Sophia
I’ve stayed active after the breakup. Springtime helps. The sun. The warm air. Those first few days of it, when even the smell of mud is amazing because of what it signifies.
Warmth. New beginnings.
Spring started to bloom nearly as soon as James and I broke up. I’ve tried to take that as a sign that I’m not making the biggest mistake of my life.
It helps that James has been cold about this. I haven’t so much as seen him since that snowy night in Quebec four weeks ago.
He sent my things down and already packed from his apartment. When I got back to New York, there was a knock on my door not ten minutes later. And the lobby attendant was standing next to my suitcases and Steve—who gave me quite the dirty look for our eviction.
It was so impersonal, so business-like that it pissed me off, and I’m happy for it. It makes this easier when we’re not friendly.
Exes that stay friends are in for more pain. I’ve seen it unfold a million times before.
I’m doing all the smart things you’re supposed to do after a breakup. I’m not lounging in my sweatpants. I’m not eating pints of ice cream.
I’m doing stupid things like taking up running. I’ve never hated a hobby more, but I guess I don’t mind the feeling of accomplishment afterwards.
It dulls my thoughts. Makes me tired enough to not toss and turn before going to bed. At least I’m not being kept up by my upstairs neighbor. I haven’t heard a peep out of James since moving back down to my apartment. I don’t even think he’s been back to the building.
A part of me wonders if he hates me. A part of me wonders if I was too cold. But I had to pull myself away. I had to walk. I broke into sobs when I was farther away on the trail. I couldn’t have done that in front of him.
I couldn’t have held steady with my decision to break up for much longer.
Still, I think about James too much. And I’m thinking about him extra today because the money hit my bank account this morning. I got an email alert for a transfer. I was expecting our agreement to trickle in towards the end of the year, but there it was, staring me in the face.
$680,000.00
When I got the email, I stared at the number for a long time. After New York taxes, it will be almost exactly four hundred grand.
It’s a bit unbelievable. It’s not like I can retire. But it’s a base. I have more on the way because I changed my mind and I’m joining Claude Bernard’s twelfth voyage into the Caribbean.
My lease is up in two months, and I’m not renewing. I’ll live on the research vessel for three months and bank the rent money. That’s on top of my salary for being out there. It’s $70,000. Nothing to scoff at for 120 days of work. Even if I am stuck on a boat.
I’ll miss Steve. That’s currently my biggest reservation for wanting to stay. But he’s a lover, and Alana is happy to watch him.
I’ve never been in a better financial position. Yet I’ve never been this nervous. We set sail in twelve days. And in the meantime, I have a date.
It wasn’t something planned. I wasn’t looking for anyone. I DM’d an archeologist living in Brooklyn who was part of Bernard’s regular team. His name’s Michael Hoffman. He asked if I’d like to FaceTime so he could answer questions.
During the little interview, he told me that the vibe at sea is a bit austere. Military. Bernard likes to act like an admiral more than a friendly treasure hunter, but the pay is good, and the other employees are good company. Mostly what Michael emphasized as the biggest pro was the money. I could tell he didn’t love to work for Bernard, but he wasn’t saying it directly. He didn’t want to scare me off.
He was cute, with thick curly hair and a short beard, so when he asked over FaceTime if I’d like to do another interview over a drink, I said yes.
And today’s the day.
It feels like the right thing to do. Four weeks, and my heart still belongs to James. I’m not going to pretend otherwise. But maybe if I can have a nice night out and laugh at another man’s jokes, maybe then it won’t feel like the world has ended.
He won’t be James. He doesn’t have emerald eyes with that dangerous flash of fire and shoulders as broad as the Brooklyn Bridge.
But it’s that same danger that was the relationship’s unraveling. I can’t idolize James. As tender as his kiss was. As mind-blowing of a fuck…
Stop , I tell myself and shake my head as if to dislodge my unwanted thoughts. It’s getting close to when I should leave to meet Michael at the bar. I picked a place Michael suggested that is across the bridge. Mainly because I wanted the odds of running into James to be zero.
I go to my closet and pick out a floral sundress. White and peach. Cute but nothing crazy.
I curl my hair and add a dash of extra makeup, and then I’m asking Steve for good luck as I lock the apartment door behind me.
The dive bar I’m meeting him at is in Dumbo, quite literally right across the bridge in Brooklyn. It’s so close I decide to walk the twenty-five minutes it takes to get there.
New York is at its best today. It’s just the right temperature to be warm but still not reek of garbage. And we’re still in the sweet spot of good weather but not peak tourist season. Everybody is in a good mood from the beautiful May we’re having. I swear I hear half as many horns.
When I get to the dive bar, I can tell just from its weathered sign and neon beer signs from the nineties that this isn’t a new hipster Brooklynite bar.
It’s a real dive, whose clients probably still include sanitation workers and longshoremen and not just software developers who make six figures and want to pretend to be poorer than they are.
Sure enough, that’s the vibe. Older men with gray goatees turn to look at me when I enter. Three of them sport the same look. It’s eerie. They look like clones.
The place still smells like cigarettes. Like maybe after close, the bartender and some regulars still light up. I see Michael in a booth, and he stands and smiles when I get close.
He has a nice smile. It’s cute and a little shy. He’s a little over average height, 5’11” or so.
So far so good.
“Hi!” I say brightly. I think about a hug but go with a handshake. I play with it and tilt my head, grinning. I pretend to be very businesslike and shake his hand vigorously since we’ll be coworkers. But two people who are attracted to each other and working on a boat for months at a time won’t stay just coworkers for long.
“You come here a lot?” I ask.
“Oh yeah. I grew up three blocks from here. I used to come here with a fake ID when I was nineteen. You look really nice, by the way,” he says, and I smile.
“Thank you. You do, too.” He’s wearing a beige wool sweater with the sleeves rolled up and what look like raw denim jeans. “I’m going to run to the bathroom real quick,” I say.
“Sure thing.”
The place is designed with the booths and pool tables first. The bar is farther back, and presumably so are bathrooms. I walk down the hall and start to pass the bar.
It’s still early and a weeknight, so it’s not packed. There are two men in matching windbreakers that read Wayne’s Windows on one end, and only one other person is at the far end of the bar.
But I freeze midway there.
I suddenly feel weightless, and the light in the bar looks all wrong. I want to think it’s because I’m dreaming, but it’s the adrenaline that is surging into my blood like a racing tide.
It’s James. He’s bringing a glass of whiskey up to his lips.
He’s not in a suit. He’s wearing a white T-shirt and blue jeans. His hair is a little longer, and so is his facial hair. I don’t think he’s cut either since we broke up.
“No way,” I say aloud. For a moment, I think he stalked my movements, that he was content letting me go but somehow heard about this date and changed his mind. But when his eyes rotate to see me, the shock in them is genuine.
His mouth hangs open, his whiskey glass stops in midair. “.”
My heartbeat hammers in my ears. I don’t know what to say. I only know what I feel. Love.
“What are you doing here?” he asks. I can see from the hope in his eyes that not only is he happy to see me, but he thinks I intentionally came to find him.
“Um… pee” is all I manage to say, pointing a weak finger towards the ladies’ room. “I’m here with someone.”
The hope collapses from his face. He comes to the same realization as me—this is a coincidence.
He starts shaking his head. “I picked this bar to avoid you.”
I manage to smile at the absurdity of this. “I did, too.”
It makes sense, when I think about it. If we wanted to avoid each other, we’d go to Brooklyn. And this place is one of the closest bars right when you get off the bridge.
“So, we both had the same idea,” James says.
“I guess so.” I don’t know what else to say. “Thanks for the money, by the way. I just got that.” My gratitude comes out awkwardly.
He raises his whiskey glass up in an unenthusiastic cheers and then drains the glass. “It’s nothing. You did a good job. And you didn’t rat me out to the police, so there’s that, too.”
“I didn’t realize that was an option.”
He smirks, but there’s an annoyance in it, like he doesn’t want me getting cute. I don’t blame him. “I saw you put in your resignation to the gallery.”
“I got a new job.”
“Congratulations. Where at?”
“Um. It’s kind of a travel job. I’m joining one of Claude Bernard’s treasure hunts.”
“What? You’re going on a boat?”
“An expedition. Yeah.”
“Bartender,” James says in his deep voice and taps his finger next to his empty glass twice. The beer-bellied barman comes over at lightspeed and pours James a double of Johnny Walker. He must tip well here.
“Anything for you?” the bartender asks when he’s done.
“Oh, not yet.”
He walks on.
“James, I should get back to my table.”
He takes a sip of his new drink and looks towards the way I’d come. “You’re on a date, aren’t you?”
I don’t respond for a moment. “Yeah,” I say in almost a whisper. “I should…” I point to the bathroom.
His gaze is distant. A million miles away. Finally, he speaks. “I need to send you something before you go to sea, sailor.”
“Oh?” I say with a little interest.
“It’s taxes.”
“Oh,” I say again, with displeasure this time.
“Text me where your ship gets its mail.”
“It’s somewhere in Nassau.”
“Alright. Thank you, .”
I nod awkwardly, like this man hasn’t explored every inch of my body with his tongue, and dart ahead to the bathroom.
Funny how quickly we can become strangers.
No, not funny. Devastating.
I’m cringing on the toilet. I need to tell him that I’m sorry for how cold I was in Quebec. That I didn’t feel like I could do it any other way. I finish and wash my hands, impatient to get back out, but when I do, James’s barstool is empty.
A hundred-dollar bill sits crumpled next to his empty glass.
I stand still in the doorway for several seconds. The universe put James and me together. If this was a sign, I didn’t take advantage of it. In fact, I blew it.
But perhaps the real sign is that his stool is already empty. I never got a chance to apologize for how I walked away from him in the park.
I go back to my booth and slide in opposite Michael. He’s ordered two beers.
“Sorry. I got distracted reading all the wall art,” I say.
“No worries. This guy just walked by. A handsome dude. He looked at me like he wanted to strangle me to death,” Michael says and laughs. “It was the weirdest thing. You’d think I killed his mom. I was afraid for my life for a few seconds.”
“Yeah,” I say, sighing. “That sounds about right.”
It felt like the date lasted forever. I had to try my very hardest to listen to what Michael was telling me. My mind was a million miles away, and I feel like I did a poor job hiding it.
I was thinking of James. He cares enough to avoid me. Is that because he hates my guts? I didn’t see any of that in his eyes. Quite the opposite. I think I saw longing. Of course I saw longing. We were both crazy for each other.
A lack of affection is not why we broke up. The same problems are all still there.
He didn’t tell me anything about working less. He didn’t care to mention if things have changed or if he was still willing to change them. No. It’s over, and he knows that perhaps better than I do. Because he knows he won’t change.
I go to bed early. It’s a Wednesday, but the wonderful weather has the city out and alive. I close my bedroom door and stare at the ceiling.
I tell myself if I hear a single noise above me, a shoe drop, I’ll go to the stairwell. I’ll knock on his door, and I know James would open it for a night of sex.
Five minutes becomes ten.
I keep my ear cocked. I hug my pillow and feel just as ridiculous as I do empty.
Ten minutes becomes twenty.
It’s a long time to listen to silence.