A Year Straight (21 page)

“Lena, look how many eggs I got!”

“I got even more. Look at my basket, Lena!”

Jane and her husband came downstairs, followed by Alexis's husband, who makes the best home fries ever. We ate a huge breakfast of the freshest possible scrambled eggs,
free-range bacon, greens from the garden, and just the right balance of crispy to moist home fries. The food was delicious, and the clock was ticking. The more time went by, the more I felt the weight of what I'd done. It wasn't necessarily a huge deal that I'd left Theo to his party with his friends. It was more my own party inside that worried me. I had lashed out at Theo in a fit of fear, and it was taking everything in me not to shut down and shut him out. I knew myself. At the slightest hint of rejection, I was prone to donning the jet pack and fleeing the scene. But I didn't want to sabotage what we had, because deep down I knew that Theo did not mean to hurt me. So instead I washed the dishes and had Alexis drive me to his house.

“If you need me, just call and I'll come pick you up,” she offered, pulling into the driveway.

“I think it's going to be fine. Thanks, girl.”

There were bodies everywhere, people passed out on top of each other, and empty beer bottles all over the kitchen counter. I stepped over arms and legs, making my way to his door. A bolt of fear flashed before me.
What if he's in there with someone else?
I turned the knob on the door slowly. I peeked my head into the room, and there was Theo, alone in the middle of the bed, sleeping. I closed the door behind me, tossed off my shoes, and crawled in next to him, scooting up into the nook between his shoulder and his neck.

“Baby, hi. What time is it?”

“Don't worry about that,” I said, and kissed my favorite spot under his eye, where his cheek meets his nose.

“Come on, let's go down to the beach,” I said, tugging him out of bed.

“Okay, okay,” he said, pulling on his khakis.

“I'll meet you outside.”

We walked along the shore, leaving his friends behind to stew in their sweat. There was no one else on the beach and therefore no sound other than the occasional seagull and the crashing waves. And then the tears snuck up on me. I was doing pretty well while I was distracted. But I have no defense in the face of the sea. Its power to wash truth to the surface should never be underestimated. When I lived in San Francisco, I would sometimes go down to Ocean Beach just to hear myself think. It always worked and usually resulted in tears of varying kinds. Sometimes they were tears of fatigue, often tears of gratitude. This time, on the beach with Theo, they were the type of tears I couldn't define. They just slid freely from my eyes, the silent kind.

“You're quiet,” Theo said, stopping to examine a horseshoe crab shell.

Then the flood came.
Wahhhhh!

Poor Theo was taken off guard. He looked as spooked as the deer I had nearly hit on my way up to the inn one night.

“Baby, what's wrong?” He turned to face me and pulled me into a hug.

“I don't know,” I said. And I should have left it at that, because I really didn't. But I just had to go and put words to it, and they came out all wrong.

“You didn't even seem to care that I brought you bagels from Brooklyn,” I blubbered into his T-shirt. “And your bathroom is dirty.”

Theo was quiet for a moment. We sat down on a log, and I cried some more.

“I feel like you're attacking me,” he said softly. “And I don't really understand why.” His tone was tender, and I suddenly wished I could take it all back.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I don't even care about your bathroom. I don't know why I said that.”

“Maybe you're just upset because you expected us to have alone time together?” Theo offered.

“Yes.”
Sniff sniff.

“I'm sorry, babe. I was thinking that last night, too. But I was just so psyched for all my friends to meet you.”

“I know,” I said, feeling lighter, understood.

“Anyway, we are having alone time now. Shouldn't we be enjoying it?”

“I suppose,” I sighed, smiling ever so slightly.

I hate it when other people are right. Like my mom, for example, who said I'd fall for some guy in the kitchen.

“And hey,” he said, nudging my knee. “You promised to come cuddle in the morning. And you showed up at noon.”

“I know. I'm sorry,” I said. “But I was too busy being upset because I wanted to spend time with you.”

“That makes a lot of sense.”

“Well, I never promised to always make sense,” I said.

Theo pulled me in closer to him and squeezed me tight. “I don't expect you to, babe. You're a woman.”

“Hey!” He already knew how to push my buttons. So I pushed him back, and he fell off the log. He pulled me down with him, and we stayed there laughing, looking up at the sky and getting sand in our hair.

T
heo surprised me one day. I was in the lobby of my apartment building, retrieving my mail as I did every evening upon returning home from work. On my way down the hallway toward the elevator, I was separating the L.L. Bean catalogs from my bills, wondering what I'd do about dinner. When I looked up to call the elevator, there standing in front of me was Theo.

“What?!” I dropped all my mail and ran into his arms. He had no choice but to succumb to my bear hug as I stood squeezing him and laughing hysterically. I love surprises. And I loved him. In that moment that much was clear to me. Taken off guard, without all my protective layers, defense strategies, and theories about love and life, and women versus men, all that mattered was that I lit up inside at the sight of him. He'd traveled six hours to spend one night with me in the city. It
was quite possible he also loved me. We went up to my apartment for some catching up and then out for dinner at my favorite Italian place. Frankie's was packed with a half-hour wait, but we didn't care. We were in our own world. We clung on to each other in the long line outside.

“Elena?”

I looked up to see two of my friends, Lauren and Cass, a couple.

“Hey!” I ran up to hug them. “Guys, come and meet my boyfriend, Theo.” It was the first time I'd said the word aloud to them.
Boyfriend.

“Okay!”

The four of us chatted until it was our turn for a table. The girls were on their way home to take a crack at cooking a turkey.

“We were both craving Thanksgiving dinner, so we decided it doesn't have to be Thanksgiving to eat our favorite meal. Theo, here's a question for you: How do we get it to cook all the way through without drying out? That's always the biggest challenge.”

“First of all,” he said, excited to assist, “you have to do away with tradition. Let go of the idea of cooking the whole bird in one piece. Your best bet is to separate the breasts from the thighs.” At that, I cringed, and Cass and I shared a private giggle. “The thighs take longer to cook, so put those in first.”

“Oh, great idea. I've never thought of that. Hey, he's handy,” Lauren said.

“He's alright,” I replied, pushing a stray hair from Theo's eyes.

“Well, we're off. It was so nice meeting you !” They turned to leave, and Lauren hugged me and whispered, “So cute. Love the freckles.”

The host called our name and led us inside to a table at the back of the restaurant.

“That was fun. I wish you could meet Megan, too, but she left for a solo trip to Thailand, and who knows when she'll be back.”

Theo and I sat down to a basket of warm bread and a bowl of mixed olives. It was hard to focus on the menu when all I wanted to do was hold his hands. They were so beautiful ; scarred from the kitchen but soft. When the waiter came around, I scrambled to place our order. It helped that I knew the menu by heart.

“One of each of the crostini, except for the one with anchovies.”

“Why not? I love anchovies,” Theo said.

“Okay, include that one. And the fennel grapefruit salad, sweet potato gnocchi, rigatoni with mini-meatballs, and a bottle of your favorite red.” I looked at Theo. “I'm treating.”

We sat there staring at each other, looking like those people I hate when I'm feeling lonely. Two smiling idiots. The
waiter returned with a bottle of nebbiolo, which he poured for me to taste. I never really know how you're supposed to taste wine, so I swirled it around a little, spilling some on myself as I always do, took a sip, and nodded.

“To surprises,” I said, raising my glass.

“To surprises.”

The food was perfect, as usual. The lighting was perfect. Theo, sitting across from me with one hand on mine and his fork in the other, was perfect.

And then...

“So there's something I want to talk to you about,” he said, leaning in closer to me.

I knew it was too good to be true. I slid my hand out from under his, anticipating bad news. He grabbed my fingers and looked down at them, tracing the creases of my knuckles.

“When I left my job in New York to work on the Vineyard this summer,” Theo continued, “I set something in motion, a possibility. And it looks like it's going to come through.”

I exhaled.

“I am most likely going to Paris for six months for a cooking internship. Plans are still in the works, but it looks like it will happen. I've had this dream of cooking in Paris for a long, long time. I just never imagined I would be leaving someone behind.”

I looked around. Frankie's was packed, as always. The couple across from us was sharing an order of tiramisu. A leaf floated down from the plant hanging above our table. A baby
protested as it was passed across a table from mother to father, inconsolable, even in the face of the boob. It didn't want to eat or sleep or be held. If only it knew, I thought. That's all I wanted to do. I wanted to eat with Theo, sleep with Theo, and be held by Theo. And now he was going away.

“That kid has no idea how good he has it,” I said. Theo smiled but was silent, clearly awaiting a reply. “Listen,” I said, flipping his hand over and rolling mine into a fist that fit right in his palm. “I am so excited for you. And as much as I hate that you're leaving, I wouldn't like you so much if you canceled your trip for me. I like that you are pursuing your dream. Anyway,” I said, sitting upright and picking up my fork again, “I'm totally coming to visit.” I took a big bite of gnocchi.

Theo grabbed my face with both hands, pulled me into a kiss, and then thrust his fist into the air in celebration. “Yes!”

Everyone turned to look at us.

“Congratulations!” I said, holding up my glass again. “I am so happy for you.”

We clinked glasses, finished our meal, and ordered dessert. Theo told me all about the Paris possibility—how he felt burned out on New York, how he had always wanted to learn French cooking technique, and how his chef was trying to line something up for him. I was disappointed that he might be leaving just when he was scheduled to return to New York. But it was Paris. A sane person couldn't argue with that. And I was pretending to be sane.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” I said in between bites of ricotta cheesecake. “My brother is deejaying tonight, and we have to go. It's his first gig since the accident.”

We grabbed a cab and made it just in time for my brother's set. He glided into the room on his crutches and leaned them against the table, balancing à la flamingo on one foot.

“I'm guessing he's the one that looks just like you.”

“Yep.” I was grinning with big sister pride.

I danced through the entire set. It was impossible not to. I felt like I might implode if I didn't express my joy somehow. Afterward, I escorted Theo backstage to introduce him to my brother.

“Little brother!”

“Hey big sis!” He was tired. I could see that. It was his first big outing in a while, and it took a lot out of him. But he loves to play music more than anything, so I could see the joy emanating from him, too. I gave him a big hug.

“David, this is Theo.” They shook hands. I'd told my brother a little bit about Theo, but he hadn't been super-eager to hear about yet another guy. At that point he trusted my judgment less than ever before (with good reason). I didn't have the best track record, and I knew that my description of Theo might sound just like every other guy I'd dated who seemed good at first. So I didn't talk to my brother very much about Theo and instead let their meeting speak for itself.

“Yo, man, that was awesome,” Theo said, beaming. It
was funny to hear him in guy mode; his voice slightly lower, a hint of an East Harlem accent.

“Thanks, yeah. I had a lot of fun.”

They talked while I caught up with a friend. When Theo left for the restroom, I couldn't resist digging for the verdict.

“So?” I asked my brother, trying to seem casual.

“Yes?”

“What do you think?”

My brother looked at me blankly.

“Of Theo?” I said, growing impatient.

“Why does it matter what I think?” My brother was born with a smirk on his face. He'd always known how to provoke me.

“David, just tell me!”

“Isn't it more important what you think of him?”

“I really like him. A lot,” I said. “He treats me like a queen. He is always, always nice to me. And he made me salsa from scratch!”

My brother's friend interrupted us to talk to him. After two minutes of chatting about the sound system, I tapped my brother on the shoulder. He kept nodding to his friend and then looked at me and smiled and said, “I like him, too.”