One Year (New & Lengthened Edition) (19 page)

J
uliet
, Dylan, and I go out for drinks with a few other people from our floor. Apparently, Tristan texted Dylan and said that he’ll be by later. I don’t want to go, but I don’t want to explain why I’m not going either.

The numbness finally starts to wear off after my second martini. And just at that precise moment, Tristan reappears. I see him standing in the doorway of the crowded bar full of celebrating college students. He’s looking for someone. I turn to Juliet, trying to hide in my seat.

“Tristan’s here!” Juliet and Dylan say almost simultaneously. Everyone cheers.

“Come join us, man,” Dylan says. “You’re about two drinks behind.”

“Hey everyone,” he smiles. “But I’m actually here to steal Alice away for a few minutes.”

“No!” everyone replies jokingly. “Boo!”

“Alice.” He comes closer to me, touching my back lightly. “Can I talk to you?”

I shake my head. Every time we’ve talked, things got worse and worse. Now, I’m not sure that our frail friendship will survive another one of our talks.

“Please, I have to talk to you,” he whispers.

I sigh, take a sip of my martini, and eat an olive.

“You okay?” Juliet mouths to me silently. I shrug and follow Tristan out of the bar.

“Tristan, I want to apologize to you,” I say, wrapping my scarf around my neck and zipping my coat. The air smells fresh and new, the cold’s nipping at my nose. Every tree on the street is lit up in yellow lights. The city is screaming that Christmas is just around the corner.

“I do, too,” he says. “But before we do any of that, I want to show you something. Will you come with me?”

Begrudgingly, I agree.

We walk back to our dorm, ride the elevator all the way to the top. I’ve never been this high before. He opens a small passageway with stairs leading even higher.

“Where are we going?” I finally ask.

“The roof.”

“I didn’t even know this place existed. Or that we could go here,” I say.

“We can’t. Not really. But I know one of the janitors and he let me up here before.”

We walk out onto the roof.

“What do you do up here?” I ask.

“Think, mostly. It’s a nice place for that. Quiet. Peaceful,” he says.

Darkness falls with a vengeance in New York, quickly and without apologies. It doesn’t dilly-dally. One minute it’s daytime and the next it’s nighttime and the world is lit up by lights.

“It looks like Christmas all the time here doesn’t it?” Tristan asks.

“What do you mean?”

“The lights. There are so many lights here. It’s like it’s Christmas all the time.”

I’ve never thought of it that way before. But he’s right. Every night, when the lights come on, the city seems to celebrate. Rejoice.

“Alice, I brought you up here because I wanted to show you something.”

He takes a moment to collect his thoughts. I wait.

“I’m tired of simply telling you how I feel. I think I’ve used up all the words I have. So, I wanted to show you, instead.”

He pauses again. Looks straight into my eyes and continues.

“Ever since I read that thank you card, I’ve been going over all the ways that I’ve disappointed you. All the times that I’ve acted like a jerk. And I think it all started that day, about a week after we broke up. When we were first trying to be friends. We were supposed to see a movie together, remember?”

I nod. Of course, I remember.

“They were having a special showing of
Titanic
and I had promised to take you to see it. And then I didn’t show up.”

I had waited for half an hour. Then went inside and cried through the whole movie.

“It’s fine,” I say. “Ancient history.”

“No, it’s not fine. I was an inconsiderate dick. And I’m sorry.”

I nod. Tristan never really apologized for that. Not in a way that let me believe him.

“Thank you,” I say. “I really appreciate it.”

“So, I wanted to do something to make up for that,” he says.

Tristan takes my hand, turns me around. There’s a projector pointed at a big white screen and two lounge chairs in front of it. Large, warm blankets cover the chairs and a small table in the front with a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a plate of cheese and crackers.

“What is this?” I turn to Tristan.

“It’s my apology. For everything,” he says. “For ever hurting your feelings. And for letting you go.”

My chest tightens up. For a second, I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me.

“Alice, I don’t want to just be your first boyfriend,” he says. “I want to be your boyfriend again.”

I sit down on the chair. He wraps the blanket around me, pours me a glass of wine. Tristan pulls his chair close to mine. I look up at him. I watch the way his breath moves in the cold air. He starts the movie. We watch in silence for a little while. When Rose gets out of the car in her fabulous hat and heads towards the ship, I turn to Tristan.

“Okay,” I whisper.

He smiles at me, shaking his head. Like he doesn’t believe me.

I lean over. He takes my hand, wrapping his fingers around mine. His fingers are hot to the touch; mine are as cold as ice. Tristan brings my fingers to his lips and lightly blows on them. His mouth spreads warmth throughout my entire body.

He moves even closer. We breathe the same air. I close my eyes and feel his lips on mine. A spark of electricity courses through me.

“I love you,” he whispers through the kiss.

“I love you, too.”

D
ear Alice
,

Thank you.

Thank you for opening up yourself to love again. You don’t know what’s going to happen in the future. But you have taken a leap of faith. You were afraid, but you didn’t let that stop you from doing what you felt was right. I’ve always thought that to show courage was to run into a burning building to save a life. Well, by opening myself up to love again, I’ve run into a burning building and saved a life. My own.

Love,

Alice

“
O
ne forgives
to the degree that one loves.”

- Francois de La Rochefoucauld

T
ristan
and I got back together after finals, right before Christmas break. But now that his parents no longer lived where we both grew up, we didn’t see each other until New Year’s Eve, when we went skiing in Mammoth. He met me at the airport with a bouquet of flowers. He said he loved me. And we spent the weekend making love and skiing. And eating a few s’mores here and there.

W
hen I arrive
at JFK Airport for my second semester at Columbia University that spring, I breathe in the crisp January air and realize that this city has become something of an old friend. Familiar. Not so friendly. A little too grumpy. Almost always too loud. But despite all the shortcomings—or maybe because of them—New York is the kind of old friend you start to miss if you’re not around her for a bit.

People come here to leave their mark. But I’m not so sure that it’s the people who leave their mark on this city or if it is the other way around. It shaped me, defined me, forced me to confront my true self. Examine who I am and what I want to be.

This city came into my life and changed me. It morphed me into an adult. I complained and kicked and screamed, but the city didn’t give up on me. It taught me to live on my own. And do all the little tasks that come with growing: laundry, grocery shopping, getting your own medicine from the pharmacy when you’re sick.

New York is full of ghosts—ghosts you feel when you wander the streets at twilight. You can feel them in the morning, too, when the city’s just waking up. The ghosts are not just of the dead, for this city keeps souls, souls of those who come for a week and those who stay for years.

Walking out of the airport, I suddenly realize that there’s a clear line between home and school. It should be obvious, of course. Calabasas is a place an hour north of Los Angeles where oranges dot the landscape in the winter and the sky is so wide and blue that it’s easy to forget what day, month, and year it is. It’s a place that the sun isn’t fearful of. And it’s a place that rain rarely visits. School, on the other hand, is an entirely different world. Here, the streets explode in a cacophony of sounds I never knew existed. It’s a place where bakeries open at 5 AM and bars and clubs don’t close until 4 AM. It’s a place where people seem to live more fully at night than they do during the day. Unlike back home, where even a few drops of rain usually cancel all plans for the day, here the streets can be wet, full of slush and covered in snow, but that doesn’t stop anyone from going wherever they were going.

As I get into the cab, I’m excited at the prospect of coming back to my new home here in the city. For one thing, my roommates are no longer strangers, but friends. Old friends. And like that old Dolly Parton song goes, “you can’t make old friends.” Unlike my first semester here, this time around, no introductions are needed. We’re going to start off right where we had left off. Laughing. Talking. Reminiscing. I can’t wait.

From what I heard, Dylan is back with Peyton. According to Juliet, they had gotten back together and broken up twice over Christmas break. But I guess they’re going through an on period. All this drama gives Juliet an insane amount of delight, despite the fact that she and Dylan had a thing for close to a month last semester and I was expecting her to be a little bitter over the whole thing.

And the thing that’s even better than old friends is an old love. My old love, to be precise. I hadn’t seen Tristan since we had gone skiing over New Year’s.

“Alice!” Tristan yells as I get out of the cab in front of our building. He wraps his arms around me as I try to fish out a $10 bill to tip the cab driver.

He had recently shaved. His skin feels smooth and smells of coconut oil, his DIY aftershave. I wrap my arms around him and hug him as tightly as I can. And then…my heart jumps into my throat. I take a breath. My chest hurts and no air comes in. My heart starts to beat faster and faster. One more second and it’ll pop out of my chest.

“What’s wrong? You okay?” Tristan asks.

He pulls away from me.

“I’m sorry. I’m just…” I mumble. “I can’t breathe.”

“Oh my God, Alice. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head. “I just need a minute.”

I double over and put my head in between my knees. I’ve never had a panic attack, but that’s what I heard Dr. Drew say to do in situations like these. Tristan patiently pats my back and waits.

I take one deep breath. And then another. Slowly, my heartbeat returns to normal. It hits me. It’s love. I’m actually overwhelmed by love.

“Okay, I’m good.” I stand up straight. I’m no longer sweating, but I’m suddenly keenly aware of how sweaty I am. My shirt is soaked and I’m getting colder with every second. Tristan stares at me with his brows furrowed and his face as serious as I’ve ever seen it. He’s concerned.

“Sorry about that,” I say. “I just got a little too excited about seeing you, I guess.”

He takes me into his arms again.

“Are you okay?” he whispers.

“Yeah.” I nod. “I think that was a mini-panic attack or something. No worries. It’s over.”

I look up at Tristan’s face. At the end of last semester, his tan had started to wear off. But now, it’s back again. It’s almost certainly from surfing and skiing over Christmas break. I take a moment to admire how nice his body feels next to mine. Even through all the layers of clothes, his arms feel strong and powerful. His piercing eyes sparkle under the lights of the city and alternate between hazel and green, depending on the angle.

Tristan’s light brown hair is longer than it was last semester, falling into his face. I move a few strands out of his face. My fingers brush over his lips, which are glittering and soft despite the cold weather and lack of Chapstick. He purses them and kisses my fingers lightly. Then he pulls me closer. Tilting my head upward, he kisses me. His tongue brushes across my upper lip and my knees grow weak. We start to move in unison, as if we’re dancing to the same melody. My breaths match his breaths. His shoulders drop at the same time as mine rise. It’s a game of give and take, with neither of us giving or taking too much.

A sudden gust of wind assaults us, bringing us back to reality for a moment. It’s almost 10:30 PM and 23 degrees on Broadway in January.

“Let’s go inside,” Tristan whispers without pulling away from my lips.

“Okay,” I mumble back. This is our special game—talking through our kisses. It’s something we have done forever and it’s one of the things that I love most about us.

W
e go upstairs
. Juliet, Peyton, and Dylan are there, hanging out in the living room. Juliet and I share one room; Dylan and Tristan share another. We all share the living room, kitchen, and bathroom. After a ton of hugs and kisses, the guys serve us all drinks and we catch up. Or rather, I catch up. Everyone else has been here for a few hours already and, from the looks of it, the drinks were already flowing.

I haven’t seen Juliet since December and I’m taken aback by how beautiful her hair is. Juliet is a voluptuous brunette with porcelain skin and to-die-for silky hair. I don’t know how she makes her hair so shiny, but I’m jealous. She gave me all of her products to use last semester, but my hair never got that lustrous, no matter what I did.

Dressed in high heel boots, a tight turtleneck sweater, and a short black skirt, Juliet is the epitome of chic. I, on the other hand, look like the ‘90s threw up on me. I’m wearing leggings, a shabby t-shirt that’s way too thin for this weather, and a plaid button down shirt.

Dylan hands me a beer. He’s dressed in his usual uniform—a Nautica sweater, loafers, and slacks.

“Hey Dylan, do you own any other clothes?” Juliet asks as if she’s reading my mind.

“What do you mean?” He shrugs.

“No, he doesn’t,” Peyton laughs.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Dylan asks, looking down at his clothes.

“You look like you just stepped off a sailboat in Nantucket.” Peyton smiles.

She’s making fun of him, but it’s obvious that she loves him and his clothes. He’s an L. L. Bean cover model and she’s the Connecticut queen on his arm.

Come to think of it, Juliet and Peyton could be sisters. They have almost identical chocolate hair, similar disapproving looks, and opinionated, know-it-all, coy smiles. Except that Juliet’s a lot curvier than Peyton. That’s really an understatement. Peyton’s so thin, she’s practically malnourished, and that’s coming from someone who lives in LA.

Dylan and Juliet play beer pong while Peyton’s nose is stuck in her phone. The fact that Juliet and Dylan are still on good terms is shocking to me. I mean, they slept together for over a month last semester after Peyton fell in love with her Resident Advisor at Yale. And yet, here they all are—Dylan and Peyton are back together without bruised egos or hard feelings and Juliet and Dylan are friends again. Honestly, they’re the epitome of some sort of post-relationship awakening—the image of modernity.

“Okay, kids,” Juliet says, finishing her beer. “It’s been fun catching up, but I’ve got to go. I have a date.”

“You’ve only been here a day and you’re already going out?” I ask.

“Hey, mama’s gotta play.” She shrugs.

“So who’s your date?” Tristan asks.

“His name’s Brayden. He’s a stockbroker,” Juliet announces in her usual way. Name, then occupation or major. I’m Alice, English major. Dylan is Dylan, undecided. And Tristan is Tristan, economics major.

A
s soon as Juliet leaves
, Tristan nudges me to go unpack in my room. I smile and tell everyone that we’re going to go unpack. They all nod and pretend they don’t know what we’re going to do.

“You think you’re so mysterious,” I say when we’re both alone in my room.

“No, not really.” He shrugs and pulls me close to him. “I just want to be alone with you.”

Tristan presses his lips onto mine. My knees grow weak again. Shivers run up and down my body.

“No, no, no.” I shake my head. “I do actually have a lot of unpacking to do.”

I pull away from him and unwrap his arms from my body. But when I lean over my suitcase, he’s around me again. Holding me tight. Close. I feel my body temperature rising.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he whispers in his most soothing voice. I smile. Turn around to face him. It’s not that I don’t want him. I do. More than anything.

“What do you want?” I ask. The huge smile on my face is so wide, it’s hurting my face, but I can’t make it vanish.

“You,” he says and tosses me onto the bed. “You’re as light as a feather!” Tristan adds, the words that every girl dreams of hearing.

He climbs on top of me, cradles my head. He moves my hair off my neck and kisses my ear lightly. His kisses send shivers down my body and make my feet feel numb.

I lift his head up to my lips and kiss him on the mouth. I bury my hands in his hair. His hands remain at my sides, but his lips move along with mine. I feel him push into me.

I hear footsteps outside the door.

“What’s that?” I ask, pushing him away.

“Nothing,” he mumbles and starts to kiss my neck again. He gives me light little kisses along my collarbone, driving me wild. But something at the door is worrying me.

“What if Juliet comes back?” I ask.

“She won’t,” he says without stopping. “She’s on her date.”

“So who’s that? Outside?” I ask.

“Shhh.” He puts his finger across my lips. “That’s just Dylan and Peyton. They won’t come in.”

“How do you know?” I ask. I don’t know what’s worrying me. But something is making me stall. I’m trying to buy time. But why?

“They won’t come in because I never intrude on them. They owe me.”

I know he’s right. I take a deep breath. Just relax. I’ve done this a million times. We’ve done this a million times. This is Tristan. You love him. And he loves you.

As Tristan’s mouth makes its way from my collarbone further down to my breasts and then around my ribs and down to my belly button, I start to relax. All thoughts of intruders suddenly vanish and I’m calm.

Wordlessly, Tristan pulls off my shirt and undoes my bra. He stands above me as he pulls off his own shirt. He isn’t flexing, but the muscles in his stomach still make a perfect six-pack.

“You’re so hot,” I say, running my fingers over each pack.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he says, snuggling out of his jeans. He kisses me lightly along my hipbones and tugs at the top of my leggings. I’m getting warm in between my legs. I lift up my butt to help him pull them off me. With one quick swoosh, I’m suddenly completely naked. No leggings, panties, or socks.

Tristan presses his body close to mine.

“You feel nice,” he mumbles, as we start to move in unison. I thread my fingers into his hair. His thick hair is so silky that my fingers can’t seem to find traction.

He kisses me behind the ear as he finds his way into me. We fumble around at first, trying to find the right pace but quickly start to move together. Energy builds up within me. I let out a moan.

“I love you,” he moans into my ear.

“I love you too,” I whisper as he sends me over the edge. I curl my toes as warmth pulsates throughout my body. I close my eyes and disappear into another world. Tristan moves faster and faster until he collapses on top of me.

My mind goes blank as my body goes limp. I can’t feel the lower half of my body.

“Thank you,” he says, sighing and rolling over next to me.

“No, thank you,” I mumble.