One Year (New & Lengthened Edition) (31 page)

W
hen I meet
Tea for lunch the following day, she has a completely different reaction to the news. I’m ready to go into a big explanation about all this yet again, but she just nods and says that she understands. She really catches me off guard. So much so that I don’t even know what we’re going to talk about for the rest of lunch since I thought we’d talk about this the whole time.

“So I finished my book,” Tea announces after we order.

“What?”

“Remember, the romance one about the girl pretending to be a wealthy guy’s fiancée on the cruise?”

“Of course! I can’t believe you’re done with it already.” While I’ve been head-deep in my own drama, Tea managed to write a whole book. Imagine that!

“I’d love for you to read it,” she says.

“Oh my God. Yes, definitely!”

“I can send you an ePub version so you can read it on your phone,” she says.

“Perfect!”

Tea has been working on the book since January and it’s finally done. I’m awed by her dedication. In addition to her classes and Tanner, she has been working on this project and now it’s completed.

“Frankly, I’m really jealous,” I say when our food finally arrives. I ordered a tuna salad and she’s having a grilled chicken panini.

“What? Why?” she says, laughing.

“Because you went out there and did this awesome thing, while I’ve been burying my head in the sand and dealing with all of my stupid problems.”

“Well, another way to think about it is that you’ve been out there living life while I’ve just been writing about someone else’s.”

“Given how this semester has gone, I really wish I had some fictional drama in my life instead of real drama.”

“I know,” she says sympathetically. “It’s been really tough. I’m sorry. But I’m sure that when you look back on all this next year, you’ll laugh about it.”

I smile. “Probably not next year. Maybe in ten years.”

“Okay, in ten years.” She smiles.

T
ea sends
me her book that evening and I plan on just reading a chapter or two. But seven hours later, well past my usual bedtime, I finally finish it. Wow. The characters are so vivid; they seem more real than real people. They practically jump from the page. I don’t remember the last time I devoured a book like that. It’s so different from all the books I’ve read for English classes. Unlike in the books that I’ve read before, the romance and the love in this one was real.

The characters weren’t just people on the page. When they spoke, I heard them. I saw them. I felt them. Their love is real. The girl, Savannah, acted just like I would, or anyone our age. And the guy, Tatum, well, Tatum was definitely a better version of any guy I’ve met. It’s as if all of the best qualities of the guys I knew, like Tristan and Dylan, were exaggerated to the ninth degree. Don’t get me wrong. He has some bad qualities too, some insecurities. But nothing that his love can’t help him with.

I lie in bed for close to an hour after finishing Tea’s book, waiting to fall asleep. But unlike all those other sleepless nights I had, the ones that tore me up inside, the ones during which I spent hours beating myself up for all the things that I shouldn’t have said and done and all the things that I should’ve said and done, this night was different. I actually lie in bed thinking about the book. Imagining Tatum and Savannah’s love for each other, their first kiss, their first everything. Unlike all these other books, in this one, Tea didn’t shy away from fading to black. She took me everywhere, describing every touch, every feeling, every sensation and smell. And in the end? I fell in love with Tatum and Savannah and I had to have more.

W
hy the hell
did you write this book?

I text Tea even though it’s in the middle of the night. Hopefully, she has her phone off if she’s sleeping. But Tea writes back almost immediately.

What? You don’t like it?

No, I fucking love it!!!

Oh…ok. So, what’s the problem?

What’s the problem? The problem is that I can’t sleep. I love them. And I want more.

More?

More about Tatum and Savannah. Are you writing another one
? I can’t type fast enough.

Um…I haven’t thought about it much.

Well, think about it! I’m going to try to get some sleep now. Not likely though, thanks to your book. Sorry not sorry.

After putting down my phone, I still can’t get to sleep. This time my mind doesn’t wander. I know what I want. I want what Tatum and Savannah have. I want their kind of love for me. I want to be in love again. I want to feel butterflies over the possibility of touching someone again. I want to wonder how our first date went, whether it was as amazing for him as it was for me. I want to dance in the rain and kiss in a blizzard. I want to live inside a romance novel. But that’s not possible, right? That’s not reality, right? And yet, reading that book sounded more like the truth than my real life. How is that?

T
hree weeks later
, Dylan comes into the living room where I’m procrastinating on working on my Victorian Lit paper. I should be doing research on it in the library, but instead, I’m looking up something vaguely related to Victorian times on my phone and hoping that I will stumble on a topic to write about that way. So far, no luck. Juliet and Tristan are also in the room. Juliet is painting her nails and Tristan is doing his Macroeconomics problem set. Tristan and I have entered another period of Cold War. We don’t talk to each other unless absolutely necessary, but we also don’t avoid each other at all costs like we used to. So that’s an improvement in my book.

Dylan is wearing a wide grin on his face. He flashes me his pearly whites, which do nothing but remind me that I really need to get my teeth professionally whitened. But I’m afraid of dentists and all doctors, for that matter, so I’ve been avoiding them at all costs.

“What?” I finally ask. He’s obviously eager to share some news with the room.

He holds up a thick packet in a manila folder.

“Guess what this is?” he asks.

“Your history paper?” Tristan says jokingly. We all know that Dylan did not do very well on his last history paper. And by not very well, I mean that he got a C-. Enough for him to start worrying about passing the class.

“Ha ha, very funny. No,” he says, rolling his eyes. “No, these are divorce papers!”

I never thought that I’d be so happy to hear the phrase “divorce papers” in my life.

“Really? Are you sure?” I ask, grabbing the packet out of his hand and scanning the papers. They don’t make any sense of course; it’s all legalized. All I see are the little stickers by the signature lines.

“Yep, got them from the lawyer this morning. You will be glad to know that this divorce is the most amicable one that my dad’s Park Avenue attorney has ever dealt with. He said that the two of us were the most mature clients he’s ever had.”

“Well, that’s nice to hear,” I say, “given that this is probably the stupidest thing that either of us has ever done.”

“So all you have to do is sign where those stickers are and we’re done. A courier will come tomorrow to pick them up and take them to the court,” Dylan says.

“Great! Does anyone have a pen?” I ask.

I want to get this over with as soon as possible. We look around the room, but there’s no pen to be found. And then suddenly, Tristan hands me his.

With all the excitement, I had completely forgotten that he was still in the room. Our eyes meet as he hands me his pen and our fingers touch briefly. In that moment, it feels like he can see through me, completely and entirely. Like he knows everything about me that I ever was and ever will be. The feeling leaves me uneasy and scared.

I
sign
each page as Dylan flips the pages for me. He’d already signed his portion at the lawyer’s office. When I sign on the last line, a tremendous weight lifts off my shoulders. I give out a big sigh. Suddenly, I’m 300 pounds lighter.

“We’re divorced!” Dylan grabs me by the shoulders, wrapping his arms around me. “Divorced! Let’s celebrate.”

“Woohoo!” Juliet says. “Finally.”

“Who wants a beer?” Dylan asks, getting himself one from the refrigerator.

“Wait, remind me, isn’t it alcohol that got you into this mess in the first place?” Juliet asks.

“Oh, whatever, buzz kill,” Dylan waves his arm at her dismissively. “Alice?”

I shake my head no.

“I still have some work to do tonight,” I say. “And honestly, given how long it took for all of this to happen, I’m going to pass on partying with you for a while.”

Dylan is the only one who celebrates our divorce that night, but we all take a rain check. And even for him, it’s not much of a party. He has only one beer and disappears into his room. Juliet disappears into our room soon after to get ready for another date.

“Congratulations,” Tristan says without looking up from his textbook.

“Oh, thanks,” I say.

I wait for him to say something else, but he doesn’t. So I go back to taking a quiz about the decade that I should’ve grown up in on BuzzFeed.

“I know it wasn’t your fault how long all of this was taking,” Tristan says. This time he looks straight at me.

“Yeah, I know that.”

“Okay. Well, I guess what I wanted to say is that I know that, too.”

“Okay, I guess,” I say.

I hate the weirdness that exists between us when we’re alone. In fact, I can’t stand it. I’m about to get up and leave when Tristan stops me.

“So, Kathryn and I aren’t together anymore,” he says.

“Oh. Okay,” I say. I don’t really know how to respond to that. It’s so out of the blue. “I didn’t really know you were dating.”

“Yeah, ever since that night…of the party,” he says.

That’s one way of putting it. Another is since that night when she slept over and you made her coffee in the morning. Or since that night when she slept over and Dr. Worthington came in and made a huge scene.

“Oh, well, I’m sorry, I guess,” I say.

“Don’t be. It just didn’t work out,” he says with a shrug.

“Tristan, why are you telling me this?” I ask.

Are you trying to hurt me? I want to ask. But I don’t.

“I don’t know,” he says. The expression on his face tells me that he’s not really trying to hurt me at all. He’s just over-sharing for no reason whatsoever.

“Did something happen?” I ask. I don’t mean to. I don’t care. Actually, I don’t want to know. But my mouth gets away from me.

“She cheated on me,” he says quietly.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“But it wasn’t working out even before that. We just didn’t fit right,” Tristan says.

I’m still sitting on the couch and suddenly he gets up and sits down next to me. Very close. So close that I can feel his breath on my face.

“I’m not sure if it will ever be right with anyone else,” he says.

“Of course it will,” I say, waving my hand.

It sounds like he’s just having a moment. He’s just throwing himself a pity party. But when I look back at him, and I see the way his eyes refuse to leave mine, I know that I’m wrong. He’s serious.

“What I mean is that I kept trying to make myself feel like I did when we were first together. Not just with Kathryn, but with all the others.”

“What?” I know I should be focusing on the first thing that he said. The first part of the sentence that’s a compliment to me. But instead, all I focus on is the second part.

“All the others?” I ask, when he doesn’t reply.

“Well, you know.” He shrugs. “Just all the other girls that I was with this semester.”

“Oh, okay,” I say with a gulp.

“Don’t worry, we weren’t serious. Just girls I met at the bar after work. Very casual,” Tristan says. He’s clearly not aware of the fact that I’m screaming on the inside.
What girls? You were seeing other girls? How many? Why?

“Kathryn and I were dating, but we weren’t exclusive. And I just kept meeting these girls downtown. And you know what, at the beginning of the night, I had hope that this was the one that was going to give me butterflies. Like this is the one that will catch my attention. But after a night together, I just felt…flat. Like it was nothing.”

I can’t stand this anymore.

“Tristan, why are you telling me all this? Are you trying to hurt me?”

“No, not at all. I’m saying it as a compliment.”

“What?”

“Yes, very inarticulately, I guess. What I’m really saying is that I keep looking for the same connection that we had and it’s just not there. You’re one in a million, Alice. Maybe one in a billion.”

I take a deep breath. Tristan always had an odd way with words. Just when I think that he’s trying to be mean or is being dense on purpose, he goes out there and gives me the biggest compliment ever. I’m mad at him for saying all the rest, but I can’t stay mad for long because I don’t hear that kind of thing every day.

“Well, thank you, I guess,” I say. I turn around to leave, but he stops me again. Seems to be in at talkative mood tonight.

“So what’s up with you?” Tristan asks. “We haven’t really spoken in ages.”

“Well, I just got divorced,” I joke. He smiles. And we both laugh about the situation. I figured that it would be years before this happened, but apparently I didn’t have to wait that long.

“Actually, there is something I’ve been meaning to ask you. I have to do this final speech in public speaking class. It’s going to be in a big auditorium in front of all the sessions of the class. I’m terrified, of course, to say the least.”

“So you want help with the speech?” he asks, his eyes light up.

“No.” I shake my head. It hadn’t even occurred to me that he would want to help. “I just wanted to invite you to it. I have something important to say and, if I can get it out, I’d like for you to hear it.”

“Oh, wow, okay,” he says. “Let me know the time and place and I’ll try to make it then.”

“Try?” I ask.

“I’ve disappointed you enough this semester. I don’t want to make yet another promise I can’t keep,” he says.

“Okay, fair enough.”

“Wow, look at us,” Tristan says after a moment. “I guess it is possible to be friends even after all that has happened this semester. Hey, here’s a wild idea, want to be roommates again next year?”

I stare at him. It suddenly occurs to me that he doesn’t know about my plans for USC. I thought that he would find out eventually, given the rumor mill that Juliet and Dylan usually operate, but I guess this one fell through the cracks.

“What? What’s wrong?” Tristan asks me.

“Well, I thought that you knew already, but I’m not going to be here next year.”

“What?”

All the color in his face disappears. His lips start to turn an awful blue tint as if he’s been swimming in freezing water for an hour.

“I’m thinking about going to USC,” I say. Why do I always do that? Use qualifiers where they don’t belong. “Well, no, not thinking. I’m going to transfer to USC for next year,” I clarify.

“Why?”

“Because…because of a variety of reasons. I just think it’s for the best.”

“How can you say that? Are you doing this because of what happened between us? And you and Dylan? Well, that’s all over. It’s in the past. Let bygones be bygones. You don’t have to go all the way clear across the country because of that.”

Tristan rambles on for close to twenty minutes about all the reasons that I shouldn’t leave New York City. I listen carefully and not. I’m afraid that if I actually engage in this discussion, I’ll never get to bed tonight. I look at him trying to convince me, fighting for me to stay, and a big portion of me loves it. He’s actually passionate and animated about something and not so reserved and calculated. I can see that he cares about me. I can see it in the way that he’s fighting for me to stay. And I appreciate it, really. But it doesn’t change my mind. It’s all too little, too late.