzelWashington,andyoungJimmyStewart.OurtourincludesferrypassagetotheStatueofLiberty,andwhenwegetthere,weaskamiddle-agedwomantotakeourpictureinfrontofthebase,suninoureyesandwindinourfaces.
Shesweetlyasks,“Wherey’allfrom?”
“Here,”AlexsaysatthesametimeIsay,“Ohio.”
Halfwaythroughthetour,weskipoutandgotoCafeLaloinstead,determinedtositjustwhereMegRyanandTomHanksdidinYou’veGotMail.It’scoldout,andthecitylooksitsbestforus,springypinkandwhiteblossomsskitteringacrossthestreetsaswesipourcappuccinos.He’sbeenherefull-timeforfivemonthsnow,sincethefallsemesterendedandhefoundalong-termsubstitutepositionhereforthespringone.
Ididn’tknowregularlifecouldfeellikethis,likeavacationyoudon’thavetogohomefrom.
Ofcourse,it’snotalwayslikethis.Mostweekends,Alexistiedupwithworkingonhisownwritingorgradingpapersandplanninglessons,andonweekdays,Ionlyseehimlongenoughforagroggymorningkiss(IsometimesfallbacktosleepsofastIdon’tevenrememberithappening),andthere’slaundryanddirtydishes(whichAlexinsistswewashimmediatelyafterdinner)andtaxesanddentistappointmentsandlostMetroCards.
Buttherearealsodiscoveries,newpartsofthemanIloveintroducedtomedaily.
Forexample,itturnsoutAlexcan’tfallasleepifwe’respooning.Hehastobewhollyonhissideofthebed,meonmine.Untilthemiddleofthenight,atwhichpointIwakeupoverheatedwithhislimbsflungovermeandhavetoshovehimoffsoIcancooldown.
It’sincrediblyannoying,butthesecondI’mcomfortableagain,Ifindmyselfsmilinginthedark,feelingsounbelievablyluckytosleepeverynightbesidemyfavoritepersonintheworld.
Evenbeinguncomfortablywarmisbetterwithhim.
Sometimesweputonmusicinthekitchenwhilewe’re(he’s)cooking,andwedance.Notasweet,swayingembracelikewe’reinsomeromanticmovie,butridiculouswrithing,twirlinguntilwe’redizzy,laughinguntilwe’resnortingorcrying.SometimeswecatcheachotheroncameraandtextthevideotoDavidandTham,orParkerandPrince.
Mybrotherssendbacktheirownkitchendancingvideos.
DavidreplieswithsomevariationofLoveyoufreaksorApparentlythere’ssomeoneforeveryone.
We’rehappy,andevenwhenwe’renot,it’ssomuchbetterthanitwaswithouthim.
ThelaststopofournightplayingtouristisTimesSquare.Wesavedtheworstforlast,butit’sariteofpassageandAlexinsistshewantstogo.
“Ifyoucanstilllovemethere,”hesays,“I’llknowthisisreal.”
“Alex,”Isay,“ifIcan’tloveyouatTimesSquare,thenIdon’tdeserveyouinaUsedBookstore.”
Heslipshishandthroughmineaswe’recomingoutofthesubwaystation.Ithinkithaslesstodowithaffection(publicdisplaysofwhichhe’sstillnotwildabout)andmoretodowithagenuinefearofgettingseparatedintheridiculouscrowdwe’removingtoward.
Welastinthesquare,surroundedbyflashinglightsandstreetperformerspaintedsilverandjostlingtourists,forallofthreeminutes.Justlongenoughtogetsomeunflatteringselfiesofuslookingoverwhelmed.Thenwedoanabout-faceandmarchrightbacktothetrainplatform.
Backattheapartment—ourapartment—Alexkicksoffhisshoes,thenarrangesthemperfectlyonthemat(wehaveamat;weareadults)nexttomine.
I’vegotanarticletofinishwritinginthemorning,myfirstformynewjob.IwasdreadingtellingSwapnaIwasleaving,butshewasn’tmad.Infact,shehuggedme(itfeltlikebeinghuggedbyBeyoncé),andlaterthatnightahugebottleofchampagnewasdeliveredtomyandAlex’sdoor.
Congratulationsonyourcolumn,Poppy,thenoteread.I’vealwaysknownyouweregoingplaces.X,Swapna
Theironyofitallis,Iwon’tbegoingplacesanymore,atleastnotforwork.Inalotofotherways,though,myjobwon’tbeallthatdifferent—I’llstillbegoingtorestaurantsandbars,writingaboutthenewgalleriesandicepopstandsspringinguparoundNewYork.
ButPeopleYouMeetinNewYorkwillbedifferenttoo,morehumaninterestpiecethanreview.I’llbeexploringmyowncitybutthroughtheeyesofthepeoplewholoveit,spendingadaywithsomeoneintheirfavoritenewspot,learningwhatmakesitsospecial.
MyfirstpieceisaboutanewbowlingalleyinBrooklynwithanold-schoolfeel.Alexwentwithmetoscopetheplaceout,andIknewassoonasIspottedDoloresinthenextlaneover,personalizedgoldballandmatchingglovesandahalooffrizzygrayhair,thatshewassomeonewhocouldteachmethings.Abucketofbeer,alongconversation,andabowlinglessonlater,andIhadeverythingIneededforthearticle,butAlexandDoloresandIwalkedovertothehotdogplacedownthestreetanyway,hungoutuntilnearlymidnight.
Thearticle’salmostdone,justneedsafewfinishingtouches,butthosecanwaituntilthemorning.I’mwipedoutfromourlongday,andallIwanttodoissinkontothecouchwithAlex.
“It’sgoodtobehome,”hesays,loopinghisarmsaroundmybackandpullingmeflushtohim.
IslipmyhandsupthebackofhisshirtandkisshimlikeI’vebeenwaitingtoallday.“Home,”Isay,“ismyfavoriteplace.”
“Minetoo,”hemurmurs,easingmebackagainstthewall.
Nextsummer,wewillgetawayfromthecity.WewillspendfourdaystrompingaroundNorway,anotherfourinSweden.TherewillbenoIcehotel.(He’sateacher,I’mawriter,andwe’rebothmillennials.There’snomoneyforthat.)
I’llleaveakeyforRacheltowaterourplants,andafterSweden,we’llflystraightbacktoLinfieldfortherestofAlex’ssummerbreak.
We’llstayinBetty’shousewhilehefixesitupandIsitonthefloor,eatingTwizzlersandfindingnewwaystomakehimblush.We’llteardownwallpaperandchoosenewpaintcolors.We’lldrinkdietsodaatdinnerwithhisdadandbrothersandtheniecesandnephew.We’llsitontheporchwithmyparentslookingoutoverthewastelandofWrightFamilyCarsPast.We’lltryonourhometownthesamewaywe’vebeentryingonNewYorktogether.We’llseehowitfits,wherewewanttobe.
ButIalreadyknowhowI’llfeel.
Whereverheis,thatwillbemyfavoriteplace.
“What?”heasks,thestartofasmiletuggingathislips.“Whyareyoustaring?”
“You’rejust…”Ishakemyhead,searchingforanywordthatcouldpossiblyencompasswhatI’mfeeling.“Sotall.”
Hissmileiswide,unfettered,NakedAlexjustforme.“Iloveyoutoo,PoppyWright.”
Tomorrowwewillloveeachotheralittlemore,andthenextday,andthenextday.
Andevenonthosedayswhenoneorbothofusishavingahardtime,we’llbehere,wherewearecompletelyknown,completelyaccepted,bythepersonwhoseeverysidewelovewholeheartedly.I’mherewithalltheversionsofhimI’vemetovertwelveyearsofvacations,andevenifthepointoflifeisn’tjustbeinghappy,rightnow,Iam.Downtothebones.Acknowledgments
Therearesomanypeoplethisbookwouldnotexistwithout.Firstandforemost,IhavetothankParkerPeevyhouse.IwasonthephonewithyouwhenIfiguredoutwhatIneededtowritenext.Idon’tthinkanythingbutthatphonecallcouldhavecreatedthisbook.Thankyou,myfriend.
Thankyoualsotomyincredibleeditors,AmandaBergeronandSareerKhader.Therearenowordsthatcanadequatelydescribewhatworkingwithyoubothhasmeant.Thetimeandcareyoutookinhelpingmefindnotjustabookbuttherightbookissomethingmostwriterscanonlydreamof.Sharingownershipandcontrolofyourworkcanbescary,butI’veknowneverystepofthewaythatIwasintheverybestofhands.Thankyouforpushingmeandmywritingbeyonditslimitsandforbeingsuchanincredibleteamtocollaboratewith.
Ahugethank-youalsotoJessicaMangicaro,DacheRogers,andDanielleKeir.Withoutyou,I’mnotconvincedanyonewouldevenreadthisbook,sothankyouforusingyourtalentandpassiontoadvocateformybooks.Youmakeeverythingbrighter.
ThankyoualsotoeveryoneelseatBerkleyforcreatingsuchawarm,supportivehomeformeandmybooks,includingbutnotlimitedtoClaireZion,CindyHwang,LindseyTulloch,SheilaMoody,AndreaMonagle,JessicaMcDonnell,AnthonyRamondo,SandraChiu,Jeanne-MarieHudson,CraigBurke,ChristineBall,andIvanHeld.Ifeelsoluckyeverydaytobeworkingwithyou.
Tomyamazingagent,TaylorHaggerty,aswellastoeveryoneelseonthephenomenalRootLiteraryteam—HollyRoot,MelanieFigueroa,MollyO’Neill—thankyouforbeingsoinvolved,dedicated,andkind.Andperhapsmostimportantly,thanksforthesparklingrosé.
ThankyoualsotoLanaPopovi?Harper,LizTingue,andMarissaGrossmanforbeingsuchahugesupporttomefromtheverybeginning.
MydearfriendsBrittanyCavallaro,JeffZentner,RileyRedgate,BethanyMorrow,KerryKletter,DavidArnold,JustinReynolds,AdrianaMather,CandiceMontgomery,EricSmith,TehlorKayMejia,AnnaBreslaw,DahliaAdler,JenniferNiven,KimberlyJones,andIsabelIba?ezhavebeenmakingmylife(andwriting)betterforyears,andIcan’tthankthemenough.
TohavethesupportofmembersofthebookcommunityandwritersIsoadmirehasbeennotonlyhugelymeaningfultomeonapersonallevel,butislargelythereasonI’mstillabletodothisjobIlovesomuch.SpecialthankstoSiobhánJonesandtheentireBookoftheMonthteam,aswellasAshleySpivey,ZibbyOwens,RobinKall,VilmaIris,SarahTrue,ChristinaLauren,JasmineGuillory,SallyThorne,JuliaWhelan,AmyReichert,HeatherCocks,JessicaMorgan,andSarahMacLean.Yourkindnessandencouragementhavebeensoimportantinmyjourney.
Andasalways,thankyoutomyfamily,forraisingmetobebothprettyweirdandweirdlyconfident,andtomyhusband,foralwaysstoppingtokissmyheadonthewaytothekitchen.Youarethebest,andnoonecoulddeserveyou.READERSGUIDE
PeopleWeMeetonVacation
EMILYHENRYBehindtheBook
EverytimeIstarttowatchWhenHarryMetSally…,itfeelslikethefirsttime.NotbecauseIdon’tremembereveryiconicsceneinNoraEphron’srom-commasterpiece—Ido.
ButbecauseIhateHarry.Everytime.Icatchmyselfthinking,howeverbriefly,Idon’trememberhimbeingthisawful!OrSallyreallycarriesthismovie.Duringtheirfirstscenestogether,Ifindcynical,hornyHarryalmostunbearable.ButthenEphronworkshermagic,andeverythingchanges.AsofterHarryemerges,thetrueHarry,aHarrycapableofgreatloveandtenderness,onewhoonlyneededsometimetogrowupandtogrowonSally,andyou.
Andtogether,overthecourseofminutesandyears,SallyandIfallinlovewiththelastpersonweexpectedto.
WhenIstartedPeopleWeMeetonVacation,Ididn’tsetouttowriteahomagetooneofmyfavoriteromanticcomedies.ButperhapsitwasEphronwholeftthisindeliblemarkonme,plantedaseedofardentappreciationforcharacterswhograteandirritateandinfuriate,untilthemomenttheysuddenlydon’t.Notonlybecausethey’vechanged,butbecauseyou’vebeguntoseethefullpictureofwhotheyare.
AndthatwaswhatIsetouttowriteinthisbook.Twocharacterswithnoobviousreasontolikeeachother,letaloneloveeachother.Twopeoplewithsolittleincommonthatromanceneverseemedtobeonthetable,andthusfriendshipcouldblossom.Thatonce-in-a-lifetimekindoftrue,bone-deep,unconditionalfriendshipthatbecomessuchapartofyourDNAthatyoucouldneverfeelquitelikeyourselfagainwithoutit.AlexandPoppy,PoppyandAlex.
Onthesurface,ofcourse,thisisabookaboutvacations,writteninatimebeforeCOVID-19,whenweekendsawayandtranscontinentalflightsfeltmuchmorewithinreachthantheydothesedays.ButaswithHarry—andwithAlex—thesurfaceimageofathingisrarelythetruth,atleastnotallofit.
Thisis,ultimately,abookabouthome.Aboutfindingit,aboutstayinginit,aboutwrappingyourarmstightlyarounditandbreathingitinuntilitfillsupyourlungs.It’saboutaworldbuiltfortwo,themagicalVenndiagramformedbyaspecialfriendship:You,Me,andthesacredoverlapcalledUs.
So,whilewemightnotallbeabletohoponanairplaneorstuffourselvesintoaGreyhoundseat,scourGrouponfordiscountedcountry-music-themedmotelsandquestionablysafewatertaxiservices,Ihopethisbookcarriesyousomewheremagical.Ihopeitletsyoufeeloceanbreezesinyourhairandsmellspilledbeeronakaraokebar’sfloor.AndthenIhopeitbringsyouback.Thatitbringsyouhome,andfillsyouwithferociousgratitudeforthepeopleyoulove.
Because,really,it’slessabouttheplaceswegothanthepeoplewemeetalongtheway.Butmostofall,it’sabouttheoneswhostay,whobecomehome.DiscussionQuestions
Whentheyfirstmeet,AlexandPoppyareimmediatelyputoffbyeachother.Haveyouevermadeafriendafterabadfirstimpression?
What’ssomethingyoudoonvacationthatyou’reunlikelytodoinyourdailylife?Isthereacertaincomfortinanonymity?
Haveyouevermetagoalandfoundthatyourreactionwasn’tquitewhatyouexpected?
Whatisyourworstvacationmemory?Yourbest?
Poppyisgoingthroughprofessionalburnout.Haveyoueverexperiencedthatkindoffatigue?Howdidyougetthroughit?
WhichvacationofAlexandPoppy’swouldyoumostwanttotake?Whichwouldyouleastwanttotake?