Part III: Chapter 9

1/2/13

Louisville

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. “I just want you to know that I’ve been fighting to let you go…”

“Go away,” I mumbled into the couch cushion.

The phone persisted: “Some days I make it through, and then there’s nights that never end…”

I dragged my swollen eyes open. The phone was still face-down on the carpet. I had no idea what time it was, but it was pitch-black outside. I lifted my head and managed to focus on the oven clock. 4:13. I’d been drifting in and out of tears and sleep, alternately, for the better part of 12 hours, apparently.

“I wish that I could believe that there’s a day you’ll come back to me…”

My eyes welled up again. I pressed the backs of my hands to my eyelids, willing back the tears.

The phone fell silent. My incision was sore again. I hoisted myself off the couch and stumbled to the refrigerator. I found a cup of yogurt, tore off the lid, and held it over my open mouth, patting the bottom to force the yogurt out. I was still wearing the same clothes in which I’d ended 2012; my hair was unwashed and chaotic. Why not live in even greater filth? I stuck my finger into the yogurt cup to collect the leftovers, then picked up the bottle of Vicodin from the kitchen table, where I’d left it when I’d finally eaten an unknown number of hours ago. I swallowed two of them dry and went back to the couch.

I turned over my phone. No texts. Another voicemail from Mom, left around 9. How did I keep missing her calls? I swiped the screen to listen to it. “Hi, it’s only me,” she chirped. “Please pick up. I’d feel so much better knowing you aren’t dead before I go in. I’d really like to talk to you. I love you, honey.”

I tossed the phone to the floor again, where it landed face-up. My raw eyes were full again. No, I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to say any of this out loud. I didn’t want any of it to have happened. I wanted to go back to sleep. Maybe forever. The weight of what I’d done – no, what we’d both done – sat on my chest, so that I could barely breathe when I was awake.

The phone started buzzing again, this time with my regular ringtone, these days the cheerfully grungy guitar riff from Beck’s “E-Pro.” I frowned down at the screen. Why was Nick calling me?

I snatched the phone off the floor. “Hello?” I answered, alarmed at the scratchiness of my own voice.

“Screen your calls much?” Nick said.

“Bite me,” I mumbled.

He chuckled. “That wasn’t Brian, by the way. That was me.”

“Well, no shit, Captain Obvious. You’re more calculating than I give you credit for.” I glanced back at the oven. “Look, it’s 4 in the morning here. What do you want?”

“Is it that early?” Nick was doing a poor job of feigning confusion. “You sound horrible. Well, hey, it’s after 10 here.”

“Thanks for the lesson on time zones.”

“Listen, though.” Nick grew serious. “Something’s up with Brian. He’s drank a shitload of whiskey, and he won’t talk to anyone. You know anything about it? Since you don’t wanna talk to him, apparently.”

I sat up, frowning again. “Wait, he’s actually drunk? Like, drunk-drunk?”

“Totally sauced,” Nick confirmed. “I can’t remember ever seeing him like this.”

I couldn’t resist. “Well, you probably have, but you were probably twice as drunk and half as old.”

“Oh, you’re soooooo funny, Miz Michaels.” Sarcastic, fake laughter. Then, more soberly: “Seriously, though. Everything OK with you two?”

The pressure inside my chest was crushing. I couldn’t breathe. My throat burned with unshed tears and terrible realizations.

“I…” I swallowed, then went on, slowly, my voice unsteady. “Nick, I don’t think there is an ‘us two’ anymore.”

“Jesus.” Nick paused. Then, again, heavily: “Jeeeeesus.”

I sighed, irritated now. I didn’t want anyone’s pity, least of all Brian’s best friend’s. “What’s it to you?”

He snorted. “Besides having to live and work and try to record with drunk, pissed-off B? Thanks for that.”

I pulled a pillow into my lap. “Don’t put this all on me. He said stuff he’ll never be able to take back.”

“Then he’s a dumb-ass, and I’ll make sure he knows it,” Nick said, almost dismissively.

“Don’t do that. You’ll only make it worse.” I hugged the pillow tighter. “If you’re going to take a side, you might as well take his.”

“I’m not taking anyone’s side. Brian’s been my bro for 20 years. You – you’re like my little sister. Everyone in this group’s sister. I have sisters, and I still like you better.”

Nick’s tone was sincere and made my chest tighten even more, squeezing tears out of my eyes. I couldn’t speak to respond. “So?” finally came out in a watery mumble.

“So I’m thinking none of us wants to lose you. Brian might be having, like, an out-of-body experience, but I know he doesn’t.” Nick was quiet for a long moment. “You know, people like you guys give me hope. If someone as fucked-up as B was and a hard-ass like you can be happy together, maybe someone like me can do OK.”

“Don’t say that, Nick. Come on, you don’t really think I’m a hard-ass, do you?” I sniffled as more fresh tears filled my eyes. “All you’ve ever known me as is the chick who showed up to do a job and…and fell in love with your friend instead.” My voice broke on the last few words. Just as I had predicted, he’d broken my heart, and it had been as much my fault as anyone’s. It had just taken longer, made things worse.

“Nah, you’re bigger than that. Both of you are. I don’t know what the hell happened, and I’m not gonna ask—”

I sniffled again. “Good. You have a big mouth.”

Nick ignored me. “—but it’s nothing you two can’t make it through.”

My heart sank with every vain word. I wiped my eyes on my filthy sleeve. “I don’t know about that this time, Nick.”

We were both quiet again for a long time. A distant siren faded in and out.

“What are you gonna do now?” Nick finally said.

“What do you mean?” I lifted my sleeve again, this time to my runny nose. “I’m gonna do what I always did. Go on with my sad little life.” I couldn’t imagine how this time, but what choice did I have?

“You gonna stay in Kentucky?”

Impatient all of a sudden, I shrugged, even though I knew he couldn’t see me. “I guess for a while. I like it here. I like my job. I don’t really want to go back home.”

“Would you go back to New York?”

“What, and pretend none of this ever happened?” I snorted. “That ship has sailed. Why are you even asking me this right now? We broke up, like, 12 hours ago.”

The enormity of those words – we broke up – suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks. We broke up. The last person I’d ever wanted to fall in love with. The last person I wanted to see before I fell asleep. The last person I wanted to kiss. The last person I wanted to love like I had for the last year and a half. Oh, good God, who was this woman and what had she done with the woman who’d just wanted to love Brian?

It was 4 in the morning, and everything was too close to the surface. I burst into tears again. This time, I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to stop. It took me a full five minutes to notice that Nick had hung up, leaving me alone, like part of me had always known I would be.

1/7/13

Brooklyn

I pressed the buzzer again, huddling deeper into my coat and leaning back to look up at the stern old warehouse. It seemed like much longer than a handful of months since I’d stood here. I’d forgotten how cold the wind off the canal could be, the way it whipped through the streets, the long shadows, even in the mid-morning, between the bleak buildings, the carefully cultivated bleakness of the neighborhood. I’d forgotten how much I hated Gowanus.

A burst of static issued forth from the intercom, followed by Alicia’s sleepy, surprised voice. “Hello?”

It wasn’t like I hadn’t heard her voice through a speaker countless times since I’d left our city, but hearing it now brought a lump to my throat. I barely managed to get out, “Yes, I have a delivery of eight large Hawaiian pizzas and a gallon of iced tea.”

No response. Thirty seconds later, through the plate glass door, I saw feet in ratty red sneakers come pounding down the steps. Then Alicia flung open the door. She was wearing penguin-print PJ pants, a bright red Yankees hoodie, and a look of absolute shock on her face. She tilted her head to one side, mouth hanging open. “Meg?”

I pasted a smile on my face. “Did I wake you up? Slacker.”

“Oh. My. God.” Her hands flew to her face, then shot out to pull me into a hug. “Oh my God,” she repeated, half-laughing, a sound very close to a sob. “What are you doing here?”

“I just needed a little change of scenery. Did I miss the ball drop?” The words sounded unconvincing as they came out in an unsteady, foolhardy voice.

Alicia pulled back, holding me at arm’s length to appraise me. She frowned. “Well, you’ve looked better.”

There was no fooling her. I felt all the air go out of me. “I’ve been better,” I mumbled.

She dropped her hands to mine and squeezed them, hard. “I guess I might have guessed that.” She tugged at my hands. “Come in out of the cold.”

I trudged upstairs after her. My backpack suddenly felt very heavy, and I knew my doctor would be angry. I was pretty sure this was more than I was still supposed to lift. It was feathers compared to the weight on my heart.

I’d confided in Dave a few days ago, and he’d given me another week off work. It was coming out of my vacation time, but fuck it, I’d rolled enough over and I needed to get out of Kentucky right now more than I could ever remember needing anything. I needed Alicia’s hugs and sympathy. I needed tall buildings and long shadows, and so I had pulled up Kayak yesterday, booked the first flight out today, thrown some things in a bag and caught a cab to the airport before sunrise without looking back. Damn the credit card bill. I needed to be loved for a while.

The concrete floor was cold under my feet as I toed off my old Chucks, but Alicia fixed us hot toddies – why not? coming in on the first flight of the day meant I’d already been awake long enough to drink – and passed me a seemingly endless supply of tissues, then toilet paper when it finally did end, as I spilled the whole story to her.

When I was finished talking, my eyes nearly swollen shut from crying, Alicia sat quiet for a long moment, hands wrapped around her mug. She nudged the whiskey toward me with her elbow, and I shook my head.

“I guess it’s probably counterproductive for me to call him a louse,” she said. I nodded. “Can we agree he was louse-like?” I nodded again. “And can we agree that he doesn’t really get all the blame?” I didn’t meet her eyes this time, but nodded once more.

Alicia took a long drink from her mug, which looked like a camera lens. “So what are you gonna do?” she went on, very quietly.

I shrugged. “Nick asked me that the day after...” I swallowed. “Well, you know.” Alicia nodded. “I guess I’ll stay in Louisville for a while,” I continued. “It’s not like I’ll run into him much.”

“Do you think you’d ever come back to New York?”

There was no mistaking the selfish hope in her voice, and I hated to disappoint her. I stared down into my drink. My mug had a picture of a green apple, like the Beatles’ record label. It only served me as a reminder of the city I’d left and could never again call home.

“This city chewed me up and spit me out,” I mumbled. “I can’t come back here. I only came here because of Rolling Stone. God…” Realizations washed over me, one after the other. “I never would have gotten laid off if I hadn’t left the music beat. I never would have changed beats if it hadn’t been for Brian. Maybe I…”

My eyes welled up again, and before I could stop it, a fat, salty tear dripped right into my boozy tea. “Maybe this was all a mistake,” I choked out. “All of it.” The last few words dissolved into a sob. I pushed my tea away and laid my forehead on the table. “I fucked up.”

I heard Alicia take another long sip of her drink. She didn’t say anything for a while. Finally: “Wasn’t being loved worth it?” I lifted my head to see her staring at me in…no, not quite pity. Confusion, maybe.

She stood up from the table. “Come on. I won’t get shit done today anyway, so let’s watch a movie.”

While Alicia folded up her pullout couch and hooked up her laptop to her TV, I stared at the giant black-and-white photo on her wall, a dramatic depiction of a desert arch. In the picture’s shadows, I saw my reflection in the glass: hair a messy ponytail, eyes red and swollen, face dull. As though the life had been sucked out of me. I’d certainly looked better, all right. I couldn’t remember feeling worse. Thinking Brian and I would never have a chance to love each other had been child’s play compared to this.

Notting Hill was on Netflix, and we sat at opposite ends of the couch, splitting a fleece blanket, legs tucked up under us. It was college all over again, and during a quiet moment in the movie, Alicia glanced my way. I thought I heard her mutter that she could get used to this again.

At the end of the movie, I pulled my legs up to my chest, my world narrowed to the screen. I dared not blink, I dared not breathe.

“My relatively inexperienced heart would, I fear, not recover,” Hugh Grant stammered, “if I was, once again, cast aside, as I would absolutely expect to be. There are just too many pictures of you, too many films. You’d go, and I’d be, well, buggered, basically.”

Tears stung my eyes again. I pressed the backs of my hands to them.

Julia Roberts pasted on a brave smile in the face of Hugh Grant’s obvious hurt. “I’m also just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.”

Alicia was watching me watch the movie. I could feel her eyes on me. I sniffled, too loudly, and focused on the screen. The sound suddenly cut out.

“Meg, I’m going to ask you a question,” Alicia said. “And you’re going to give me an honest answer, because if you don’t, you know I’ll know it.”

“That’s probably right,” I mumbled.

She jerked her head at my backpack, next to the door. “Your passport’s in there, isn’t it?”

To be honest, I hadn’t even been paying attention when I’d packed. I got up from the couch, my feet instantly cold again, and walked slowly over to my bag. I opened the front pocket. And there it was: my passport.

Alicia’s voice came from behind me. “I don’t know why you even left the airport.”

I shook my head, realizations dawning on me again. “I needed a friend,” I mumbled.

“And I’m glad you came.” There was rustling from the couch, footsteps, and then Alicia’s voice was much closer. “It’s not an accident that we’re watching this movie, you know.”

I turned around. She blurred before my eyes again. But this time, they were tears of purpose.

“Don’t cry,” she said gently. “You’re gonna go after that boy, Peggy Jo.” It wasn’t a question. “The way he came here after you.”

I nodded. She reached out and enveloped me in a hug again. “Don’t worry. I couldn’t get used to this anyway. You were always a blanket hog.” Her voice hitched a little. “You need this more. This city won’t love you back.”

“I don’t know if he will anymore, either.” I sniffled into her shoulder.

She didn’t respond, but held me out at arm’s length. “I’m gonna go pull up Kayak,” she finally said. Her voice was full of secondhand hope. “You’re gonna go after that boy.”