Me vs. Me (22 page)

I want to look fresh and smart, like a true New Yorker, when I go looking for an apartment. I have one small problem. My suitcase is gone.

What the hell? I know I wheeled it into the corner. Fine, I was out of it last night. Maybe I didn't. Maybe I stashed it in the armoire. I open the armoire. Empty.

I call the hotel desk. Nope. No suitcase downstairs.

And that's when I hear it. The anchorman on the news is talking about my Cookie Cutter. How his appeal has been denied. How authorities are talking about beefing up the security at the Nogales border.

Nogales? What happened to Boston?

I look at my nails. My unjagged, long nails.

I'm not just Gabby in New York; I'm New York Gabby.

But what does that mean? Am I New York Gabby for good? Or am I going to wake up here in the morning?

Crestfallen, I dress, grab my purse and return to the lobby to return my key card. As the doorman hails me a cab, I feel despair expand inside of me. It's never going to end. I'm never going to be able to live one, normal life.

“Thirty-fourth and Third,” I tell the driver flatly. As he drives, I keep blinking, and blinking, and blinking again attempting to hold the tears back.

He brakes in front of the apartment. “Six-fifty,” he says.

I reach inside my purse for my wallet. And that's when I feel it. The smooth, cold band. The hard diamond. My engagement ring. I lift it out of my handbag and let it sparkle in my palm.

I don't know how it got here, or why. It's as if it leaked out from my other life. My heart pounds faster, as if I'm running or having a first kiss. What does this mean? Have my lives merged?

I quickly pay the cabbie and then rush up to my quiet apartment (Heather must still be sleeping), all the while marveling at my ring. My key works, so I know I still live here. My room is exactly how I left it. The mouse is probably still in the closet.

Everything about me is New York Gabby. Everything. Except the ring. I'm
only
New York Gabby.

Yes!

I sit on the corner of my bed and let the tears flow, but they're tears of relief. How about that. It worked. Except for the ring, it worked. Arizona Gabby is now defunct. I look back at the sparkling diamond. Well, no one ever said the universe was perfect. I slip the ring onto my finger, but it's loose. It looks much better with these nails, I have to admit. I reach into my jewelry box, find a silver chain and slip it around my neck.

So I'll never forget.

You, Again

I
head over to the deli to pick up breakfast, and another mousetrap. Then I return to the apartment. By now Heather is awake and wanting to know where I've been. “Finding myself,” I answer. I'm not quite sure what else to tell her.

I think I know what happened. I'm not certain, mind you; it's just speculation. See, one of my days was really two days: Part One in New York, Part Two in Arizona. The split had to mend at the end of a day. A full day. So on Saturday I started fresh. I didn't change into Gabby New York; I simply stopped becoming Gabby Arizona. I stopped becoming someone I wasn't meant to be.

Of course, there's always the other explanation: by making a decision, I became who I needed to be.

“Guess who called me!” Heather says, as I hand her the mousetrap.

“Who?”

“Brad!”

“No!”

“Yes! He asked me out.” Pause. “But I won't go if you don't want me to.”

“Go, please, I want you to.” Just don't give him too much to drink.

On Sunday night, I fall asleep in my own bed in New York. And wake up in my own bed in New York. I was right. No more switching, no more headaches.

No more Cam.

On Monday, while I'm in the shower, I wonder if the past six months were just a dream. Maybe I imagined it all until I could feel certain I had made the right choice. And then I feel the ring and remember.

 

It's now Monday evening, and I'm standing outside Ron's door. I'm determined to make my life work here in New York, and I'm going to start with my job. Which means I have to talk to Ron. No, not talk to him—confront him. Lay down the law. Now all I have to do is knock. I hesitate before lifting my hand, and then bang on the door.

“Come in!”

“Hi, Ron,” I say. I step inside and shut the door behind me.

He winks suggestively. “What can I do for you?”

I walk up to his desk and face him. “Here's what you can do for me. Stop making me feel like I'm here for the wrong reasons. Stop making me feel uncomfortable.”

“Sorry?”

“Ron, you're a jerk. You put me in a bad situation. The way you've been treating me is wrong. You devalued my job. You devalued
me.
You made me want to go to HR. You made me want to quit. You made me want to tell your wife. You made me want to sell you out to the tabloids. You made me want to sue both you and TRSN.”

“Arizona—”

I put up my hand. “Let me finish. Here's the thing. I love my job. I'm good at my job. So this is what I've decided to do. Stare you in the face—” I look up at him and into his beady eyes “—and tell you that if you ever do that to me, or anyone, ever again I will pull out all the stops. Do you understand? I will not shut up until everyone in this town knows what a creep you are.” I pause for effect and watch his expression harden. “Sure, you can fire me, but I'm not afraid of that. Of you. Nothing about you scares me. You need me. This station needs me.”

I cross my arms in front of my chest. I feel tall. Strong.

Ron, on the other hand looks shrunken. “Have it your way, Arizona,” he says. His voice is weak.

“Don't call me Arizona. My name is Gabby.” I turn on my heel and slam the door.

Ha. I did it! The truth is I don't know what will happen now. Maybe he'll fire me, anyway. It's possible. Anything is possible. But I'm taking control. Learning how to, at least. I'm not going to let anyone push me around again. Sometimes you have to take a chance and go for it. Without a backup plan.

In the elevator downstairs, I realize that my hands are shaking. I think I need a drink. I hail a cab.

“Where to?”

“Gramercy Tavern,” I answer before I can think too hard. I deserve my own three-hundred-dollar bottle of wine. Okay, not three hundred. That's just crazy. A hundred. Tops. Though what good is an expensive bottle of wine without someone to share it with?

I take out my cell and dial. She answers on the first ring. “Heather?” I say. “Wanna meet for a drink?” Okay, so she's a little psycho. Big deal. When it comes to love gone awry, who isn't?

 

The week passes by. Work is tough but manageable.
Flash floods. Kidnappers. Political scandals. Is another starlet too skinny?
But I don't get fired. And Ron keeps his hands to himself at the morning and afternoon meetings.

By the time I get home on Friday, I'm wiped out but happy. I skip into my lobby, smiling, my briefcase swinging by my side.

And I see Cam, sitting on the visitor's couch. My heart stops. What the hell?

“Hi,” he says, with a sad smile and a wave.

My feet are frozen to the ground. “What are you doing here?”

He looks different. Thinner. Tired. Unshaven. His jeans and T-shirt look slept-in and rumpled. “I have to talk to you.”

I try to clear my mind. I haven't seen
this
Cam since November.
This
Cam is dating Lila. I don't know what
this
Cam is doing here. “There are phones.”

“I know, but I needed to see you. You look amazing, by the way.”

Yes, I do. “Thanks. Well, you might as well come up.”

After a silent elevator ride, I unlock my door and he follows me inside. “Heather?” I call. No answer. I'm not surprised. She's probably out with Brad. She's been seeing him all week, which means she's been in non-psychotic mode, which also means I haven't had to hide the steak knives. “Have a seat,” I say to Cam, pointing to the couch. “Can I get you some water?”

“I'm fine, thanks.”

I sit on the other end. “How was dinner at China Grill?”

He doesn't answer right away and for a fleeting, crazy moment, I wonder which Cam he is. “How did you know I was there?” he finally asks, bringing me back to my senses.

“I have my sources.”

He half smiles. “Always the news person.” His smile fades. “It's over.”

“Really. Why's that?”

“Because she's not you.”

I reach to bite my nail, but stop myself. “I'm not sure what that means.” Although, maybe I do. I tried—and failed—to find a replacement for Cam.

“Your leaving me was the worst thing that ever happened to me. I was miserable. Broken. The world just bottomed out and Lila…” He shakes his head. “I shouldn't make excuses. But being with Lila, being with someone else, made me realize how much I'd lost when I'd lost you.”

I take a deep breath. “I don't know what to say.”

He leans over to me. “Say you'll give me another chance.”

“I have a life here. My job is important to me. I know it was shitty of me to take off on you, but you weren't even willing to consider long distance, let alone moving with me. It was your way or no way at all.” Though an echo from another life, the words are still true.

“I know. And that was idiotic. That's why I'm here now. To show you how important you are to me. I'll do anything. Anything it takes to keep you by my side.”

“I'm not the same person I was in Arizona.” Literally.

“Neither am I,” he says. “People learn. People change.
I
changed. It can be different this time. Please.”

My head, my lungs, my heart are all overflowing. This is too much. Maybe I've become the type of woman who's right for Cam. Someone strong. “You're willing to try a long-distance relationship?” I ask. Of course people learn. And people can change. But after everything that happened, I realize that so much of who we are, who we become, is dependent on circumstance, on where we live and the people we interact with. Bottom line, how long would it take before his mother wore him down?

“I'm talking about moving.
My
moving. I'll move to New York. I'll take the bar here.” He gives me a lopsided grin. “I might have to still root for the Cardinals though. But the Giants aren't bad. Hey, what are you wearing around your neck?”

I touch the ring. “It's a long story.”

His fingers look so soft. So warm. I take his hand.

And then his cell rings. And rings. I pull his phone out of his pocket and glance at the caller ID. Alice's number is flashing across the screen.

“It's your mother.” I toss the cell in his lap. “Just answer it.”

He takes the phone, presses Talk and then immediately presses End. He places it back on the coffee table and scoots closer to me on the couch.

“She'll get over it,” he says.

I'm not sure if he's talking about the phone call, or the move, or me. But I laugh and reclaim his hand.

“It's time for her to let go,” he says.

And suddenly I'm thirsty. Very, very thirsty.

W
e're lying on the terrace in our bure in the Yasawa Islands of Fiji. Cam's forehead nuzzles into my neck as the stars above scribble across the sky like ink from a silver marker. I raise my hand into the air, my wedding band shiny in the moonlight, the wedding band I acquired earlier this afternoon on the beach. Then I follow one of the stars, the brightest star, with my index finger as it shoots diagonally across the blackness. And I make a wish.

I wish that Cam and I will be together forever. A wish people in love make every day. The starlight burns out and I close my eyes. And then I drift off to sleep, in my husband's arms.

Who says wishes can't come true?