Chapter 23
March
Three Weeks Until The Wedding
I wake up with my cheek pressed into the soft leather. My eyes are closed, and I reach a hand out, searching. It hits the back of the couch.
I’m alone.
The coldness, the emptiness, raises goose bumps on my skin.
My eyes fly open. There are cracks in the ceiling I didn’t notice before and the light coming in from outside is the hazy glow of early dusk.
A deep sigh sounds to my left and my heart lifts as I turn to face it.
He’s here. Trip is here, lying next to me on the couch.
The planes of his face are tinted blue in the evening light.
I flash back to the hospital, when all the details of him up close were new discoveries.
His bottom lip presses into the leather of the couch and the collar of his formerly crisp shirt is askew. My heart swells. The ability to flip someone’s collar down. Is that too much to ask for?
Trip shifts and his eyelids flutter open. He stretches, and even half asleep, his movements are measured, precise. “Was I out?” There’s a frog stuck in his throat. He scoots his hips closer to me and lifts a hand to skim the side of my hip. “Man, I haven’t slept like that in a year.”
I press my palms together and lay my head on top of them. “Why don’t you sleep here? You have a home. Why do you sleep at Top of the Rock?”
His mouth opens.
“Aside from it being iconic.” I roll my eyes.
He snaps his mouth shut. “It hurts too much.”
I interlace my hand with his, even though it’s nothing more than grasping air. “Tell me.”
“I don’t want to let myself hope. That I’ll be back here one day, that I’ll get my life back. And now.” He drags a palm across his face and groans. “I’ve brought you here, seen you on this couch, and I think I may have screwed myself more than ever. I’ve given myself every reason to hope.”
“As you damn well should. We’re going to solve this, Trip.” I nestle into his side, the familiar electric air on the tops of my thighs, my arms. “Tell me more about what you’ll do when you’re back. Paint a picture for me.”
He gives a wild smirk.
“A PG picture.”
Trip runs a hand along my waistband, back and forth, and the buzz just beneath my hip bones is delicious.
“It’s little stuff, really. The things I wouldn’t think I would miss.
Reading. Picking up a book and losing myself for an afternoon.
Going to a museum, looking at art. A concert. God, I miss live music.”
“Couldn’t you go to a concert now?” I tease.
“Technically, yes.” He glances out the window.
“It’s funny. Before—this—I craved being left alone to enjoy the things I’m passionate about.
To go to a show, browse a gallery in peace.
But what good is art if you can’t talk about it with anyone else?
And concerts. They’re about singing at the top of your lungs, smiling at the person next to you, sharing something.
I even romanticized solo travel, but that gets old after a while. I want to explore with someone.”
My hand twitches next to his. I wish we could lace our fingers together. “Tell me where we’ll explore.”
His eyes are distant, pondering. “Prague first, then Vienna. Then East Asia—you and I will do a tour. Maybe make it a more permanent thing. We’ll leave New York, I’ll abandon the Coldwell name.”
I furrow my brow. “What’s wrong with New York?” I think back to our conversation in the pizza shop. Maybe he’s been confined to only one version of the city.
He scratches his jaw. “Well, nothing, I guess. If you want, we can just stay in this brownstone, never cross the Brooklyn Bridge. Listen to records and watch old movies. I’ll cook you spaghetti and we’ll eat it on the floor in our underwear. With the most expensive bottle of wine I can find.”
It’s a beautiful picture, but a lonely one. “Why are you so determined to abandon your family?”
“Not all of them. My mom is the kindest soul.” He swallows, his voice thick with emotion. “The jazz records are hers, actually. She probably doesn’t even know I still play them. They remind me of her. It killed me not to speak to her when I was on bad terms with my grandfather.”
“Why didn’t you?” I study him.
“She was always trying to convince me to reconcile with him. It became too hard.” Trip’s mouth thins into a straight line. “And then after his death, she started to call again, leave voicemails. Nothing serious, just that she missed me. I was planning to see her again once I felt ready, but then—”
His accident.
“I’m so sorry. What about the rest of your family? You didn’t stay in touch with anyone?” I’m prying, but my curiosity is insatiable.
“If you grew up with them, you’d understand.”
“I watched Carter grow up with them.”
“So, you get it, then. How stuck in their ways they are. How those who follow the ‘rules’ are rewarded and those who don’t are ostracized. I’m sick of playing their games.”
“Carter never saw it that way.” I twist a piece of my hair.
“Because he’s a pawn. Following orders comes easily to him.” Trip runs a hand through his hair and sighs.
“And it doesn’t to you?”
He gives me a look that says please.
“Is that what these are about?” I nod toward the tattoos peeking out from the undone collar of his shirt.
Trip huffs a laugh, still tracing circles along my hip. “I guess so. That was my rebellious phase.
“Tell me about them.” I trace the vines on his side through his shirt. My hand stalls at the Roman numeral three. “This one’s obvious, but what about the others?”
He thumbs the picture of the record needle. “Well, I’ve already introduced you to my vinyl hobby.” His finger moves to his wrist. “The g is for Gwen, my mom.” He swallows.
“And the chess piece?” My hand hovers above his chest.
“My grandfather and I used to play.” His mouth draws into a line.
It’s not lost on me that it sits right above his heart.
“Anyway, some rebel I am—most of them are easily hidden beneath a shirt. I just wanted to feel like I was defying them, you know?”
“And the earring?” I smirk.
“Oh, that’s just ’cause I like ear play.” He grins.
I hiccup. “Not to…change the subject, but have you ever tried seeing it a different way? Your family deserves to know how you feel. They might be more receptive than you think.”
“Kind of like how the world deserves to see the real you?” He pins me with a stare, but then his eyes soften. “What’s the point?”
“I—just. Before, you told me that you run from conflict. There might be more to be gained by staying.” I hold his gaze.
“You have influence, Trip. The kind some people would—pardon the wording—die for. You could do some real good with it if you wanted.” I swallow.
“Not to mention, the loneliness, the isolation—you’re forcing yourself into it.
You and Carter grew up together. That love didn’t just go away.
He’s one of the most openhearted people I know.
Of course he’d want you back in his life.
There are people who truly care for you, if you gave them a chance.
I get that they may have caused you pain, but maybe there’s still room for forgiveness. ”
He lifts his chin to the top of my head so I’m staring at his chest. I don’t like not being able to read his face.
“I’m not saying you have to, I’m just suggesting—”
“You’re right.” His chest sighs against my cheek. “I look for the easy way out.” A pause, long enough that I think he’s dropping the conversation. “Will you teach me how to be brave?”
I smile into his sternum. “Gladly. You have a family that actually wants you. Don’t give that up over nothing.”
He brings a finger to my chin and I tilt it up to meet his eyes.
“When you said before that no one’s ever chosen you—”
I wince.
“Care to elaborate?”
“Not particularly.” I shiver.
It’d be some kind of sick self-sabotage to tell the man lying next to me that I wasn’t invited to any birthday parties by the girls in my class from sixth grade onward.
That, from the safety of a bathroom stall, I heard them making fun of my outfits and gangly body.
That my best friend of fifteen years, who I gave everything to and tried the hardest for, still didn’t ultimately want to be with me. That my own mother—
Tears choke me. But if Trip wants me to teach him to be brave, if he’s willing to be vulnerable with me, I can’t let fear stop me.
“My mom. She struggled with addiction.” I will my voice to be steady.
To tell this story as objectively as I can.
“That’s why I went to live with Babcia, why I switched schools. ”
Energy radiates from Trip’s hand to mine. “She was in a center for a while and then after she was released, she…” The word won’t come, even though it was repeated by numerous doctors, by my grandmother. It’s as though I’ve used its given allotment for one lifetime. “When I was eighteen.”
I push forward. I won’t finish otherwise.
“The center was really strict about visitors, so we didn’t see her much.
Sometimes, even when we were allowed to, I didn’t go.
” I take a shaky breath and play with my mom’s chain around my neck.
“It’s my biggest regret, not seeing her more.
I was a teenager and angry, but it’s not an excuse.
If I’m being honest, all those years, I just wanted her to get better for me.
That I would be enough of a reason for her to change.
Isn’t a mother’s love supposed to be stronger than anything?
Now I know that’s not how addiction works. ”
Tears slide down my cheeks and I brush them aside with my fingertips. I squeeze my eyes and steel myself against what comes next. The apologies. The pity. I don’t want it.
“Elz…”
“Trip, I accepted a long time ago that this is how it played out. There’s still a wound, a misplaced wish that I could’ve been enough. But I don’t need sympathy. It’s been ten years.”
The record player comes to life and the needle screeches over the grooves. Lights flicker overhead, dimming to near-darkness and then returning to the brightness of spotlights. I shield my eyes with my arm.
“Trip?” The lights are blinding. I’m not even sure he’s next to me anymore. “Calm down. You’re glitching.”
It takes a moment, but eventually the lights return to normal. I sit up and let my eyes readjust. Trip is sitting at the end of the couch, head in his hands.
“Please. Don’t feel sad for me. I don’t.”
He lifts his head. “I am sad for you, Elz. But I’m also frustrated. Angry. That you’ve convinced yourself you’re not special. That your takeaway from these experiences is it’s somehow your fault, your failings. It’s not true. You deserve so much more.” His hands shake where they rest on his thighs.
I sigh. “Trip, I gave up on the idea of a perfect fairy tale a long time ago.” Except the sliver of hope I held on to for a life with Carter.
“Sure, maybe I’ve held myself back. There might be more for me out there.
But regardless, I can prevent other teenagers from experiencing the same thing I did.
By showing them someone is in their corner, is rooting for them. Give them something I never had.”
He turns toward me, dark hair falling into his face. “Yesenia?”
I nod. “Her dad’s in a treatment center. Her mom works three jobs and doesn’t have a lot of spare time.”
“Jesus, that’s hard.” He exhales. “What if I’m in your corner, Elz? What about your grandmother? You have people rooting for you.”
My heart constricts at the mention of Babcia. “Well, technically, one of them is a spirit.” I grin, but it’s strained.
Trip’s expression remains serious.
I lie back on the couch. “Like I said. There might be more out there for me, but I’m also okay if this is where I end up. Helping people is my comfort zone, and I’m okay staying inside of it. I don’t need anything else.”
My mind wanders to the parties, the fundraisers, the vacations I’ve taken with Carter.
Experiences I’d never have pursued on my own.
Am I sadder about losing him or the person I am when I’m near him?
I suddenly know what Trip means about not being able to visit this apartment.
Sometimes it’s better not to hope at all.
“Don’t you, though?” Trip’s voice cracks. “You don’t hide yourself from me and I know you want more from this world. You’re sidelining yourself when you should be out there playing.”
I slouch and fold my hands over my stomach.
“I’m old enough to know there’s a difference between wanting something and getting it.
Having your cake and eating it too, or whatever.
” I wave a hand in the air. “The funny thing is kids used to call me Cinderella and while I hated that they made fun of me, in a way I liked the nickname because it meant I would get my happily-ever-after.”
I snort. “Now I know how unlikely it is for me to wedge my way into that world.”
“Who needs that world, anyway? It’s all a bunch of bullshit, Elz.
You think that sort of life actually makes people happy?
” Trip sits up and extends his arms. “It’s like anywhere else.
Some of those people are happy and some of them are fucking miserable, trust me.
It has everything to do with what’s in here”—he points to his head—“and very little to do with all of this.” He gestures to the art on the walls, the bed, the high ceilings.
I bite my lip. He might have a point. My mindset has never been my ally.
“Maybe I can push myself to see what else is out there.”
“I know you can.” His eyes glow from the streetlight filtering in and there’s only one thing that look can mean. He’s challenging me.