Chapter 11

I spent the rest of the concert drinking cheap beers and laughing with friends. An hour or so after Jon peppered his business cards around the stage, Graham said he was leaving. “You don’t even know where you are,” I squinted, annoyed. 

“I’ll be fine.” He downed the last of his beer, shrugged on his jacket and headed down the stairs. I turned back towards the stage. Jon was chatting with a couple guys from school. Our eyes met – he winked. 

When I got home, I felt tipsy from the night out. Graham was leaning out the bedroom window smoking. A book and a rolled up dollar bill were illuminated on the nightstand. Without a word I took off my clothes, threw on an old t-shirt and shut off the light. I awoke a couple hours later to the sound of Graham packing his things. “What’re you doing?” I brushed the sleep from my eyes. He went down the hall towards the bathroom. “Did you even notice that that guy was flirting with me all night?” I shouted to no one.

“It’s fine,” he came back in, putting a plastic baggie with his toothbrush in his backpack. “Ok.” He zipped it shut. “I’m gonna go now.” I stared back at him. “Ok, bye.” He grabbed his bag and jacket hanging over the hall railing. Head down, he didn’t look back. The door clasped shut at the bottom of the stairs. 

I sat for a moment, listening for the sounds of him going through the outside door onto the sidewalk. Light slowly filtered through my blue curtains with the big white stars as dawn approached. I was tired. Tired from a night out but also of pretending that Graham and I were in love. I rolled over on my side and went back to sleep.

As the realization hit me that Graham and I weren’t actually a couple, I was also confused as to how to “break up” with him. We spoke only once over the next two weeks. Graham called me. He apologized for leaving the way he did. As to why he did it, he wouldn’t say.  

Meanwhile, I was spending a lot of time with Jon. It was exhilarating to be with a guy who wanted nothing more than to be with me. We spent hours chatting about books, music, and art. We went to shows, held hands and laughed and drank like young lovers should. I was open with Jon about my relationship with Graham. Sitting on his ratty gray couch in his little on-campus apartment, I told him about the guy back at the bar. I hadn’t officially broken it off with Graham yet – if official was even the word you’d use for it. “So, what you’re saying is that I’m the other woman?” He smirked.  

A week later, final calling card in hand on the bathroom floor, I took a deep breath and dialed Graham. Our conversation was stunted. Finally, I muttered,  “I’m seeing someone.” 

“Ok.” I heard the flick of the lighter.

“It’s Jon, actually. That guy from the bar.”

“Ok,” his voice choked – smoke released into the air.

“Ok,” I whispered.

We sat in silence. I gazed at a crack on the linoleum floor.

“I’m not sure what you want me to say,” he said at last.

Once, I would have screamed, I want you to say that you’re sorry. That you love me. That you’ll come back and we’ll be together. “Nothing,” I replied.

“Ok, bye then.”

“Bye.” I ran my finger along the crack in the floor, sighed and got myself up off the floor. 

The following night Jon and I planned to hit some clubs. To save money we pre-gamed at his apartment on cheap vodka and concentrated orange juice screwdrivers. Jon set his drink down on the coffee table, ice tinkling, and plopped down on his hand-me-down armchair. “Come.” He grinned, slapping his lap. I took a sip, then straddled him, drink still in hand. 

“Guess what?” I raised my eyebrows and whispered in his ear, “I have news for you.”

He grabbed my glass and took a swig from the corner of his mouth, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re no longer the other woman.” I winked, taking my drink back.

“I’m legit?!” He mockingly gushed as I nodded. “Alright!”

That was it. I felt free – finally living the life I should have been all those years at college. That night, as we bounced from club to club, every time I looked his way, Jon had his eye on me. After hours of dancing, music pulsing through my veins, sweat mixed with alcohol, I leaned out the cab window. City lights blurred and came back into focus as the car whipped down vacant streets. Back at his place, in a drunken haze, Jon and I took our clothes off and went right to bed. An hour later I woke with a vicious sting rising in my throat. I ran to the bathroom and in the glow of his red night light, threw up. 

Jon tapped on the bathroom door. “Are you ok?” he asked. 

Sweaty and on the verge of tears, I moaned, “Oh god, I’m so sorry.” With my arms hugging the toilet, I put my head down. “I’m so embarrassed, you must hate me.”

“Are you kidding?” He laughed. “It’s better to have a naked girl in your bathroom throwing up than no naked girl at all.” 

Jon and I were over before the end of the school year. Pressure from final projects and preparing for adulthood were too much of a strain. But it was ok. Jon was the catalyst that broke everything open. Soon I moved in with Katy and started planning for life after college. I no longer spoke to Graham. 

Over the course of the summer I had a few realizations. Graham’s drug was coming into focus – the secrecy, the disappearing. Still, I knew there was nothing I could do to stop it, even if we stayed in each other’s worlds. 

I went home to Maine for the holidays. On Christmas Day as I watched my brother play with his new toys the phone rang. My mom came into the living room, “It’s Graham,” she said, holding the receiver heavily in her hand. 

“What?” I looked at her confusingly. She grunted. I grabbed the phone and went into the next room. “Hello?” 

“Hey,” he said. Warmth flooded over me. For just a moment, all my old feelings came rushing back. How are things, what have you been up to? He wanted to know if I’d like to get together while I was in town. 

“Are you clean?” The words spilled out. I wasn’t really even sure I knew what I was asking but there was a tight feeling in my gut. 

He replied with silence.

“Then I’m sorry,” I took a breath, “I can’t.”

I didn’t hear from him again until 2007 when I was away in Spain. I came back to find out he’d reached out. SORRY, I WAS IN BARCELONA, I DIDN'T KNOW THAT YOU TEXTED.

IT'S OK, he wrote, I KNOW THAT WAS ALWAYS YOUR DREAM. TO TRAVEL.

I was with Eddie by then. I cut him off.  But I know that, somewhere, in one of his notebooks, there’s a sheet with the word Ashley and my phone number, as he always kept it. 

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I shook my head and took a drink, beer dribbling down the side of my glass onto my yellow fluffy top.

“I said, do you want to share some vegan nuggets and fries?” Josh hunched forward, his pensive eyes, so much like Graham’s, meeting mine. 

I’d already made the decision that I was going to sleep with Josh. It wasn’t that I was craving physical connection. In fact, I’d found that the longer I went without it, the less desire I had for it. Still, it had been a while since I made any real connection with a guy and it was best to shake it off. What had Bryn said? Show it off a little? 

I mean, what was the harm? Maybe I deserved to take charge. I thought back to Peter. In one of my many dalliances on the Tinder merry-go-round I matched up with a cartoon. Peter’s profile said he was a psychologist working at a prestigious Philadelphia university who was looking for a girl with a good sense of humor and enjoyed dining out. When he messaged me I was reticent. WHY NO PHOTO? I messaged him on the app. 

BECAUSE I DON'T WANT ANY OF MY PATIENTS TO SEE ME, he replied, attaching a photo. He was an attractive guy, non-descript with short chestnut hair and long eyelashes. He was quick witted and engaging. Wasting no time, we went out a couple of days later.  

Peter met me at Double Knot, an intimate sushi bar in midtown. It felt pretty upmarket for a first date. Maybe working at an Ivy League was more lucrative than I’d thought. Peter was intelligent. We talked about books, music and the upcoming elections. Afterwards, he walked me to my bike. “Text me when you get home,” he said as I opened my u-lock. “I’d really like to see you again.” He leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. 

I MADE IT! I texted twenty-odd minutes later. 

GREAT! He replied right away. HEY, WANT TO GET TOGETHER ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON?

SURE, BUT I'VE GOT SOMETHING IN THE MORNING. MEET AFTER LUNCH? 

PERFECT. I CAN'T WAIT.

Saturday rolled around. I had to work that morning as part of an open house for the college I was working at. Around ten I texted. 

HEY! I JUST WANTED TO CHECK WE'RE STILL ON FOR LATER TODAY. LET ME KNOW WHAT TIME YOU WANNA MEET UP! I got on with my morning but realized an hour and a half later I still hadn’t heard from Peter. 

IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT? I JUST NEED TO KNOW IF WE'RE MEETING OR NOT, CAUSE IF NOT I'VE GOT OTHER THINGS I CAN DO. LEMME KNOW!

Right as I hit send a couple of the girls from the office walked in. “Who ya texting?” the blonde asked. 

“Oh, just this guy I went out with the other night.” “Niiice,” nodded the brunette. “When are you goin’ out?”

“Not sure,” I shrugged. “He hasn’t replied to any of my texts this morning.”

“Ut oh,” they said in unison. 

“What?” I looked on quizzically.

“Well, maybe he’s ghosting you,” said the blonde. The brunette nodded in agreement. 

I tilted my head, pulling my phone from my pocket. “Do you think I should text him again?”

“Maybe wait a little bit, then try one more time,” the blonde said, grabbing some flyers as they left the room. I nodded in agreement. 

After thirty minutes I tried one more time, HEY, WHAT'S THE DEAL? ARE YOU GHOSTING ME OR SOMETHING?

Ping! I got a text right away.

👻

So now here I was, taking charge, chatting about the banalities of life over terrible vegan chicken nuggets with a guy I planned to sleep with who looked a lot like my ex. It turned out Josh was a long time friend of one of my friend’s husbands. Good sign, I was definitely going to sleep with him now. As the conversation grew stagnant I thought it was better to just take him home and get it over with. 

Everything went as planned. Josh was all hard angles and bone, blond hair and blue eyes, just like Graham. I dozed off but then woke up with a start at 2am. Lit by the light of the streetlamp shining through the window Josh was getting dressed. Without saying a word, I threw on an oversized sweatshirt and led downstairs to the door. With his face half turned away from mine he gave me a kiss. I opened the door. I felt a wave of relief – I’d have my bed to myself tonight. 

The next morning, as I brought my cup of tea into the living room, my foot brushed over something small and metal. There was a tinkling sound as it rolled across the wooden floor. Picking it up I saw it was a small silver skull earring. Josh must have lost it in his haste to leave. I texted him a photo, HEYA! I FOUND THIS ON THE FLOOR THIS MORNING! with a heart emoji. 

He replied 29 hours later. AH, YEAH I WILL HAVE TO GET THAT SOMETIME.