Setting my phone on the edge of the sink, I step into the scalding-hot shower. As the knots in my back loosen, my mind drifts to the night I was tapped for Greystone Society. The night I met Liam.
—
It was oneof the best nights of my life. It was February of my sophomore year and the night was unusually warm. Overhead, the moon was full and bright, and a hum was running through my bones.
I’d come so far that year: the depression I’d struggled with for years had lifted. I didn’t even need the pills to sleep. And the low simmering anxiety I always felt had nearly gone away completely. I had friends, I was doing well in classes, and I’d been accepted into Sterling Club, which I’d dreamed about joining since I was a kid.
I had gone to the terrace to get some air when I felt a hand touchmy back. I turned around to find the guy I’d seen earlier. The one who was watching me dance. He was so beautiful, I could hardly stand to look him in the eye. I remember my heartbeat in my chest and the thrill that shot through me when he bent over and whispered:You’ve been tapped for Greystone Society.
It took a second to breathe, but when I recovered, I raised my chin.I’m in.He told me to follow him and led me to the crypt.
After the initiation, he introduced himself properly—Liam Alexander. I remember thinking his name was wildly sexy and somewhat dark and really suited him. I learned he was from Rye, New York, and grew up in country clubs, training with the best tennis coaches in the country, a fourth-generation Princeton legacy.
Liam, who was a junior while I was a sophomore, had been so warm in that initial meeting, I was surprised when he was cold and unfriendly in the following weeks. He’d ignore me when we passed in the halls, avoid eye contact.
But occasionally, when we were both studying in the library, or eating dinner on opposite sides of the room, I’d catch him watchingme.
—
One cold nightin April—I remember it was cold, because I didn’t want to make the trek back to my room—I was studying in the Sterling Club library. I was hunched over a dense section ofParadise Lost,when someone slid into the chair across from me.
“Mind if I join?” Liam asked.
I looked up. Shrugged. “Uh, yeah, sure. I’m leaving soon.”
Liam brought out his laptop and began tapping away at the keys, and I returned to my work. Liam looked like your typical Princeton boy, like a Brooks Brothers model, so I ignored him, assuming we had nothing in common.
But then he did something that surprised me. I was underlining a passage when he stopped typing and looked up. “You like Min Jin Lee?” He’d seen the copy ofFree Food for MillionairesI’d set next to my stack of required Milton, Hemingway, and Shakespeare. My sister had given it to me for my birthday.
I looked up at him. “You’ve read it? I wouldn’t have expected you to be into this kind of story.”
He nodded and revealed the book he was reading, Kazuo Ishiguro’sNever Let Me Go,which had been hidden behind his laptop. Another one I’d read.
I hadn’t expected him to be into something that tender. Clocking my surprise, he admitted, “I just started it. But…” He smiled. “I’m really enjoying it.”
I smiled too. “My sister and I always give each other books for our birthdays.”
I felt closest with my sister through this shared practice of ours. Within the pages of these books were the things we couldn’t discuss, didn’t want to. InFree Food for Millionaires,a Korean American Princeton graduate navigates her early twenties in New York City—she never feels like she fits in either.
“My mom’s a writer,” Liam said. “That’s one of her favorites.” His eyes, which were usually cold and intense, were softer in the low light and seemed to glow with interest.
In them, I felt a familiarity that wasn’t there before.
Liam leaned over, breaking the tension, and retrieved a half-empty bottle of wine from his bag. “My father sent me this bottle from the winery. It’s honestly not that good.” He raised the bottle of wine with an ironic flourish. “A full-bodied Cab with aromas of vinegar, shoe leather, and a hint of wet dog.” He stopped abruptly and grinned. “Want to help me finish it?”
I laughed, finding myself charmed by him. “The wet dog really sold it.”
—
Over the followingweeks, I got to know Liam as we’d study together in the library until late into the night. Sometimes he’d walk me back across the dark, misty campus, and other times we’d run through campus in the pouring rain. There was always this tension between us, so taut it was nearly unbearable, but neither of us wanted to be the one to make the first move.
One night, when he’d walked me home and was getting ready to leave, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I leaned in, grabbed his coat collar,and kissed him. He froze for a second, and then he kissed me back. His lips were soft and his breath tasted like peppermint mouthwash. The kiss was better than I’d imagined and it felt like my entire being was melting into him.
—
For the restof my sophomore year, we spent more nights together than we did apart. I became used to the soft cotton of his sheets, the feeling of being tucked under his arm, curled on the perfect groove of his chest.
I spent the summer after sophomore year working at a bookstore in the West Village, while he worked downtown at his dad’s fund, and we’d meet up every night after work, checking out new restaurants or going to see whatever classic film was playing at his favorite theater on Ludlow Street.
