Authors: Faith Sullivan
Rain is pouring down. Despite my umbrella and rain slicker, my waterlogged sneakers squish across the floor of the post office. If only I owned a pair of wellies like Kate Moss wears. Then I would be dry and stylish. I’ll have to ask Emily if she knows any stores in New York that sell them. But I pause mid-thought. I won’t be here in a couple of weeks. I’ll be gone.
The idea causes my stomach to twinge. I have to be brave. I’ll get through this. It’s the only way that’ll save the pub.
“Next, please,” the postal worker calls out. As the line moves up, I see Mike, of all people, step away from the window, shoving a book of stamps in his wallet.
“Mike, what are you doing here?” I’m a little flustered since I never called him back after he stood me up. I didn’t see the point. But now that he’s standing in front of me, I feel a little awkward.
“Back scouting locations before the fall semester starts up. We had some great shoots down here over the summer.” He seems glad to see me but a bit cautious.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call…” but he steps in before I can finish.
“No, don’t worry about it. I got the message loud and clear from your boss.” He wipes a few stray raindrops off his forehead.
“Wait a minute. What message?” Ut oh, what’s going on here?
“Well, when I came to pick you up that day, that guy who owns the bar said that you told him to tell me that you weren’t interested and that I should back off.” But instead of being mad, Mike tilts his head and looks at me. “I figured that he had a thing for you or something. I didn’t want to cause any trouble. He seemed a little agitated. So I walked out and left a message on your phone that something came up. I thought if you were into me, you’d call me back.”
A million different thoughts fly through my head. Stepping out of line, I ask, “Would you like to get a cup of coffee?”
Smiling, he responds, “Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”
Damn the stamps, and damn Connor. I need to weigh all of my options before I do something I regret.
***
Through the Starbucks window, we watch people attempt to dodge the ever-increasing number of puddles forming on the street. I sip my caramel macchiato and savor its sweet goodness. Slipping my feet out of my sneakers, I hide them beneath the table. I don’t want Mike to see that my toes are turning blue.
“So you’re really not coming back, huh? I was hoping you’d reconsider.” He eyes me expectantly over the brim of his cup.
“Too many bad memories. If I’m going to give it another go, it’s gotta be a place where I can make a fresh start.” I hope he can understand where I’m coming from.
“Trust me, I get it. Those months after you left were the hardest of my life. They evacuated where I was staying because of the dust. I ended up being doubled up in a dorm room on campus. I felt like I was in a complete blur that entire semester.” He leans forward, taking my hand. “But I got through it. You can, too.”
I give his hand a quick squeeze before releasing it. I don’t want to give him the wrong idea. “I’m glad you did, Mike. I can’t imagine what you went through.”
“And you have to stay in New York to study film. Going to college somewhere else, it won’t be the same. There are so many opportunities here to break into the industry.” But I realize I don’t have that driving sense of ambition anymore.
“It really doesn’t matter where you go to school. If you’re talented, and you work hard, things will happen for you.” My counter-argument sounds weak, even to me.
“Yeah, but it’s like taking a step back. Why do you still feel the need to punish yourself for something that was out of your control?” His words crystallize in my head. I realize that’s how a lot of people must be viewing my situation—my parents, Connor…
“But that’s not what I’m doing, Mike. Really, it’s not. That might have been the case when I left the city, but when I came back, my outlook changed. I’m not as caught up in being a success. I just want to be self-sufficient, secure, maybe even happy, if I’m lucky.” Verbalizing my thoughts for the first time is liberating. It allows me to see things more clearly.
“But what kind of security do you have working in a bar? What’s the average shelf life of a waitress? Thirty?” His haughty dismissal of my life stings because there’s a ring of truth to what he’s saying.
“You’re probably right. But it’s not so much what I do. It’s more about who I’m with.” I can see he’s taken aback by the forcefulness of my reply.
“So you are with that guy.” It’s not even a question.
“Yeah.” I stop and swallow what remains in my cup. “Yeah, I’m with him. He’s just not with me.”
The look on Mike’s face is priceless.
I don’t owe him an explanation, but I can’t help myself. “He gave me an ultimatum. Either I go back to school or whatever is happening between us is over.”
“So what are you going to do?” He’s intrigued, despite himself.
“It’s a lot more complicated than that. There’s financial stuff going on with his bar, and…” Mike holds up his hand.
“You still didn’t answer my question. What are
you
going to do?” He hones in on me. He’s not going to let this go.
“What I have to.” Sighing, I slide my feet back into my cold, wet shoes. “I’m going to leave him.”
“But this guy is obviously unstable. Aren’t you afraid you’re going to send him into a tailspin?” His worried eyes search mine.
“Yeah. That’s why he can never know where I’m going.”
When I return there’s a MetroCard propped between the perfume bottles on top of my bureau. That’s Connor’s signal when he wants to take me to a new museum on our day off. So far we’ve visited the American Museum of Natural History, the Museum of Modern Art, and the Guggenheim. We talked about going to the Whitney next, but I don’t plan on being here by the time Monday rolls around.
After pulling my partially packed duffel bag from beneath by bed, I slide the MetroCard into the side pocket. I can use it to take the subway back to the bus station. That is, if I can manage carrying the amount of stuff I’ve accumulated since moving in. I don’t want to leave any painful reminders behind for Connor to have to deal with. My aim is to make a clean break. The sooner he gets over me, the better. Whether I’ll be able to get over him is another story entirely.
I’m assuming Connor is downstairs in his office, so I lightly close my bedroom door. I dial his mom on my cell phone; it takes four rings before she picks up.
“Hello?”
Lights. Camera. Action.
“Hi, Mrs. Donnelly. It’s Michelle.” I whisper in case Connor is upstairs somewhere.
“I can barely hear you, dearie, but I’m glad you called.” I’m relieved that her reprimand is cushioned with a compliment.
“Did he cash the check?” I cut right to the chase.
“He did. I confirmed the transaction with my bank this morning.” Her joy is evident.
“Oh, good.” I exhale in relief.
“I don’t know what you said to him, but it worked.” If she knew the sacrifice it entailed, she might think differently.
“I’m glad to hear it.” I don’t want to get into things any deeper with her.
“You’ll both have to swing by for dinner some Monday night. It’s the least we can do to show you our appreciation.” The warmth in her voice is unmistakable. She’s not going to like me so much when I leave her son high and dry. I tremble at the thought of Connor flying off the rails. I can’t think about that now. I can’t.
“Sure, sounds good. Maybe after the Fourth.” More lies.
“Okay, then. Keep in touch.” And right when I’m about to hang up, she continues. “Oh, I almost forgot to ask. Did you make a decision about going back to school?”
In order to sell my story, I reply, “Yeah, I’m going back to NYU.”
“Michelle, that’s wonderful. Good for you.” On the other end, I can imagine her beaming with pride.
“Thanks, Mrs. Donnelly. I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have to run. My shift starts in an hour.” That’s right. Keep piling on the excuses.
“Oh, of course, dear. Talk to you soon.” Even though I’ll probably never speak to her again.
“Good-bye.” I hit the end button and fling the phone onto the bed, disgusted with myself for leading her on. Disgusted with Connor for forcing me into a no-win situation. Disgusted that everyone is going to end up on the losing end when it’s all over.
***
I’m dead tired, but there’s one more stop I have to make. I haven’t been sleeping well, and running all over the city before my shift is wearing me down. Yet there’s no time to rest before my imminent departure. I have a lot of loose ends to tie up. I’m not going to leave Connor without some type of support system in place.
I hustle up the stairs of the YMCA building. When I reach the meeting room, it seems cavernously empty. I’m so used to seeing it crammed with people. Sitting next to an empty folding chair is Connor’s support group leader, Maria. After attending a few more sessions with Connor, I made a point of remembering her first name.
Rising, she extends her hand in greeting, and I hurry across the room to take it.
“Michelle, good to see you again. Please take a seat and catch your breath.” I catch my reflection in her wire-rimmed glasses. I look completely frazzled. I need to get myself under control.
“Thanks for meeting me on your lunch hour. I really appreciate it.” Maria works in a consultant’s office near the courthouse. I hope I’m not inconveniencing her too much. But I wanted to talk with her face to face. Even so, I better make it quick. “You know that Connor and I are close, right?”
“Yes, I gathered that.” Her knowing smile makes what I’m about to say even harder.
“Well, you see…” Just spit it out. “I’m leaving New York tomorrow, and I’m not coming back.” Her face falls. “Connor has no idea, and it’s going to come as quite a shock to him. I don’t want it to erase all of the progress he’s made. He’s come so far in the short time that I’ve known him, and it would break my heart if my leaving causes him to regress in anyway.”
I can’t look her in the eye. She must think I’m a terrible person.
“You realize that I can’t force him to come to group meetings?” Her tone is neutral, devoid of emotion.
I nod, attempting to keep my tears at bay.
“I truly believe you care for him, so why are you doing this?” Her confusion is laced with disappointment.
“I’m afraid after 9/11 the world didn’t make sense to either of us anymore. Now we try to control what little we can. He thinks that if he bends me to his will, then everything will be okay. I’ll be safe and secure under his watch, and he can feel comfortable knowing I got my happy ending.”
Her expression confirms that what I’m revealing is making an impact.
“But life doesn’t work like that. He thinks that if he can get me back to who I was before 9/11—then Danny’s death wasn’t in vain. He believes that if he works one miracle, then he’s setting something right. But it’s not what I want, and he’s too stubborn to realize that, and I don’t want to crumble the tentative foundation he’s trying to build. He wants to start over so badly, but I can’t sacrifice what I want in order for him to do that.”
She slides back in her chair, taking it all in. After a moment, she removes her glasses and rubs her eyes. “I’m sorry that he transferred all of this on to you. It’s too much for anybody to have to deal with. If I had known…”
“I don’t think it would’ve made any difference. He locked on to this idea even before he met me. In time, I hope he can let it go so that he can truly fix what’s broken inside of him. I’m just holding him back.” It hurts admitting that, even to myself.
“But can I say you’ve done a remarkable job in getting him back on track? From what he’s said during our meetings, he had pretty much given up. If not for you, who knows what might have happened?”
“And that’s what I’m afraid of. That my leaving might trigger those tendencies again, that maybe he’s not as fully recovered as we think. I’m terrified that he might do something drastic.” My lip quivers as I take in the magnitude of that statement.
“You think he’s suicidal?”
“I don’t know.” Shaking my head, I raise my eyes to hers.
“Can’t you give it a little more time? Do you have to rush out the door tomorrow?” She’s having a hard time understanding my motives. I can’t say that I blame her.
“He has my back up against the wall. Either I go back to NYU in a few weeks or he’s kicking me out.” It all seems so ridiculous voicing it out loud.
“And you really think he’d do that?”
“I can’t put myself in the position to find out.”
“So you want to leave him first.” Her contempt is palpable.
“It’s not like that.” I tuck my hair behind my ears before crossing my legs.
“How’s it like then?”
“I need to snap him back into reality. He’s not thinking straight. The abruptness of my departure will force him to do that. It’s the only way to get him to stop postponing the inevitable.”
“Which is?”
“That he’s not going to get his way. Not this time.” I don’t know how she’s doing it, but she’s drawing things out of me, things I didn’t even realize existed.
“So you feel that if you don’t take a stand now, you never will?”
“Pretty much.”
She nods processing everything I’ve told her. “Michelle, I wish things weren’t so complicated. I really do.”
“You and me both.”
“But I promise to look out for him. If he doesn’t come to the next meeting, I’ll stop by the bar and check on him.”
Reaching into my purse, I pull out a slip of paper. “Here’s his parents’ number as well. Just in case.”
“And what’s this number on the bottom?”
“That’s my cell. I want you to have it.”
Solemnly, she stands and I follow her lead. Holding out her arms, she surprises me by giving me a hug.
“I’m sorry things have to be so hard for you.”
Patting her on the back, I mutter, “For all of us.”
Tonight’s my last night as a waitress at Donnelly’s Pub, and no one knows it but me. I try to maintain a brave front, but cracks are beginning to show. Miguel watches me warily as Connor pops the lid off another bottle before sliding it in front of him. Pundits on CNN are discussing how al-Qaeda’s plans to build a dirty bomb on U.S. soil were thwarted earlier this month. Reaching for the remote next to the cash register, Connor changes the channel. Miguel shoots me a look before raising the bottle to his lips.
Discomforted, I use my back to push open the sliding door to the kitchen. My tray is laden with lipstick-smeared glasses bound for the dishwasher. A ladies bowling team kicked back with some whiskey sours after crushing their opponent. They were in a festive mood, leaving me a generous tip. But it doesn’t lift my spirits.
“What’s wrong? You look like hell.” Leave it to Tammy to be brutally honest.
“I can’t seem to be able to turn my mind off lately,” I offer as a way of explanation.
“You’re such a worrywart. Relax, would ya?” She elbows me in the ribs. “I asked Connor if I could head out early tonight since we’re kinda slow.”
Rinsing my hands under the tap, I throw her a questioning glance. “Have a hot date?”
She lowers her voice. “I might.”
“It’s about time, girl. Is it…?”
“Yes,” she interrupts before I can say his name, casting a furtive look at the back of Samuel’s head as he flips a hamburger onto a bun.
The two of them slept together a few times around Memorial Day after bumping into each other at the party of a mutual friend of theirs in the Bronx. But Tammy recently put an end to it when she found another woman’s panties in Samuel’s apartment. Ever since, they’ve barely said two words to each other at work. Maybe if Tammy moves on, things will return to normal. I hope so, for Connor’s sake. The tension is pretty unbearable.
Samuel slams his hand onto the bell indicating that an order is up. Tammy sashays by him, picks up her tray, and saunters out the door.
“Women,” Samuel mutters, tossing a dozen chicken wings into the deep fryer.
I don’t know why it’s a relief, but seeing that other people are dealing with shit too eases my mind slightly. But when I think about my impending flight from Donnelly’s Pub, the guilt comes rushing back.
Connor pokes his head in, breaking my train of thought. “Michelle, you got a minute?”
Pulling myself together, I move toward him. “Yeah, Connor. What’s up?” I try not to think about the fact that this might be the last time I ever talk to him.
“There’s something important I want to discuss with you.” Following him back behind the bar, I anxiously chew my gum wondering what it could be. “Do you think you can get up early tomorrow so we can talk about it over breakfast?” My mind goes into panic mode. Does he suspect something?
Putting every ounce of effort into keeping my voice steady, I respond. “Sure, Connor. What time?”
“Seven o’clock?”
I’ll be miles away by then. “Okay, I’ll set my alarm.”
Lowering his hands onto my shoulders, he hesitates before pulling me in for an embrace and resting his cheek on top of my head. “Thank you,” he whispers before letting me go. Two firemen who are friends with his uncle enter the pub, and I know we won’t have another chance to talk. He turns to greet them as I step away to tend to my remaining tables. I freeze time for a minute and take in every detail. How his dark hair catches the light. How his tattoos peek out from under his sleeves. How he makes everyone who steps into his bar feel welcome.
Why does he have to be so selfish? Why can’t we keep on living this life together? We can be so happy letting things go on as they are. Why can’t he step back and see that?
I am on the verge of losing it when I hear Miguel cough. All he does is nod in my direction, but it’s enough to refocus on what has to be done. I have to proceed. There’s no going back. I’m at the point of no return.