“Where could you possibly have to go? I just got out of prison, I’m an ex-con, the least you could do is drink with me all night.”
I leaned over her and gave her a kiss on the forehead just as her phone chimed again—but this time she ignored it.
“Hey,” she said, making her eyes big. “Fontana. I know where you’re going.”
Heating up quickly in my heavy wool sailor’s coat, I vacillated between dashing out the door and disrobing.
“Good for you,” Emily said, full of pride. “Go to him.”
“Fuck off,” I said to sabotage the moment, and then left the apartment before the vulnerability and my wooly sweat could really seep in.
Go to him.
Who did Emily think I was, pre-op Meg Ryan?
You know what Robert would say to that? Hogwash. What a buncha hokum. Grow a set.
Once outside I became acutely aware of my light-headedness, the wobbliness in my knees. In a split-second decision I called a cab. And, no, it wasn’t because I was going to start living like a spoiled rich girl who took cars everywhere now that I was all out of debt and not a criminal. It was that it was post–rush hour—the trains would take forever and traffic would be light. I also wanted to give myself the least opportunity to change my mind and turn back. The investment of a $30 cab ride was as good a deterrent as I could think of.
Plus, cab rides are awesome. Except for the slight carsickness and occasional fear for your life, there is nothing like zipping through nighttime New York in a foul-smelling automobile. To get to the Upper East Side from Williamsburg, you have to go over the Williamsburg Bridge, which isn’t quite the Brooklyn Bridge, but it’s no scrub either. Crossing it, the view of the Manhattan skyline always made my chest feel too full, like my heart had suddenly swelled in the way of the Grinch who stole Christmas the moment he went soft. I was a real sucker for shiny lights and tall buildings. Tonight the sky was so black and clear, the skyscrapers looked Photoshopped against it—it was truly beautiful, and I thought to myself, This is going to be horrible, what I’m about to do. This was going to make me feel like I wanted to die, but once it was over, I could move on. I’d continue with my life knowing that at least I tried. At least I fought for him. That Tina Fontana—island unto herself—was willing to do everything in her power to keep someone in her life.
My cabdriver carried on a conversation in a foreign tongue as he negotiated the FDR Drive and it dawned on me gradually: this would make two people now that I didn’t just wave off with a see ya before closing the door and plopping down in bed with Netflix and some cookies.
“Ana baneek omak!” my driver shouted, but he was addressing someone else.
When we finally turned onto Kevin’s block, it was the strangest thing—Kevin was right there, trudging alongside us up the sidewalk, with his hands dug deep into his coat pockets. It was a moment I recognized from a thousand movies, starring Meg Ryan and her contemporaries. Kevin was on his way to find me just as I was on my way to find him.
“Stop the car!” I yelled to my driver. “Pull over. I want to get out here.”
He did so without hesitation or a blip in his earpiece conversation. Kevin, possibly alarmed he was about to be clipped gangster style, jumped back.
I stepped out of the cab, slammed the door, and looked at him. “Where you headed?” I asked, trying to make light of the fear in his eyes.
I was on my way to find you, I was sure he was going to say.
“I was on my way to get a slice of pizza,” he actually said.
“Oh.”
Then my driver palmed his horn and cussed at me from inside the car. I needed to pay him.
So I took care of all that and once he peeled away, I returned my attention to Kevin. It was just cold enough for condensation to blow from our mouths. He didn’t move. So I went to him.
“I won’t keep you,” I said, forcing myself to look at him, not down at the sidewalk. “I just wanted to tell you in person how sorry I am. For everything.”
Kevin exhaled a deep breath that made it look like he’d been smoking an invisible cigarette. Then he knelt down and took a seat right there on the curb.
I didn’t wait for an invitation to sit beside him. “If you’re willing to hear me out—” I began, and then broke off.
Were there even words?
Tears welled in my eyes, so I closed them, but that only made the streams form faster down my face.
“I’m just so sorry,” I said, because it was all I could say. I reached for Kevin’s hand and he didn’t pull it away from me. Instead he wrapped his arm around my torso and drew me in.
He smelled like himself. And his shoulder was both soft and hard all at once. How I’d missed his shoulders.