Come Together (The Cityscape 3)

“This is really strange behavior,” Greg added.

Ava threw a wine cork at him, and we laughed. “It’s what you get for crashing girls’ night.”

“Sure,” he said, smiling to himself.

~

After an early shower the next morning, I walked back into the bedroom where Gretchen was just waking up.

“Dude,” she said, “you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“Why?” I asked, toweling my hair.

“You would not stop thrashing. I think you gave me a bruise,” she said, rubbing her leg.

I dropped onto the edge of the bed. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said reluctantly. “But you were like, moving a lot and talking. Did you have another nightmare?”

I thought back a moment. “Probably.”

“What are they about?”

“Mostly that I’m suffocating. I’m choking or something. I remember not being able to breathe.”

“When did they start?”

“Right after the Mark Alvarez attack.”

“Do you get them with David?”

I cocked my head. “What do you mean?”

“Did you have a nightmare at David’s?”

“Yes. After he left the bed. But not when he held me. Actually, I slept really well there. With Bill, I would get them even if he was holding me.”

“It’s too early in the morning for this,” she said, jerking her head as if shaking something off. “Is that my robe?”

I shrugged and smiled.

I didn’t realize until late in the day that I’d been checking my phone and e-mail for something from David every hour. I didn’t have a reason to expect anything, but I was looking for it anyway.

Serena poked her head in my office. “Beman says you’re taking Friday off,” she said.

I stared at my assistant. I’d forgotten that I’d booked tickets for David and me to go to Dallas and see my dad. “Yes,” I told her. “Sorry I forgot to mention it. Beman was sure to remind me about Friday’s deadline though.”

She grinned and stepped into the office. “You’ll get it done in time. You always do.”

“I know. I’m going to try and knock it out tonight though,” I said, noticing then that it was falling dark. “In fact, it’s past five o’clock, you can go home.”

“Actually,” she said, hesitating. “I’m down to stay and help.”

“Really?”

“Totally. Just give me whatever.”

I leaned back in my chair and chewed the cap of my pen. “That would be a huge help. Get your stuff, and you can set up in here.”

We worked silently and diligently next to each other for the next couple hours until her head popped up. “Should I order us some food?”

I remembered David’s admonishment about eating from the day before and nodded. “Yes, thanks. I didn’t even realize I was starving.”

Within half an hour, we had pushed our work aside and were scarfing down Chinese. “You’re a good assistant,” I told her. “I’m sorry if I’ve been hard on you lately.”

“You haven’t,” she mused. “I like working for you. Like, I’d rather help you out than Lisa.”

For some reason, that relieved me. “So you don’t think I’m like her?”

She grimaced. “Hell, no. She’s nasty by nature, but I know you’re just having a hard time.”

I smiled appreciatively as I chewed.

“But, I’ve been, like, wondering something . . . ,” she said.

“Okay,” I prompted, bracing for whatever question had been brewing in her head.

“Do you really love what you do?” she asked.

I paused, a piece of lemon chicken midway to my mouth. “That’s a weird question for your boss.”

“I know, I’m just wondering. I think your position is really exciting, and I want to do it one day. I guess I just want to know if it’s as great as it seems.”

“Well,” I said as I chewed, “I think I’m good at it. I’m not sure ‘great’ or ‘exciting’ are the words I’d use.”

“Why not?”

I shrugged. “I like it because it makes sense – if there’s a mistake, I fix it. If something would look better a different way, I change it. It’s not like it’s glamorous or anything. It’s just a job.”

“I know, but you’re helping put ideas and concepts out there into the world and you’re, like, kind of responsible for it being the best it can be. Is there something else you’d rather be doing?”

“I don’t know. When I was a kid I thought I would be a writer. I’m not that great at it though, which is why I don’t contribute much.”

“Are you kidding? Everyone likes your writing. I’ve even heard Beman say so.”

“Maybe,” I said, popping another piece of chicken into my mouth. “So, how are things with Brock?”

She lit up and delved into her boyfriend’s latest hobby as I smiled, thankful that she was easily distracted.

~

Wednesday started out the same, with Gretchen cursing me out for disrupting her sleep. I laughed and promised to move to the couch.

I still hadn’t heard from David, nor had I contacted him. I was feeling comfortably numb about everything. I didn’t let myself get emotional, but I continued to hear Bill’s words, or rather, the meaning of his words. When my mind started to wander, whether it was to the sweet moment in David’s closet, our intimate bath or the thrilling way he’d ensnared me in his guest room, I immediately shut it down. I needed a clear head to find the answers that continued to elude me.

I took lunch in my office and did something I hadn’t done in years. I pulled out a journal I’d bought before work and began to write.

November 14th, 2012

I was married in Chicago in June. It wasn’t a large wedding, but it wasn’t small either. The day started out with a certain electricity; everyone was buzzing, myself included. I hadn’t seen Bill since the night before when instead of his normally mild disposition, he’d been giddy. That didn’t surprise me; he’d been ready to settle down for a while. To finally ‘get our lives started’ as he put it. I didn’t really know what that meant, and I’m still not sure I do.

In the days leading up to the wedding and the hours leading up to the ceremony, I felt mostly calm and perhaps a little numb. I wouldn’t say that I had doubts, but I felt somewhat as though I was resigning myself to fate. I had faith that one day, I would want the same things as Bill. I had faith that our love would only grow stronger, deeper, over time.

I remembered admiring myself in the mirror as Gretchen, Lucy, my mother and some friends from college clucked around me. I had wanted Gina, my dad’s wife, to be there, but she couldn’t be in such close quarters with my mom, who’d already had a couple drinks.

The dress was lovely and simple; definitely my taste. Bill had stressed the importance of saving for our future, which I agreed with, so I bought something modest: a seamless, empire-waist column dress with thin straps. Though my father offered to pay for any dress I wanted, I had asked instead if he would splurge on the shoes – a pair of nude, satin Manolo Blahnik open-toed heels topped with a jeweled brooch. I felt beautiful; great shoes could have that effect on a girl.

The first moment I felt more excited than calm was when I saw Bill at the end of the aisle. He looked handsome with freshly-trimmed hair and a fine-looking tuxedo. He smiled at me as I began my march on that warm evening and then at the crowd as they watched me. But I kept my eyes on him. It took a great deal of restraint not to pull at my ear or twist my ring nervously with all those eyes on me. My dad was stoic and relaxed, so I did my best to siphon that energy from him as he held my arm.

I’d had a lot of time to think during our engagement, half of which was spent living together. Bill was kind and hard working. He wanted to give me things that other women would kill for: a home in a nice neighborhood, a family, security. I knew I didn’t want to move from the city or start a family right away. I

told Bill that one day I would want those things though, and so he was patient. I hadn’t lied. I had believed that those were things I would desire; that one day, a switch would flip, and I would feel differently. That was the faith I kept as I squeezed Bill’s hands in mine, smiled and said, “I do.”

During the reception, my mother was ecstatic, if not slightly intoxicated, because she loved Bill for me. He was the man she’d never found – loyal, respectful, smart and gentle. She was so happy in fact, that she was able to maintain a level of civility through the evening, even with my dad and Gina. My dad’s wife was young – about twenty years younger than my mom – and an Italian firecracker who was easily riled. They’d argued before at family events, so I’d been nervous to see how they would interact.