One Year (New & Lengthened Edition) (17 page)

W
e are still more
than an hour and a half away from home. I try to quench the anticipation building in the pit of my stomach with something fun to think about it. I ask him about his family. I haven’t heard anything about them for a long time. As we start to talk and laugh, I discover that there’s so much that we hadn’t talked about. And it all suddenly floods in.

For instance, Tristan thinks that his little brother, Cayden, is gay. Gay and doesn’t know it.

“How can he not know it?” I ask. “He’s 15! Maybe he’s just not gay.”

“Well, in that case, he’s in denial or something. I’m pretty certain that he is.”

“Maybe he’s just afraid to come out?” I ask.

“Why would he be? He knows that my parents won’t care. They’ll probably be happy!” he says.

“It takes a while to be comfortable in your own skin,” I say. “You have to be patient. I mean, I still can’t come out to most people about being a writer.”

But we don’t just talk about serious things. We also talk about funny, heartfelt things. Like last Christmas.

“Do you remember when you chased me around the house for my candy cane?” I ask.

“No!” he says imperatively. “It wasn’t yours. You got it as a gift, yes, but you hate candy canes! And by the way, who the hell hates candy canes anyway? They’re peppermint and sugar! I know for a fact that you love peppermint tea.”

“That’s not at all the same thing,” I shake my head, smiling. “What’s important is that that was my candy cane. And you just expected me to give it over!”

“Because you weren’t going to eat it!”

“You didn’t know that.”

“Oh yes, I did.” He nods furiously. “I found that stash of candy canes in your closet from the year before. You didn’t eat one! You just kept them all away from people who actually like them. You greedy, greedy girl!”

We crack up laughing. I laugh so hard, my eyes tear up. When he catches his breath, Tristan turns to me.

“I’ve missed you, Alice,” he says as we pull up to our building. He’s planning on returning the rental car tomorrow. After parking, we head straight up to our dorm.

“I’ve missed you, too,” I say in the elevator.

A flood of emotions starts to sweep through my body the higher we climb. If I don’t do something, tears will flow out of my eyes and I won’t be able to stop them. I lean up to Tristan and kiss him.

In the middle of that passionate and explosive kiss, as he tears at my clothes and messes up my hair, I suddenly realize that I don’t need an apology from him over the break up. And I don’t want to think for a second about what this all means. I don’t even want to know if I want him back. I just want to be with him.

We kiss furiously until the elevator beeps and the doors open. We stumble out, almost forgetting our bags inside. At the last minute, Tristan shoves his hand in between the doors to keep it from leaving. Reluctantly, the elevator opens.

When we get to our dorm, I head straight to the bathroom.

“Okay, I’m going to hop in the shower and I’ll meet you in your room?” I say.

“Unless you want me to join you?” he winks.

I roll my eyes and shake my head.

W
hen I get
out of the shower, I reapply my makeup just a bit. I brush my hair, flip it over to give it some life, and leave it damp. I look in the mirror. Is this really happening?

“Just breathe,” I say to myself. Suddenly, I wish that I had one of those tattoos on my wrist that says ‘just breathe.’ I’ve made fun of those on many occasions. I mean, when do you really forget to breathe? But at this point, I could use one. A visual reminder to relax. Take a break. Breathe in and out.

My heart beats so hard, it feels like it’s going to jump out of my chest. I knock on his door. No one answers. I knock harder. When he doesn’t answer again, I push it open.

Tristan’s sitting on his bed with his laptop. He barely looks up. He has a despondent look on his face. When he looks up at me, he doesn’t look at me so much as through me. Somewhere far away.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

He shakes his head. But just a little bit. It looks so much like a nod, but different. I wait for him to speak. A minute passes. It feels like a century.

“I...I…lost the money,” he finally says. His voice shakes.

“What money?”

“The money I invested with Dylan’s guy,” he says slowly. There’s a difficulty in each word, it’s as if to say it, he has to move a car singlehandedly from one side of the street to another.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I wrap my arms around him. He doesn’t push me away. Just continues to sit there. Lost in a world that I can’t reach.

“I lost $15,000,” he whispers, burying his head in his hands. “How could I be so stupid?”

“I’m so, so sorry.” I embrace him.

I don’t know what to do to make him feel better. I wish there was something, but I feel utterly helpless.
Just be here for him,
I say to myself.
Just sit here and listen
.

“It was going so well. My $5,000 investment became $10,000. I was going to take it out, but then I didn’t. I put it all back in, Alice,” he says.

Whilst at first, words didn’t come at all, now they’re practically tumbling out of him. “Why did I do that?” he asks. “I’m so stupid.”

“No, you’re not,” I whisper.

“I made another $5,000 and then…then it all disappeared.”

“How?” I ask.

He takes a deep breath. Lets it out and then says, “The stock plummeted after the CFO of the pharmaceutical company was arrested for insider trading.”

We sit in silence for a long time. I don’t know what to say and Tristan has nothing else to say. Eventually, and with a great deal of effort, I turn off the light and take the laptop from his lap. I pull the covers over him and give him a kiss on the cheek.

“Where are you going?” he whispers.

“I thought I’d give you some time to rest,” I say.

“Can you stay? Please?”

I climb into bed with him. Tristan wraps his arms around me. He presses himself against me. We spoon for some time. Minutes tick away. Sometime later, I turn to face him. I think that he’s asleep, but he’s wide awake. Still staring out in the distance.

“You should get some sleep,” I say. “Things will be better in the morning.”

Tristan looks at me. He disentangles his hand from the covers and brushes his index finger along my bottom lip. His fingertip feels soft like silk. Slowly, he pulls himself closer to me. I feel his breath on my lips. Our lips touch.

His lips are effervescent. He parts my lips with his tongue. It feels familiar and strange at the same time. As we kiss, our bodies morph into one. I can no longer tell where he begins and I end.

Suddenly, his kisses become more forceful. He presses his whole body into mine. Every last inch of it is hard and strong. He climbs on top of me and kisses me harder. So hard that it borders on painful. I try to keep up. I push back into him. He rises a little above me. I’m surprised at my own strength.

We make out well into the night. It doesn’t go further than that. We don’t rip our clothes off. We simply make out. Like teenagers. Because, mainly, we still are. I don’t want to lie. It’s not like thoughts of pulling off his clothes don’t strike me. But I don’t initiate. And he doesn’t either. At this moment, this is enough. This is more than enough. Sometime later, after we’re both worn out, we fall asleep in each other’s arms.

I
t’s 3
:37 am when I sneak out of bed to get something to drink. As I pour myself a cup of milk, Dylan comes in and flips on the lights. He startles me. I shield them as best as I can, but the bright lights still sting my eyes.

“Hey, I’m so sorry. Didn’t know you were in here,” he says.

Dylan’s dressed in a suit. The one he wears exclusively to clubs.

“Shit, Alice, I’m not having a good day,” Dylan says.

“Neither is Tristan,” I say.

He looks away. Pours himself a cup of water. “Oh he heard? I was going to tell him in the morning.”

“He lost 15 thousand dollars, Dylan,” I say, crossing my arms.

“Oh shit, I didn’t know it was that much. I thought he’d only invested five.”

“No, he invested his gains back into it.”

“Ah, well, that’s what happens.” Dylan shrugs.

“Is that all you’re going to say?” I ask. “That’s all his savings. He lost everything.”

I’m so angry, I want to punch him.

“Hey, if it’s any consolation, I lost twenty grand. Just about.” He shrugs.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t have a rich dad to bail him out,” I say. “You can still afford to go party all night. He can’t.”

Dylan shrugs. He doesn’t look like he cares much.

“How could you let this happen?” I try again.

I have to make him understand. I know I shouldn’t be doing this at three in the morning, after I didn’t get much sleep and he has been out all night. But I can’t stop myself.

“Hey, listen, it was an investment. He knew what he was getting into.”

“But it was your guy!”

“So what? That guy made him $10,000! Would you be here yelling at me if he had pulled out?”

“No, but he didn’t, did he? He lost all his money!”

“I don’t want to hear this shit, Alice,” Dylan says. “I lost a lot of money, too. Tristan’s a big boy.”

“He’s right,” Tristan says, coming out of his room. “He’s right, Alice. I knew about the risks.”

“But don’t you think Dylan should’ve warned you—“

“No,” Tristan cuts me off. “It’s fine, really. It’s not Dylan’s fault.”

“It just sucks,” I say. “You lost so much money. I just wish I could help.”

“I know, but you can’t. No one can. It’s fine,” he says.

“No, it’s not.” I shake my head and open the door to my room.

I leave Tristan and Dylan alone. If he’s not mad at him, why should I be? I rub my eyes. Juliet turns around in bed. She’s engulfed in her comforter and I can barely see her face. Only her eyes.

“Sorry to wake you,” I whisper and close the door behind myself to block the light from the kitchen.

“It’s okay,” she says. Her voice is raspy and uneven. “Dylan and I broke up.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say, changing into my pjs.

“It’s okay,” she sighs. “He’s back with Peyton. Again. He’s obsessed with Peyton.”

Though I can’t see very well, I can tell that her eyes are puffy. She has been crying.

“Hey, weren’t you supposed to be away for the weekend?” she asks.

I fill her in on the details. Simon. Tristan. Tristan and I making out. Tristan losing his money. Wow, this has been a ridiculously long day. Just going over it in a few sentences tires me out.

She listens quietly, taking it all in. Doesn’t comment. I’m grateful for that. I couldn’t deal with a snarky remark right now without getting too emotional about it.

“So how are you?” I ask. She doesn’t respond right away.

“Eh, fine. You live and learn, I guess,” she says.

I’ve always wondered what that expression meant. It’s as if it’s a way to just write off a huge part of life and not deal with it. It seems enlightening and worldly, but it sounds like an excuse. Like a statement that someone makes when they don’t want to make a statement at all.

“So what did you learn?” I ask.

She’s just trying to cope with this. I shouldn’t be putting her on the spot like that. I know that and I hate myself for doing it anyway.

“What did I learn?” Juliet asks like she’s trying to buy time. “That I shouldn’t go out with assholes.”

We both laugh.

“That’s going to be a tough thing in this city,” I joke.

***

I don’t see Tristan until that afternoon. In the morning, he goes for a run and then I go out for brunch with Juliet. She’s still distraught over Dylan, but trying to put on as brave of a face as possible. That afternoon, she goes out to a matinée show of
A Streetcar Named Desire
with some of her acting friends. I’m invited too, but opt to stay home. The drizzle that started that morning has morphed into a full-blown rainstorm, and I have a hard time braving the streets of New York in this kind of weather.

The good thing about not going to the cabin for the weekend, one of many, is that I actually had time to edit my paper due on Monday. I was in a rush to finish it before the trip and now, for the first time this semester, I’m actually done two days before it’s due. The feeling is quite exhilarating, I can’t lie. There’s this heavy feeling of dread that lifts off me. I don’t have a dark cloud hanging around my head about a paper that I should be writing but I’m not. It feels so good, actually, that I decided to try to finish other papers early as well. It might be a pipe dream, but it’s good to have dreams, right?

There’s a knock on my door just as I finish reading the last sentence of my paper.

“Come in,” I say. I click save and close my laptop.

When I turn around in my chair, I see Tristan standing awkwardly in the doorway, unsure about coming in.

“Oh hey, how are you?” I ask.

“Okay, I guess.” He hangs his head. “I went for a run this morning. To clear my head.”

“And?” I ask hopefully.

“I’m still finding it difficult to get over the fact that I lost 15 grand. But I guess I’m feeling better than last night.”

I nod and ask him to come in. We both sit down on my bed together.

“On the bright side,” I say. “At least, you had 15 grand to lose. I mean, that’s something, right?”

That was my bad attempt at a joke. It backfires. He looks crushed. I feel like a massive idiot for even saying something like that. Something so insensitive.

“I’m sorry,” I say. Too little, too late.

“No, that’s true, I guess. Just a little too soon, I think.”

I nod, grateful that he doesn’t take it personally.

“So I mainly wanted to come here and talk to you about Dylan,” he says.

“Dylan?”

“I don’t want you to talk to him about this anymore. You shouldn’t have lectured him about this.”

“I was just trying to help you,” I say defensively.

“I know, but I don’t need it,” he shakes his head. “It’s not Dylan’s fault. I don’t think he scammed me. He lost a lot of money, too.”

“I know, but—“ I start to say.

“No buts, Alice,” he cuts me off.

I feel this incessant need to make Tristan understand that I was coming from a good place. I don’t know why. I don’t think for a second that he might already know that.

“It was an investment. That’s what happens to bad investments,” he adds. His voice is forceful, certain. I look up at him. There are flames of anger in his eyes.

“What’s wrong? Why are you mad?” I ask.

“Why? Because you are butting into my business. Do you know how embarrassing that is?”

“I was just trying to help.”

“Alice, I don’t need you to–” he yells. Then stops short at the end of the sentence. He doesn’t finish it. It’s like he’s afraid of finishing it.

“You don’t need me,” I say. “I get it.”

I get off the bed. I don’t want to see his face. Yesterday was like a dream. Not necessarily a bad dream, just a dream. It doesn’t feel real. I walk over to the window and look out at the pouring rain outside. The whole city is crying.

“That’s not what I meant,” Tristan says.

I wait for him to put his arm around me. But he doesn’t. He simply walks to the door and leaves.