Chapter 5 #2
He smiled, the real thing this time, like he found my question amusing, or cute, or both.
“For better or worse, guys are more sympathetic to other guys’ plights.
Just like you ladies are more sympathetic to other ladies’ plights.
It’s a plight-sympathy ratio based on phenotypic sex that’s at work here. Makes sense to me.”
I shook my head at both him and myself. “Okay, I guess I see your point. So, what makes you think An—uh, what makes you think he’s ‘madly in love with me’?”
It wasn’t even 10:00 AM yet and I already felt exhausted.
Dmitry ticked off points on his fingers. “Data point one: You two had an argument and ceased communication after the will reading, yes? Right before the Rome tournament. He lost that tournament.”
“He came in second! Coming in second is not losing.”
His smile returned. “For Andreas Kristiansen, anything other than a decisive first place showing is losing.”
I wanted to roll my eyes but I didn’t. “Fine. What else?”
He counted off another finger. “He looks worse off than you do. He’s clearly not sleeping or eating well.”
I shrugged because this was easily explained. “His father just died. And he—uh—like you said, he lost that tournament in Rome and he never loses.”
Dmitry shook his head slowly. “I do not believe he is grieving the loss of his father, but whatever. Third point: He is notoriously calculating, cold, and aloof in every interaction he’s ever had with anyone, public or private.”
“How could you know about his private interactions?”
“Because even his closest friends, when asked if his tournament persona is a facade, for intimidation purposes, they all say no. They all say he is the same in public as he is in private. And I’ve followed him for years.
So, imagine my surprise when you introduce me to him in December and he is not as expected. Around you, he is someone else.”
“It was all fake. An act. He is cold, calculating, and aloof. And if that’s your third data point, it’s a lousy one.”
“That was not my third data point, that was merely the introduction and background to my third data point, providing necessary context, which is: When we went to dinner last night, dare I say it, but I believe he overshared. With me. A stranger.”
I squinted at this odd news. “What do you mean he ‘overshared’? What did he say?”
Dmitry’s eyes glinted. “He told me—and this is another direct quote—that he is madly in love with you and would do anything to be part of your life again.”
I stopped breathing for a second. The words made something in my chest hitch and trip and then do a little loop the loop before landing on unstable ground.
Why would Andreas do that? Why would he—
I stopped myself from wondering, because Andreas never did anything without an ulterior motive and a long-game strategy.
Thus, the answer was simple. Andreas needed me to help him with something—what it was, didn’t matter—and his dinner with Dmitry was part of his carefully plotted scheme to dupe and use me all over again.
A wave of exhaustion rolled through my body. It felt like being drunk and sleep-deprived at the same time.
Dmitry waited for me to respond. When I didn’t, he filled the silence. “He also said he doesn’t need you to forgive him. In fact, he believes it is impossible for you to forgive him, but that he simply wants to know you, see you, and speak to you. And he said all this while sober.”
I looked at the fake plant, jealous of its undemanding nature, and I found myself smiling, just a little, because what else could I do?
“Sam?” Dmitry prompted. In my peripheral vision I saw him tilt his head to the side. “Did I do the right thing by telling you?”
“It’s fine. Nothing he said matters. It’s all nonsense.” I waved a hand through the air and gave Dmitry a small smile. “By the way, are you okay after being the emotional repository for your favorite chess grand master?” I asked, desperate to lighten the mood.
He stared at me, solemn, then said, “Thank you for asking. Honestly, I am not okay.”
I snorted. “I’m sorry he sought you out just to—”
He stood up, abruptly, which startled me. “Don’t be. It was the best night of my life. But it’s all downhill from here, isn’t it? How can I be okay when I’ve peaked at such a young age?”
I felt a laugh bubble up and covered my mouth with my hand to keep it inside this time, which made my shoulders shake.
This type of laughter felt dangerously close to tears, and I didn’t want to cry.
Not here. Not in front of Dmitry and the fake plant with no needs or desires, and the stupid broccoli.
But there it was. Sadness. Waiting just below the surface. Circling.
Dmitry let me have my moment, then, softer, said, “I don’t know what he did, nor do I have an opinion to offer regarding whether or not you should accept him back into your life. I merely came to provide a few data points for your consideration.”
I waited until I felt fully in control before dropping my hand and saying, “Thank you, Dmitry.”
He nodded, went to the door, and paused, hand on the knob. “There is this saying about friendship in Russian. Roughly translated, it’s something like, ‘Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light.’”
We looked at each other for a beat before he added, “This is only true in certain neighborhoods in and around Moscow and New York City, obviously. It’s better to be alive on your own during daylight than stabbed to death with a friend while walking in the dark together.
But what I want to say is, you’re a good friend to me, Sam.
I like our friendship. And I understand why Andreas—even if he weren’t in love with you—would want you in his life. ”
The laugh that emerged this time was shaky, but also genuine. “You’re a good friend to me, too, Dmitry.”
He gave me a little two-finger salute, then slipped out the door, closing it gently behind him.
I sat for a long time staring at the fake plant, not knowing quite what to think. It was possible to be finished with someone, and still miss them so much it made your bones ache. It was possible to be furious and heartsick at the same time, and wish things could be different.
Ultimately, despite my wishing and heartsickness, the truth was actually quite simple. I couldn’t trust anything Andreas did or said. There existed no possibility of allowing him into my life.
Not now. Not ever.