Chapter 23
Sawyer was at a loss for what to do. She turned on all the lights in the apartment, then sat down on the couch with the TV off, just waiting. In the past, watching the clock and waiting for Charles to arrive home had irritated her. But now, having come from Nick’s apartment, and having been driven home in Nick’s car, Sawyer felt too guilty to be annoyed.
So she simply sat and waited, all her emotions on hold, like an out-of-body experience.
When Charles finally came home, she heard him fumbling with his key at the door. She went to open it for him, and he surprised her by stumbling clumsily into the room. He was smiling and his face was pink. It took her a moment to recognize: he was drunk.
He was also clutching a cellophane-wrapped bouquet of assorted flowers that she recognized as having come from the bodega around the corner. Charles saw her looking at the flowers. He grinned and held them out to her.
“For you,” he said triumphantly.
“What’s going on, Charles?”
He waited for her to accept the bouquet, then sighed and heaved himself onto the couch in an exhausted manner, still wearing his suit from work. The knot of the tie was loosened and pulled down to about where his sternum was.
“Well, I figured you were probably pretty mad when you never showed up at the karaoke joint,” he explained, the corners of his voice blurry. “And I figured flowers never hurt.”
Sawyer frowned down at the bouquet in her hands, shaking her head in confusion.
“I don’t understand—what are you talking about?”
“I told you,” Charles insisted. “We went to karaoke, a bunch of us from work. We were trying to cheer Kendra up, because I guess she broke up with that asshole musician boyfriend of hers…”
He paused and blinked up at Sawyer from the couch, looking oddly earnest.
“But I know how uneasy you’ve been feeling lately about my long hours, and I didn’t want to piss you off. So I called to invite you—if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em, right? Kendra’s idea, actually. She’s really cool; she says if you hung out more, you’d probably become good friends…”
(Sawyer very much doubted this, but bit her tongue.)
“Anyway,” Charles rambled on, “I called and left a big long message on the machine. But…since you never showed up, I figured I better come home.”
He peered at her again with equal parts hyperfocus and drunkenness, his eyes wide, his pupils dilating from the effort of sincerity.
“You scared me the other day,” he confessed. “That thing you said about ‘would we still be getting married if we actually got to finish one of our conversations’ or whatever.”
He blinked slowly, his eyes twitching ever so slightly from side to side. Sawyer could see that, for him, the room was probably spinning. He gave a slovenly sigh and frowned down at a small stain on his dress shirt.
“I know it seems like I’m always working and we’re not spending any time together. And whenever we do talk, it’s all about my mom’s plans for the wedding…but…Sawyer, I love you. I’m trying my best here. All of this is for our future.”
He glanced up again, trying one last time to focus on her face.
“Do you understand?” he asked.
Slowly—and mostly because she had no idea what else to do; Charles was clearly wasted—Sawyer nodded.
“Good…” He sighed, and let his eyes close as he lay back. All the tension began to leave his body as he slumped farther and farther into the couch cushions. “You gotta understand about Chicago,” he mumbled, turning drowsy. “This case…opportunity of a lifetime…”
His head dropped to one side and he passed out, into what was sure to be a deep, drunken sleep.
Sawyer gazed at him for a moment. Then, she crossed the room to the answering machine and pushed the play button. Charles’s voice blared through the speaker, a little garbled by the background noise of the karaoke bar (she could hear a man yodeling Cher’s “If I Could Turn Back Time” in falsetto to a rowdy crowd, it seemed), but intelligible nonetheless. It was just as he said: he’d called to invite Sawyer to join them, leaving the address and promising she’d have some fun if she decided to come out.
Now, Charles lay snoring on the couch, oblivious to the sound of his own voice as the message wrapped up and the answering machine concluded with a piercing BEEP. Sawyer watched him sleeping for a moment, his face slack, his expression innocent, a blank slate.
She knelt next to the couch and carefully unlaced his shoes and slid them off, then lifted his tie over his head and covered him up with a blanket. He stirred but did not wake, hugging a couch pillow closer and rolling onto his side.
She sighed, and went into the bedroom to sleep alone, confused by the mixture of annoyance and guilt she simultaneously felt for Charles, and the rest of her mind swimming with memories of her day with Nick, which already felt like something she had experienced in a dream.
The next morning was Saturday.
Sawyer woke up from a shockingly deep, sound state of sleep to see the midmorning sunshine already streaming in the windows. In the living room, the couch was vacant, the blanket folded and the throw pillows neatly arranged. In the kitchen, she found a note from Charles on the counter, along with a bag of bagels whose procurement she must have totally slept through. She picked up the note.
Gotta work a few hours today, and wanted to hit the gym to sweat out some of this alcohol before I have to be at the office. I’m so glad we talked last night, and that you are being so understanding about this crazy case and we’re on the same page. I’m a lucky guy! Thought I’d pick up some bagels for my future bride.
Love,
Your Future Husband
Sawyer blinked at the note, absorbing the fact that—from Charles’s point of view—they’d “talked last night.” She was surprised he even remembered coming home, much less the brief exchange they’d had before he passed out snoring.
But one thing was becoming steadily clearer and clearer to Sawyer: that brief conversation was probably as much as Charles ever wanted to talk about things. And her simple nod to his question, Do you understand?, had satisfied his conclusion that they were “on the same page”—no further input from Sawyer needed. It certainly didn’t bode well; the more Charles mentioned “their future” in passing, the more Sawyer became convinced that she and Charles were not picturing the same future.
But now, Sawyer found herself preoccupied by what she considered a matter of greater concern: the fact that she could not stop thinking about Nick.
Her brain began involuntarily replaying Friday in her head. It was too intense to think about directly—it was like staring into the sun. It came back to her in snippets. A flash of the hungry look in Nick’s eyes. Of his naked body. Of his hands on her. The torture of wanting him so badly.
A shiver ran in a tight ripple down her flesh.
In some ways, she was caught in a state of suspended disbelief; the reality of what had actually happened between her and Nick caused a kind of overstimulation. She felt simultaneously euphoric and mortified, like there was a charge of dangerous electricity trapped in her body, with nowhere to ground out.
That Saturday, as Sawyer made herself a cup of hot coffee, she glanced across the kitchen to where the computer sat, already feeling like a teenage girl staring at the phone on the morning after a date.
She gave in, powered on the computer, and logged in to AOL. While she half expected it, she nonetheless felt a rush of unfamiliar intimidation when the automated voice announced “You’ve got mail!”
From: [email protected]
Hey—I hope things are going well this morning. I’d love to check in. I’ll be online today if you’d like to ping me.—N
Sawyer opened up AOL Instant Messenger, and spotted the green dot next to Nikolai70.
Adventures_of_Tom:Hey
She waited. Before too long, the window on the screen blinked with a reply.
Nikolai70:Hey—I’m here. How are you doing?
Adventures_of_Tom:I’m OK. You?
Nikolai70:Good
Adventures_of_Tom:That’s good. I couldn’t figure out how you felt yesterday
Nikolai70:Ha ha, really? I thought it was pretty obvious
Nikolai70:Yesterday was amazing.
Adventures_of_Tom:It was for me, too. But afterwards…I don’t know. You got so quiet in the car when you drove me back. Almost like you were mad.
Nikolai70:I wasn’t mad.
There was a long pause. She thought maybe Nick was formulating further explanation, and took a sip of her coffee as she waited.
Nikolai70:How were things when you got upstairs?
Adventures_of_Tom:What do you mean?
Nikolai70:Did he ask you where you were?
She realized he meant Charles. She stared at the screen. Nick could be simply asking out of kindness and concern. Or jealousy. It thrilled her a little to think Nick might feel any of the three for her. It scared her a little, too. Sawyer hovered her hands over the keys, thinking of how to respond. Finally, she typed:
Adventures_of_Tom:He didn’t ask
Nick didn’t reply right away. She felt the need to elaborate.
Adventures_of_Tom:He wasn’t home when I got home. He came home later. Very drunk. I guess they went to karaoke again.
Nikolai70:So you didn’t need to tell him anything about where you were last night.
Adventures_of_Tom:No
Nikolai70:Will you?
Adventures_of_Tom:I don’t know
Another pause. Sawyer sensed he was dissatisfied, but she wasn’t sure what to make of it. She waited.
Nikolai70:Can I ask you a question?
Adventures_of_Tom:Of course.
Nikolai70:All this time you’re spending with me—could it be there’s a purpose behind it?
Adventures_of_Tom:What do you mean?
Adventures_of_Tom:I really value this—our summer Fridays hanging out, I mean.
Nikolai70:Me too
Nikolai70:But is there a purpose for you?
Adventures_of_Tom:I don’t get what you mean
Nikolai70:Are you trying to get revenge on Charles? Because he’s always working late
Nikolai70:Because he’s always working late with Kendra
Adventures_of_Tom:No.
Adventures_of_Tom:I’m not hanging out with you to get revenge.
Nikolai70:Do you still plan to marry him?
Sawyer thought for a moment. She had a flash of canceling the wedding, and winced, overwhelmed. After a long hesitation, she began typing…then deleted it all…then tried typing again.
Adventures_of_Tom:I don’t know.
Sawyer waited again, but got the sense that Nick had nothing to say in reply. She understood it was complicated. She wished she could explain better. Her fingers settled over the keyboard again, nervously tapping out her thoughts.
Adventures_of_Tom:I have to talk to him, and in order to do that, we both have to be in the same room for longer than two minutes.
Adventures_of_Tom:It’s like you said—complicated. All the things that have been set into motion that have to be called off. Families…disappointment. Moving out.
Nikolai70:But people do it all the time.
Adventures_of_Tom:I know.
Adventures_of_Tom:I need to figure it out.
Sawyer paused and waited again for him to reply. A minute went by. Then another. She began to wonder if he was mad…or even if he’d maybe gotten disconnected. But then, finally, the screen blinked with a new message.
Nikolai70:Look, Sawyer, this time together has been really special to me. YOU are special to me.
Adventures_of_Tom:You, too—ditto
Nikolai70:You’re the first thing I think of when I wake up in the morning. And you’re the last thing I think of before I go to sleep.
Sawyer reread his last lines with a feeling that went beyond flattered, overcome with a surge of mutual desire. Nick was the first thing she thought about when she woke up, and the last thing she thought about before falling asleep. She moved to type as much, but before she could finish a thought, the screen blinked with a new message.
Nikolai70:But I have to be honest with myself
Nikolai70:I’m not interested in the feeling of being so utterly happy to spend time together only to send you home to someone else.
Sawyer felt abashed. She tried to think of what to say.
Adventures_of_Tom:You didn’t send me “home” to him
Adventures_of_Tom:It’s not like that
Another long pause from Nick.
Nikolai70:Sawyer, the way it felt to drop you off…I’m not interested in that feeling, and I’m not looking to repeat it.
This time it was Sawyer who paused, sobered by his message. She had a flash of seeing it through Nick’s eyes, and she didn’t like what she saw.
Adventures_of_Tom:Nick, what are you saying? Do you want to talk about it next Friday?
Nick didn’t reply right away. Then, finally—
Nikolai70:I don’t think we should meet next Friday.
Sawyer’s stomach dropped. She stared at the screen with a mixture of disbelief and devastation.
Adventures_of_Tom:You don’t want to do something this Friday?
Nikolai70:I don’t.
Adventures_of_Tom:I wasn’t expecting you to say that.
The screen went wavy for a brief moment. Sawyer realized her eyes had involuntarily teared up. She felt a sense of wounded anger trickling into her body—all the more torturous because she suspected she wasn’t wholly entitled to it.
Adventures_of_Tom:Of course. Your math.
Nikolai70:My math?
Adventures_of_Tom:That thing you said at the Yale Club. About how you like to stick to your “math.” I just realized, I’m probably not very good in terms of your math.
There was a long pause.
Nikolai70:I don’t know what you want me to say.
Nikolai70:I can’t argue with that.
Another long pause.
Adventures_of_Tom:Where does that leave us?
Nikolai70:I don’t know how we got here
Nikolai70:In this, I mean.
Nikolai70:But the point is, I’m fully here, and I’m not sure you are.
Adventures_of_Tom:What does that mean?
Nikolai70:Maybe we cool it. And then down the road, you give me a call when things change.
Sawyer’s heart dropped into her stomach. She felt cold.
Nikolai70:It makes the most sense.
Adventures_of_Tom:Mathematically speaking.
Nikolai70:Look, I gotta go.
Adventures_of_Tom:OK. I understand.
Adventures_of_Tom:Goodbye I guess.
Nikolai70:See you later.
“See you later”? Sawyer logged off quickly, before another word could be said.
She shut the computer all the way down, as if their exchange could somehow emerge from it and hurt her further if she left the computer on. She moved to the living room, where she sat on the floor in the corner of the room.
She was still reeling—not from a lack of understanding the logic, but from the pure emotional gut punch of it all.
She knew he’d been expecting a clearer answer regarding Charles. She’d been brutally honest about not knowing what she wanted.
And he’d been brutally honest about knowing what he didn’t want.