Gabe
PS. Watched It Takes a Galaxy on the plane. Loved the way the dream episode came out.
I was at Darren’s apartment when the e-mail came through. It was a Sunday and we’d just returned from Montauk. I wanted to get back to my place that night, but Darren had food in his refrigerator and I didn’t, so we were going to have a quick bite together before I went home to do laundry and get things ready for work the next day. Darren was unpacking his bag of damp beach stuff and dropping it in the bathtub so it wouldn’t mildew, and I was scanning the contents of his kitchen cabinets for extra items to add to our sandwich dinner. I’d pulled my BlackBerry out of my bag to see if any crazy work things had gone on while we were on the train. Nothing from work, but that e-mail from you. I was glad Darren was in the other room.
My body reacts so physically to you that it’s almost bizarre. It’s been like that ever since I met you, and I always assumed—perhaps hoped—that would change at some point. But it never has.
I saw your name, and my stomach flipped. I clicked on the e-mail. Even though part of me thought, This is not a good idea, I knew I would meet up with you. I wanted to see you, to hear how you were doing. I also knew I had to bring it up with Darren. Not to ask his permission, but because it would feel wrong not to tell him.
His face was completely calm when I said that I’d just gotten an e-mail from my ex. It cracked slightly when I told him I was planning to meet you for a drink but then went back to normal.
“Will you tell me when?” he asked.
“Of course,” I answered.
“Will you come here afterward?”
I wasn’t planning on sleeping with you. I wasn’t planning on staying out late either. But I had a feeling I’d want to be alone that night. Still, I knew I had to compromise a little. For Darren. Because I loved him.
“Absolutely,” I told him.
He seemed happy with that, and our conversation moved on. To the new guy Alexis was dating, the surfer she met at Ditch Plains the weekend before. To the three weddings we were going to that summer—all his friends—and whether we’d rather rent a car and drive to Philly for Brad and Tracey’s wedding, or take the train and cab it around the city once we got there. I was totally normal on the outside, having these conversations with Darren, but inside all I wanted to do was check my BlackBerry to see if you’d responded. To know when exactly I was going to see you again. This is why it was better when we weren’t in touch. Waiting is always excruciating.
• • •
ON THURSDAY MORNING I changed my outfit four times. First I had on a dress that was loose and flowing and made my body look shapeless. I thought maybe that would be a good way to keep things platonic. But then I looked in the mirror again. I hadn’t seen you in over a year, and didn’t want you to think I’d let myself go. So I put on something tight. But then thought maybe it looked like I was trying too hard. So I changed into a pair of summer pants and a tank top. But then remembered that you liked how I looked in skirts. So I put on a pencil skirt and a sleeveless silk blouse and peep-toe heels. It was an outfit that made me feel confident and successful and in charge. I wore something like it when I had to make presentations at the office. I flat-ironed my hair and spent extra time on my bangs.
I could barely concentrate at work all day. I was supposed to be reviewing the scripts for the newest episodes of It Takes a Galaxy and had to read one of them four times before I actually knew what was happening in the show.
After work, I walked slowly to Pazza Notte. I was a few minutes early and contemplated walking around the block, but went inside instead and got us two seats at the bar. You BlackBerry-messaged me to say you were running late, which was rare for you, so I ordered myself a glass of wine. I’d drunk about half of it by the time you got there, in a whirlwind of dimples and apologies.
“It’s good to see you, Luce,” you said, wrapping me in a hug.
I hugged you back just as hard, and realized that you smelled exactly the same. Scientists say that scent is one of the strongest memory triggers we have. I totally believe it. With my face against your shirt, I was catapulted back in time.
After we separated from our hug, you looked at me for a long moment. “Just drinking you in,” you said. “You look . . . great. I like the haircut.”
I could feel myself blush. “Thanks,” I said. “You too.” And you did. In the time you were away, you’d lost a little weight and the structure of your face became more pronounced. Your hair still sprung up in curls, but they were shorter and tighter. You were tan, and the hair on your forearms had gotten blonder.
I was so caught up in the fog of you that I can’t even remember what we talked about that night. Can you? I’m sure it was my show, your work, our families. I just remember feeling wholly and completely alive. Like every molecule of my body was awake and alert and excited. Any other feelings were pushed aside, smashed down because you were there, in front of me, smiling like I was the only person who existed in the world.
I didn’t want to cheat on Darren, and I don’t think I would have, but I did find myself slightly disappointed that you didn’t try. A kiss sliding from my cheek to my lips, a hand on my thigh. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if you had. Would it have changed anything? Would it have changed everything?
Darren texted once to say hello, and I realized that knowing I was out with you wasn’t easy for him. That he was probably home and worried. What’s ironic is that he shouldn’t have been worried then. It was later he should have worried—but by then I think that me sleeping with you was probably the furthest thing from his mind. He thought I was fully and completely his. But he’s never had all of me.
xxxviii
A few days after I saw you, I went shopping with Kate. She’d messaged me saying that she and Tom were going away—really away—together for the first time, for ten days to Spain—and she wanted to spruce up her wardrobe.
“What do you need?” I asked her, when I got to her apartment, the one I’d once shared with her. She and Tom weren’t living together. She’d told him that she wouldn’t live with anyone unless there was an engagement ring on her finger. I couldn’t help feeling defensive about you and me when she told me she’d said that. I’d known that had always been her plan, but I’d thought she’d change her mind when she met someone wonderful. And Tom truly was wonderful—calm and caring and generous. But she hadn’t.
Kate pulled a list up on her BlackBerry. “Two bathing suits, a cover-up, and a maxidress for our time in San Sebastián and Barcelona. And maybe a pair of wedge heels I can walk in for Madrid. And I wouldn’t mind a big straw hat. Don’t you think those are glamorous?”
I smiled at Kate. “I think you’d look like a movie star in one of those hats,” I told her. “Very, um, Greta Garbo?”
She looked at me out of the corner of her eye and then we both laughed.
“You don’t have any idea what Greta Garbo’s style was, do you?” she said, slinging her arm across my shoulder.
“None whatsoever,” I told her. “But isn’t she supposed to be glamorous?”
Kate sighed. “Very. But I think you mean Hedy Lamarr. She looked stunning in big, broad-brimmed hats.”
“Oh yes, absolutely Hedy Lamarr,” I said, wrapping my arm around Kate’s waist. “So where to? Are we taking on each challenge one by one, or department store?”
“Department store,” she said, without a moment’s hesitation. “I was thinking Bloomingdale’s is closest, and then we can get that yogurt for lunch.”
Bloomingdale’s, of course, made me think of you. I’d actually avoided the store for the last year-plus, which was pretty easy since I was living in Brooklyn. But I’d decided it was time to integrate Gabe-things back into my life, so I didn’t say anything except, “Love that yogurt.”
We got there and searched through the racks for bathing suits. Kate wanted ones that would go with the Hedy Lamarr hat she had yet to purchase, so we looked for vintage styles and conservative colors. With six or seven options, we headed into a dressing room.