Past
THE DOWNFALL OF ambition is sometimes letting life pass you by and only realizing it did so after the fact. Like the seasons, people change—their lives change—and suddenly you’re stuck between fall and winter, not knowing whether you should step forward or back. I didn’t go home on my breaks during my first two years of school, because my mom and Sophie came to see me at Berkeley. Then the guys came up for Spring Break one year, and the next we went to Vegas. Being back home felt weird at first, as if everything stayed the same except for me. That’s what I thought until I met up with a stressed-out Victor at Starbucks one morning.
“If you don’t stop bouncing your leg, I’m going to stab it,” I said, looking up from the textbook I had in my hand.
We were supposed to be studying—him for the LSAT, me preparing for a Genetics final.
“I’m just . . . sorry. I’m just dealing with a lot of shit right now.”
I put the book down and leaned back in my seat. “Talk.”
He closed his eyes and breathed out through his nose, long and heavy. I didn’t know what to expect him to say. Maybe he’d failed a class. Maybe he’d gotten a girl pregnant. Maybe he got himself a hamster. With Vic, there was no telling.
“She’s engaged,” he said finally.
“Okay?” I drew out slowly, waiting for him to elaborate.
“Estelle,” he said, his brows bunching up. “She got engaged.”
A couple of things happened at once: my mouth dropped, the air left my body, and the barista dropped the coffee she was making, causing a stir in the coffee house.
“She’s what?” I said.
He nodded, raising his eyebrows like we were on the same wavelength. Little did he know, while his wavelength was down where the familiar territory lay, mine was leaping into the mountains where warning bells rang. I felt like huge claws were squeezing around my neck. Estelle was engaged. My Estelle.
“To who? I didn’t even know she had a serious boyfriend,” I said, trying to keep my voice even, trying not to get upset, because then my ears would get red and he’d know something was up. Where the fuck have I been? Where the fuck has . . . why hasn’t anybody told me anything?
“She’s been dating that painter, Wyatt, on and off for a while now.”
“Yeah, more off than on though, right?” Was I crazy? I’d heard it wasn’t serious. Or maybe I just assumed that.
Vic shrugged. “Well, it’s fucking serious now. They’re moving in together, engaged . . . it’s just . . . she’s my little sister, you know? One thing is for Junior to go and get engaged, but when Elle does it, it’s like . . . I don’t know. I feel like I’m going through a midlife crisis.”
I couldn’t even laugh or joke about what he’d said. I was too hung up on Estelle is engaged. Estelle is moving in with somebody—somebody that’s not me. Somebody that obviously has his head on his shoulders and was smart enough to not let somebody that perfect pass through his life without locking her down.
“Aren’t they always breaking up?” I said again.
“I guess he wants to make it so they don’t,” he said, biting on the tip of the pencil in his hand. “He’s such a pompous dick, too. He thinks he’s better than everybody.”
“Really? And Estelle is moving in with him?” I looked down at the discolored wood between us on the table.
“She says she loves him.”
My chest squeezed, but I nodded and made a sound to show I was listening.
“She says she’s happy with him and that he’s taught her so much. I think she’s just comfortable with him. I mean, he’s older, he has all this success, and they’re opening that gallery together.”
“They’re opening a gallery together?” I asked. This couldn’t be going any worse.
“Dude. I haven’t shown you the pictures?” Vic asked, taking out his phone and scrolling through photos. The one he landed on happened to be the picture they used to announce their engagement. Estelle had her hand over the guy’s chest, and they were both smiling widely for the camera. He had long blonde hair, like mine . . . a beard, like mine . . . and a girl that should have been mine. Estelle had her dark hair down in loose curls that winded down the front of her thin frame. Her hazel eyes were as wide and smiling as her beautiful mouth. I looked at the rock on her finger and quickly looked away. It felt like a boulder on my collarbone. I couldn’t breathe. I put the phone down and looked the other way.
“So I guess she’s happy,” I commented, picking my book back up. I could feel Vic staring at me from across the table. I half expected him to call me out on why I was acting weird. I prepared myself a little speech where I would tell him that I was in love with his sister and that I knew he didn’t approve, but I didn’t care. I said I would do it. Call me out, I begged, but he didn’t. He sighed and leaned back in his seat.
“I feel like an old man. My sister getting married—”
“Engaged,” I corrected. “A lot of people get engaged and don’t get married.”
Was I a dick for wanting that? Was I terrible for hoping the engagement would fall through? Why did it bother me so much anyway? I hadn’t been there. I left. I left. I had nobody to blame but myself.
“You wanna come to the engagement party tonight?”
He might as well have asked me if I wanted to wear a pink leotard to a football game.
“What? You might as well keep me company,” he said, laughing at the look on my face.
Because I needed to see her despite the circumstances, I agreed. Of course, I agreed. I would go and ask her not to marry that stupid painter. Or maybe I just needed to see her to make sure that she was truly happy. To make sure that the spark between us no longer existed. Maybe whatever we had in the past was gone now that she had something real. Maybe I waited too long. Of course, I waited too long. Every second it took to get ready to go to Vic’s house became the countdown to doom. I changed my clothes five times. Five. I felt like Sophie. On that note, I called my sister. I’d never told her about Elle because I knew she wouldn’t approve, but I needed to tell somebody, anybody. I needed to lay it out there for the universe to hear me, and maybe telling Sophie would make it real. Maybe telling her would stop the engagement . . . stop the wedding—I don’t know.
“If you’re not calling to tell me you’re coming over to feed Sander, your voice is not welcome right now,” she said, sounding completely wiped out.
“Soph, I fucked up.”
She stayed quiet for a long moment. “Did you . . . okay, I can’t think of how you would fuck up, so enlighten me, oh perfect one, what did you do?”
“You remember Estelle, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, we kind of hooked up in the past. A few times . . . more than a few times,” I admitted quietly.
“Ohmygod don’t tell me you got her pregnant.”
“No! God. No,” I said, my voice slightly defeated. Would that be the worst news ever? For me to have gotten her pregnant? Normally I would have said yes, but today, I wasn’t so sure.
“Okay, so? Victor caught you and gave you a black eye?” she guessed again.
“No!” I said, groaning. “She’s engaged!”
More silence. The only tell I had that she was still on the line was Sander’s cooing.
“And you’re upset about it because you can’t hook up anymore?” she asked.
“I’m upset about it because I think I’m in love with her,” I said, my voice quiet. I hadn’t even admitted that to myself. “I mean, I don’t know for sure, but I think,” I added.
Sophie laughed. “Well, this is . . .” she sighed. “This is something . . .”
“Sophie!”