"Sammy," he says as soonas we're both through the revolving glass doors.
He says it like he meansto stop me.He probably thought I would just leave now that I'vegotten what I came for.He has no way of knowing that in the pastfew minutes, I've decided to follow him.Just to see who he'smeeting for lunch.If it's really a date, or if I was just jumpingto conclusions, because it could just as easily be a businesslunch.
I don't know what he wantsto say, but I don't want to have some big moment.But he is helpingme and he doesn't have to, and I feel an irrational whisper ofguilt.Not for judging the man he was—because I knew that man well,and he deserved my condemnation.But for never considering that hecould have changed.
I'm not saying he deservesa second chance, and honestly, I'm not sure I have it in me to givehim one, even if everything he's told me is true.But I could givehim something.
"Thank you, Mitch," Imurmur.The words don't come out easily, and I clear my throatawkwardly before I continue."I do appreciate your help withRory."
A small smile plays on hislips, and I'm surprised by how much satisfaction he derives from asimplethank youfrom me.He nods, but doesn't offer the simple "you'rewelcome" I'm expecting.
"You are right, Sammy, youknow.Most people who fall in love at your age arenaïve.It's notreal.It's puppy love, and they're in for a rude awakening whenlife gets in the way."
I narrow my eyes at him.Idid not ask for his love advice, that's for damn sure, and since heso adamantly defended his high school love story just a couple ofhours ago, I don't even get where he's coming from.
"But this… you…" hegestures to me, "this isn't that.Life is clearly already very inthe way, and look at you, you're no puppy."He shakes his head, andwhen he looks back at me, the persistence in his eyes unsettles meeven more."But then, you never were.I didn't allow you to be.Younever really got to be a kid.For God's sake, you were defendingyour mother and sister when you were only thirteen."His hand rakesthrough his hair and I watch him flood with self-recrimination andshame.
It keeps me stunned intosilence, unable to utter a single word.
"You need to know this isreal, Sam.You being here right now, when I know very well it's thelast place you ever wanted to have to come for a favor… I see youwhen you say you'd go to jail to keep this girl safe, and I knowhow serious you are.And you need to know that that is not highschool puppy love.That is real.That is forever."He takes a steptoward me, intent as I've ever seen him.
"Do not convince yourselfit's anything less just because you're young, and do not think fora second that it comes around twice.Do not make the mistake oftaking it for granted, and do not buy into your own bullshit aboutjust being her friend."
I stare at him,open-mouthed.That is literally the last thing I'd expected to hearout of him.
Until this morning, Ithought my parents were the poster children for avoidinghigh-school relationships, and now here he is, telling me what Ialready know about Rory and me.
But who the fuck is he togive relationship advice?This man beat his wife repeatedly, chosealcohol over her, and even broke her fucking nose.And now, despitethe fact that he swore his undying love for her barely an hour ago,he's about to go meet another woman.Fucking asshat.
"Not sure you should begiving out relationship advice," I grit out.
He nods, like hecompletely expected my snark."Exactly.And nobody understands justwhat it is you have to lose more than I do.But you love this girl,Sammy, and I think you know it.And I'd bet my entire practice thatshe loves you just as much, and if there's anything good that cancome from my mistakes, it's that I can tell you this:
"Don't doubt it.Don'tsecond guess it.Youknow.If you're scared, that's okay,you should be.Love is scary.But not as scary as living withoutthe one person who makes your lifeworthliving.So whatever stupiditymakes you think that you'rejustfriends, resolve it.Tell her how youfeel.Because I may deserve my fate, but you don't."
My father isunrecognizable to me.Passionate, frazzled, with no sign of thepoised professional from upstairs in his office.I swallow the lumpin my throat and try to ignore the weight in my chest, crushing myheart and telling me that I am looking at my own future.That nomatter how successful I become professionally, without Rory, thisis who I will be.A sad cautionary tale of lost love.And I'mequally to blame for my fate as my father is for his.Becausethough there isn't a single part of me that would ever hurt Rory,my inability to control my anger, and my propensity to throw fists,blew our relationship up in smoke before it ever had a realchance.
I want to scream.I wantto rip out my own hair.I want to throw more fists.
Because it's too fuckinglate.
My father's advice can'thelp me.Because I've told her how I feel—I've tried.But he'swrong about one key thing, and I just about tell him I'll acceptthat bet and take the law practice he's always loved so damn much.Because I know now that Rorydoesn'tlove me just as much as I doher.And there's nothing I can do with this advice.There's no helpfor me now.And part of me wants to hit the man in front of me evennow, just for his role in making me what I am—in making me a manwho throws punches first and asks questions never—a man Rory couldnever truly love.
My father gets ahold ofhimself, combing his fingers through his hair and patting it backinto place.He apologizes for overstepping, but tells me to thinkabout what he said.
"Sure," I tell him, andthen before he can say another word, I turn and walkaway.
I don't go far though.Imake my way behind a food cart and turn to see what direction heheads in.He crosses Madison and heads toward Fifth Avenue as he'dsaid, and I make to follow him, staying half a block behind at alltimes.
He checks his watchrepeatedly, obviously nervous about his punctuality, and it's outof character for someone with his arrogance.I rarely remember himever being late to anything, but if he was, his bloated sense ofself-esteem prevented him from concerning himself with the value ofother people's time.
He turns north on Fifthand picks up his pace, and I have to dart around other pedestriansjust to keep up.His fingers rake through his hair repeatedly, andI can practically feel his stress in my own muscles.Whoever thiswoman is, he obviously cares about her.And it's not business,either.Even some important client wouldn't have him on edge likethis—he's pompous enough to know that professionally, he's worthwaiting for.
When Mitch gets caught ata red light, I hold back behind some smokers under an awning bysome random storefront.He's practically bouncing in place waitingfor the light to change and I note that wherever he's headed mustbe on the East side of the avenue, or he would cross rather thanwait, considering the impatience obviously coursing throughhim.
But he doesn't stand out.Not among the hundred or so men and women just likehim—professionals in expensive suits, all in a rush on their waysomewhere they believe to be more important than the destinationsof everyone else around them.The entire square block reeks ofself-importance and over-indulgent egos.This is Mitchell Caplan'sworld and he fits right in.It's only his apprehension that's outof character, and it fuels my curiosity even more.
I glance down at my ownwatch, the Tag my Grandma Lena, Mitch's mom, gave me for my barmitzvah barely a month before I kicked her son out of our lives.But not her, never her, and I make a mental side note to call herbefore she starts employing her personal brand of expert Jewishguilt and I have to hear about my terrible neglect for the nextmonth.My watch tells me it's only one o'clock now, which meansunless my father is planning on walking up to Harlem, he can't bemore than a few blocks from his destination.
