She Has Your Eyes (27 page)

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I said.

We barely had a moment to get the small talk out of the way when a server came to collect our drink orders.

“Ginger ale for you, right?” said Andrew.

“Actually, just water is fine.”

He ordered a Diet Coke for himself and we opened our menus. I didn’t think I’d be able to swallow anything, my stomach was so tightly knotted.

“Should we just split a pizza?” he asked.

“Fine by me,” I replied. He placed the order when the server returned with our drinks, handed the menus over, and then returned his attention to me. I could hardly sustain eye contact with him for more than a second. Every time I did, he erupted into a smile, which then pulled one out of me.

“So…,” he started. “First off: your books.” And as if that were the starter’s pistol, we were off and running. We moved from the topic of my writing to his to others’, caught up on teaching, retold funny stories about our former colleagues, and I could feel the knots loosening as I laughed. When our pizza arrived and Andrew plated a slice for me, he asked me questions about my mother, and I talked past it until I finally had to change the subject, which I decided was sports, followed by politics, followed by music, followed by movies. Occasionally I inserted David’s name into the conversation as part of a story or a remark, and not deliberately, but Andrew asked me nothing directly about him, and I didn’t go near Andrew's love life.

Some part of me was standing outside of myself and observing all of this—observing
me
—and taking note of how comfortable I was with Andrew, how quickly we’d found a groove and stayed there, how easy it could be for either one of us to reach out and pat the other on the arm, make some kind of physical contact, and think nothing of it. I wondered, had the last few weeks of e-mail communication allowed us to be so open and casual with each other, or the fact that we had once been intimate with each other? Or was it that I’d grown
into an emotionally available woman as opposed to the chick who’d refused to hatch back then?

Or maybe it was all of the above.

Whatever it was, I liked it. And so did Andrew, I could tell.

But we’d not yet talked about what we came to talk about. Or maybe this was precisely what we’d come to talk about: Maybe we’d come to tell old and new stories, to find out what had become of the good ol’ days, to make each other laugh.

I hadn’t even realized that an hour had passed since we’d paid our check. Didn’t even look at my watch once. Neither did he. Not until I looked around and noticed that, in addition to another couple (another
couple
?), we were the only ones there.

“I should probably head home,” I said. “David is waiting for me.”

Neither of us moved.

“You know, my fiancé isn’t too thrilled with my being here,” I said. “I almost canceled half-a-dozen times.”

“Why didn’t you?” he asked.

“Because…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
Because I wanted to see you
sounded way more charged than I meant. Maybe I didn’t want him to get the wrong impression. Or maybe I was afraid it meant exactly what I didn’t want him to think it meant.

“I’m glad you didn’t cancel,” he said. “I’ve missed you.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m not the person I was when you and I were together. So who, or what, are you really missing? I can’t believe it’s the old me. I hope it’s not.”

He looked pensive. “That’s a good question.” He mulled it over. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s not you—the old you. Maybe I’m just missing
this
—the way we’ve been with each
other today. Even in the e-mails. I feel like I’m not even trying—and I don’t mean that—”

“I know what you mean,” I finished for him. “And I’m glad we’re at a place where we can be this way with each other. I like being able to look at you without wanting to bean you with a frying pan.”

He laughed. “I like that too.”

“Seriously,” I said. “I like that it doesn’t hurt anymore. Maybe because everything worked out exactly the way it was supposed to. There was no way we would’ve been happy, Andrew. Even if you hadn’t cheated on me with Tanya.”

He winced with regret. “I want us to be friends,” he practically begged, a mixture of sadness and longing in the words as well as his eyes. “Can we be friends?”

“What does being friends mean to you? What does it look like?”

“This,” he said. “E-mailing. Talking on the phone. Meeting for lunch every now and then.”

The images of our proposed friendship flashed before me, and it all looked good. In those split seconds I tried to convince myself that such a friendship wouldn’t be any different from my friendship with Jeff or, in earlier days, Julian the Spanish teacher. But I knew better. And then I thought of David. All during the drive to the restaurant, I worried that maybe this was the final straw and David was packing his things despite his desperate attempt to get past the hurt and the fights. He even wished me a good day this morning.

Andrew was my past. David was my present and my future. He was my husband-to-be. A friendship with Andrew—hell, any further communication between us—would be a permanent wedge between David and me. And that thought was too much to bear.

“If only we could, Andrew. But it’s just not possible.”

“Why not?”

“Because there would always be an asterisk attached. You were once my lover—perhaps not literally in the physical sense of the word, but you and I were intimate with each other, as intimate as I could be at the time. That will never change, and is never far from my awareness.
That
’s the easy part you’re feeling right now, what I’ve been feeling all day. But the thing is, I can’t in good conscience sustain that with you and at the same time be with the man who is going to be my husband. It’s just not fair to him. Especially since you’re…
unattached
right now.”

“But if he knows we’re friends, if we’re being completely transparent…”

I shook my head. “No. You have no idea what’s been going on lately. There’s a lot of family stuff that I haven’t told you about because it’s just too personal and I can’t bring myself to go there with you.”

“Why? If we both feel so comfortable, then why not?”

“Because it would be too easy to. Because a part of me
wants
to, and that’s dangerous.”

His failed attempt to hide the glimmer in his eye only confirmed the danger signal sounding in my head like a submarine red alert. Dammit, I knew I shouldn’t have disclosed that much.

“Are you and David having problems?” he asked.

I didn’t answer.

“Because of me?” he prodded.

“David and I are fine,” I lied. “Better than fine. We’re getting married.”

He looked disappointed, but resigned. “I understand.”

“I’m super-grateful we did this—it healed a lot of old wounds for me. But—”

“I got it,” he said. “I really appreciate that you agreed to see me in the first place, especially with everything that’s been going on.”

“I’m sorry, Andrew.”

“There’s no need to apologize. It’s OK. We’re OK.” He paused for a beat. “C’mon, let’s get going. I’ll walk you to your car.”

We exited the restaurant, commenting on the foreshadowing of winter and Christmas, and when we reached my car, Andrew held his arms open for me one last time. I stepped into them, and as he closed them tightly around me, I took hold, simultaneously grabbing onto and letting go of the Andrew Clark Years, beginning with when we first met to the present, all zooming past me at light speed. His embrace was so warm, so reminiscent of the good our relationship had once been, the good I believed it to be now, and I needed to run away, lest it suck me in completely.

Just as I let go, I caught our reflection in the car window—seeing us side by side with his arm still around me, the way we had once been, was surreal.

“I have one more request, Andi.”

I groaned. “No. Please, Andrew.”

He took hold of my arm before I could escape into my car. “Please. Just come see me play this Saturday night. I’m playing at a club in Amherst, near you.”

“Why so out of the way for you?”

“I’ve been thinking about relocating for some time now. Amherst is such a great college town. I’m sure it wouldn’t be hard to get a teaching position, if only part-time, and the music scene can’t be all that bad either. Better than where I am now.”

“You never said a word about it,” I said.

“I was afraid you would think I was doing it because of you. But I’m not, I swear. It just seems like a great place to live,
and you certainly love it there. So I figured I’d test the waters a little, check out the music scene. But I need to get some warm bodies in the club for the gig to pay off. You know the deal.”

I did. Some club owners paid bands, especially those new to them, a percentage of the cover charge. Or booze sales. Or just a flat fee. It was crucial to get people to show up, especially if you wanted to return to that venue.

I shot him a suspicious look. “Andrew. You’re asking a lot of me.”

“Please? I need some friendly faces! Come see me on Saturday and I’ll never contact you again.”

“That’s what you said about today.”

“This time I mean it for good. You can even bring David if you want. In fact, I insist you bring David. After everything you’ve told me, I’d love to meet him.”

An image of a bar brawl popped up before my mind’s eye, instigated by David walking onstage and smashing Andrew’s acoustic guitar, like Pete Townshend from the Who. Then again, if Andrew had ulterior motives, he wouldn’t be so insistent about my bringing David, would he? Besides, I knew how tough it was for musicians to fill a room when they were new to the scene. And because of my brothers, I couldn’t turn my back on a musician.

I’d made my position clear. And David’s presence would seal the deal. Maybe this wasn’t such an unreasonable request.

“I’ll think about it,” I said, and before he could say or do anything else I jumped into my car and closed the door. I heard him call, “Drive safe,” but all I could muster was a polite wave as I started the car and pulled away as quickly as I could.

I ached for Sam. I ached for Devin. I ached for my mother and brothers. I ached for this feeling to go away.

chapter thirty-five

The sun had just set when I entered the house and called out for David. We met up in the kitchen as I perused the mail.

“You’re home later than I expected,” he said, his voice stony. Not even a kiss hello.

“Traffic,” I said.

“How was it?” he asked.

“Good. I mean, it was fine.” I knew he was waiting for me to elaborate, but I couldn’t get the words out.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Not really. I’ll just have a yogurt or something.”

“Fine,” he surrendered, and left the room. I felt like dirt.

Later that evening, David entered the study, where I was sitting at the desk and staring at my laptop screen after responding to student e-mails. I put in a call to Maggie, but had gotten her voice mail and no callback thus far.

David stood behind me and massaged my shoulders. A thought that he was preparing to choke me and dispose of my
body in the Charles River popped into my head. Can’t say I’d blame him.

I took hold of each hand and caressed them with my thumbs. “I’m sorry,” I said, still staring at the laptop. “For everything.” Tears slid down my cheeks.

“It’s OK.” He bent over and buried his face into my shoulder and neck for a moment, inhaled and exhaled deeply. His warm breath made my skin tingle. “Come sit with me,” he beckoned. I stood up and followed him to the couch, where he pulled me close to him and put his arm around me. We sat there, eyes closed, still and silent save the sound and sensation of our breathing.

He finally spoke, his voice soft and calm. Soothing, even. “If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand. I’m trying really hard to be supportive of you.”

“But…,” I said, drawing out the word.

“But I’m going out of my mind.”

I felt weary, as if I’d been awake for months on end. “I really want to tell you,” I said, “but I’m just not sure how to put it all into words.”