“Thanks for a really fun night,” he said. “I hope we can do it again.”
I nodded, and he smiled.
“I’ll call you,” he said.
I could breathe again.
“I’d like that,” I answered. Because I did have a fun night with him. And because it was better to spend time with him than to sit home, alone, or get trashed with Alexis.
And as he walked away, I realized I was disappointed that he was leaving. My world seemed a little brighter while he shared it with me, and I liked that. A lot.
Then I turned to walk into my apartment and thought again about you.
xxix
The next day I spoke to Alexis. “What did you tell Darren about me?” I asked her.
“Me?” she said. “Nothing.”
I sighed. I’d been going over the forehead kiss in my mind all morning, and I realized that someone must’ve said something. Someone must’ve told him not to move too fast.
“Okay, not you,” I said. “Sabrina? What did she tell him?”
Alexis took a deep breath. I could imagine her running her hand through her hair on the other side of the phone. I haven’t seen her in about a year, since my last work trip to LA. She was such a huge part of my world back then, and just . . . isn’t anymore. It’s kind of sad that I don’t really miss her. I guess people change, lives change. We know that better than anybody.
“She told him you just got out of something serious,” Alexis said over the phone. “She told him to be patient. Not to break you.”
I cringed, even though Sabrina was probably right in saying all those things.
“And what did he say?” I asked.
“He said not only would he not break you, that he’d help put you back together.”
I leaned my head against the back of my couch. “Well,” I said. “That’s bold. What’s his deal? Does he have some sort of savior complex? A need to be a hero?”
“He’s really a good guy,” Alexis told me. “His friends are pretty much asshats, but he’s really decent. Not that Gabe wasn’t, but . . . I guess I’m just saying . . . give him a shot, Lu.”
I felt tears welling up in my eyes again at the mention of your name. I needed to stop that from happening, but I had no idea how.
“I don’t know if I can,” I said, wiping my nose with the back of my hand.
“It takes a guy to get over a guy,” Alexis said then. “And believe me, I should know.”
I let out a short burst of sound that was caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
“Seriously,” Alexis said, “give him a chance. If nothing else, he’ll show you that there are other good, smart people out there who think you’re pretty great.”
I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. “I’ll give him a chance,” I told her.
“Nothing more I can ask for,” she said. “Except maybe plans for next Friday night? You know that hot guy I met on the L train? He’s in a piece of performance art on the Lower East Side. Can you go with me?”
“Is this the one with the green hair?” I asked.
“Ew, no,” Alexis said. “Did I not tell you? He picked his nose at dinner. Done. This is the one with the Buddy Holly glasses and the beard.”
“Got it,” I said. “Count me in.” Even though really the last thing I wanted to do was go to see performance art starring some wacko Alexis met on the subway. But it was better than missing you.
xxx
Darren didn’t try to kiss me again. Not the next time we hung out, not the time after that, not the time after that either. And then it was almost Halloween.
“Want to come with me to a Halloween party this weekend?” he asked, when he called me a few days after our last date. “I promise it’ll be fun.”
And that was the thing: with Darren it always was fun. Being with him was easy. It was relaxed—and relaxing. It was comfortable. And I found that I was looking forward more and more to seeing him. And thinking less and less about you. Which was good, because I hadn’t heard from you again—or tried to contact you myself. I felt saner when I wasn’t waiting for a message from you. You weren’t out of my life completely, though. Once in a while I’d see your published photographs in the New York Times—your name would jump out at me as I rode on the subway. Every time it happened, my heart raced and I felt vaguely ill and off for the rest of the day. But I never felt that way around Darren.
“Halloween party?” I asked. “Okay, sounds good. Do we need costumes?”
“Do we need costumes, she asks!” he said, as if he were telling someone else about our conversation, even though he lived alone. We both did. “We absolutely need costumes,” he said. “I was thinking . . . Prisoner of Azkaban? We could be Harry and Hermione? Or maybe I could be Spider-Man and you could be MJ?”
I couldn’t help but think, in that brief moment, that those were two costumes you would never, in your whole life, ever suggest. The year before you and I had gone as a plug and a socket, remember? That was more your style. More both of our styles, actually.
“So you’re going for pop culture?” I asked Darren.
“Okay, can I confess something?” he said.
My heart lurched. “Okay . . .” I answered, really having no idea what was coming next. Already regretting that I hadn’t kissed him, that I hadn’t tried harder.
“I was drawing a blank with Halloween costumes, so I Googled ‘popular Halloween costumes.’ If you have any more original ideas, I’m all ears. Well, actually, I’m not. I’m eyes and a nose and a mouth and . . . well . . . other body parts too.”
I laughed, so incredibly relieved. “Other body parts?” I asked, realizing for the first time that I really wanted to flirt with him. That I was enjoying it. “Really?”
He was silent on the other end of the line. I could imagine his face, eyes opening wider, cheeks turning pink. “I didn’t mean . . .” he said.
“How about a Freudian slip?” I asked. “For Halloween? I can wear a slip with the word Freudian on it. And you can be Dr. Freud himself. I’ll find you a cigar.”
He laughed. “I like it!” he said. “Better than Spider-Man and MJ for sure.”
“What time’s the party?” I asked.
“Starts at nine,” he said, “at Gavin and Arjit’s place. Do you remember Arjit from the Hamptons?”
“I don’t think I do.”
“Well, you’ll meet them both at the party, then. How about I come over at eight with pizza? I have no idea what those guys think is appropriate party food, so we should be fortified before we leave.”
“Sounds good to me. I think I have a slip somewhere around here. And I’ll look for some fabric markers tomorrow.”
“And my cigar?” Darren said. “Actually, I think I’ll bring my own cigar.”
“Oh, will you?” I asked.
I could tell I’d flustered him again. “Um . . .” he said.
“Just teasing. I’ll see you Saturday night.”
• • •
SATURDAY NIGHT CAME and Darren arrived at my apartment wearing a white beard, fake glasses, a gray three-piece suit, and a sedately striped tie. He was carrying a pizza box in one hand and a cigar in the other.
“Do I look Freud-ish?” he asked.
“Remarkably so,” I answered. “Do I look like a Freudian slip?”
My hair was down and loose, and I was wearing a knee-length white lacy slip with the word Freudian written on it in red fabric marker. I hadn’t been quite sure which shoes were appropriate, so I went with silver ballet flats. I matched my lipstick to the fabric marker, so it was bright red.
Darren smiled behind his fake beard. “You do,” he said. “You absolutely do.”
• • •
SOMETHING BETWEEN US changed palpably that night. Instead of doing his goofy gentlemanly arm crook, he held my hand as we walked to his friends’ apartment. We were quickly roped into a game of flip cup and another and another, which left him tipsy and me one level past that.