Before We Were Strangers (15 page)

Ignoring his brother, he stepped out of the way and took my arm. “Everyone, this is Grace.”

I waved awkwardly and then his stepmother approached. “Hello, darling. I’m Regina.”

While I shook her hand, Matt’s father walked up to Matt and hugged him wordlessly, then he turned his attention to me. “Hello, Grace, lovely to meet you. I’ve heard about you and your music.”

I swallowed, wondering what he had heard. “Thank you, sir. Nice to meet you.”

“Please, call me Charles.”

The urge to say,
How ’bout Charlie
? struck me, and I laughed nervously. “Okay, Charles.”

Alexander stood back until I saw a black-haired women enter the room from the other side. She was beautiful, in a girl-next-door kind of way. Long, sleek hair with bouncing curls at the ends. Big brown eyes, surprisingly warm. I smiled as she approached but then noticed her Joker grin, big and fake, with a hint of mischief. Her movements were feline as she slinked toward us. “Matthias.” Her voice was haughty.

“Hi, Monica. This is Grace.”

Her creepy, closed-mouth smile was back as she slowly looked down to my boots, then back up to my face. I stuck my hand out to shake hers but it dangled there, helplessly. Finally, she took it. “Nice to meet you. You look like his type.”

“Uhhh . . .”

Monica looked back to Matt. “Does she speak?”

“Kids, let’s take this into the dining room,” Charles interrupted. I was grateful.

The six of us sat around a large, shining black table laid with silver serving pieces and crystal champagne flutes. Matt and I sat across from Alexander and Monica while Regina and Charles capped each end of the table. Naina moved quickly and gracefully in and out of the room, setting dishes on the table.

Charles announced that the food was prepared by Chef Michael Mason. I leaned over and whispered to Matt, “Who’s he?”

“Who cares?” Matt said out loud, but no one acknowledged him.

Regina and Monica were having a conversation about some designer who was working on Monica’s wedding dress, while Charles droned on to Alexander about the firm’s latest contract negotiations. They basically ignored us for the better part of the meal, and I should have been thankful. By the time dessert came around, and Monica and Alexander had had a few flutes of champagne, they turned their undivided attentions on us.

“So, you play the cello?” Alexander asked.

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Monica’s voice was filled with knowing. “
You’re
the cello player?”

“Yes,” I said again. I saw worry etched on Matt’s face. He was staring hard at Monica, trying to read her tone.

Her saccharine smile and fake laugh sent a cold shiver through me. She looked at Alexander but pointed to me. “This is the one?” Her eyes darted to Matt’s dad. “The one you bailed out, right, Charles?”

“Excuse me? Um . . . bailed out? I don’t know what you mean,” I said, barely getting the words out above a whisper.
Who was this meek, stupid girl I had become around these people?

“Nothing. This isn’t lunchtime conversation, Monica.” There was an edge to Matt’s tone.

I pushed my chair back from the table. “Restroom?” I asked to anyone who would rescue me.

“Down the hall, second door to the right,” Regina said.

When I stood, I swayed, dizzy from the champagne. Matt got up but I quickly moved past him down the hall. I could hear his footsteps behind me. I went into the bathroom and tried to close the door but Matt’s big steel-toed boot was jammed in the opening. “Wait. Let me in.”

“No,” I barked.

“Grace, I’m serious. Let me in . . . please.”

My eyes were watering and I was looking down when I finally let go of the door and let him in. He lifted my chin. His eyes were burning, like rum on fire. “Listen to me. I borrowed some money from my dad to help you get your cello back. I didn’t go into detail with him because I knew he wouldn’t fucking understand your circumstance. They don’t even deserve to know. You’re good and kind and pure, and you don’t need
these people to tell you that. Let them think the worst. Let Monica unleash her judge-y bullshit. Let Alexander think we used the money for your fifth abortion. Let them all go to hell. I don’t care, and you shouldn’t either. They will never be satisfied in life because, no matter how much they have, they will always want more. Right now they want to strip some dignity from us because we have something they don’t.”

I sniffled. “What’s that?”

“This.” He bent down and kissed me softly, slowly.

When he broke away he moved across the bathroom, opened the cabinet below the sink, and reached as far back as he could. “Got it! Naina never fails.” It was a bottle of tequila. He unscrewed the top and took a swig. “I have to drive, but you’re welcome to get blasted. It’ll numb the pain of being around my family, trust me.”

After three large gulps, I could feel the heat spreading over my face. I turned instantly pink-cheeked when I drank tequila. “I’m ready.”

He messed up my hair. “There we go. Now you look perfectly just-fucked. Let’s make them squirm.”

The group was in the living room standing near the gleaming grand piano when we returned. Monica look startled when she saw us. Alexander looked jealous, and Charles and Regina looked curious, as I fanned myself.

“Took you long enough,” Alexander said.

Passing Alexander from behind, I murmured, “Yes. Matt takes his time.” As I sat down at the piano bench, I made one last dramatic fanning gesture before placing my hands on the keys. “Can I play you all something?”

“That would be wonderful, Grace,” said Charles.

The tequila was blasting through my veins, working loose all the stressed-out muscles in my body. I began playing, first slowly, allowing the song to build. The music started swirling over and over, higher and higher, bringing every emotion to the surface like a spiritual experience. I felt like shouting, “Can I get an amen?!” I closed my eyes and played for five minutes without missing a single note.

When I was finished, there was silence. I nervously waited to open my eyes until I heard the sound of clapping. I looked to Charles first, who was beaming. “That was fantastic, Grace. Who was that, Bach?”

“Pink Floyd. ‘Comfortably Numb.’ ” I smiled.

“Well, it was beautiful at any rate,” Regina said.

“Thank you.” I stood and noticed that Monica was standing at Matt’s side, staring at him. He was unaware because his eyes were on me and he was grinning, a full, cheesy, million-megawatt grin full of pride.

As I walked toward him, he held his fingers up to his face like he was snapping the shutter of an imaginary camera and mouthed, “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Monica saw the whole thing, but the best part was that Matt didn’t care whether she saw it or not. I’m not sure she even existed in his mind anymore. Just as I reached him, Alexander smacked Matt hard on the back. “She’s really talented, bro.”

Matt’s eyes went wide. He was shocked, clearly. Maybe it was the reminder of an old brotherly love they once shared, or maybe it was because Alexander was looking at me as a prize.

“Yeah, she is,” he said, still staring at me. “We have to go now.” Matt took my hand and pulled me toward the door
then wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “Thanks Dad, Regina. Lunch was great. We have to get back with Mom’s van now.” Leaning over, he kissed my ear and whispered, “I want you all to myself.”

We turned back just before walking out the door. Matt gave a big “Merry Christmas!” and we were gone, leaving behind a room full of gawking faces.

“What was that all about?” I asked as we pulled out of the driveway.

“That was me telling them you’re mine.”

I couldn’t stop smiling.

The Sex Pistols came back on. Matt turned it up and began doing his best Sid Vicious imitation, chanting something about holidays in the sun. I smiled and stared out the passenger window, watching the traffic on the other side of the highway blur into streams of red.

WE SPENT THE
next three days at his mom’s, exploring the streets on Matt’s motorcycle. At a thrift store, I found a cool, square belt buckle made of black pewter with a gray owl in the center. I made Matt wait outside while I paid for it.

When I got out the door, he was in the parking lot, straddling his motorcycle, looking sexy as ever. His arms were crossed over his chest and he was wearing that cocky Matt smirk, his eyes squinting against the sun. A gust of wind blew my hair back as I came walking toward him. He held up the invisible camera and took a shot.

“Gracie, I hope you got me that owl belt buckle.”

I punched his arm. “You jerk. Why’d you have to ruin it?”

“Kiss me.”

“You ruined my surprise,” I whined.

“KISS. ME.”

On Christmas morning, we all sat around Aletha’s tree and exchanged our mostly homemade gifts. Aletha had thrown four beautiful mugs on her new pottery wheel and gave them to both of us.

“I had them glazed. Two have your initials and two have Grace’s on the bottom,” Aletha explained as Matt pulled them out of a box.

“Huh,” Matt said. “These are great, Mom. Thank you.”

He handed her a large wrapped frame. “It’s from both of us.” I squeezed his hand gratefully. He knew I hadn’t been able to buy her anything.

She unwrapped it and stared. I didn’t know what she was looking at so I got up to stand behind her. When I finally saw what was framed, I swallowed and felt tears fill my eyes. It was a matted collage of us. You couldn’t see our faces in any of the photos but they were all of Matt and me, just our legs, arms, hands, hair, mostly on each other, or embracing, or lying across one another lazily. Some were blown out by the light so you could only see our silhouettes. It was a breathtaking collection, and it truly showcased Matt’s talent so beautifully.

“Matthias,” Aletha started, already breathless. “Son, these photos are so incredibly stunning. And Grace, you are such a naturally beautiful subject. I will cherish this always.”

A tear fell from my cheek and landed on Aletha’s shoulder as she hugged me. She looked up at me in surprise. I shook my head, embarrassed, and looked away.

“You hadn’t seen this, Grace?” she asked.

“No,” I said, my voice strained. “It’s amazing, Matt.”

“Glad you like it, ’cause I got you the same thing.” He laughed. “It’s waiting for you in your room when you get back. I snuck it in there right before we left.”

I plopped onto his lap and kissed him quickly. He hugged me close. “I love it. Thank you.”

When I gave him the belt, he examined it. “Gracie’s eyes,” he said, and I nodded.

“I told you he would get it,” Aletha added.

ONCE WE GOT
back to New York in early January, we fell into a regular routine. We’d explore the city, go to our classes, study together in the dorms, or are at least try to study. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other. On the nights Matt worked at the PhotoHut, I’d practice music with Tati.

About a month later, Matt asked me to meet him in the lounge, with only the hint that he was going to take me somewhere special.

“This is the other part of your Christmas present I was waiting to give you,” he told me, his eyes twinkling as he grabbed my hand and led me out of the dorm.

All bundled up in coats and scarves, we walked to Arlene’s Grocery, a small venue where local bands played. “Don’t look at the signs,” he urged.

We made our way through the crowd to the stage. Matt forged ahead, pushing people to the side, but I couldn’t see anything beyond people’s backs. When I finally looked up, I was staring right into Jeff Buckley’s eyes as he tuned his guitar.

Holy. Shit.

We watched the entire set, right there at the front of the
crowd, swaying back and forth, three feet from my favorite musician of all time. At one point, I thought I caught a smile from Jeff but then he looked away and started rambling about his nicotine patch. I looked back at Matt and mouthed, “OH. MY. GOD.” I knew I was in the presence of greatness.

Jeff disappeared after the show, but I didn’t bother looking for him. A year earlier, I might have waited around like a groupie so I could get a handshake or tell him what a devoted fan I was, but that night I just wanted to get back to the dorm with Matt. I was inspired. I wanted to play music.

Walking home, I said absently, “He didn’t play ‘Hallelujah.’ That’s too bad.”

“He’s probably sick of playing it,” Matt replied as he swung our hands back and forth.

“Yeah, you’re right. Thank you, by the way. That was amazing.”

“Anything for you.”

“Don’t go getting mushy on me, Matthias.”

He laughed. “Now who’s the one who can’t be serious?”

MATT

After the holidays, Grace and I spent as much time as we could together—mostly naked. It felt like we were trying to condense a whole relationship into a few short months before I left for South America. We must have told each other a million times that what we had was casual, but it didn’t feel that way. Grace avoided all conversations about what she was going to do when I left for the summer. She’d constantly reminded me that we were young, which sometimes felt like she was minimizing our relationship. I think she was trying to protect her heart. Maybe I was, too.

We hung out with Tati and Brandon a lot and went to seedy music venues on the Lower East Side and in Brooklyn every Friday. On Sundays, we’d lounge around, playing games or studying together at Senior House. But as the winter ended and we headed into early spring, we all got busy preparing for the end of college and the next phase of our lives. If I hadn’t
lived right next door to Grace, I don’t know how we would’ve seen each other.

Finally, on the first warm day of April, Grace, determined to get the four of us together, gave us strict orders to meet up outside of the Old Hat at ten in the morning. The Old Hat was a grimy dive bar we’d go to after nicer bars closed for the night, so it was an unusual place to start the day.

I rubbed my hands together and clapped once. “All right, lady, what’s this all about?”

“Whiskey,” she deadpanned.