Loner (26 page)

“David, hi, I'm in the middle of something. Can I swing by your office in five?” answered my mother.

“Mom?” I said, confused. “It's me. David.”

“Oh!” She laughed. “I saw your name and thought it was David Franklin at my firm. I didn't call you, did I?”

“No.”

“Well, it's nice to hear your voice.” Her keyboard clacked in the background. “How're finals?”

“Fine,” I said.

Rustling papers. “Busy studying?”

“Mmhuh.”

“It sounds windy. Are you outside?”

“Just taking a little break outside the library.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Sorry, I was talking to someone else. I hope you're not too stressed out.”

“I'm not. I'm about to meet my friends for dinner.”

“Oh, good,” she said. “What do you call yourselves, again? The Matthews Martyrs?”

“Marauders.”

“Of course, the Ma
rauders
.” She laughed again. “Excuse me.”

“I should probably get going,” I said.

“Okay,” she said. “Remind me what day you're taking the bus?”

I didn't answer.

“David? I can't hear you.”

My breathing became jerky. I moved the phone away from my mouth.

“You still there?”

“I'm here,” I said, my voice catching in my throat.

“
David,
” she said in a tone she hadn't used since I was a child. “Are you crying? Did something happen?”

“There's this girl.” I choked on the rest of the sentence.

“A girl?” She waited. “Is it a
girlfriend
?”

“No,” I said. “She didn't want to be.”

“Oh, David,” she clucked. “I'm so sorry. I wish I could reach through the phone right now and give you a hug.”

The skyline slackened and quivered. The lights dancing off the river blurred into a shiny nimbus.

“I know it's hard to believe this, because it feels awful now, but you'll get over it,” she said. “I was so heartbroken over this boy my freshman year of college, I hardly ate for weeks. And now I can't even remember his name!”

The snow began sticking. The squeak of windshield wipers could be heard as traffic slowed.

“Have you talked about this with your friends?” she asked.

When I didn't answer she continued. “I know you're a private person, but it's important not to let these things simmer inside. This might sound silly, but I read an article that said if you're upset with someone, a good thing to do is write them a letter expressing your feelings, but don't send it. Just for yourself. It can help you get closure.”

I wiped my nose on my sleeve and blinked the world back into focus.

“Did I lose you?” she asked.

I cleared my throat and filled my lungs with cold, clarifying air.

“That's a good idea,” I said, heading back to campus. “Closure.”

Chapter 16

I
feel like we left things a little unresolved,” I began. “I was hoping to get some closure.”

“How generous of you to include me,” Sara said.

It had taken four days of e-mails to persuade her to meet me; on top of her reasons for not wanting to see me again, finals were now upon us. But she had at last consented to talk, briefly, in a public location.

We sat at our usual table at Starbucks. “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” jingled over the café's sound system. Our drinks steamed from festively decorated cups. A toddler parked in a stroller at the next table rooted through a shopping bag at her feet while her mother vertically caressed the screen of her phone.

“I don't blame you for being mad at me,” I went on. “I've given it a lot of thought, and I've come to realize you were right.”

Sara leaned back, crossed her arms, and let out a skeptical sigh.

“About something being wrong with me,” I said. “There is. Sort of.”

Her forehead crinkled in confusion.

“You said I was missing whatever it is that makes someone feel things for other people,” I reminded her. “But it's there—it's just hard to see, sometimes even for me. Underneath this affectless exterior lies a deeply sensitive being.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.”

“That's your line,” I said. “At the Ice Cream Bash. Except you said pleasant exterior and antisocial being. Then you made a joke about being a psychopath.”

“Right.” A reluctant nod. “You have a good memory.”

“About us,” I said. “I remember everything. All the plays and lectures you took me to. Our study sessions at Lamont, and here. Our first date, at that salsa class. When we danced so beautifully.”

A twitch of a smile. I pressed on.

“The very first time I met you, outside Matthews. You picked up my orientation packet that had fallen and you had sunscreen all over your face. Then you came over to say hello in the basement meeting, but I was too nervous to talk.”

The toddler next to us howled in protest as her mother pried a new pair of socks from her hands. She was quickly pacified with a cookie the size of her face.

“The other reason I wanted to meet is there's something I need to say to you,” I said. “Something I wasn't up front about that's been weighing on my conscience. It's not easy for me to talk about this, but you deserve to know.”

Sara looked soberly into her coffee.

“I lied about not being a virgin,” I said. “I was insecure, and I think I overcompensated and did things with you, in bed, that I felt weird about after. I want to apologize.”

Sara tore off the sleeve of her cup and ran her fingers along the ribbed interior. “Listen, David. I didn't mean what I said about you not feelings things. That just came out in the heat of the moment. The breakup caught me off guard, and on top of being painful, it was a real slap in the face. You weren't always the easiest boyfriend.
You could be remote, and there were times when it was hard to get through your defenses. That was okay, though—I figured it was worth the effort to get whatever was in there out. But I thought we were finally getting somewhere.”

“We were!” I cut in. “That's what's been driving me crazy. If only I'd shared more of myself. I feel like I missed out on something really meaningful with you. And I know I'll regret that for a long time—thinking about what could have been, and the feeling that I threw it away.”

Her eyes rose to meet mine. “I'm new to the whole relationship business,” she said, “but the way I see it, there's no point in beating yourself up for what you did or didn't do in the past. Each experience teaches us something about ourselves, and you take what you learn to the next relationship, and you're the better for it. I know it sounds corny, but I really do believe this.”

“I don't want another relationship.”

She laughed. “Oh, David. I wouldn't allow what happened between us to turn you off girls forever. It's not like this was a ­thirty-year marriage that just collapsed. We're in our first semester of college. This is
supposed
to happen.”

“That's not what I mean,” I said. “I'm not interested in a new relationship. I want to go back to the last one.”

Sara's nostrils flared as she took a contemplative breath.

“I don't know what to say,” she told me after a protracted silence. “I wasn't expecting this, and it's a lot to think about. I can't give you a definitive answer right now, if that's what you're looking for. Maybe we can talk more after the break.”

“Of course. Of course.” I took the first, cautious sip of my piping-­hot coffee. “Well, how'd your finals go?”

Her face softened in amusement. “Really?
That's
your transition?”

“You know better than anyone that small talk has never been my forte,” I said.

She smiled. “Yeah, I forgot. Three classes down, one to go. I won't bore you with the details. How are yours going?”

“Same here.” I'd skipped my economics exam and still hadn't written the final papers for my other classes. “Anything else new?”

“Not much,” she said. “Oh—except Layla's moving in.”

“With you?”

“Yeah, she's taking Veronica's place.”

I took a swig of coffee and let it scald the roof of my mouth.

“When did this happen?”

“Veronica just told me she was moving out two days ago,” Sara said. “Layla doesn't like her roommate, either, so we asked the housing office if she could move in with me, and they approved it.”

“Is she moving into Layla's room?”

“No. She was weirdly cagey when I asked where she was going. All I know is she
hired
someone to move her stuff tomorrow morning. Who does that in
college
?” She waited for a reaction. “I shouldn't be so catty. She looked a little embarrassed when she told me.”

“So just one more night with her, huh?” I asked.

“Yeah, and she actually has to spend the night for once, since the movers are coming at
seven
in the morning. My room's going to be a war zone for the next twenty-four hours: Layla's flying home tomorrow and she's in exams all day today, so
she's
got to move tonight.” She checked the time on her phone. “That reminds me, I have to pick up a key for her at the housing office before it closes.”

“A key?”

“For the room.” She waved her hand in front of my face. “Earth to David. You there?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Well, that's great news. It'll be nice to have a roommate who's a good person.”

“I wouldn't call Veronica a
bad
person. I feel sort of sorry for her. She seems a bit tormented.”

“I don't know about tormented. I got the sense that she's just not that nice.”

“The gentleman doth protest too much.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I don't know,” she said with a shrug. “You always got kind of
antsy when she was around. I guess I wondered if you had a little crush.”

I made a face.

“A harmless crush,” she qualified. “I mean, what guy wouldn't, from a distance?”

“So you're helping Layla move tonight?”

“No—I feel awful about it, but I have my final evening session with my students to go over their college essays. Maybe I'll be able to pitch in at the end when I get back.”

“Is anyone helping her?”

She shook her head. “And we're supposed to get six inches of snow tonight.”

“I could lend a hand,” I said.

“You don't have to do that.”

“I'd be glad to. I don't really have anything else to do.”

Someone called out “David!” Sara and I both turned our heads, but it was just the barista letting a customer know his drink was ready.

“Well, if you're serious, that's a very generous offer,” Sara said. “Layla always liked you.”

We got up to leave. Sara waved good-bye to the little girl next to us. She beamed back at her and held out the soggy remains of her cookie as a parting gift.

“That's so nice of you,” Sara told her. “It looks delicious, but I have to save room for dinner.”

I met up with Layla that evening and, load by load, we transported her belongings from her dorm to Matthews, stacking her boxes in neat rows in Sara's room and leaving an aisle for your own move in the morning. The whole process took about two hours, throughout which your window remained dark and no sounds issued from your
room. As we returned to Layla's dorm for the final trip, it started to snow. There were two boxes left, and I told her I could handle them on my own.

“Don't be silly,” I said when she insisted on helping. “You have an early flight tomorrow. Stay here. I've got this.”

“You sure?”

“Of course.” I picked up the boxes, creating a small tower that blocked my face. “Oh, whoops—I forgot the key. Duh.”

My hands full, she dropped the room key in the pocket of my parka and held the door for me. “Back soon,” I said.

I hauled the boxes over to Sara's room. On the way back I detached my room key from my key chain and replaced it with Layla's. “Here you go,” I said, handing her my own key.

“Thank you so much, David,” she said, marveling at the bareness of her room. “I don't know how I would've done this alone. You ­really are a nice guy.”

“Not at all,” I said.

Sara would be getting home soon. I dashed back through the Yard to Matthews, nearly slipping on the snow-slick pavement, and let myself into room 505 with Layla's key. I pressed my ear against your door and heard nothing. The light was still off. I was confident you were out, though it was remotely possible you had come in during Layla's move and gone to sleep early. Holding my breath, I cracked the door open.

Orange lamplight from the Yard pooled in, glazing a dozen or so boxes haphazardly scattered about the room. Your bed was empty.