Just Yesterday (13 page)

“I would have understood,” I tell her.

“And I know that, Liz. But it wasn’t about you and me. It was about my career.”

I listen to her words and try my best to appreciate them, but I can’t. “But Grace, that’s where you and I are different. To me it’s all the same thing. Everything in either of our lives had to do with us. Your career and your future had everyŹthing to do with our future.”

She stares at me, and I know I’m not getting through. “Your decision to take the job in New York didn’t just affect you. It affected me. It affected us.”

Her lips turn down slightly as I continue. “I don’t want to start preaching about what I think a relaŹtionship should be. But to me it’s about making decisions together. It’s about building a life together. It’s not about saying I love you until something comes along that throws a wrench into the works. It’s about trust and companionship and compromise and commitment. And about working through things together. Keeping your own identity, certainly. But as partners.”

Grace blinks hard and looks away while sadness and futility overwhelm me.

“I don’t know how to do it that way,” she says, her voice growing distant. “I never have. And I don’t know that I’ll ever change.”

I already know this about Grace. Have always known it, in fact. But I am weary. Tired of the struggle.

“This is nice,” she says suddenly, her voice warm. “Talking like this, I mean. I’ve missed it.”

Right now I just want her to stop being nice. It is much easier to let go of Grace the bitch.

Now she is grinning as she reaches out and taps the front of the baseball cap I’d pulled on that morning to cover the mess that sleep had made of my hair overnight. “You’re kind of cute in that hat.”

I’d forgotten that I was wearing the cap and the T-shirt that I’d slept in and am mortified. I tug at the hat and grimace, my cheeks growing hot. “I just rolled out of bed.”

“You look adorable.”

I harrumph loudly and look away while I put the coffee mug to my lips. Then I ask the question that has hounded me from the moment I saw that first billboard.

“So tell me,” I begin. “Did you just stop loving me? Or did you decide that I’d never fit in to your life?” I pause and search her face. A decade of doubt begins to pile up, and too many of my fears erupt behind my eyes. “Do I embarrass you? Is it that you’re ashamed of me?”

Her jaw drops. “God, no, Liz. Whatever gave you that idea? Why would you even ask such a thing?”

I grow embarrassed, and realize that now I am the one who is displaying her vulnerability. My face colors and I drop my gaze as I shrug. “I don’t know. Just a guess, really. You’ve never introduced me to anyone, particularly as your lover. You have a glamorous job. You come from a wealthy family. And I… Well, I don’t.”

Grace is shaking her head and clucking her tongue. “Oh, honey,” she sighs. “You are such a sensitive creature.” She is smiling, one side of her mouth turning up as she appraises me.

“I’ve never introduced you to anyone because we’re never around anyone I know. We’re always traipsing from one city to another.”

I’m beginning to feel silly as I realize that this is true. “Okay,” I say sheepishly. “You’ve probably got a good excuse there.”

“And as far as the celebrity thing…” She pauses, choosing her words carefully. “You have no idea what it’s like having to be ‘on’ all the time. It’s actually refreshing that you don’t treat me any differently.”

She is smiling softly as she continues. “Some people might think that your career is awfully glamorous as well. Leaving the security of your old job and starting all over couldn’t have been easy. I’m proud of you for taking that risk. And for how well you’re doing.”

She laughs. “And, honey, that stuff about us coming from different sides of the tracks was the same shit you harped on twelve years ago when you crushed my very young and very vulnerable heart.” She was raising both eyebrows now, her tone changing, becoming lively and teasing.

“I told you that back then?”

“Yes. You dumped me and gave me some line about how I was too good for you and how when I grew up I’d understand.” Her voice begins to take on an edge. “It was bullshit then and it’s bullshit now. You dumped me for Connie. Period.”

I laugh now, enjoying the old game.

“And you dumped me because …” I dangle the sentence, mocking her.

“I never dumped you.” She lifts her chin haughtily.

“Ha. You have a terrible memory,” I tell her.

“Yeah. And yours is a pain in the ass. You remember every detail.” She is grinning.

“Exactly my point. Which is why I know that you dumped me.”

“Never, Liz.” She shakes her head stubbornly.

“Then what are you doing right now if it’s not dumping me? Again.” I ask the question without meaning to, and as our eyes meet I feel the pain from three months of frustration and hurt and anger begin to choke me.

Her mouth is a straight line, but her eyes are wounded. “I’m not dumping you,” she says quietly.

“No. You’d never call it that, anyway.”

“I’m not dumping you, Liz.” She repeats herself, her voice tight.

“Then what are you doing, Grace? What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know. I hated that you left like that.” Her voice sounds far away, and I recognize her hedging. She is quite good at hedging.

My humor has vanished and my voice sounds tired. “That’s not good enough, Grace. You let me twist in the wind for three months. Without so much as a phone call. You were pissed when I came to New York—”

“I was angry with myself. Not with you,” she interrupts.

I wait for her to explain.

“I was insulating myself against everything. When you showed up out of nowhere it woke me up. I saw what I’d done to you, and I knew that I was doing it again.” Her eyes were dark. “That I was taking the easy way out.”

“So why are you here now?” I ask again.

“I’m not sure.” Again her voice drifts quietly, and my frustration grows again.

“You’re a coward, Grace.”

Her face registers the same shock that I am feeling. I can’t believe I’ve said these words to her. But now that I’ve opened the door, I decide to step through to the other side.

“Why can’t you just be honest with me? What can you possibly say that will hurt me any more than I already do? Why can’t you just tell me that it’s over and that you don’t love me?”

“Because that’s not how I feel,” she explodes.

“Dammit, Liz. I’m scared. I don’t know what to do anymore.” She is searching my eyes as I bite my tongue and wait for her to continue. “My feelings haven’t changed at all. I love you. I always have. It’s the most constant thing I’ve ever known in my life.”

My heart turns over. She loves me.

“So why are we going through this?” I ask.

“Because it’s not that simple. It’s more compliŹcated than loving each other, and you know it.”

“You’re so practical,” I tease her, hope finding a small crack in my heart.

“And you’re a romantic. Completely out of touch with reality,” she retorts.

I throw back my head and laugh.

“So tell me why it can’t possibly work, Grace.” I am mocking her, and she knows it.

“I told you. We live on opposite sides of the country. I don’t want to give up my job. You hate New York. And even if you didn’t, I would never ask you to give up what you have here.”

I study her for a moment. “You’re right. I hate New York,” I grin.

“I’m glad you find this so amusing.” Her annoyŹance is bubbling, and I’m not quite sure why I am feeling so lighthearted. But my tone grows serious.

“Grace.” I turn to face her squarely. “Even if I loved New York, you wouldn’t ask me to move, would you? Not because you wouldn’t want to. But because you’d never open yourself up that way. You’d never let yourself be that vulnerable.”

She is staring at me, blinking. “Sometimes I hate it that you know me so well,” she says finally.

I chuckle softly. “So tell me what you want, Grace.”

“I want it all,” she says stubbornly. “But I don’t believe for one moment that I can have it.”

“Well, that’s your first mistake. You have to believe.”

She rolls her eyes, and I am reminded that she is so pragmatic.

“Don’t make me pull teeth, Grace. If I have to ask, then I won’t trust the answer.”

She takes a deep breath and lets out a sigh. “Nothing has changed, Liz. I don’t want to lose you. Ever. I love you. And I want us to be together. I just don’t know how to make that happen.” Her eyes are wide before her lashes flutter down.

My heart turns to butter as her words wash over me. The hurt and anger of the past few months evaporate as hope begins to swell in my chest. I reach out a hand, and she takes it, turning it over in hers and examining it closely.

“So where do we go from here?” My mind is already fast-forwarding, and I envision us house hunting together. Outside of the city somewhere. Maybe Connecticut. Grace would probably hate the commute, but the hours she worked would help her avoid the traffic. “What do you want to do?” I ask softly, smiling.

“I don’t know.” Her shoulders lift in a shrug. “I want to keep seeing you.”

I can feiel the smile tightening on my face.

“Does that mean we should start house hunting in Connecticut?” I venture.

“Connecticut?” She is recoiling as she nearly pulls her hands from mine. “God, no.” Her laugh is almost a sneer. “I want to keep living in the city. I love my condo.”

My smile freezes before it falls. She doesn’t say we. She doesn’t ask what I want.

“You’ve already bought a condo?” I ask.

She nods, suddenly biting her lip.

Hope vaporizes, quickly replaced with a sick, dull ache in my stomach.

“Grace,” I begin, my voice not quite steady. “I need you to be very clear with me. What exactly do you want from me?”

Again the shrug as she grows uncomfortable and agitated, hating to be pinned down. “I want to keep seeing you.” Her voice is uncharacteristically small.

I hate her evasiveness. “How often?”

“Like before, I guess. I thought you could come and visit once a month or so. We could take vacaŹtions together.”

I can hear the beating of my heart in my own ears.

“Grace.” I am having trouble speaking, and I begin to over-enunciate each word as it forms on my lips. “We were going to live together in San Diego. You told me you wanted to share a home together. You said you wanted a puppy. You said you wanted us to be together.” I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “Now you’re telling me that you simply want to date me.”

Her eyes are wide now. “Just for a while,” she says finally. “Until we see how things work out.”

For a moment I almost buy into it. I am so eager that I’m almost content with the offering she is proposing, however meager.

But then reality sinks in as memories crowd my mind. What she really wants from me is next to nothing. An occasional weekend together. No

promises. No commitment. No future. No white picket fence or puppy.

I can never trust her. The realization hits me like a slap in the face. I would spend each month agonizing about whether or not there would even be another visit. And each time a few days went by without a word from her, my struggle would begin. I would always wonder if her silence was the beginning of the end. She would always be in control. And I would always be waiting. I would forever love her more than she loved me.

“You chased me all the way out here to tell me that you wanted to date me?” It’s almost laughable.

“I couldn’t let you go like that. I don’t want to lose you.” Her tone is defensive.

“I think what you don’t want is a guilty conscience,” I say point-blank, without emotion. “And what you do want is to keep me around just enough so that you have someone to count on, but not enough to interfere with your life.”

She stares at me dumbly. “That’s cold, Liz.”

I nod slowly. “But true. Isn’t it?”

“Of course not,” she replies quickly. But she doesn’t follow up the words with any others, even as I stare into her eyes and silently beg her to tell me I’m wrong.

Sadness grips me. “It was all a lie.” My voice is quiet, barely audible. “It meant nothing to you.” “Liz. That’s not true.”

“So we would see each other twelve times a year. Plus vacations, of course.” I’m growing sarcastic.

The frown on her face grows severe, pulling her eyebrows down together as her lips purse tightly.

“Stop it, Liz. It’s not like that. I love you.”

My bottom lip is beginning to quiver, and I hate myself for loving her.

“I want to believe that you love me,” I tell her, trying to control the crack in my voice. “More than anything in the world.” My breath is deep and haggard. “But I don’t. And what you’re offering just isn’t enough. I can’t do it.”

“So that’s it?” Her voice is hollow.

I stare into those brown eyes. The ones that have haunted me for too many long years. Regret fills my heart, and I want nothing more than to take back each word I’ve just spoken. I want to wrap my arms around her and feel her breath on my cheek. I want to feel the passion explode between us as our mouths find each other. I want to tell her how I love her. How I’d follow her anywhere. That nothing else matters but us.

Slowly, I nod my head as I let her hands slip from mine. “That’s it,” I say. Then I can’t believe I’ve actually said the words. That I’m finally letting go.

I’ve been standing at the bar just a little longer than I think is necessary. But since it is our friend’s brand-new bar, and since it’s only been open for one week, I try to remain patient.

I watch the blond bartender serving drinks and flirting with women as she mixes a variety of liquids, and realize she is half my age. I’m beginning to feel old. Scratch that. I’ve been feeling like I’m getting old for some time now.

Since it looks like I have a long wait ahead of me, I take the opportunity to glance around and take in the decor. The music in the room next door is too loud for my taste, but this room is nice and quiet. The bar itself runs the entire length of one wall. Behind me are scores of tables and booths in intimate settings that allow for easy conversation. Couples huddle together in the dim lights and stare into each other’s eyes. Others are laughing, joking around.