Chapter Nineteen
“Ithink it was a little tacky, don’t you?”
“What do you mean tacky?” I ask Carol.
“Well, that whole … production. That Larisa girl walking out in that fancy, over-the-top wedding dress. I mean, it had such a long train. What was the point of that?”
As Carol continues to ramble and present to me her opinions on the wedding that we attended over the weekend, I look around the restaurant for the waiter. The man sees me and I signal him to come to our table.
“Evan? Are you even listening to me??”
“Yes. I think the point was that Larisa liked it. I don’t think we should be judging anything about the wedding. It’s what Larisa and Gianluca wanted. Who are we to say otherwise?”
“Well, I still say that it was tacky. What was with that cake? Olive oil and lemon cake with rose-flavored frosting? Yuck … I almost threw up!” She makes a vomiting noise.
“Gianluca is Italian. I think Larisa chose those flavors on purpose, to honor him and his heritage. They also met in Italy, so it makes sense. Plus, I thought the cake was really good. I’ve never had such interesting flavors,” I reply.
“You need to get your head checked. How did they meet in Italy, anyway? I thought he lived in Los Angeles or something.”
“Because he’s … Italian. I just said that,” I reply, starting to feel a little annoyed at her negative attitude. “They met during Jo’s bachelorette party in Italy. She accidentally took a photo of him, which led to a huge misunderstanding but…” My voice trails off as I realize she isn’t even paying attention.
The waiter arrives and I order a bottle of wine and some water. He leaves us two menus and walks away.
“And what about that flower girl?” Carol carries on, clearly still wanting to gossip about the wedding.
“Clem? What about her?”
“Well … isn’t she a little too old to be a flower girl? She was a teenager! I could see her braces from where I was sitting!!” Carol says indignantly.
“Clem is Jo and Jacob’s daughter. I’m sure she was chosen to be the flower girl because she’s like family to Larisa and Gianluca. Sure, she might be a teenager but … who cares? It’s not like there are rules around this sort of thing. Some people even have their dogs be their flower girls. It really doesn’t matter, Carol. Clem is dear to them.”
She makes a sour face and starts perusing the menu. “Oh, I’m so glad we came to this restaurant! I simply love Turkish food!”
“That’s great. I love it too. It’s one of my favorite restaurants in Boston. In fact, I used to come here all the time with—” I catch myself and cough loudly on purpose instead of finishing the sentence. I look toward Carol but she doesn’t seem to have understood what I was about to say. That or she’s pretending not to have understood. “I’m glad you like it, Carol. It’s good to have something in common,” I reply instead.
But as I do so, I realize that I can’t think of another thing I have in common with this woman other than this Turkish restaurant. A cold chill runs down my back, and I look around for the waiter, hoping that he’ll bring the bottle of wine sooner.
“So, what shall we order?” she asks me.
I stare at the menu but my throat seems to be constricted and painful now. Coming here is proving to be a mistake. Every item on the menu reminds me of Emmy and all the times I came here with her. How much she enjoyed this food, how we laughed, all the conversations we had. How I told her about my dreams, my expectations for my career, how she shared so much with me. And now…
I look up at Carol. Her face seems vacant as she is still perusing the menu, distant and cold.
“I don’t know, Carol. I’m not that hungry anymore. I just want something to drink…”
“Are you feeling okay? You didn’t catch something at that wedding, did you? You did look kind of pale the whole day. And you didn’t talk that much. Maybe you—”
“I’m fine.”
“I don’t know, Evan. You look like you have some kind of bug,” she insists, irritating me.
“Carol … thank you for your concern but I don’t have a … bug.”
“How can you be so sure? You don’t have an appetite. And then, during the weekend, at the wedding, you looked like you were going to throw up and—”
“Carol. I’m a doctor, remember? Are you seriously going to argue with me on this? Or try to tell me how I feel? Or both?” I answer, running out of patience.
“Fine, fine,” she replies and raises both her hands as if she’s giving up. “Excuuuuse me for caring about you. Fine. You’re the big, important doctor. You know best.” She crosses her arms and looks away.
I rub my eyes vigorously, feeling more tired than ever.
Maybe when I open them again, all of this will have disappeared.
And everything will be exactly the way it used to be.
“So, what do you want to do for your birthday tomorrow?”
“I don’t know, Carol. I don’t think I’m really in the mood to celebrate.”
“Wow, are you that upset about turning thirty? I thought it was a milestone birthday or whatever.”
The waiter finally arrives with the bottle of red wine and pours some for us. “Thank you, sir. Can you also bring me a scotch, please? Neat. And make it a double,” I tell him. “Anything else for you, Carol?”
“Are we not eating, then?”
“You’re welcome to eat. Order whatever you’d like,” I reply.
“I don’t want to eat if you’re not eating!”
“Why not? What’s stopping you?”
“I just … how can I eat by myself?” she asks indignantly, while the waiter watches in silence.
“But you’re not by yourself. It’s not like I’m going out into the parking lot to drink, leaving you here by yourself. Go ahead and eat while I drink my scotch. What’s the problem with that?”
“We have to eat together! That’s why we’re here! That’s why we’re a couple!” she whines, her voice getting louder and more piercing.
“We’re here, spending time together, at the same table. Why do we have to be doing the same thing?” I refuse to back down.
“Because…”
“Why don’t I give you two a moment?” the waiter finally says, getting tired of our bickering.
“Now look what you did. You drove him away!” she says.
“Why do you care?”
“It’s embarrassing me!”
“Embarrassing you? Didn’t you say this is your first time eating at this restaurant? Because if anything, I’m the one who should be embarrassed. I come here all the time—this is mine and Emmy’s favorite place to eat,” I reply before I can stop myself.
As soon as I mention Emmy’s name, Carol bristles like a hedgehog. “Emmy? What does she have to do with all this, then?”
“Nothing. We used to come here when … we were closer,” I reply, the words hurt, like spikes being driven through my entire body.
“Hmm … so, have you talked to her lately?” Carol asks me.
“Not really. We had a pretty intense conversation the last time we saw each other and then … I suppose things cooled off a little.”
“What was the conversation about?”
Obviously, I can’t tell Carol that the conversation was about her.
Or that it was the final nail in the coffin that drove my friendship with Emmy to a standstill.
“It doesn’t matter. We just … drifted apart a little, that’s all,” I answer instead.
“I see. Well, I saw her at the wedding in that pink and gold dress. She looked … anyway. Wasn’t she walking down the aisle with Chris Evans? The actor?” she says, resuming the gossip.
“Yes, yes she was.”
“That was a sight to see, wasn’t it?” She laughs.
“I suppose it was unexpected,” is all I can answer.
In reality, seeing Emmy with someone else made my insides burn.
Of course, I’m the one who moved on and started seeing Carol. As a result, she’s at liberty to do the same. But seeing it with my own eyes hurt more than I could’ve imagined.
“The wedding was packed with celebrities, and Emmy moved fast!” Carol keeps laughing.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Come on! Chris Evans? Who in their right mind is going to say no to that?”
“Chris Evans is married…” I reply.
“Yeah, so?”
Starting to feel more and more uncomfortable, I look around for the waiter, hoping that he might arrive with my scotch.
I don’t know how much more of this evening I can endure now.
“Oh, I heard another piece of gossip. It’s quite juicy!” Carol starts all over again.
My head is beginning to ache and my patience is at an all-time low. “Carol, I’m very tired. Can we, please, talk about anything else other than gossip from the wedding?”
“This is about Emmy,” she says.
“What is?”
“Someone at the wedding said that she’s moving to Los Angeles.”
The news falls on me like an avalanche, crushing me under its weight and significance. “What? What did you say?”
I grip the corners of the table with both hands, not able to believe what I’m hearing.
“Oh, yeah…” Carol waves a hand through the air as if it’s nothing. “So, you know that she quit her job at the beauty shop, right? Apparently, Larisa spoke to Gianluca, they pulled some strings in the movie industry, and she’s going to start working as a freelance makeup artist on movie sets. How amazing is that? Goodness, I envy her so much. Just think about all the money she’s going to make. Meanwhile, I’m stuck in this dump,” Carol says.
“You mean dating me?” I ask her stonily.
She starts to laugh, even though there was nothing funny being said. “No, no, baby … No, that’s not what I meant. You’re a … great guy. Yeah. No. What I meant is that this is a good opportunity for Emmy. You know? To work on movie sets, to make a lot of money, to meet all the famous people. That’s all.”
“I see. And you’re sure she’s moving to Los Angeles?”
“Well, she has to go there, doesn’t she? That’s where all the studios are,” Carol replies simply.
Meanwhile, the idea that I might never see Emmy again starts to dawn on me.
This truly is the end.
Not just of our friendship but of our road together.
Emmy will disappear from my life, and I will never be happy again.
“You look like you’re turning green. Evan, I have to say, when we started dating, I never imagined that you would be so sickly and … depressing.”
“I don’t feel well. Why don’t I take you home, Carol?”
“Okay … will you stay the night with me?”
“I don’t think so.”
She keeps asking and begging, like a spoiled child asking for a toy, all the way to her apartment. I stop the car in front of her building and wait for her to get out.
“Come on … why don’t you come up and … have some coffee?” she asks me.
“It’s very late, Carol. I need to get home.”
“Then let’s watch a movie or something!”
“I don’t think so…”
“Evan, come on! Only for a little while…” She keeps insisting.
“Carol, please. I have to get up early tomorrow morning to be at the hospital. I’ll call you, alright? We need to talk, anyway.”
“Talk? What about?” she asks.
“Tomorrow. It’s late now.”
“Tell me right now.” She pouts.
“Let’s talk tomorrow, alright?”
“Tell! Me! Now!” she raises her voice.
“Okay, fine.” I sigh. “Carol, we’re done.”
“Done? What do you mean, done?”
“I can’t do this anymore. This relationship. We aren’t right for each other. We’re done, okay?”
A moment later, she gets out of my car and slams the door, letting me know that she’s mad at me.
That doesn’t matter right now.
In fact, it doesn’t matter at all.
I’m alone with my thoughts, which is what I wanted.
I start the car and drive through the silent streets of Boston, the neon lights are my only companion.
But I decide to make a quick pit stop before my final destination.
Half an hour later, I arrive.
Eager and restless, I climb the stairs as fast as I can. Breathless, I knock on the door.
Emmy opens it and looks at me, not understanding what’s happening. “Evan? What are you doing here? Is everything alright?”
I cross the two steps that divide us, wrap my arms around her, and kiss her hungrily.
Finally, I’m home.