“What do you mean, it didn’t work out?”
“Honestly, I don’t want to rehash it. I’m here at the Bean and happy. Maybe the happiest I’ve ever been.”
A sullen Murphy from our past came to mind. She’d always come back to Pressman despondent after breaks. I’d go over and see if I could cheer her up, and she’d shoo me away, saying I didn’t understand. It was part of the divide between us, part of the push-pull dance we always did.
By the time we were seniors, I knew what to expect. If Murphy spent significant time with her family or rich friends, she’d pull back from me except for when I tutored her. As the aftershocks of whatever ensued within her wealthy circles wore off, she’d let me in, only to push me out again.
Why did I put up with it? Because I liked her. Too much. Somewhere underneath all her steely armor, I recognized a softer person. A fascinating person that I really liked.
“It’s from our biggest disappointments that we grow, Murph,” I told her, feeling compelled to make her feel better like I used to do all those years ago.
She scoffed. “Seriously, you’re going to give me some cheesy motivational quote? Who said that?”
“Me, that’s who. I’m sure someone more profound said something similar at one point, but that’s me saying it to you, and meaning it.”
We were back in the dance. Murphy with her holier-than-thou, well-groomed, well-bred attitude, and me with my hokey small-town sayings.
Her green eyes stared me down, a cool grassy meadow inviting me to bare it all. “How would you even know about disappointments? Doesn’t look like you’ve had too many.”
“Ha. This coming from you, who knows more than most that I was the poor boy at the fancy prep school. The charity case, the farmer’s son, the pity party. I know plenty about disappointments.”
I didn’t mention spending four years being disappointed by her, only to get my one chance on prom night. Or at least that’s what I’d believed. But I was wrong, and now here she was, sitting across from me, wondering about what disappointments life had thrown at me.
“You need to let that go, Ben, the charity angle. Seems like it’s a long way in the past for you. You’re a doctor now, well-liked and clearly happy, doing your thing.”
Her words, meant to be approving, were like a salve on a third-degree burn. I’d spent four years wishing she would think more of me, and here she was finally doing it now.
Swallowing regret for how I jumped on her, I took a moment to gather my thoughts. I’d always let Murphy’s pity go by the wayside, knowing it was the price I paid for having her as a friend.
“Yes, I am, but it wasn’t without a lot of sacrifice. I was still the scholarship kid in college. The long-snapper on the football team—you know what that means? The lowest man on the totem pole. It played well into me not having a social life, which gave me the time to make ends meet ... otherwise.”
“What do you mean?” Her expression softened, and she didn’t look ready to unleash her Irish temper at me.
“That’s a story for another day.”
“Oh. I didn’t mean ...” Her brow formed a tiny furrow, and she almost looked about to cry.
I didn’t know what to make of this new dance. She’d lash out at me and then soften toward me, and then I didn’t know what the fuck this was.
“I have to go,” I said, rising to my feet. “Patients are waiting. I’ll see you the next time you’re working, I guess.”
The last part came off slightly hopeful and partly resentful. Murphy was part of my past, and not one I was sure I wanted in my present.
Needing to keep this relationship contained, I resisted the urge to ask for her number. I’d come too far to let old habits bring me down, and was proud of who I was and what I’d achieved. Murphy was a former obsession, and she needed to stay that way. Nothing more.
“Okay,” Murphy said slowly as she rose to her feet as well. “I’m actually off for the next two days, so I’ll see you when I see you.”
With that, I sensed that Murphy wanted to keep us—whatever us was, or is—in the past too.
A little too late, I realized that the gnawing sensation in my gut was disappointment as I turned to leave, an empty mug in my hand and a hollowness in my chest.
4
Murphy
I woke up on Saturday morning to absolutely nothing—no traffic noise outside my windows, and no work or social obligations.
Even though I’d lived in Vermont for a few months, the difference from New York City still rattled me. The utter quiet, the slower pace, the way I could actually hear birds chirping. There were no horns blaring, no ambulances, and no shouting in the streets. It was so different from what I was used to, it was unnerving.
