Chapter X
X
Teddy
Physically, I’m present. I’m bantering with my favorite bartender and cheering in the general direction of the single TV behind the bar.
But it took me a very long, very cold shower and two espressos to even get me to Josie’s today.
My foamy Guinness is sitting neglected in front of me, and Caroline is to my left, talking with her friends about their annual summer weekend in the Ozarks.
I excuse myself to the bathroom, smiling politely while my head spins.
For six days now, I’ve tried to convince myself it wasn’t cheating. That I love Caroline, just like I told her I do. That I’m in a healthy relationship, the kind I’ve always pictured for myself. So what if she doesn’t make my heart beat out of my chest? Stability and swooning are incompatible.
I look into the mirror with as much conviction as I can muster in the dim light.
Sunday was a fluke. It was an accident without any ties to reality or any meaning beyond the hours in which it transpired.
Pressing my forearm against the wall as if to prop me up, I run the night back, starting from the beginning, examining my case, leaning toward innocence, but willing myself to review every piece of relevant evidence.
I focus on the letter of the law and ignore the spirit of it as I try to steady myself.
Before I reach any conclusion, someone knocks on the bathroom door, and I am forced to abandon my shame spiral.
When the game’s over, Caroline suggests dinner at a cozy French spot she likes, and I don’t know how to say no.
I feel like I’m on a rooftop, watching the two of us walking down the street from a great height.
After settling into our corner table, Caroline reaches for both of my hands, without a hint of urgency.
“You’re distant,” she says, pulling away to brush her curtain bangs off her face.
She gives me a forced smile. “And I know why.”
I reel. She went through my phone. Marin said something to her.
Does Marin even know her last name? Is Caroline’s email on the CorePower “Meet our Instructors” page?
I can hear my favorite 1L professor loud and clear.
“Let people tell you what they perceive as truth before you have the chance to ruin it for yourself by speaking too soon.” I listen, pulling my sweating palms into my lap.
“It’s about the lake weekend,” she continues.
“It was sweet of Shannon to say something about you maybe coming this year—I’d love that—but I know it’s a commitment, and you want to get to Iowa and everything.
I don’t want you to think there’s pressure.
” She looks proud, like she can’t wait to tell her therapist about how she handled this. I want her to be right. For both of us.
I sigh into my bistro chair and nod gratefully to the waiter pouring our wine. “Lakes. So much stagnant water.” She grimaces, then tries to pass it off as a laugh. Eager to move past this. Ideally, for me to tell her that of course I’ll come.
I look at her, really look at her. Caroline is the right woman for me, for my dreams. I can see my future with her so clearly, and it’s the one I’ve always envisioned: We’d date for another year, move in together.
I’d propose with a ring from that designer she always points out when we walk past the shop on Bleecker Street.
Our wedding would be at the DesMoines Art Center, and we’d be settled on Fifty-First Street in no time.
But when the waiter comes back for our order, I politely wave him off.
Caroline’s face tightens. My mouth goes dry.
From some place beyond my rational mind, I hear myself say, “Actually, there’s something else I need to talk to you about.
” Caroline nods, draining the rest of her glass as my vision blurs into bokeh.
“Caroline, you’re incredible, and what we have.
..” Say it. “It’s not forever for me. It’s, um. ..”
I stop myself before I say something dumb just to fill the air or make myself feel better.
I brace for tears, maybe indignation. I realize I haven’t appropriately prepared for a reaction at all because thirty seconds ago, I was convinced I could make this relationship work, by force or by forgetting.
She laughs sharply, pushing her hair off her shoulder.
Her eyes are hurt, surprised, even, but not angry.
“Ok. Also, obviously, you’re in love with the girl in Sweden.
” She reaches for my upper arms, gripping them like she does to her drunk girlfriends when they’re trying to text an ex and they need some sense talked into them.
I’m being condescended to, and honestly, I deserve it.
“Denmark.”
An eye roll from her, an exhale from me, one that starts to rearrange something in me on a cellular level. I realize I didn’t deny it. I realize how nice it feels to not refute it.
“I just thought...” She shakes her head and stands up.
Gives me a good, long, defiant stare before putting on her coat.
“I hope someone someday is as obsessed with me as you are with her to throw away something this good.” My shoulders slump.
I want to comfort her, and before I get a chance to fumble for words, I realize the most comforting thing I can do right now is shut up.
“I’m glad you were honest. I’m not going to be anyone’s backup plan.” Over her shoulder as she walks to the door: “Might as well go after her at this point.”
Marin
All week, I think about talking to Sloane about what happened, but I can’t bring myself to make the call. I hate being messy, and I have a physical reaction to the idea that Sloane—or Sloane and Carter—might have to clean up after me.
The workweek is a treasured distraction, and I throw myself into it, shoving the incident into the recesses of my mind—mostly successfully—until Sunday morning.
I bike thirty minutes through the slushy snow to Vesterbro, seeking punishment from a Pilates reformer.
In class, I fixate on what Teddy said about our one and only kiss.
I struggle to focus on wrapping my abs or releasing the tension in my poses, thinking instead about the sound he made when he heard me come.
During cooldown, I replay how he described jerking off in his hotel room thinking about me.
Our instructor thanks us with a slight bow. I tug on my snow boots. The day stretches out in front of me. The last thing I want to do is be home, pressing rewind on our conversation one more time. It happened. It doesn’t matter. It was a phone call across an ocean, practically a fever dream.
I need a walk. I need cold air. I need other images to replace the ones of Teddy swirling in my head.
I make my way to Copenhagen Contemporary. As I wander through the galleries, my phone rings. My sister, Violet. I stop in my tracks, jolted by a flash of anxiety that hits me whenever I hear from her at odd hours. I answer.
“Mar, I miss you.” Before I can ask why she’s even awake, she jumps in. “Tell me how you’re doing, but this time, try not to mention anything about work.”
I laugh, darting behind a video installation and leaning against a wall to avoid the judgment of being on my phone.
“I’m good. Tired, maybe a little homesick.
” Not a lie, but not exactly the truth. Since our dad’s passing, protecting Violet became my biggest priority.
That means making sure she always has money for flights back to Iowa, someone she can call no matter what, and nothing to worry about when it comes to me.
“I miss Iowa all the time.” Violet is wistful. I can’t relate. She has no idea what that place has come to mean to me, only that I’ve never dreamed of going back.
“You’ll always have Iowa.” I try my best to make that sound like a good thing. “I’m glad you’re in Chicago, though. There’s so much opportunity there for you. And so many frat boys.”
Violet laughs at my running gag about her taste in men. Then she pauses the way she always does before saying something she’s scared to get out. “Are you OK in Copenhagen? Why are you even...” She sighs. “Sometimes you seem like you’re not OK. And I worry about you.”
It’s the thing I dread hearing from her—that I’m a source of anything but comfort. But for the first time, I am tempted to tell her the truth: that I’m lonely. That I keep running farther and farther away. That I think I might be in love with someone who hits way too close to home.
But I can’t. I transform back into the measured older sister she deserves.
“I’m settling in here, V, and it’s not forever.
You know, I have a few friend coffee dates next week, so things are shaping up.
And I can’t wait for you to come. But listen, I’m at an art museum. Let me call you back when I get home.”
After we hang up, I feel relief, like I’ve successfully passed off a white lie.
Then the loop of Teddy’s voice kicks back in, and a few blocks from home, I start mentally calculating minus-six time zones.
Teddy is probably still asleep, in bed with Caroline.
He’ll probably pick up Russ & Daughters for the two of them, even though the Sunday line will be maddening, and go for a run.
He’ll call Carter or his mom and reminisce about old times.
I tell myself that Teddy’s not thinking about me.
And I should try my best not to think about him.