“Please move out of the way.”
“Why was she still pursuing you after she knew we were married? I mean, it was public knowledge. Don’t you think there’s something wrong with that?”
“Can you blame her for wanting closure? For wanting to know what happened between us? She was torn up inside, Elizabeth. Just like me.” Pausing, I looked down at her growing belly. “For the sake of that poor human being growing inside of you, I hope you learn something from this. Despite your every effort, we didn’t work out. We’re not together. It was all for nothing.” She started crying, but it didn’t phase me. “Please, Elizabeth, get out of my way.”
I had hit the crest of my anger, and now everything seemed totally ridiculous. I was beyond yelling and screaming now; it was all a fucking joke, but the joke was on me. I could either take it and move on or I could give this life-sucking person another second she didn’t deserve.
I brushed past her. “See you never.”
It was spring in New York, and I was free to pursue what I wanted.
The sun was shining down between the skyscrapers as I made my way to the subway, clutching a medium-sized box filled with career mementos. I was smiling on the train as I tried to recall every detail of my kiss with Grace the Friday before. How soft her hair felt between my fingers, how she always, even fifteen years later, kept her eyes closed seconds after the kiss was over, like she was savoring it.
I couldn’t let anyone, or anything, get in my way again.
ON TUESDAY, I went for a run in the morning and counted down the minutes until three p.m., when I was supposed to meet Grace. I arrived way too early and sat on the steps of Senior House until she came striding up, right on time. She seemed revived since I’d last seen her, and she had a Grace-like bounce in her step. She was wearing a flowery skirt with tights and a sweater. It was a slightly more grown-up version of her college style. Glancing down at myself, I realized my style hadn’t changed much either: jeans, T-shirts, and Chucks. Had that much time really passed? If it had, there was little physical evidence beyond a few wrinkles on our faces.
I stood up and shoved my hands into my pockets.
“Have you eaten?” she asked.
“I’m starving.” I lied. I wanted to do whatever she wanted to do. “What do you feel like?”
“How about a hot dog and a walk in the park?” I smiled. Nothing had ever sounded better. Granted, she could have said, “How about a gondola ride through the Venice canals?” or “How about we sit in Death Valley with no water?” and it all would have sounded equally good to me, as long as she was there.
“Sounds good.”
We walked shoulder to shoulder as we exchanged small talk. I told her about my job, skimming lightly over the confrontation with Elizabeth.
“How are your parents?” I asked her.
“The same, except my dad is sober now and my mom is remarried. My brother and sisters have all grown up and moved away. I’m closest with my youngest sister. She lives in Philadelphia and I see her often. I thought about moving back to Arizona after Dan died, but I love New York so much. I have friends here and I could never sell the brownstone.”
I felt an ache in my heart. I wished I had been the one to buy her the brownstone.
We ate our hot dogs on the fountain steps in Washington Square Park and watched two toddlers splash around in the water. One tiny blonde girl, about three years old, was laughing hysterically. I mean, really belly-laughing for, like, five minutes straight as her little brother splashed her.
“That kid is adorable.”
“Yep. Got any pot?” she asked, casually.
“Abrupt subject change, no?” I squinted at her for a moment. “Wait, are you serious?”
“Why not?” She reached up and wiped mustard from my lip with her index finger then stuck it in her mouth.
Jesus Christ, woman.
“I can get us some pot,” I said in a daze.
“Maybe next time.” She shrugged goofily, a flash of Grace from the past.
“Aren’t you worried one of your students will see you?”
“I was thinking we could go back to your place.”
“Uh, sure. We can.” I nodded vigorously, like an overeager schoolboy. “Yeah, not a problem.”
“Look!” She pointed to a young guy giving his girlfriend a piggyback ride, running in circles as she screamed joyously.
Grace smiled up at me and then her eyes filled with tears. Fuck, don’t cry, Grace. Please. I’ll die.
“I can still do that. I’m not that old,” I told her.
She started laughing as tears ran down he face. “Well, Old Man Shore, I’d let you try, but I’m wearing a skirt.”
“You were saying something about going back to my place?” I tried to pull off an innocent look.
“Yeah, if you want. I’d like to see your place.”
“You would?”
“Of course. I want to see where you live; I’m not offering to sleep with you.”