Undecided(95)

“Oh, you and that grass obsession! At least I don’t insist on walking up the stairs like an injured hippo—the whole house shakes.”

“You beep the car four times to lock the door—four! It only takes one. How many people have to be disturbed…”

I snag an extra piece of pie and back out of the room, passing the dining table where the remaining turkey sits guilelessly on its holly-rimmed platter. It had taken far too long for us to have this dinner, and though it wasn’t exactly the easiest meal to choke down, I can’t help but think how many things would be different if we’d only had it sooner.





chapter twenty-one


Though it was only four months ago that I moved in with Kellan, it feels much longer when I make three round-trips through Burnham’s quiet streets as I cart my things over to Marcela’s. In addition to leaving me the keys to her—our—home, she’d also loaned me her car, and now I park at the curb and jog back up the steps to my—Kellan’s—apartment to contemplate how best to get the long slats of the bed frame into the tiny trunk.

It’s nine o’clock on New Year’s Eve and everything else is already gone. I’d gotten home at three to finish packing and start moving, determined to wake up tomorrow in a newer, better place, both literally and metaphorically. But now, faced with the final pieces of the puzzle, I’m exhausted. I’d stopped in town for Chinese food on one of my runs, and now I slump on the couch with a carton of cold noodles and a glass of orange juice to see the ball drop in Times Square. Last year my parents and I had stood in the front yard to watch neighbors shoot off fireworks. They’d pretended it was because they had a keen interest in pyrotechnics, but we all knew it was because neither wanted to concede the holiday by going to the other’s home to watch the countdown on TV.

The counting begins and ends and New York explodes in cheer, everyone kissing and hugging and smiling, happy and unburdened. I change the channel until I find an old black and white movie, wishing things were that simple, then mentally kicking myself for being so maudlin. Yes, I’m a twenty-one-year-old girl who’s spending New Year’s alone. Yes, I was recently evicted. Yes, I was recently dumped. But if I consider my list of goals for this year, “do not get evicted” and “do not get dumped” were never on it. I’m not flunking any classes and I haven’t gotten arrested, so technically I’m still on track.

I turn to look out the window where a light snow has started to fall, sifting over tree branches and clinging to the grass. I don’t know what the forecast is, but if I want to complete this move tonight, I can’t waste any more time feeling sorry for myself. Not here, anyway. I can do it at my new apartment.

I throw the empty carton in the trash, rinse out my glass and stick it in the dishwasher, then start the cycle so Kellan comes home to a clean kitchen. Fresh starts for everybody.

I’ve just carted all the pieces of the bed frame down the stairs to the front door and am reaching for my boots when there’s a sudden knock. I freeze, then slowly straighten. After a second, another knock. I already know Burnham is deserted. I’d passed only three other people on my trips back and forth from Marcela’s apartment, and none of them have reason to visit me at nearly ten o’clock on New Year’s Eve.

I rise onto my tiptoes to peer warily through the peephole. And for the second time in as many minutes, I freeze.

It’s Crosbie.

Though I’m perfectly warm in my jeans and fitted wool sweater, my fingers are numb as I fumble with the deadbolt and twist the knob to pull open the door. Frigid night air rushes in and I shiver. Even though I knew it was him, I’m still stunned to see Crosbie two feet away, head ducked down against the cold, hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans. His puffy black jacket is zipped to his chin and he shifts from foot to foot, stopping only when he looks up to meet my eye.

“Hi,” I say, when I can’t come up with anything else.

He nods briefly. “Hey.”

Whatever small, desperate hope had been blooming quickly withers. “He’s not here,” I say, nodding over my shoulder. “He’s not back until the second.”

“I know.” He’s watching me, face expressionless, the shadows beneath his eyes deepened by the yellow porch light.

“Then what are you…” I shiver again. “Did you forget something? Do you want to come in?”

A slight hesitation. “Yeah.”

I step back as he enters, scuffing his feet on the mat and closing the door behind him. Without the white noise of the night, it feels deathly quiet in here, the tension thick and painful. He finally looks away, taking in the familiar slats of wood resting against the wall. “What are you doing?” His voice is raspy and he clears his throat, looking embarrassed.

“I’m moving,” I say, also looking at the frame. “To Marcela’s. This is my last trip.”

He nods and looks over my shoulder, up the stairs. “No kidding.”

“No kidding.”

More silence.

“Did you need something?” I ask when I can’t take it anymore. “A video game or something? Why are you back so soon? There’s no one else in town.”

He meets my eye again. “I know.”

My heart thumps so hard in my chest it feels like it’ll bruise. “You know?”