I rub my lips together and nod. “Okay,” I take a deep breath, “do they want you to start right after graduation?” Instinctively I curl my left hand into a fist and dig my nails into my palm.
“There’s really only one project they want me to help with over the summer, but other than that I’ll start in August.” He sits on the couch and I sit next to him.
“Well, the boys will start kindergarten in the fall, so I’ll be able to take classes during the day, still, right?”
Yeah, Nat, just turn this right into something about you.
Eric wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me in, kissing my temple. For some reason it feels like he’s consoling me for something he hasn’t told me yet.
“Of course. And since I’ll be fully employed there, I’m sure we can get a waiver for the residency requirement. Hey,” he nudges me so I look at him, “we might finally be able to afford the house on Dana Street we’ve always wanted. And,” a tender smile plays across his mouth, “we can realistically think about more kids.”
I nod and smile as tears fight their way to the surface.
“I’ve got to get back to campus to give them an answer. They said I could have a few days, but I don’t think we need a few days, do we?”
I shake my head. “I’m proud of you. Tell them hell yes.”
The door shuts, his car drives away, and I collapse into tears on the bathroom floor—blindly reaching for razors through my flooded eyes. This is everything we’ve wanted for him since we first met and, yet, it seems like a prison sentence somehow. I don’t even pay attention as I slash the razor across the skin on the tops of my thighs. I just want it to hurt more than I do inside right now.
I feel like a caged animal, rabid with need for freedom that was stolen from me over one careless night in grad school. But, it’s all real now. Eric has a job at a university, my boys will start kindergarten here in the fall, and, Eric wants more kids.
No.
*
By March 2002, Spring semester was back in full swing, the snow was melting, and Ryker was still in Afghanistan. We wrote each other constantly and talked as much as possible. For the meantime, school was going fine. I’d always been a good student, so even if I spent more time writing letters to Ryker than studying, I was staying afloat for the time being.
My social life, however, sucked. It bugged me to go out and listen to girlfriends whine about what “assholes” their boyfriends were being. After snidely telling one girl, “At least he’s around for you to be mad at and not fighting strangers with a gun right now,” Tosha put me on party probation for a few weeks. She said I was a buzzkill. I was.
However, when Tosha wanted a friend to go to a party at UMass with her to scope out a hot girl she’d met at the Amherst Brewing Company a few weeks prior, you bet your sweet ass she begged me to go.
“Please? Come on, it’s at her house so it’ll mainly be lesbians anyway.” As strange as it may seem, that was actually a plus.
I was thoroughly uncomfortable at the prospect of being hit on while Ryker was so far away. Even though I wasn’t doing anything wrong, it still felt wrong. I hadn’t heard from him in a couple of weeks, and I was starting to go a little stir-crazy. I missed him. I needed to get out.
“God, whatever. I reserve the right to drive your ass home at any point if you start making a total ass out of yourself.”
“Yay!” She hugged me and kissed my cheek “Now, go change into something hot.”
I gave her an incredulous look. “I’m not going to pick anyone up, Tosh.”
“Yeah, and neither will I if I show up with someone looking like you do now. Go. Change.”
A while later I was in the middle of some lesbian fantasy a college guy would kill for admittance to.
“Natalie, this is Liz. I met her a couple of weeks ago at the ABC. Liz, this is my kick-ass-roommate-for-life, Natalie.” I shook the gorgeous girl’s hand.
“Nice to meet you, Liz. Now, someone point me to the beer.”
I left my denim jacket on as I wandered through the house to find the kitchen. I recognized some of the girls from around our campus, and smiled politely to a girl who was in one of my sociology classes. While at the keg, someone came up close behind me.
“Yellow ribbon, huh?” A lanky girl with messy blonde hair pointed to the lapel of my jacket.
“Yep.” I smiled, filling my cup to the top.
“So are you just making a statement or something?”
“I’m sorry?” I asked, pulling my eyebrows together.
“Most of the girls here are anti-war. Are you, like, trying to be ironic?” She put air-quotes around ironic. She really did.
Oh, you’re a bitch.
“How is supporting troops and wanting them to come home ironic?” I mimicked her air-quotes.
At this point, Tosha and Liz were making their way to the keg. My cheeks started to warm under my anxiety.