A Flawed Heart (2 page)

“Lydia, your room is incredible.”

“Actually this is my
brother
Jason’s
room, but you’ll be staying in here tonight.”

I’m confused about why she never told me she had a brother.
She was so friendly in our emails and seemed so eager to share the details of
her life with me.

“He’s a musician. He lives in Brooklyn, and his apartment
isn’t far from the one we’re moving into. He and my dad don’t really get along.
My dad wanted him to go to college…it’s a whole tangled thing. I don’t like to
share my family demons. That’s why I never told you.”

“I get it. My family has demons, too.”

“Well, make yourself comfortable. The bathroom is down the
hall, if you want to shower or anything. I’m
gonna
go
change for dinner.” She rubs my shoulder, gives me a smile, and leaves.

I scan Jason’s bookshelves—Shakespeare’s collected works,
Melville, Emerson, Kafka, Walt Whitman, and Dostoyevsky. I run my fingers down
the bindings with appreciation. My attention turns to a record player in
pristine condition and a pair of expensive, noise-canceling headphones, not to
mention an insane amount of music—
The
Stones, Iggy and The Stooges, The Ramones, Black Sabbath, Roy Orbison, Johnny
Cash, Guns and Roses, The Mammas and The Papas, The Velvet Underground…
Jason
is a true music lover. Down south, no one ever shared my taste in music. I was
the lone wolf, listening to rock while everyone else enjoyed country.

There aren’t many photographs in the room, but near his bed
I spot a frame. Inside the chrome frame is a black-and-white picture of a woman
holding a bouquet of lilies and laughing. She has soft eyes, and just by
looking at the picture I can tell she’s the kind of person who hugs and kisses
everyone she meets.
I find myself
wondering if that’s Jason’s girlfriend, but she looks too old. I chastise
myself
for being so nosy.

* * * *

Lydia, Daniel, and I take a cab to Midtown, and eat at an
expensive sushi restaurant. I let them advise me on what to order, but I don’t
confess to never having tried sushi before. Afterward, we go for a walk and get
ice cream from a truck. The buildings around me are enormous, and I feel so
insignificant compared to their overwhelming size. I would be lost here if it
weren’t for Lydia and Daniel. I really enjoy being with them. They’re easygoing
and they make me feel welcome. Daniel asks about my plans for the future and I
do my best to sound as if I know what I want out of life. I always wanted to
become an English teacher, but I’m still uncertain about what I will ultimately
do with my degree.

When we return to the penthouse, Lydia mentions that we have
an early start in the morning. I say goodnight and head to Jason’s room.

The moon is bright, and it shines through the window.
Combined with the lights of the city, there’s enough illumination for me to
change and get into bed. I sink into the feathery comforter and look out on the
city. I’m buzzing—electrified at beginning this new chapter in my life. I catch
my reflection in the huge window. I’m lying in a strange man’s bed, in a
strange city, and I couldn’t be more excited. The pillows smell like detergent
and cologne. I get distracted by the smell of Jason. My mind wanders and I
begin to dream of what he would be like—a nerdy bookworm—a sexy musician…

I’m not sure if it’s the city or the excitement of this new
adventure, but my thoughts are wrought with images of the man who owns this
bed. I don’t often indulge desires, but my hands find their way down my body
and my fantasy about Lydia’s sexy, bookworm, musician brother gets the better
of me. Lying in the darkness, I’m a little ashamed, but I giggle softly to
myself.
If I ever meet Lydia’s brother
I’m going to have a hard time looking him in the eye.

* * * *

I wake to the sun shining through Jason’s windows, and look
at the clock.
Six thirty.
We need to be in Brooklyn by seven thirty to
meet the moving truck. I grumble as I rise. It was the best night’s sleep I’ve
had in a while.

After I shower and dress, I find Lydia and Daniel eating
bagels and drinking coffee in the kitchen. They look so happy to be together,
chatting and eating. It makes me miss my daddy.

“Good morning, Claire.” Daniel greets me with a smile.

“How did you sleep? Are you hungry? Do you want a bagel? I
made coffee.” Lydia is peppy as ever, and clearly a morning person.

“Yes, I slept great, thanks. I’d love a bagel and some
coffee.”

Lydia hops off the kitchen stool and busies herself making
my breakfast. “We should leave as soon as we’re done eating. I can’t wait to
get to Brooklyn!
Though I do love the city…and being with my
dad, of course.”
Lydia winks at Daniel and places my plate and mug in
front of me.

After I eat, I head up to Jason’s room to make the bed and
gather my things. I bid farewell to the
ultra comfy
dreamland, and blush remembering my crazy fantasy of Jason last night.

* * * *

Lydia and I drive over the Williamsburg Bridge, blasting
music through the Charger’s speakers. She tells me about our apartment
building.

“It’s all brick, like you saw in the photos, but the people
there make it warm. I only recently moved some of my stuff in, but there’s a
great sense of community. It’s mostly artists and college grads like us, all
hanging out and trying to hold down jobs. My brother is playing a show
tonight. Y
ou want to go?”

“What kind of a show?”

“Like a
music
show.
What do you call it in the south?”

“A concert.”

“Well, he’s just playing at a little dive bar, so I wouldn’t
say it was a concert. But yeah, that’s the idea.”

“What kind of music does he play?”

“Rock.
He plays guitar and piano.
He writes his own songs, but he plays a lot of covers because people respond to
that—singing along, dancing, you know. He’s got a bit of a following. I always
make fun of him for having groupies. He saves most of his original material for
recording. It’s intimidating how much he knows about music, actually. Sometimes
it’s obnoxious.”

“So, are y’all close?”

“Yeah we’re very close. We always have been. We’re only a
year apart, and we grew closer after our mom died.”

In our emails, Lydia had told me her mama died of cancer
three years ago. We bonded over the fact that we have the loss of a parent in
common. I stare out the window thinking of how nice it must have been to have a
sibling to go through it with. Then I realize that the black-and-white photo of
the woman with the lilies, by Jason’s bed, is not a girlfriend but
his
mother.

“Jason definitely changed after mom died. He fought with my
dad a lot. I don’t know if he blamed him for not doing enough, or maybe it’s
because my dad really wanted to see Jason use his intelligence in a capacity
other than music. I don’t know why they fight so much. I love them both and I
hate it.” Lydia gets quiet and puts her hand to head.

This topic is hurting her, and I know the feeling, so I
change the subject. “I’m looking forward to the show tonight. Maybe we can walk
around the neighborhood and grab some dinner first?”

“Yeah, definitely.
There’s someone
I want you to meet first, though.”

We search for a parking spot for at least thirty minutes,
and I’m hypnotized by the amount of people and lights and noise. I absorb as
much as I can. The thrill of seeing this part of the city is dampened only by
Lydia’s reckless driving. She changes lanes without putting on her
blinker,
and honks and shouts at almost everyone. I try to
conceal my fear, but she senses it. “Relax, sweetie. If you don’t feel a chill
of terror while driving on the streets of Brooklyn, then you’re just not doing
it right.”

The moving truck is double parked out front, much to the
dismay of our soon-to-be neighbors. I’m hoping all my things made it here in
one piece. Our apartment is on the second floor, and when we arrive, the door
is already open.

The
apartment is essentially a long corridor. A large, front room connects to a
smaller bedroom. Through a doorway there’s another small bedroom, and then a
kitchen and a bathroom. I learned through my emails with Lydia they call this a
railroad style
because the rooms
connect like train cars. It doesn’t allow for much privacy, but it’s less
expensive than other apartments in this neighborhood. Standing on the bed in
the second bedroom is a woman hanging a Dali print. I recognize it as
The
Persistence of Memory
. She looks up at me and Lydia with a smile. I notice
her cool glasses, paint-speckled t-shirt, and short spikey hair. She runs over to
Lydia and kisses her on the mouth, then offers me a handshake as she drapes her
arm over Lydia’s shoulder.

“Hi, I’m Kat.”

I shake, but don’t speak.

Lydia speaks for me. “Kat, this is Claire. Claire, this is
my girlfriend, Kat.”

I don’t want to appear lame, but I’ve never been around an
openly gay person before. I smile and nod at the couple.

Kat laughs. “It’s okay, honey. We’re not
gonna
try to get you to switch teams or anything.”

Lydia playfully slaps at Kat.
“Stop.
She’s from
Georgia
. Take it easy on her,
okay?”

I cast my eyes down at the floor, embarrassed.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Claire. That wasn’t fair,” Lydia says.

“It’s all right. I have to ask you though, why did you put
out an ad for a roommate when you have a girlfriend? Wouldn’t you two just want
to live together alone?”

“Oh, we don’t live together. I mean, not yet. I mean, we
weren’t ready to…” Kat stammers.

“Stop, before you hurt yourself. What Kat is trying to say
is that she’s a
commitment
phobe
,
even though we’ve been together for a year now. She
didn’t want to live together, so that’s why I went looking for you.”

“Are you trying to make me jealous?” Kat asks.

“I don’t think you need to be. Our little Claire is straight
as an arrow.” Lydia takes her hand and pulls keys from Kat’s pocket, and hands
them to me. “Here’s your set of keys. We’ll go out later tonight, okay?”

They walk into Lydia’s room and Kat shuts the door,
presumably for privacy, which leaves me to get settled. The first thing I do is
set up my stereo, playing it loud enough to drown out the moaning coming from
Lydia’s bedroom.

* * * *

After settling in, I take a walk around the neighborhood
alone. The buildings on Bedford Avenue are much smaller than the skyscrapers in
Manhattan. They’re made of stone and brick, and are only two or three floors up
from the street. The sidewalk along the avenue is too narrow for the amount of
pedestrians, and everyone looks as if they just walked out of an Urban
Outfitters catalog. No one smiles or looks me in the eye. I feel an urge to say
hello to everyone who passes by. The southerner in me isn’t used to the apathy
of New Yorkers just yet.

Little trees line the streets, their heights nothing in
comparison to the great oaks of Savannah. There are bars and restaurants
everywhere. I feel that even if I lived here for years I wouldn’t be able to
try them all. Brooklyn is beautiful in its own way, and the anxiety I felt
about moving so far away is fading. I may be from the country, but I feel at
ease here. After a rewarding first experience with a slice of Brooklyn pizza, I
head back to my apartment to get changed for Jason’s show tonight. I’m excited
to find out if he fits the fantasy I made of him in my head.

I change my clothes a hundred times, and Kat and Lydia
advise me on what looks best. I put my hair up in a ponytail, but they decide
it looks better down. The three of us walk into the night, and I’m still caught
in a touristy daze, gawking at everything I see, but trying to play it cool. We
pass an art supply store, a little deli that Kat calls a
bodega
, a record shop, a liquor store…

“Let’s stop at Jason’s place first. He lives around the
corner from the bar,” Lydia says.

It’s cool for an August evening, much cooler than Georgia
would be. There’s a slight breeze blowing and it chills me. The front door of
Jason’s building is unlocked, so we walk right in. Once we’re inside, Kat grabs
Lydia by the hips and stops her as we’re about to walk up the stairs.

“Hold on, babe. Let’s go get some beer.”

“I’m sure Jason has beer,” Lydia answers.

“I’m sure he
doesn’t
.”
I see Kat wink at Lydia and squeeze her hips.

“You’re insatiable.” Lydia laughs.

“I can’t help it if I missed you.”

“Claire, just head up one flight and knock on the left door.
Introduce yourself.
Me
and
Kat’ll
be back in a sec.”

I’m not happy with this idea at all, but I’m not going to
show it. I nod and walk up the stairs, only to look back and see Kat and Lydia
heavily making out at the foot of the stairs instead of going on a beer run. I
hear the strum of a guitar and a man singing. I raise my hand to knock on the
door, but instead I pause to listen to Jason play. His voice is amazing. It’s
rough and smooth at the same time, both husky and melodic. I can’t move. His
voice is
doing
something
to me. I feel frozen, entranced.

When the music stops, I knock and the door opens. He’s at
least six feet tall, with muscular arms and a broad chest. His exposed flesh is
covered in tattoos, and he has a fresh one on his neck. I look up and see his
face and his sculpted, clean-shaven jaw. His brown hair is cut short and
ragged. His gaze meets mine and his eyes are bluish green and soft. He’s
gorgeous.