50. Whatever You Do, Brandi Carlile
"Whatever You Do," Brandi Carlile
Victoria
Six months ago, I’d envisioned this moment: Alex and I on our triumphant way to Manhattan, leaving this city in the dust and never looking back. But when Alex pulled into traffic, I couldn’t take my eyes off the sideview mirror, where Cruz had stood, shoulder slumped in the parking lot—and I wondered what the hell I was doing.
When I went back upstairs after my dad left that morning, Alex had met my fiery gaze with compassion. “You don’t have to leave, you know.”
But I’d run from my responsibility long enough, it was time to grab my future with both hands—even if that meant letting go of everything else.
I hated the way my voice cracked. “It was my mom’s dream.”
Alex’s eyes flooded with compassion. He pulled me into a hug, tucking my head under his chin. “I already called Grace to discuss going to the City for tomorrow's press conference.”
My cheek rubbed against his chest. “But your life is here.”
“So is yours,” he whispered, his breath moving my hair. I squeezed my eyes shut, my words choking in my throat.
Connor cleared his throat. Alex lifted an arm from my shoulders to tug him closer. Both their bodies wrapped around me as Alex murmured, “You were right, the sign should have said Blackstone, Clarke & McNamara.”
“You know, I’ve always wanted to live in the Big Apple," Connor said.
“No self-respecting New Yorker calls it that,” I said dryly.
“The city so nice, they named it twice,” Connor sing-songed.
I pulled back from their hug, hands on my hips. “Swear to God, Connor, if this is how it’s going to be …”
“Add a clause in my employment agreement to fine me every time I say ‘Gotham,’ ok?”
“Fine doubles if you say it in a Batman voice.”
“Deal,” Connor said in his awful gravel-y voice. I cracked a smile for the first time since I’d walked in the office. Then I gestured to the stack of papers that Dad left behind. “How bad is it?”
“Well,” Alex winced, flipping through the papers and holding up a list of all the properties Richard had left in my name. “You and Cruz will have options for where to live.”
I pressed my fingers into my eyelids, and shook my head slowly. I wasn’t going to drag him into this mess. “I need your help with a property that isn’t on that list.”
Both of their jaws dropped when I explained what I needed before I went home to pack my suitcase, then looked around the condo filled with my fondest memories:
The kitchen where Cruz had unpacked appliances while I wrote that contract, where he’d fed me hangover chilaquiles, where I’d dropped to my knees for him just that morning. I swallowed down a sob seeing the bubble bath and pretzels.
The living room where he’d held me while I confessed the sordid truth about my family—the people I’d have to face without him—and played endless music with him on the piano he’d convinced me to buy because he’d seen the joy it brought me.
The bedroom where I’d slept on his air mattress until he built my furniture, where we’d spent hours making love. The perfect mornings I’d woken up in his arms.
While Alex had wrangled a thrashing Jurisprudence into her cat carrier, I’d taken one final look around, then closed the door to my life with Cruz. I stopped in the superintendent’s office on my way out, leaving an envelope on his desk before going to tell him goodbye.
I held it together until the car turned onto the Northway, then tears pooled in my eyes, dripping silently down my cheeks. From the back seat, Jurisprudence’s howl pierced the silence.
Alex signaled my car into the passing lane. “For the record, I think you’re making a mistake.”
“Noted,” I said crisply, staring out the window.
“And not just about leaving me in charge of our business alone.”
“I didn’t ask your opinion.”
“I’m giving it anyway.”
“Is that why you offered to drive? To criticize me?”
“You know that’s not what this is,” he scowled, looking over my shoulder to change lanes.
I picked a fabric pill off my dress, which I’d put on to feel more professional, but wished that I’d opted for sweatpants because my legs were sticking to the leather seats. “You, of all people, should understand this decision.”
“Of course I understand,” he said, his voice filled with a soft compassion I’d never heard before last year. “Work comes first, that’s what we were raised to believe.” He released a heavy sigh. “That’s why last December, I asked Grace to move to San Francisco.”
“You what ?” I said. He never told me this, just showed back up in our apartment complex looking like an abandoned puppy.
“I had this dream of Grace and Ruby with me in one of the painted lady houses. She said no, obviously. Immediately. It was embarrassing how quickly she shut me down. ” He glanced over, brow furrowed. “But at least I asked.”
We drove on as NPR droned through the speakers. I wished for a playlist, for a game, for a rhythm drummed on my leg—anything to drown out my regret.
“He would have come with you,” Alex whispered. I hated him for saying it out loud.
Because he would have come. He would have climbed into the backseat at a moment’s notice. He would have woken up early tomorrow to make me a special breakfast, maybe even taken my photo like the first day of school.
Then I would have worked until midnight, only to restart before dawn the next day. I’d seen how much Richard and Dad worked. Cruz would resent me for neglecting him … not right away, but eventually. It was easier to pull off the bandaid and leave while we still liked each other than to drag it out and hurt him more.
He was so young and full of joy. He’d bounce back. Before long, he’d find somebody new who could make him their first choice instead of always coming second to work.
“He deserves somebody who can make him happy,” I replied, my voice like sandpaper.
“He does,” Alex said quietly. “And he chose you.”
My eyes watered at the summer sunlight streaking through the windows. “Why are you coming to his defense? You don’t even like him.”
“But I like who you are when you’re with him.”
My stomach soured as the mile marker sign posts counted down. 182 miles to go.
“I can’t talk about this,” I snapped, connecting my phone to the speakers.
Alex didn’t even complain about my mopey bitch rock when I turned on a Brandi Carlile song that expressed what I couldn’t say: The road behind me was hard, and the one ahead of me wasn’t any better. I would miss Cruz, more than words could say—but he had a life to live, and so did I.
***
“Wake up, Victoria, we’re almost there.”
I squeezed my eyes tighter, curling into the leather seat. For just a second, I let myself believe that when I rubbed my eyes, Gloria would be opening the door of their duplex, that we’d be stuffing ourselves with chilaquiles and laughing with his sisters. In just a few minutes, he’d dance with me around his mother’s kitchen.
“I know you’re awake, and I need directions.”
I opened my eyes to harsh fluorescent lights and concrete. “Why did you take the Lincoln Tunnel?”
“This is the way to New York,” Alex said, gripping the steering wheel. God, he was the worst at navigation.
“Yeah, Midtown,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “But we’re going to Tribeca.”
“You usually drive,” he muttered. Had he never been to New York without me? Why had I ever thought that moving here with him was a good idea?
Cruz would have known, I thought before shoving the idea aside.
As I gave Alex directions south, my gaze unconsciously lifted to that skyscraper’s glass windows. As a kid, Mom and I had stood on the sidewalk and counted all 78 floors, then she pointed out her office right beside Richard’s, promising that it would someday be mine.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow I would put on that crisp blouse, pressed suit and my lucky Jimmy Choos. I would walk through that lobby with my head held high like I owned the place—because I did. And I would take the elevator to the top floor.
Where I belonged.
Alex pulled into Dad’s parking garage. I rolled my suitcases through Dad’s building’s ornate marble lobby, he carried his suit bag and the cat carrier into the elevator. I pressed the button for the penthouse. Dad opened the door, dressed casually in a cashmere sweater and trousers. “Don’t look so happy about the big promotion.”
“I’ll be ready tomorrow,” I said, pushing past him into the foyer. “Where’s her litter box?”
I left Alex to take care of Jurisprudence, walked past the library, and shut the door to my bedroom. I hadn’t lived here since high school—even then, my boarding school dorm had felt more like home—yet all my awards still hung on the walls. A time capsule of who I’d been, who they still wanted me to be. Vickie Fucking Sinclair.
My stomach lurched. I sprinted to the bathroom and dropped in front of the toilet. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast—since Cruz wrapped those cold eggs in a tortilla—and my stomach had nothing to purge. After I’d finished dry heaving, I rested my cheek on the cold toilet seat until the dizziness stopped.
A few minutes later, Alex knocked on the door. I roused myself, silently took Jurisprudence from his outstretched arms, crawled into my bed, and fell apart.