Brooklyn Girls (27 page)

“Thanks, but God, I’m so far from making it happen.” I sigh, gazing into my glass. “I just want to prove to my parents that I’m not a total princess, that I can do something with my life beyond spending their money. And that I’m not the disappointment they think I am.” I blush. “Um … anyway, sorry, I’m being boring.”

“No, you’re not,” he says. He reaches out and grabs my hand. “I love talking to you. You’re perfect.”

His hand feels so right on mine, his skin is so warm and smooth and, yes, that’s exactly the word,
perfect,
and our conversation is honestly the most relaxing yet stimulating and enjoyable that I think I’ve ever had, that all of a sudden I feel like all the pent-up worry and tension is finally leaving my body. I feel clear and calm for the first time in weeks.

I look at Aidan’s face, and feel …
certain
. This is right. It just is.

And that’s when I see it, out of the corner of my eye, the outline of a person so familiar that I instantly turn to stare: very tall, dark-haired, well-cut suit and shirt, no tie.…

I breathe in sharply and snatch my hand away from Aidan.

“What?” says Aidan.

I turn back to him, but I can’t speak.

Because just twenty feet away from us is the first guy I fell in love with. My high school boyfriend who wooed me, won me, dumped me, and told me I deserved it and should have seen it coming.

Eddie.

CHAPTER 21

I grab my glass of prosecco and drain it.

Then I pour myself another and drain that, too.

“Where is that waitress? Do they have any vodka?”

“Are you okay?” says Aidan, frowning.

“I’m fine. Can I get another drink?”

“Of course, I was going to order some wine.… Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t look—”

“I’m fine!” I interrupt him. “Let’s just get some more drinks!”

For the next twenty minutes, I focus on watching Aidan’s lips move, nodding when he pauses, and laughing when he smiles. But slowly he stops smiling.

“Look, is there something you want to tell me?” he says. “Did I say something, or—”

I drain my third glass of wine. “Nope! Chillax, hahaha … No, no, everything’s fine.” I quickly stand up, nudging the table slightly as I go. Everything wobbles, but nothing falls. “Phew!” I say. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the … thing.”

Aidan stands up to see me out—such good manners—but I can’t even acknowledge him.

All I can think is: Eddie. Oh, my God, Eddie.

Even though it’s been forever since I last saw him, the moment I clocked his profile against the back wall of the restaurant, I knew him. How can you remember someone so well—his walk, his voice, his mannerisms, the way he pulls his chair in,
everything
—after so long apart? And why, why, why am I freaking out this much? I am over him! I am completely over him.

I weave my way through the backyard, trying not to ricochet off tables as I go. Eddie’s table is right next to the restaurant wall. As I’m heading up the outside steps, I glance down at them. He’s got his back to me but it’s Eddie, it’s definitely Eddie. He’s with a slim girl with perfect honey-colored hair, and sitting across from them is a sophisticated-looking older couple. Her parents, I guess. I pause at the top of the stairs, just as Eddie says something and they all laugh loudly.

I walk blindly into the restaurant, almost knocking over a waitress as I go.

“Ladies’ room? Please, where tell me?” I say. Apparently I am unable to structure a proper sentence.

She points me to a door opposite the kitchen, and I skip-run toward it. Once in, I use my foot to knock the toilet seat closed and sit down, my breath coming out in heavy, uneven gasps.

Eddie.

We were together for almost two years. It’s not just my brain that remembers him, it’s my body. I know exactly what his jaw feels like against my lips, what his fingers feel like entwined in mine. I know what his voice sounds like when he growls “Keller” first thing in the morning. I know that he’s secretly still scared of the Count in
Sesame Street
and can recite
Toy Story
from start to finish. I know that despite being one of the most popular guys at boarding school, he hated it until he met me. I know it all.

I know that when he told me I was perfect and he loved me, he lied.

And that, apparently, I should have seen it coming.

I look down at my hands. They’re shaking.

I didn’t bring the clutch to the bathroom, so I don’t have my phone. I can’t even text anyone. Angie would know what to do … or maybe even Julia. And Coco would offer moral support. Madeleine … ah, who knows what the hell she’d do.

I wash my hands in the sink, and stare at myself in the mirror, trying to breathe. I will
not
have a panic attack. I will
not
allow that to happen.

“Pull yourself together, Pia.” I try to sound as stern as I can. “Stop being such a fucking loser.”

Good pep talk.

I exit the bathroom and walk back through the restaurant toward the garden.

Then, as I turn to walk down the stairs, there he is. Eddie. Standing right in front of me.

I try to speak, but nothing comes out. My voice is gone.

Eddie’s mouth falls open in shock. “Pia!”

I lean against the rail for support, attempting to fake the cool serenity I don’t feel, and arrange my face into a happy, surprised smile. But my heart just skipped about four beats, my hands are trembling so badly I have to hide them behind my back, and I feel like I’m suffocating. Oh, God, it’s going to happen, a panic attack—

“What are you doing here?” he says. “You, in Brooklyn, of all places?”

“I’m … dinner—” I manage to say, the sound of the sea roaring in my ears. “You?”

“Uh, dinner with Josephina, my … and her parents.”

“G-g-g-great,” I say. I can feel a tiny muscle pulling in my cheek as I smile, making my lip flicker. I see his face suddenly change, dropping the all-American-boy bravado.

“God, Keller…” he says, coming up the steps toward me and reaching his hand out to touch my arm.

I instinctively flinch, pulling away before we can make contact, and push past him down the steps.

Just as I reach the bottom, I turn around and look back up. Eddie is paralyzed, staring at me, but I can’t read his face. He looks—upset? Confused?

“Good to see … running into you,” I mumble, nodding frantically in an attempt to get the words out.

Before he can say anything back, I turn and hurry back to Aidan.

I pick up my wineglass before I’ve even sat down and start gulping frantically. Fucking hell, that was a nightmare.

Aidan is looking at me with a mixture of amusement and concern.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“No,” I say. “Let’s get really drunk.”

“Let’s not,” says Aidan. “Let’s just go back to having a good time.”

The conversation limps along. I drink as fast as I can and can’t think of anything to say. This is too hard, I realize, looking at Aidan’s face. I can’t do it. I don’t want to try. I don’t want to take any more risks.

“Pia, what’s wrong?” says Aidan, a few minutes later. “I thought we were having a good time—”

“Yeah? Well, so did I, but I’m always wrong, about everything,” I say, waving my glass wildly. “You seem like a nice guy, but you’re probably not. You’re here because you’re bored, or because you think I’m someone I’m not, because you want an easy fuck and I look like I might provide it.”

“That’s a ridiculous thing to say,” snaps Aidan, his face darkening.

“Is it?” I say. “It’s the truth. That’s what people do. That’s life.”

“That’s life? I think—”

“I don’t care what you think. We’re done here,” I snap.

“Fine,” he retorts.

Aidan calls for the check and we wait for it in silence while I drink the rest of the wine. When it finally arrives, he won’t let me pay, so I just throw half the bill down in cash and storm out of the restaurant, ignoring Eddie’s table, ignoring everything.

I reach the street and take a deep breath of fresh air. I didn’t melt down. I am still in control.

“So that’s it?” shouts a voice. I turn, and Aidan’s behind me. “I see you on Court Street and think about you for days.” He remembers seeing me that day? I didn’t think he’d remember that.… “Then fate throws us together in the back of a cab—twice!—we have half of a perfect dinner, and then you decide it’s not worth your fucking time to see what happens next? Nice one, Pia.”

“Don’t you dare shout at me!”

“Why not? You’re shouting at me!”

“You don’t know me! You can’t talk to me like that!”

“I do know you,” he says, his face creased in anger. “You feel out of place everywhere, but make friends easily. You love travel but never feel at home. You love feeling part of something, but want to be independent.”

“Stop analyzing me!” I scream.

“I know you because you’re just like me, you idiot!” he shouts back.

Fortuitously, a cab is going past the moment we hit the sidewalk, so I immediately yell “Taxi!” and it screeches to a halt. I get in and slam the door before Aidan can stop me.

“Where to?” asks the cabby.

“Manhattan,” I say, not looking around to see Aidan, who I can sense is just standing still, staring at me from the sidewalk.

“Anywhere in particular?”

“I’ll tell you on the way. Just get me the hell away from Brooklyn.”

I text Angie frantically.
HelphelphelpEDDIE

She calls immediately.

“What the fuck?”

“He was at the restaurant, I freaked,” I say.

“Where’s the British dude?”

“I ran away.”

“Come and meet us,” she says. “I’ll have a vodka the size of Maine waiting for you.”

“Address?”

“We’re in the West Village. Go to Grove and Bleecker and then call me.”

“Done.”

We’re not even on the Brooklyn Bridge yet. I close my eyes, willing the cab to hurry up. I want champagne, vodka, tequila, a cigarette, a smoke, in fact for the first time since being kicked out of boarding school I want a line.… Anything to make these feelings go away.

I’m tired of working. I’m tired of worrying. I’m tired of taking risks. Nothing will ever work out for me. I don’t even want to be me anymore, and obliteration is the only answer.

CHAPTER 22

Next thing I know, it’s three in the morning.

“Pia! We’re leaving!” shouts Angie above the music.

“You’re
boring
!” I shout back.

The guy next to me—Stef? Stan? Something like that, anyway—throws his head back and cackles, and then high-fives me. He’s hot, in that long-haired, over-privileged, trust fund way, and I have a feeling I’ll be hooking up with him later. I kissed some other guy at the bar an hour or so ago. I wonder what happened to him. Whatever. Right now I just want to have fun!

“Don’t you have a truck to drive in like, three hours?” Angie says. She and Mani have been canoodling all night, she’s hardly partied at all. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

“Fuck the truck!” I say, with all the brazen, heady confidence of half a gram of coke and a bucketload of champagne. “Fuck it!”

“Pia, seriously.” Angie gives me the listen-to-me face.

“Angie,
seriously,
” I mimic. I do not want to listen to anyone. I feel great!

“What about SkinnyWheels tomorrow?”

“Fuck tomorrow!”

Soon after that, she and Mani leave. I don’t know where they’re going, or where we are. We’ve been barhopping since eleven. Now we’re in some place with no closing time and loud music. There are just four of us left: me, Stan/Stef, and a couple who’ve been wrapped around each other like vines for the past two hours, Veronique and Charles.

“Where to, Stef?” says Charles. Ah, good. At least I know Stef’s name now.

“Party at my place,” says Stef.

Charles looks at me, then winks at Stef. Does he think I’m blind or stupid? “Let’s do it. Ready to roll, ladies?”

“You’re with me,” says Stef, linking his fingers through mine. His cool fingers feel wrong linked around mine. But I erase that thought by necking another glass of champagne. “It’s an impressive talent, drinking champagne that fast.”

“I have no gag reflex,” I say, swiveling my eyes up at him.

“Whoa!” he says, laughing in shock. “Babe, you are awesome!”

Next thing I know, we’re at Stef’s place, a spacious all-white apartment on Columbus Circle with only a flat-screen TV that takes up an entire wall and freezing-cold, white leather sofas.

“When did you move in?” I say, turning to him. We’re on one sofa; Charles and Veronique are on another.

“Two years ago,” says Stef.

“You can’t afford a decorator?” I say. “Wow, times are tough.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“You work?”

“Hell no, baby, I just have a good time.” Stef leans over and kisses me, pushes me back on the sofa, and my brain gets lost in the kissing. The next thing I know, we’re alone.

“Let’s have another line and get naked,” suggests Stef, kissing the spot behind my earlobe that makes me shiver all over.

“Um…” The lights in the room have been switched off, and I can hardly see Stef’s face in the dim light from the hallway. Suddenly I can’t remember what he looks like. But he kisses me some more, then rolls over on the sofa so I’m underneath him, grinding into me.

“Ow,” I say. “Belt.”

“I’ll take it off,” he says.

A little voice in my head whispers,
you shouldn’t be here
.

I close my eyes and ignore it. Just keep kissing him, ignore thoughts of Eddie, Aidan, SkinnyWheels, and everything else …

“You’re making me so hard,” whispers Stef, and grabs my hand to show me.

No.

I snatch my hand away and sit up. “I don’t want this.”

“Sure you do,” says Stef.

He holds my arms down and shifts quickly down the sofa, kissing and licking the inside of my thighs, edging the hem of my shorts up with his tongue. Coco helped me pick out these shorts. Was that just a few hours ago? It feels like years. What the hell am I doing in an empty apartment with some strange guy licking my thighs? God knows where his tongue has been.