I blink twice in the darkness. Did last night really happen? A faint, irregular snoring beside me, and the unbearable weight of a heavy arm casually tossed across my chest confirm that yes, it happened!
Oh my! I feel as if I was crushed underneath a mountain of ice. I’m cold, and I can’t move. This must be what claustrophobia feels like. There, my pulse is accelerating; if I don’t do something quickly I’m going to have a full-blown panic attack. I need to get out of here! If I move I’ll wake him, and I don’t want to face him just yet. But if I stay still I’m going to relive last night over and over again in my head, and believe me, experiencing it once was more than enough.
Now that I think about it, I don’t have a crystal clear picture of what happened; it’s all a bit fuzzy. Maybe drinking so many martinis on an empty stomach wasn’t such a good idea after all. But no matter how blurred the memory is, one thing I know for sure, it wasn’t good.
I remember opening the door with a beating heart to find James leaning on my door frame, admittedly a little disheveled. His bow tie was hanging loose on both sides of his collar, his shirt with two or three unfastened buttons, and his face sporting a bluish shade around the left eye, but desperately handsome all the same.
We talked for a while, drank some more, and he professed his undying love for me and told me that the last two years of his life had been a huge mistake. I think somewhere along the line I said I loved him too, half crying, half laughing, I’m not sure, and then we shared the most passionate kiss of all time, at which point I let him drag me into the bedroom.
But after James pulled me in here all the chemistry went to hell. We fumbled awkwardly around each other for a while, our bodies refusing to get along. I would bend my head on the right to kiss him and he would do the same, so we would just end up clumsily bumping our noses. When I tried to remove his shirt I painfully stumbled on his foot, and he jerked his leg up, hitting my hip with a knee. His hands on me felt clammy and sticky; it was as if he didn’t know me at all, as if we had never made love before. And this was merely the physical aspect of it!
Being able to read his mind, I occasionally peeked inside and didn’t like what I found one bit. I should have known better. It was like nothing I had experienced before, probably because he was so drunk and confused himself. It was as if his mind was literally being split in two; one side wanted to be with me, the other with Vanessa, and everything was swirling in a vortex of memories, regrets, and mostly utter misery.
Anyway, by the point we got onto the bed, I was desperately thinking of a way to get out of the situation. I was considering smothering him with a pillow to get him off me when luckily providence took over and solved the problem for me. He had been on top of me for a mere five seconds when he suddenly collapsed on me, asleep!
That definitely put a stop to any romantic or physical development the evening could have had. He was still dressed in his wedding suit and he hasn’t moved since. I wanted to go sleep on the couch, but I was so exhausted and drunk that all I could do was to wriggle away from underneath him and then pass out beside him.
Thinking about it in retrospect, the only positive note about last night is that we didn’t have sex. I’m glad for it. But why? James has been the center of my life for the past five years, two of which I’ve spent obsessing over getting him back, and now that he’s finally here by my side, telling me he wants me back in his life, instead of feeling utterly elated I just feel…well, like shit!
I try to reason that it’s only a physical condition. I’ve had nothing proper to eat since yesterday at breakfast, and I’d had a lot to drink even before James arrived here. Add to it the stress of these last few weeks…and boom, there you have it. My indisposition has a perfect clinical explanation.
But deep down I know it’s not it. Something is wrong here, very wrong. I just can’t put my finger on it. My stomach grumbles loudly. Right, I should probably give my brain some food before I ask any deep exertion of it.
Mmm, breakfast seems like a good start. I picture a butter croissant and a steaming cappuccino. I wonder if Arthur has already prepared them. Unfortunately, thinking about Arthur triggers the reminiscence of his facial expression when I banned him to the coffer. Even shrouded by the fumes of alcohol as the memory is, I think I’ll never be able to forget it. Something tells me I will not get my usual breakfast treat this morning.
Why does everything I think about today have to upset me?
My best option right now is to wriggle out of the bed, trying not to wake James in the process, get something to eat, and collect myself a little before I have to talk to him. To say what? Oh, I so don’t know. Here comes the cabin fever again. I need to get out of here.
I tentatively drop my left foot to the ground, sliding my whole body sideways to slip away from under James’s arm. I move very slowly, careful not to wake him. It takes me five good minutes and a lot of effort before I can finally squat on the floor beside the bed. I wait there, curled up for a few seconds to make sure I made it safely, and that there is no sign of life from the bed. I get up and try for the door, but the moment I do so I sense, more than see, a movement. I freeze, hoping he’s just stirring in his sleep, but a loud yawn immediately crushes my hopes.
“Myyaww, good morning,” he says in a thick voice. “Gosh, my head is pounding. I need some coffee. Would you make some, babe?” he asks, stretching on the bed like a starfish.
Babe? Coffee? I just stay there frozen to the spot, a cold fury mounting inside me.
In this moment, an old saying from an immigrant who came to the US in the nineteenth century comes into my mind: I came to America because I heard the streets were paved with gold. When I got here, I found out three things: First, the streets weren’t paved with gold; second, they weren’t paved at all; and third, I was expected to pave them.
I feel like I’m making my three personal discoveries today: first, I will not get my favorite breakfast; second, I will not get any breakfast at all; and third, I am expected to prepare it, at least the coffee part of it.
I march into the kitchen, taking out my anger on my dishes and appliances. After a couple of minutes James joins me, sitting at his usual spot at the bar; well, what used to be his usual spot, waiting for his coffee. I fill a mug and practically smash it on the countertop, sending the hot liquid spilling in all directions and making it overflow from the mug’s rim in angry waves that splash all over.
“Whoa, what’s wrong with you?” James shouts, jerking back in his stool to avoid being hit by the flying droplets.
“What’s wrong with me?” I yell back. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Why are you being such a bitch?”
“Oh, I don’t know, James, did you expect a homecoming party? I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you.” I’m seething with suppressed rage.
“You didn’t seem so unhappy to see me last night!”
I snort at that.
“Are you this mad because I passed out?” he asks bewildered.
“No,” I grunt. “Why are you here anyway?”
“I told you why I’m here. I want to fix things between us.”
“Really? Do you really want to?”
“Why, don’t you?”
“Oh James, I don’t know,” I wail. “What did you think—that I just spent the last two years waiting around for you?” I so did.
“Well, it wasn’t me going around singing ‘Don’t You Remember’. It was as if the song was written for us.”
Ouch, a blow below the belt.
“That wasn’t for you,” I lie. “It was just a song I like. And I have a boyfriend, remember him?”
“Phew, that jerk. Last night you didn’t seem to care much about him. Please, Ally, don’t tell me you really like him.”
“What’s not to like?”
“He’s just not you.”
“Not me? What do you know about me?”
“You know, you’re right! I don’t even recognize you anymore. I don’t know what to say, you are not making any sense.”
“Oh, you don’t? I don’t know what to say.” I’m hysterical at this point. “You come here drunk one night and break my heart for no apparent reason. One day we are perfectly happy together, and the next you tell me you don’t love me anymore and go get engaged to another woman. Then, you come back two years later, still drunk, on your wedding day no less, and give me a load of bullshit about how you never stopped loving me, about how we are meant to be, and whatever. And I am the one not making any sense? What, did you expect to just snap your fingers and instantly get back to where we left?”
The moment the words leave my lips I realize precisely two things: first, I had expected exactly that; and second, it’s just impossible. You can’t go back. Arthur was right.
James seems about to give me some heated retort when I suddenly witness the fight break away from him. He sinks on the couch, resting his head on both hands, and hunches his shoulders forward in defeat.
“You’re right,” he says, and lifts his head. “I haven’t been honest with you. I need to tell you everything.”
And he does. I sit next to him like a confessor, listening to the sad story I already know. And for once he’s completely candid, he doesn’t leave anything out. He gives me every shameful detail…New Year’s, his mother, and the debt. He tells me about Vanessa, her crush on him, and her father owning the bank he was indebted with. He swears that at first it was all pretense with Vanessa, that he was heartbroken over me, but that after a while as he began to settle into his new life he would think about me less and less while opening up to Vanessa more and more every day, beginning to feel something real for her.
So everything was good for a while, but after bumping into me at Hub 51 his mind filled with doubts all over again, and he couldn’t stop thinking about me for one second. He says that I had always been at the back of his mind like an unsolved riddle, an unanswered question, but that seeing me triggered an emotional rollercoaster.
He finishes by saying that when the bank lifted his obligations his confusion grew even bigger. He immediately thought that he was finally free to leave Vanessa, but having the option to do so, he wasn’t sure what he really wanted anymore. So he just let the days pass without doing anything. Then yesterday when he said my name instead of Vanessa’s, he thought that his subconscious had made the decision for him.
“So after the wedding fiasco you just came here?” I ask softly.
“No, I stole a bottle of champagne and went on the Sunrise,” he says, shaking his head.
“You got that drunk with just one bottle?”
“It was a Magnum. Plus your martinis are no lightweights,” he jokes.
“Ah.”
“I wanted to clear my mind a little, but I think I ended up messing with it even more. I don’t know, Ally, I thought coming here was the right thing to do, that we could finally have the future we wanted before all of this happened. But now that I’m here it just feels, I mean, it’s just…”
“Different.” We say it at the same time.
“Do you hate me?” He looks at me, searching for absolution, and I decide to give it to him.
“No, I don’t hate you. You just made a mistake—well, a lot of them, but we’re human. Nobody’s perfect. You just did what you thought you had to do at the time.”
“You forgive me?”
“Yes, I do,” I say sincerely. Never had I thought that I would say these three words to him in such a circumstance.
“But you don’t love me anymore.” It’s more of a statement than a question.
“Do you?”
We look at each other and neither of us knows what to say. This is the man I’ve loved with all my heart for so long, and now that he’s here right in front of me, I feel…nothing. And I can tell it’s the same for him. It’s too late for us. What we had, whatever it was, is gone forever.
“James?”
“Yes?”
“Do you love her?”
I feel his answer before hearing it.
“I think I do.”
“So don’t make the same mistake twice. Go fight for her.” Am I really saying this? “It’s not too late for the two of you.”
“I don’t know Ally, you weren’t there yesterday. It was pretty horrible.”
“How was she? I mean…after,” I ask tentatively.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“They wouldn’t let me talk to her. I know her father told her everything, about the bank and my debt. He came down after talking to her and told me I had to leave and never come back, that Vanessa didn’t want anything to do with me. She must have been disgusted by me.”
“So you haven’t talked to her at all?”
“Nope.”
“Then you don’t know what she thinks!” I exclaim. “Listen, I know her a little. She’s very gullible, especially when it comes to her father. He probably didn’t even give her a chance to think about the whole thing. You need to explain yourself to her, pour your heart out. Maybe there’s still a chance.”
“You think?” His whole face lights up with hope.
I nod.
“You’re the best.”
He gives me a bone-crushing hug.
“Ally?” he asks when he finally lets go of me.
“Mmm-hmmm?”
“Do you think we could still be friends?”
Ah. The friends question.
“James, I’ll always care for you. And if you pull your neck, and you’re lying on the floor unable to move, and nobody else can help, feel free to call me. But let’s be honest—we were never friends, and we could never be. Plus, I don’t think Vanessa would approve.”
“Ah no, you’re right. Maybe it’s for the best.” He looks at me intensely with those warm chocolate eyes before asking, “So, is this goodbye?”
I am only able to nod, afraid I’ll not be able to fight back the tears if I speak.
“Goodbye, Ally, take care.”
“I will,” I murmur. “Bye.”
Have a nice life seemed a bit over the top.
He hugs me one last time for what simultaneously seems like forever and no time at all. When we pull apart, he gives me a soft peck on the lips and exits my apartment—and my life—forever.
The moment the door closes behind him, an immense sense of emptiness washes over me. It’s not pain; the time for that was two years ago. It’s just this overwhelming hollowness that seems to have taken the place of my heart in my chest. I have no purpose, no direction. I have nothing. I feel numb.
All my wishes, all my abilities, are useless…nothing can buy me happiness, not even all the money and power in the world.