“You’re right,” he snaps. “A bad decision. Like pretending last night was anything more than both of us using each other to get over other people. Hope I helped.”
He leaves, and I do my best not to think about him until the night comes seven years from now when I walk into a dinner party and am confronted by his unexpected presence.
14
But None of That Ever Happened Now
There’s a pink concha on my desk when I arrive to Intro to Film on Monday.
Alex is in his usual seat. It’s a little awkward seeing him again, in that way it’s always weird after you share part of yourself under the cover of night only to remember those secrets are still out there once daylight breaks.
“Where did this come from?” I ask as I take my seat.
He shrugs casually, pretends he doesn’t know. “Beats me.”
I struggle to hold back a smile before giving up completely. Alex watches as I take a bite of the concha. Pink crumbs fall to my desk.
I offer him a bite, but he shakes his head and keeps watching me with a smile.
“How was your weekend?” he asks as if we haven’t been texting constantly.
I spent the weekend watching TV and applying for part-time jobs. I was mostly alone, since Madison was busy with Patrick on Saturday, then had a shift at the library Sunday.
It was tempting to ask Alex if he wanted to hang out, but I refrained.
“It was good. Laid low.” I shrug, adopting the same dismissivecasualness he used when he pretended not to know about the concha, then add, “I did go out to dinner on Friday.”
“Anywhere I’ve heard of?”
“Probably not; it’s pretty far away.”
“Was the food good?”
Something in his voice tells me he isn’t actually asking about the food.
“The food wasgreat.”
“That’s good to hear. Really… good,” he says, his eyes darkening as he glances down at my lips. He’s thinking about kissing me right here in class, I can tell—I wonder if it’s obvious to everyone else.
Friday was pretty chaste, as far as dates go. We kissed against his car, then drove back to campus, the conversation flowing easily the entire way. Once we parked, I all but attacked his face, right there in the parking garage, and we made out until I started to feel antsy, the memory of thelasttime I’d done this with him creeping up on me.
Making out in Alex’s car—albeit a different car.
Moving things from the car to my apartment.
Waking up alone.
Overhearing his conversation with Ingrid.
Seven years of silence.
Years spent trying to rationalize my actions, like telling myself I didn’treallyknow they were still together because Ingrid had missed the wedding and Alex had mentioned divorce. Although, I eventually had to admit that Ihadknown. I just hadn’t cared.
Or perhaps I’d cared; I just cared more about my own pain.
For a while, I avoided my friends’ get-togethers out of fear Alex would attend. Or, worse, not just Alex but Ingrid, and then I’d have to confront the reality of what I’d done. I finally realized that was unlikely. Alex avoided most get-togethers as a policy.
Too late; I had gotten used to my solitude. I had even grown to like it. If I wasn’t around my friends, I didn’t have to face the secrets they didn’t know about me, the disconnect between the woman they thought I was and the woman I had become.
