“I’m serious, Kristen. I hate surprises.”
“Then good thing you love me. Anyway, I’ll let you go.”
I bid her good night and, in a rush, tried Aaron: straight to voicemail.
At home, I got ready for bed with my brow knit, my mouth downturned, feeling I’d disappointed everyone. I almost laughed at my stupid reverie at the bowling alley—such hubris, thinking I could let my guard down.
Someday, I’d no longer lie in bed at night cataloging all the details, the reasons we’d be caught: witnesses at the leafy bar, the shallow grave, our footprints in the dark, the light of a window as we thrust shovels in a shed. Someday, those hours on the mountainside would take on an eerie, cinematic quality, like a horror movie I’d seen.
But definitely not today.
* * *
—
Priya plunked a cup of coffee on my desk and I jumped.
“I could tell you needed it.”
“Aw, thank you. That obvious?”
“Absolutely.” The seat next to mine was empty and she dropped into it, spun lazily. “So what is it? Hangover? Insomnia? Your period?”
“D, none of the above.” I finished an email and turned to her, my voice low. “I had a late night. Aaron came over.”
A dramatic gasp. “It was D! Emily got some D!” She slid her foot beneath her and leaned forward. “How was it?”
I blushed, thinking of his lips on my hip bone, kisses as soft as butterflies. “It was good. Hot.”
“Oh my God. I don’t know how I’m going to look him in the eye at Mona anymore.” She flashed her brows. “Good way to drum up business at the café. Keep you up all night so you’re desperate for caffeine.”
“You’re ridiculous. And he didn’t even stay the night.”
Her eyes widened. “He just left? Like, wham, bam, thank you, ma’am?”
I shook my head. “My friend Kristen called, and I thought she wanted me to come over because she was freaking out, but by the time I figured out it was a false alarm, Aaron was…” I trailed off. Why was I telling her this? Priya didn’t even know Kristen; she certainly didn’t need to hear about Kristen’s tizzy, real or imagined.
Mercifully a co-worker shambled over with C-suite gossip, something about Russell-the-wunderkind getting drunk and sloppy with a potential investor. I nodded as he spoke but couldn’t listen. I felt like I was in a weird love triangle, with Aaron and Kristen each tugging on an arm.
I need you, she’d texted. Not Please call me or Can we talk? Or even I miss you.
As he spoke, my co-worker ran his palm over the back of his neck, past the nubby ponytail there, and I thought of Paolo again, his black ponytail matted in blood.
My stomach roiled. The thing about Kristen was…
I needed her too.
* * *
—
“Are you excited for your birthday?” Priya plopped into the seat across from me and tugged the lid off her salad. We were at a lunch spot that specialized in bowls—grain-, greens-, and noodle-based.
“I am!” I shook hot sauce onto my food. “It should be low-key. But I feel like my friend Kristen is plotting something.” I tore the wrapper from my bamboo silverware. “I hate surprises.”
“You hate surprises? Why?”
The question, ironically, caught me off guard. I took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. “I guess ’cause a surprise is, by definition, out of my control. I want to be able to trust that…that things and people aren’t suddenly going to change.” I shrugged. “I love travel and new experiences and finding new restaurants, things like that. But I’m not a go-with-the-flow kind of girl. Although I wish I was. More laid-back and…spontaneous or whatever.” Everyone liked those kinds of women—women who were down, who were game, who were cool. They put everyone at ease and shushed the Nervous Nelly hissing, Is this safe? Is this smart? Do we really want to be surprised?
Maybe guys liked those women because they reaffirmed the men’s worldview: Nothing bad can happen to me.
“What do you mean by not wanting people to change? ’Cause if you think about it…” She popped open her seltzer and shrugged. “Everyone’s changing all the time. It’s like, the only thing you can count on.”
Was I talking about Kristen? Just last week, I was coming to terms with our friendship getting a downgrade—accepting that nine thousand miles and not one but two horrific experiences would nudge us apart. And then she’d shown up and my heart had swelled at the sight of her, tenderness and relief that she was here, that I could finally be real with the one person who knew what we’d been through. But that surprise had gone sideways too: Things between us still felt stilted.
“Maybe I’m more worried now that I have Aaron—like, things are good, so I have more to lose,” I said. “I told you about Colin, this guy I dated a few years back: At first I thought he was sweet, but then my best friend pointed out that he was starting to act possessive. And then there’s my high school and college boyfriend, Ben. I thought he was one way and he turned out to be…bad news.” I unfolded a napkin. “It caught me off guard. So that’s probably why I like to, you know. See down the road ahead of me.”
“That’s right. Weren’t you going out with Ben for, like, a million years?”
“Ha—four. His family basically adopted me.” I stabbed a piece of broccoli. “He and his parents and his little brother—they all genuinely enjoyed spending time together. It was mind-blowing.”
Priya tapped her nails against the can of seltzer. “Unlike your parents?”
“Damn—you’re starting to sound like Adrienne.”
“Sorry! I love talking about people’s families. It’s fascinating.”
“It’s fine. I’m just not sure my parents are all that interesting.”
“They’re divorced, right?”
“Yep! They split when I was fifteen.” Mom had been the one to tell me, calling me into the kitchen and barely looking up from the sizzling pan she was stirring on the stove. She’d finished the conversation with: “You need to be on your best behavior because Dad and I are going through a tough time right now.”
“And now you’re in your first committed relationship in forever.” Priya pointed her fork at me. “And you have no model for a healthy relationship that lasts. God, children of divorce are such commitment-phobes. You know I’m one too, right?”
“Tell me about your folks. They’re in Madison, right?” It felt nice, opening up to Priya about something other than personal gossip, our co-workers, the news. But her words had prodded open an old, deep trapdoor of insecurity. What if I wasn’t capable of making things work—with Aaron, with Kristen, with anyone?
* * *
—
Luckily, I had therapy that night in which to dissect it.
“It sounds like this is a real source of anxiety for you.” Adrienne seemed so calm and present, like she never left this chair, remaining rooted while clients wafted in and out.
I snorted. “It’s kind of a cliché: My parents split, so now I’m scared of being in a serious romantic relationship.”