The Lies That Bind(20)

Our walk back to Manhattan is even more spectacular, as the sun is just beginning to rise. Like film being exposed, night turns to day. The World Trade Center and its orbit of skyscrapers are bathed in a soft silvery light, before turning a pale peachy pink, then finally exploding in Technicolor. It’s so beautiful and breathtaking that I want to cry. But I don’t.

    Back in Manhattan, the city is waking up, bodegas opening, cabs materializing out of nowhere. We hail one on Centre Street, at the northeast corner of City Hall Park. Grant gives the driver my address, as we slump together in the backseat, exhaustion hitting us all at once. His arm around me, my head on his shoulder, we zip uptown, too fast, the end quickly nearing.

By the time we pull up to my apartment, any lingering buzz is completely gone, reality sobering me all the way up. Getting teary, I force myself to tell him goodbye. He stops me, putting his finger gently against my lips, telling me that this isn’t goodbye, and we will talk again very soon.





When I get to work, hungover more from sleep deprivation than from booze, I see Matthew’s reply in my inbox, telling me he’d love to meet today. How does two o’clock in Bryant Park sound? It sounds perfectly dreadful, but I force myself to agree, deciding that I need to get it over with. Besides, there is something symbolic about getting our final closure on the day Grant is leaving for London.

On my walk to the park, I feel numb—at least with respect to Matthew. But then I see him, sitting there on a bench, and it’s like an unexpected punch to the gut. It’s not that I have overwhelming feelings for him, but it’s not like laying eyes on a platonic friend, either, and so many memories return to me.

I approach the bench from the side, just as he looks up, glancing around. Somehow he doesn’t see me, returning his gaze to his BlackBerry. He’s wearing glasses—which means his contacts are bothering him, likely because he worked late. I also notice that he has on the light green Hermès tie with a sailboat print that he bought for his cousin’s wedding in Newport a few months after we started to date. I didn’t go with him—even though he was invited with a “plus one”—because he thought it felt “too soon.”

As I get closer, I notice that he’s just gotten his hair cut, emphasizing his boyish good looks. He is undeniably cute—cuter than I’ve allowed myself to remember—and suddenly it’s sensory overload. I start to turn around and dart back the other way, thinking that I’ll just send him an email saying I’m sorry, I couldn’t leave work. But right as I’m about to flee, he looks up again and spots me, giving me a little wave. I wave back, take the final few steps over to the bench, and say hello.

    He stands and says hi. Neither of us smiles. His eyes are sad—very sad—and my first instinct is to say something to cheer him up or give him a hug. Do anything to make that look on his face go away. But I don’t. Because making Matthew happy isn’t my job anymore.

He squints up at the sky, grimacing a little, before looking at me again. “Wow. This is weird.”

I murmur my agreement as he leans forward to give me a hug. I stiffen but hug him back quickly, catching a familiar whiff of his aftershave that brings back more memories.

“Should we sit or walk?” Matthew says, giving me the choice. Always respectful.

“Let’s walk,” I say. Even though I’m wearing sandals that aren’t very comfortable, it feels easier than sitting side by side.

“Okay,” he says as we begin to stroll. After a few seconds, he says, “So. It’s really good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too,” I say, unsure of whether this is the truth.

“I can’t believe it’s only been a month. It feels like much longer.”

“I know,” I say.

“How have you been?”

“I’ve been well,” I say, thinking of Grant again, although he’s never really left my mind. “All things considered.”

Matthew nods and says, “So do you think we made the right decision?”

“Yes. I definitely do,” I say, so quickly and emphatically that I worry it’s a little rude.

Sure enough, he looks decidedly surprised—and disappointed—by my answer. “Well, gee, don’t sugarcoat it,” he says, letting out a little laugh.

    “You know what I mean,” I mumble. “I’m just trying to move on.”

“So you don’t miss us at all?”

It feels like a trick question—and in any event, one I don’t want to answer. So I just tell him not to put words in my mouth.

“Well, I miss us,” he says. “We were good together, Cecily.”

I open my mouth to reply, a small part of me wanting to get in a dig, remind him that we couldn’t have been that great given the fact that he never wanted to talk about the future. But I try to take the high road. “We had some good times…but I think we wanted different things, ultimately.”

“How so?”

I hesitate, telling myself that there’s no point in revisiting the past, but I can’t stop myself from blurting out, “I wanted to build a future with you….You wanted to live in the moment.”

It feels a little false, given my feelings for Grant, and the accompanying realization that maybe Matthew and I weren’t right together, after all. Though who knows? Maybe if he hadn’t put up so many barriers, our relationship would have deepened, too.