Ordinary World (35 page)

“That’ll be spring break. Then I’m thinking of something bigger for the summer. Europe. Back to Italy, and then Spain, France…”

“Alone?”

“Yeah. I’ll have to cut some corners, though.”

“I’ll give you some contacts if you need places to stay.”

“Thanks, Dev—sorry; David.”

“It’s okay.” He looked down at his mug, and then at me. “You know, I have a confession to make. I actually love when you call me Dev. I don’t know why. I guess because you’re the only one that ever did. It’s something just between us that no one else can share or relate to. And I guess it’s also a good cross between Devin and David. But sometimes I worry that you still think of me as Devin.”

“When I think of you as Dev, I think of the best part of Devin.”

“Which part was that—the sex or the writing?” he asked with a wink.

“The friendship,” I replied.

He blushed. And in the split second before he looked back down, I saw his eyes become glassy.

“What comes after all this traveling?” he asked.

“I don’t know, but…” The words got trapped somewhere in the back of my throat. “I need some time away from you.”

He stiffened.

“How much time?”

“I don’t know.”

He stood up and rushed out. I ran after him, calling him.

“God, don’t do this to me again,” he said when I caught up to him. “I can’t take it—I really can’t take it.”

“Listen to me—will you please listen to me? Let’s go somewhere and talk. Can we do that?”

We walked to the Harvard Chapel—a glorious sanctuary of fountains and flowers and tranquility. Sitting in the back of the chapel, we spoke softly.

“We haven’t talked about Christmas Eve,” I spoke barely above a whisper.

“What’s there to talk about? You turned me down. What more do you want to say?”

“I didn’t turn you down. But I realized something that night—rather, it was something I couldn’t deny any longer. I don’t want to
need
you, David. I’ve lived by myself before. But I’ve never lived
with
or
for
myself. I want to know what it’s like to be my own best friend.

“When I left Massachusetts after I broke up with Andrew, I really didn’t like living with myself. I constantly felt lonely, even when you and I were spending so much time together.

“I wasn’t exactly fully present to you back then.”

“But it wasn’t your job to be present, nor was it your job to keep me occupied or keep me from having to live alone. And since Sam died, I’ve been living in his shadow. And you’re trying to take care of me all over again.”

“Are you saying you
want
to be alone?”

“I want to be able to live in solitude, yes. I want to know what that’s like.”

“So then, we can still be friends, yes? We can still see each other.”

“No.”

He put his head down and pinched the bridge of his nose where his brows met. I put my hand on his shoulder in a comforting way.

“There is no one who makes me feel as safe and secure as you do, Dev. The only other person ever to do that was Sam, except I didn’t need that from him. I was safe and secure enough in my own being. Which, when you think about it, is ironic, isn’t it? I felt that on my own, but lost it when I lost him. But that means I don’t need him, or you, to give it to me. I need to recover it on my own. Does that make sense?”

“No, it doesn’t. I have no friggin’ idea what you just said. And what do
I
do in the meantime?”

“I think you need to stop rescuing the world. I think we both need to be on new terms with each other. We each need to find our own ordinary world.”

“Our what?” 

“A world where we know each other. Where I’m sure of who I am and want to be, and where I don’t have expectations of you to be someone you aren’t.”

“Why can’t we find that together?”

“Because we distract each other too easily. And because I need to figure it out for myself. Look, this doesn’t have to be a break-up. Call it a separation.”

“Oh, because that makes me feel so much better.”

He pushed my hand off his shoulder. I then took his hand and clasped it into my own.

“This isn’t like the last time. I’m not leaving you for another man. You deserve so much more than what I’ve been able to give you. Didn’t you say that about yourself when you saw me with Sam? You said you were happy because he could give me what you couldn’t at that time. Well, that’s the way I feel right now.”

“Do you have any idea how much it hurt the first time you left? And how long do you expect me to wait for you?”

“I don’t know how long it’s going to take. If you meet someone else, so be it.”

We sat together in silence, looking at our interlocked hands.

“I am so afraid of losing you. I’m afraid you’ll never come back,” he said, his voice breaking on the last word.

I nodded. “All this time, I’ve never really been here.”

“I mean—” he started.

“—I know what you mean,” I interrupted. “And if you think this doesn’t terrify me, you’re wrong. But remember what you told me in Rome? You told me that I was daring to live a different life. Now we both need to take that risk. To envision a life without the other and know we’re going to be okay. If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that there are no guarantees. We can get married and the plane could go down while we’re on our way to our honeymoon. Hell, Sam just went out for a bottle of sparkling cider.”

Another stretch of silence passed.

“Can I see you at all? Can I call you?”

I shook my head, and a tear slid down his cheek.

I turned to him. “Let me tell you something: you’ve made my heart flutter from the moment I met you. That’s never gone away. Every time I see you, my pulse rate goes up.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly the Rock of Gibraltar around you either, despite appearances. Andi, I’m just so in love with you.”

“Then let me go so that I can learn to not only be in love with you but also be fully present to you.”

“Isn’t that a Catch 22?”

“Might be. Fucking annoying, huh.”

He laughed. We were, after all, in a chapel, and I covered my mouth the second after the expletive mixed in with the scent of incense.

“I think now’s a good time to get out of here,” he said.

We walked back to my car while snowflakes fell in that wonderful, silent, serene way that snowflakes do, and embraced tightly. Deja vous all over again.

“Letters?” he pitched in a last-ditch effort. “It’s a dying art form.”

“I taught you about the genre, did I not?”

“Yes, you did.”

“Good. You can practice your prose. Think of them as the journal entries you used to do for our weekly sessions. But don’t send them.”

He forced a smile and held me tight. Then he began to sob. “I don’t wanna let you go.”

I cried too. “I don’t wanna let you go either. We’ll both be okay. You’ll see.”

He kissed me hard, followed by a caress across my cheek, then embraced me one last time before I finally got into my car and drove home.

For the second time in my life, I left David Santino behind as I drove off to the next chapter of my life. The first time, Sam had been on the next page, waiting to begin the book of our life together. This time, I had no idea who or what would be waiting for me, if any at all. And yet, when I got back to my house, Sam was there, present as always. My co-writer. And somehow, I knew he approved.

Chapter Forty

A year in review

O
N THE FIRST DAY OF THE SPRING SEMESTER IN MID-January, I entered Jeff’s office and handed him a letter of resignation, effective at the end of the academic year. He begged me to reconsider. I told him I would think about it, but he and I both knew I was done. And I also knew that he wanted what was best for me.

When spring break arrived, I went to the island of Maui by myself, just like I said I would. Just relaxed, read, and wrote on the beach for six days. I barely even went sight-seeing. Shortly after that, I received news that
My Father’s Letter
would be released at the end of the year. I had gotten a publishing deal while the work was still unfinished, which was rare for fiction. But Sam and I, being published authors and known in our field already, had a little bit of clout in that regard. A buzz was already circulating for the story outside the novel—Sam’s tragic death and my picking up where he left off, literally and metaphorically. I insisted that we be credited as co-authors: A novel by Sam Vanzant with Andrea Vanzant. Despite all the work that I had done, it was still Sam’s novel as far as I was concerned.

***

When the spring semester ended in May, I celebrated my resignation with a trip to Italy. This time, Joey, Tony, and my mother stepped off the plane with me, and the four of us spent two weeks touring Venice, Florence, Rome, Naples, Capri, and back to Rome, taking lots of pictures and eating until we busted a gut. Surprisingly, we all got along (with the exception of occasional annoyances typical of traveling with family). Even Mom and I got along. We threw coins into Fontana Di Trevi and made wishes together—we even
hugged
afterward.

La bella Italia. Magic.

When I wasn’t hanging out with my family, I spent most of my days sitting in outdoor cafés and bistros, writing; it seemed to be all I ever wanted to do anymore. I wrote travel essays about all the places we visited. I even recounted trips Sam and I had taken to New Hampshire and Vermont and Maine and Cape Cod and Boston. I wrote letters to Sam’s brother Kevin, to Maggie, Miranda, Jeff, Piero, Julian, and Melody. I wrote to David too, but didn’t send the letters. I did break my rule once and sent him a postcard from Florence; I didn’t write anything on it, however.

After Italy, Joey and I went to Spain for a couple of days. We arranged to stay with contacts of David’s, all very hospitable and cordial and gracious. In Madrid, we looked at the architecture and museums that both David and Julian had told me about. From there I headed to London, on my own again, where I visited all the traditional tourist sights without the assistance of tour guides. My fear of going out into the foreign world had subsided quite a bit. I stayed for four days.

            When I came home, a package awaited me. My mother sent me a box of photos, all of my father—photos of his youth; wedding photos with Mom; family photos with my brothers and me. Indeed, my father had been tall, dark and handsome, and so much younger than I remembered. I studied his features and saw that I resembled him in some ways, although I looked more like my mother. She had the same glimmer in her eyes that I had in all my photos with Sam. She must have really loved my father. And yet, it couldn’t have been easy for her either.

            Every night I went through the photos, one by one, scrutinizing them with such curiosity and contemplation, and even framed a few. It was during those nights that I finally grieved my father’s death, and made peace with him too. Then I called Mom to thank her for sending them.

            “You have no idea what that meant to me, Mom. Thank you so much.”

            “He would have liked seeing you interact with your brothers in Italy. I don’t think I even realized how close the three of you were until then.”

            “It was a great trip. I’m glad you were with us.”

            Mom paused. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out with you and David.”

“Me too,” I said. “I miss him.”