More Than Water (21 page)

Reaching over his legs, I place the camera back in its bag. “Most of them get jobs at museums or go on to grad school to again get a job at a museum, as a curator, or go into teaching and research. I don’t know. There are a few other things, too, but those are the most popular options.”

“Which one of those are you doing?”

“None.”

“Oh?” He grabs his black frames from the nearby side table and returns them to his face. “So, you’re one of the others?”

“I guess you could say that. I’ll be going to grad school and getting my MBA.”

“Really?” He sits up straighter, turning his full attention toward me. “Do you plan to run an art business or something?”

“Hardly,” I sputter. “I’ll be going to Yale most likely. It’s my duty to take part in the family tradition.”

“Wow. Yale, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m a double legacy. They have to take me.” I stare at my lap. “You know, you’re the first person I’ve ever told that to.”

“About getting an MBA?”

“Yeah…well, Chandra knows but not about Yale.”

“Is it a secret?”

“I guess not.” I lift a shoulder. “It’s just not something I’m shouting from the rooftops.”

“Do you not want to go?” he questions, his voice low and steady.

Grazing my fingers along the colorful dots, circles, and waves on his chest, I ask, “Do I seem like the MBA type?”

“Not really.” He wraps his fingers around my wandering hand. “If I’m being honest, you don’t seem like the art history type either. I don’t see you working in a museum or sitting in some office, doing research.”

Our gazes slowly connect.

“Sometimes, what we want to do and what we have to do aren’t always the same,” I say, like it’s a script that my mother has burned into my soul.

“It sucks, doesn’t it?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

He releases my hand, and I join it with the other on my lap.

“What about you? What are your plans after graduation?” I ask.

“MBA, likely Stanford or Duke. My grandparents are alumni at both.”

“Ah, you’re a legacy, too,” I tease, bumping his shoulder. “Who knew we had so much in common?”

“I never would have imagined.”

Foster parks his vehicle in front of a small Victorian home on the hill that overlooks the city. I peer up at the quaint house, highlighted by a streetlamp in the black sky. The light illuminates the house’s palette of bright colors, accents of green and purple against the yellow facade.

“Is this it?” I ask, unbuckling my seat belt, preparing to exit the car.

“Yep. We’re here.” He kills the ignition and opens the car door. “Let’s go in.”

I step onto the sidewalk as Foster rounds his well-loved more-than-ten-years-old Honda Accord. With a six-pack of beer in my hand, I follow his lead and ascend the steps to the front door of his friend’s house where he rings the doorbell. We wait under the tiny covered alcove, listening to the sounds of voices in cheerful spirits reverberating from within the walls.

“Thanks again for inviting me,” I say, tucking a sun-kissed strand of hair behind my ear, highlighted from my recent time at sea. “And for reminding me how lame it is to spend New Year’s Eve alone. It was by choice, you know.”

“You were going to be a total loser, and I can’t be associated with someone like that. What would people say?”

“Yes, we wouldn’t want anyone to insult your judgment. We both know what a blow that would be to your intelligence.”

“Exactly.”

The door opens, and the golden light from within floods the porch, framing a tall man’s silhouette.

“Hey, man,” Graham, Foster’s light-blond friend, says, widening the entrance. “You made it.”

“All in one piece. And I brought a friend, too,” he adds, placing a hand at the middle of my back. “You remember EJ, right?”

“How could I forget?” he asks rhetorically. “You’re the girl who likes lots of tongue in her bets.”

“I’m glad I made an impression. I’m not sure if being known as tongue-girl is a good thing or a bad thing, but I’ll go with it.” I lift the six-pack in his direction, and he takes it in his free hand. “Thanks for having me.”

“Sure thing. C’mon in.”

Graham steps aside, allowing Foster and me to enter the warm house fragrant with pine and the remnants of pizza. He shows us a chair near the steps where we can leave our jackets and then leads us through a short hallway to the kitchen where a stream of voices in conversation billows out.

In the tight space of white-and-green tiles, three men—two I recognize as Peter and James from that fateful night when I won my bet at the bar—are gathered around a small table, playing a card game, while three girls are in the midst of a conversation at the counter. A fourth girl, a fit brunette with angular features, enters the room from a side hallway at the same time as us and makes her way past the group of women.

“Hi, Foster,” she says in a cold tone.

“Hey, Fiona,” he responds easily.

Fiona openly evaluates me and then joins the men at the table, resting an arm on James’s shoulder. Graham shakes his head and then proceeds toward the refrigerator, placing my beer inside.

“Foster!” Peter shouts, rising from his seat to greet him. “Good to see you.”

“You, too,” Foster says in return. “How was your Christmas?”

“Boring as hell. I couldn’t wait to get back.”

“Understood.” He points an index finger in my direction. “You remember EJ, right?”

“Of course. Her views on Newton’s laws are unforgettable.” He pauses, staring at me in deep thought. “Speaking of, do you think you could do me a favor?”

“Possibly?” I say, unsure.

He leans in closer and points a thumb over his shoulder. “Do you see the guy over there with the red shirt and dark hair?”

I peek at the gathering of men seated at the circular table, identifying the person in question. “Yeah. What about him?”

“I would give my left nut if you could show him your scientific knowledge. That Newton’s law bit is epic.”

“Lance?” Foster questions.

“Yes, the asshole,” Peter answers. “He just took fifty bucks from me, and I’d like to bring his ego down a bit.”

“Consider it done,” I say, amused. “What kind of wager are you thinking?”

“Shit, I don’t know. Just make it good.”

“How about I get your money back?”

“I was kind of hoping for a little more than that.”

“Like what? Should I have him try to lick his own dick?” I ask, totally kidding.

Foster chuckles.

“That could work.” Peter nods his head while rubbing his chin, seriously contemplating the wager.

I laugh. “I’ll think about it.”

Graham joins us with a plastic cup in hand. “You two help yourself to whatever you like. Beer’s in the fridge, and liquor is on the counter next to whatever food Lilliana and her friends brought.”

“Thanks.” Foster turns to me. “Do you want anything?”

“A beer would be great.”

We all disperse. Graham joins the group of girls and hooks an arm around the average-height strawberry-blonde with curly hair, Peter takes a seat at the table next to James, and Foster and I step toward the fridge to get a beer. Once we both have our drinks, I follow his lead and gather around the ongoing card game.

It’s a little after ten in the evening, less than two hours until the New Year, and it’s easy to ascertain that this will likely be a low-key evening of friends, libations, and fun.

“Thanks again,” I utter at Foster’s shoulder.

James deals the cards to everyone at the table.

“For what?” Foster asks.

“The invite.”

“Don’t thank me yet. There’s no guarantee it will be anything memorable.”

I scan the tame playing of cards, observing the content faces of all the guests. “The night is young.”

Over the next hour and a half, I become acquainted with mostly everyone, learning that Graham, Lance, and Peter live in the house together. All of the men, including Foster and James, are chemical engineering majors and have known each other since freshman year. Apparently, it’s a tight-knit class since they spend so much time in labs and doing group projects.

As promised to Peter, I attempt to finagle the fifty dollars back from Lance. I add a bet for him to dip his balls in his own beer and drink it. The latter is not my idea. It’s Peter’s, but I go with it. Thankfully, James, Foster, and Graham silently play their part well, knowing all along that I have the upper hand. The table goes wild when I reveal my knowledge of Newton’s law once again, and it instantly befriends me to everyone. This also helps to open conversation with the group of girls—Lilliana, Graham’s girlfriend of the past three years, and her two friends, who are pleasant, sweet, and getting drunker by the hour.

At fifteen minutes until midnight, Lilliana suggests we all go outside to ring in the New Year. We arm ourselves in our coats, and with drinks in hand, we huddle onto the back porch overshadowed by the faint stars and moon above.

“So, how long have you and Foster been an item?” Lilliana questions me.

Foster is chatting with his friends on the other side of the wooden deck.

“Oh, we aren’t a couple.” I take a sip of my drink. “Just friends. He and I work together.”

“Really? Sorry, I just assumed. He hasn’t brought a girl around in a while. I just figured…”

“Well, there’s nothing to figure.” I gaze up at the stars, dull and almost unnoticeable. This is clearly not the night Van Gogh envisioned when he looked at the sky. I lean in closer to Lilliana and say, “But if you are worried that he might be gay, I assure you that he isn’t.”

“No, I knew he wasn’t gay.” Her focus shifts away from me and toward James and Fiona, who is obviously his girlfriend based on the way they haven’t left one another’s side all evening. “We all know that.” She checks the time on her watch. “Less than five minutes left until we get to start again. I’m going to go and find Graham. It was nice taking with you, EJ.”

“You, too.”

She leaves me, so I’m alone on one side of the porch while everyone congregates at the other end. I take the moment of solitude to gaze above, imagining the painted sky of
The Starry Night
with myself swimming among its brushstrokes.

Every year at this time, people across the world make resolutions and promises of grandeur to themselves for their betterment. A New Year is literally minutes away, and my wishes remain the same—to live in a world outside of my reality, in a dream of my own making. As graduation draws near, hope for such a dream gradually plunders. Determination can take a person only so far when the visceral truth of reality keeps rearing its ugly head.

Escaping into a dream is just that—a dream.

“Hey, there,” Foster says as he approaches. “It’s almost midnight.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Do you think you’re ready for the New Year?”

“Probably not, but this one is basically over, so onto the next.”

“Thirty more seconds!” Lilliana shouts with Graham’s arms around her waist.

“C’mon,” Foster says, tugging me toward the group. “Let’s go and join them.”

Surrounded by Foster’s inebriated friends, we count down the remaining seconds until midnight.

When the moment comes where everyone shouts, “One,” in unison, cheers erupt, and people scream, “Happy New Year!” throughout the neighborhood.

We all clink our cups and beer bottles before embracing one another. Whirling around in the crowd, I take in the excitement as couples kiss to celebrate the start of another three hundred sixty-five days.

Time has been reset for everyone.

“Happy New Year, Evelyn,” Foster says close to my ear. Then, he chastely kisses me on my cheekbone.

I tilt my head, connecting my lips with his, and I forget the noise, if only for a second. “Happy New Year, Fozzie.”

Foster’s friends make the rounds, wishing each other well for the impending year. I stay by his side, welcoming hugs from each of them, some even kissing me on the cheek.

James is one of the last of his friends to pull Foster into a hug, laughing about the previous year and some of their many mishaps. When they release each other from their embrace, Foster reaches toward Fiona, James’s girlfriend, with his arms open wide, but he pauses the moment she steps back.

“Happy New Year, Foster,” she says, stiff and cold.

Nodding, Foster lowers his arms. “You, too, Fiona.”

“I’ve decided I’m not going to be angry with you anymore,” she says, James resting an arm over her shoulder. “That’s my resolution—to forgive you.”

“I appreciate that. I hope you know I never meant to hurt you.”

She harrumphs. “Yeah, well, I should have known better. It’s obvious you were using me.”

“We should get a drink,” James interjects, tightening his hold on her.

“Did you even care about me at all?” she asks Foster, ignoring James’s suggestion.

Foster’s jaw goes tight.

“That’s what I thought,” she says. “I really was an idiot.” She spares a look at me as I stand at Foster’s side. “Good luck with him. Just don’t expect much. He’s not exactly emotionally available. Corpses have more feelings.”

Fiona turns within James’s arm to leave, but then she pauses in her tracks, glancing over her shoulder at Foster. “By the way, tell Sasha I said hi. I’m sure she’s happier without you.” Fiona lowers her voice as she says, “I certainly am.”