Second Chances (8 page)

Allison
walked past Meghan and then Brice’s bedroom door.   Brice’s door, unlike Meghan’s, was open and the room was dark.  That her second roommate wasn’t home didn’t surprise her.  Out of the three of them, Brice was the most social and was hardly home, especially on the weekends.  Shortly after the three women had moved in together, Allison had given up trying to keep track of whomever Brice was currently dating.  Her bedroom might as well have had a revolving door.

But
Allison didn’t live with the other girls because she was hoping to make best friends in college who’d be bridesmaids at her hypothetical wedding.  They paid their rent and their share of the utility bills on time, and that’s all she asked.  College was temporary – 4 years of her life.  She had no disillusions that she’d find, form, and nurture any lasting relationships during college, romantic or otherwise.

She made her way to the bathroom to wash her face, taking the time to go through her nightly ritual of removing her make-up and brushing her teeth.  When her face was
scrubbed clean, she stared at her pale reflection.  She never wore too much make-up.  She didn’t consider herself high maintenance.  Plus, her mother had always told her that only ugly girls needed make-up; and Allison Hoge was not an ugly girl.

As she continued to contemplate her reflection, a sharp sob bubbled up her throat and escaped past perfect teeth and parted lips.  She grasped onto the edge of the bathroom vanity for stability, surprised by the intensity of the emotion.

With nothing else to occupy her mind, she finally allowed herself the one realization that she had shoved into a dark corner of her mind until she could no longer deny it.

She had kissed
Reagan Murphy.

Safely tucked away in her bedroom and hidden by darkness, the tears started to freely fall.

+++++

CHAPTER FIVE

Allison
walked two fingertips over the curve of an antique globe near her seat at her favorite coffee place in Providence.  Unlike a carbon copy coffee chain, she preferred this shop for the randomness of its décor.  And as an added bonus, no one ever bothered her to relinquish her table, even hours after she’d finished her coffee. 

She love
d the look of the antique globe – slightly yellowed by age – but it no longer served its purpose. It was obsolete. Her fingers traced over the country names carefully scrawled on the map.  Czechoslovakia.  Formosa.  Countries and territories that no longer existed.  Geography had always troubled her; it wasn’t stable or fixed, but fluid and ever changing. That’s why she loved words, particularly poetry, even if her father scoffed at it as a waste of time and his money.  Language evolved, yes.  But some themes were eternal.  Love. Loss. Pain. Joy. Victory. Betrayal.

Her phone vibrated on the end table beside her.  She picked
it up and saw a message from Reagan:
“Aren’t professors supposed to be liberal and progressive?”

Allison
typed her reply:
“Much to my father’s chagrin.”

As much as Allison
loathed the informality of text culture, she hated
talking
on the phone even more.  Texting was a kind of paradox – intimate, but distant.  You could launch yourself into the middle of a conversation without civilized formalities, but you never had to see how your words affected the text’s recipient.

“Your father would love my
Physical Anthropology professor.”

“
Why? What’s up?”
Allison responded.  She put her phone back on the table and returned to her book.  She’d learned that Reagan didn’t just send texts – she wrote novels.  She’d never be able to handle Twitter.  It took her more than 140 characters to just say “hello.”

A few minutes later, her phone rattled against the table’s wooden top.  She smirked knowingly when she saw the length of
Reagan’s message.  She might as well have sent an email.

“It’s like he’s never heard of
Jane Goodall before!”
the first line steamed. Allison could practically hear Reagan’s indignant huff.  She scanned the rest of the message, which was a verbose rant about her anthropology professor, who apparently was anti-feminist and therefore now Reagan’s arch-nemesis.

“When do I get to see you again?”

Allison stared down at the next text.  She frowned.  Reagan had a way of wording things that made her feel uncomfortable.

Since Reagan’s visit to Providence, the two hadn’t spoken much beyond a few random text messages.  Reagan
had first texted to let her know she'd made it back safely to New York and to thank her for her hospitality. She hadn't mentioned what had transpired on the train platform, and for that Allison was grateful.

"I've got to study for midterms,”
Allison wrote back.
“I can't get away."
It wasn’t a complete lie.  She
did
have midterms coming up, but they weren’t until after Spring Break in a few weeks.

Reagan’s response was immediate:
"Can we Skype later? I have a question for you, but I'd rather ask it face-to-face.”

Allison
read and re-read the message before frowning. She couldn't imagine what Reagan had to ask her, or why it needed to be face-to-face, but a feeling of foreboding settled in her gut.  Normally she would have said no.  She would have run from the situation and never looked back.  But this was Reagan, and she owed her this.

“
Ok. When?”

+++++

“Is it coffee or a date?”

Reagan
paused while applying her mascara long enough to glare at her roommate with the help of the room’s full-length mirror.  “Why are you so keen on labeling things?”

Ashley grinned from her location sprawled on top of her bed. “Because I like to know what’s expected in certain situations.”

Reagan finished her eye make-up and turned to give her roommate a skeptical look.  “How would I even know the difference?”

Ashley tapped her fingers to her lips as though deeply considering the question.  “Well, that all depends on if you’re ordering coffee or if you’re
going for a more expensive latté or mocha or something.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s all about the money, darling,” Ashley said with an exaggerated drawl.  “He’s going to expect at least a goodnight kiss if you order a $5 drink and much more if dinner’s involved.”  She gave her friend a peculiar look.  “Don’t you know anything about dating?”

“I know plenty,” Reagan said stiffly
.  “Your made up rules are ridiculous, by the way.”

Reagan
thought about the coffee she’d ordered when she’d visited Allison at Brown.  She was pretty sure it had cost more than $5.  And Allison had kissed her goodnight.  Maybe Ashley
did
know what she was talking about.

She probably wouldn't have
agreed to see Christopher, the boy from the train, on such short notice if it hadn't been for Allison. He’d called her early that morning to see if she was free later.  Typically she needed more advanced warning to mentally prepare, but Allison Hoge had kissed her. It had only been the lightest of kisses, lips innocently pressed against lips, but the memory was stuck in her mind. 

She wasn’t spending time with Christopher to re-affirm her heterosexuality, however.  She just needed a distraction to help her get outside of her head.  She couldn’t imagine what excuse Allison had for the unexpected kiss, and she needed to stop obsessing about it until they talked later that week.  Coffee with a new friend seemed like as good of a distraction as any.

The in-room phone rang, causing both women to jump.

“God, that’
s loud,” Reagan complained. A bright grin crossed her features.  “Kind of like you, Ash.” They rarely used their dorm room phone except for ordering pizza or making on-campus calls.  She would have given Christopher her cell number, but she was still concerned that he might be a crazy person.  Her dad’s warnings that New York City wasn’t the Midwest still stuck with her, three-years removed from Michigan.

“Save your c
omedy for the third date, Prez,” Ashley said, rolling her eyes. “You don’t want to scare the boy off.”

“It’s not a
date
.” Reagan stuck her tongue out and finally answered the annoyingly shrill phone.  “Hello?”

“Hi.  It’s Christopher,” came a muffled male voice.  “I’m
outside your building. I can’t figure out how to get inside,” he said.  “Your dorm is locked up like Fort Knox.  What are you guys keeping in there?”

“Just the
innocence of about 200 co-eds,” Reagan quipped.

His laugh was like a sharp bark.  “I’m kind of afraid to ask to be buzzed up now.”

“Give me three minutes and I’ll be right down.”

Ashley had returned to her Art History textbook
by the time Reagan hung up the phone.  “Have fun,” her roommate said, not bothering to look up.  Her voice sounded bored.  “I won’t wait up, so don’t worry if coffee turns into more.”

Reagan
rolled her eyes as she grabbed a scarf and jacket from their wall peg.  “I’ll be back in a little while.”

Ashley made a clucking noise and turned a crisp, textbook page.
“You’re such a disappointment to sexually-liberated, college women everywhere, Prez.”

+++++

Not trusting her heels on the nine flights of stairs, Reagan took the elevator down.  She felt soured by her conversation with Ashley.  She loved her roommate, but she hated when she judged her Midwestern morals.  It wasn’t like she was a virgin, after all.  She just didn’t see the need to have sex with random strangers.

The elevator doors opened far too quickly, indicating she was at the ground level.  She crossed the
main lobby, and the heels of her stylish but reasonably priced boots clicked against the floor.  She immediately spotted Christopher and his shock of peroxide blond hair just beyond the plate glass windows of the dormitory.  He was appropriately bundled in an oversized winter jacket.  He blew into his gloveless hands and stomped his feet to keep warm.

Despite her comparative lack of dating exper
ience, Reagan didn’t feel the nervous flutter of butterflies in the pit of her stomach.  It was just coffee with a new friend, she reasoned with herself.  If something more blossomed, she’d have plenty of time for nerves and anxiety later.

Chris
topher’s gaunt, handsome face lit up when he spotted Reagan. She gave him a brief wave before pushing through the glass doors and was greeted by a stiff New York City winter wind upon exiting her residence hall.

“Hey you,” he
greeted, walking a few steps closer.  “You look great.”

“Hey,”
Reagan returned, her face immediately cold from the sub-freezing temperatures.

The two performed an awkward second meeting ritual on the sidewalk. Chris
topher leaned in for a hug, while Reagan stuck out her hand.  Realizing her mistake, she kept her hand going forward until it curled around Christopher’s tall, lean frame for a one-armed hug.

“
Oh no
,” she mentally panicked when Christopher gave her a perceptible squeeze.  “
This is a date
.”

+++++

Christopher blew on his hands, white and raw from the winter weather. “What would you like?” he asked as he stared up at the beverage menu posted on the wall. 

Since he wasn’t very familiar with the Greenwich Village neighborhood, he’d let Reagan pick out a suitable coffee spot.  They’d politely conversed on the short walk, making small talk about the stubborn winter weather and his grandmother’s 90
th
birthday party. 

Reagan
hesitated with her drink order.  She officially hated her roommate.  Ashley’s earlier words picked at her sanity.  “Coffee.”

Chris
topher turned his head to appraise her. “You sure that’s all you want?  I’m buying,” he offered with a toothy grin.  “I promise it won’t break the bank if you want to order something else.”

Reagan
returned the reassuring smile with one of her own. “Don’t let the rumors fool you; I’m really not a diva,” she stated.  “Coffee’s perfect.  Black, please.”

Chris
topher turned back to the waiting barista.  “I guess we’re having two coffees.”

+++++

It was late by the time Reagan returned to her dorm – late for a school-night by her standards, at least.  After the initial awkwardness of the evening, she and Christopher had both settled down and seemed to shake off the first-date jitters.  One cup of coffee had turned into two, and then they’d split a particularly decadent piece of vegan chocolate cake. Conversation had come easily and they’d talked and laughed for hours until the second-shift baristas had not-too subtly begun to put chairs on top of tables to close up for the night.  After closing down the coffee bar, they’d walked back to Reagan’s dorm, huddled together against the severe night chill, shoulders casually bumping.

As they
’d come closer to her residence hall, Reagan’s nerves had returned.  Would Christopher be expecting a goodnight kiss?  And more importantly, did she
want
to give him one?  She’d had fun, yes – probably the most fun she’d had in the city in a while – but she wasn’t convinced she could see more than friendship with the New York boy. 

To
her relief, but also equal chagrin, he hadn’t tried to kiss her when they’d said goodnight.  He simply went in for another hug, which this time Reagan was ready to receive and return.  They’d verbally promised to hang out again soon, and Christopher had walked away, back in the direction of the subway to his own campus.

The lack of goodnight kiss threw
her.  She reflected on it as she took the elevator ride up to the ninth floor. Had it actually been a date?  Or had she mucked up so badly Christopher had downgraded her to friend-status?  Or was he just a good guy who liked to take things slow?

The elevator doors whished open, pulling her from her thoughts.  As quietly as possible in case her roommate was a
lready asleep, Reagan unlocked her door and let herself in.

“Oh my gosh,
” she gasped.             

Seated in the center of their dorm room was Ashley.  She had dragged
an overstuffed chair from its corner and relocated it to the center of the room.  The bedroom was bathed in darkness except for a corner lamp, which also had been repositioned so it illuminated Ashley, who sat cross-legged in the room’s center.