The Futures(34)

The party was in the garden-level apartment of a brownstone near Prospect Park, hosted by a girl from college, someone Abby knew better than I did. She and her roommate both worked in publishing. We picked up a bottle of wine on the way over, and when I set it down on the kitchen counter, I saw that someone else had brought the same bottle of wine, down to the identical $8.99 price sticker on the neck.

Tall bookshelves, track lighting, dusty Oriental rugs. It was a nice party. Lively, not too crowded, the conversation earnest and serious. A lot of the parties Abby and I went to that year felt like an ardent imitation of college: twenty-two-year-olds spending their salaries on light beer, blasting hip-hop, puking out the cab door. This pulled in the other direction: people acting older than they really were. It surprised me how rarely those two worlds ever overlapped. There wasn’t any middle ground.

“So Jake’s coming by,” Abby said as we helped ourselves to the wine. “Later. Is that weird? I’m not sure he’s ever been to Brooklyn before.”

“Wow. So are you—”

“Kind of. I don’t know. It’s nothing serious yet.”

“But you like him?”

“I like him enough to sleep with him.” She shrugged. But she was blushing a little.

I finished my wine and had another, then another, drifting from conversation to conversation. The night passed easily, without friction. After a while, Jake arrived. I saw Abby kiss him and lead him to the kitchen. I turned back to my companion, who was critiquing a recent article in the New York Review of Books. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jake slip his arm around Abby’s waist and draw her in.

Stop it, I thought. I had no right to be jealous. In fact, I should have been happy for them. That would be definitive proof of just how meaningless my own encounter with Jake had been.

The drunk crashed over me like a wave, stronger than it had been a minute earlier. It was past midnight, and the group I was standing with was gone. The party had thinned, and the music was louder without the muffling of voices. Jake was kissing Abby, pulling back to whisper in her ear, making her laugh. I had to admit he was cute. And Abby looked so happy. He tugged her closer. I could tell they were having great sex, probably twice a day.

And I felt like I was going to be sick. I went outside to the garden and sunk into a dented plastic chair, lowering my head between my knees. Then I noticed another couple in the corner of the patio, snuggled close, sharing a cigarette.

“Fuck,” I said. They looked at me, startled. Couples everywhere, reminding me of what I didn’t have. It was horrible. For so many years, I’d been one half of a whole. I knew that the wine was making it worse, but I couldn’t help it. All this affection, this electric desire zipping through the air—it made me feel unloved and worthless. I was twenty-two years old, for God’s sake. When was the last time someone had kissed me like that?

On Thursday night, two nights earlier, Evan had gotten home just after I’d returned from dinner with Adam. He dropped his briefcase and coat on the floor, went to the kitchen, opened the door to the refrigerator, and stared into the chilly blue light.

“We have nothing to eat,” he said. That was his greeting. “What did you eat?”

“I, uh, picked up a slice of pizza on the way home.”

He sighed and shut the refrigerator. Then he collapsed on the futon next to me.

“Is everything okay at work? You’re home pretty early.”

“Fine. Things are slow this week. Should be back to normal soon.” He stared at his hands, picking at a cuticle. He didn’t know what to do, or where to look.

“Okay. Well, I’m going to go to bed.”

Eventually he slid into bed next to me. I switched off my lamp, and we lay there in the darkness. It had been nearly a month since we’d had sex. Evan’s leg brushed against mine, and he left it there. My pulse accelerated. A minute later, I rested my fingertips on the back of his hand. He was perfectly still, and then he rolled over, away from me. From his breathing, I could tell he was already asleep.

Maybe that was the power Evan wielded in our relationship. I was so used to his presence that when he pulled away, it left me spinning. I took it for granted, like the subways running regularly or the water coming out of the faucet. Even then, even with everything, Evan gave me what I hadn’t yet learned to provide for myself.

*

Sophomore year, one rainy night in March, Adam and his housemates threw a party. I was insistent that Evan come, which should have been a red flag. I’d gone to plenty of parties without him. Was I trying to protect myself from what awaited? It seems obvious now.

“Jules, seriously. I don’t want to go.” Evan was slumped on his couch, playing a video game. “Just go by yourself. It’s not like I’m going to know anyone there. And I’m still beat from last night. And it’s pouring.”

“I don’t care,” I said. I felt like stamping my feet. He’d been consumed by the hockey season for the previous four months. He needed to care about me for a change. “Evan, come on. You said last night that you would.”

“Fine.” He tossed aside the controller. “I don’t remember saying that, though.”

Adam was in the foyer when we arrived. A fizz of excitement: I’d never been inside his house before. In the kitchen, I stood where I had a view of the living room and the rest of the party. I hoped that I’d catch Adam again later in the night. The beer had already loosened me. I just wanted to talk to Adam: that was it. Nothing was going to happen.