Читать книгу What Happens to Men When They Move to Manhattan? - Jill Knapp - Страница 12

I looked around Cassandra’s spacious two-bedroom apartment crowded with about twenty of my closest friends. The place was filled with pink and white balloons, plastic martini glasses, and paper decorations including a custom banner that read “Happy Birthday Amalia!”

I thought back to when she and Nicholas had asked me what I wanted to do for my birthday when we were hanging out last week.

“Just a dinner with the two of you, Olivia, and Christina,” I replied. “Nothing too fancy, maybe Max Brenner? Or even somewhere in Little Italy would be perfect. You know, something simple.”

My input, however, had been clearly ignored. Lured to Cassie’s place under the false pretenses of going to said “low key” dinner, I nearly had a heart attack when the energetic guests of my clandestinely planned surprise party jumped out at me.

“Surprise!” everyone yelled in unison.

“What the hell! The two of you are in so much trouble!” I said as I caught my breath. I leaned over the couch, pretending they had given me a heart attack.

“Were you surprised, honey?” Nicholas asked with a sinister smirk on his face.

“Yeah, I mean I thought we were having a small, intimate dinner?”

He leaned in for a kiss and I turned away, playfully pretending to be too annoyed for affection. A few seconds later, I was bombarded with drink offers and birthday wishes.

“Happy Birthday, Hastings,” said Alex as he handed me a glass of champagne.

“Twenty-three!” Olivia enthusiastically threw her arms around me. “It’s about time!”

Since my birthday was at the beginning of October, I was the last of my friends to have a birthday this year. I had been teased by friends for being the youngest essentially my whole life.

“The food is delicious, by the way. I got that vegetarian place Blossom to cater. Great turn-out too; everyone is here,” Olivia said, smiling brightly.

Her eyes were wide and covered in gray glitter eye-shadow.

“I could use some of that food,” I muttered, scanning the room for sustenance.

“Right this way!” she said, leading me by the hand.

I numbly followed Olivia as she led me through Cassandra’s apartment. I swallowed hard and smiled, trying my best to hide the anxiety that this surprise birthday party was causing me. On the way to the kitchen, I quickly scanned the room to see if indeed everyone was here. I saw my one roommate, Christina, in the corner talking to some girl I had never met. Cassandra was on the living room couch kissing her new boyfriend, Bryce. Alex, check. Olivia, check. Nicholas, check. I even recognized a few people from class Olivia must have told Cassandra to invite. Everyone was in fact accounted for; everyone other than Michael.

I swallowed my champagne and grabbed another. I might as well make the best of this situation.

As the night went on, my friends became progressively drunk, which unfortunately included Nicholas. Out of nowhere, he decided now would be a perfect time to discuss my summer trip to Brazil.

“I just don’t understand why you feel the need to leave the country for two months,” he said in a tone I had only heard him use once before.

During the first year of our relationship, his mother passed away during a family weekend in college. It was quick and without warning. She was hit by a drunk driver while crossing the street in downtown New Brunswick, where Rutgers was. Neither of us saw this, but I’ll never forget the acidic taste that filled my mouth that Tuesday afternoon when Nick got a call from Robert Wood Johnson hospital. By the time we got there, it was too late to say our goodbyes. His mom died in the ambulance during transport. For the next few months, Nick was cold to me. The more I tried to support and be there for him, the more he’d pull away. I found myself chasing after what we’d had, desperately clinging to those first nine months together when he thought I was perfect. It took about six more months of me putting up with his callous demeanor until he finally started to come around and act like the guy I knew and loved. He apologized for the way he’d treated me, and I forgave him instantly. I didn’t know what it was like to lose a parent, and couldn’t have understood what he was going through.

But now, as I stood here in Cassandra’s apartment I felt sick, like I had eaten something bad. My eyes filled up with tears and I quickly turned my face away from the crowd. If Nick was capable of acting the way he did when his mother died, it’s possible that darkness was something that was inside of him, and could crawl out at any moment.

He dragged me into Cassandra’s bedroom, saying we needed to talk more. I felt my heart sink into my stomach, and found myself wishing I hadn’t drank that second glass of champagne. I closed the door to Cassandra’s bedroom and immediately began speaking.

“Baby, it’s not that long,” I pleaded with him.

I shook my head and gave him a weary smile. Anxious to end this argument, I softly took his hands in mine and looked right into his eyes.

“Besides, you’ll be starting an internship around the time I leave,” I said, trying to ease the blow. “You’ll be so busy by the time summer comes along, we’d barely have time to see each other in the first place. That’s why I picked those two months to be there.”

It was true, Nicholas had applied for an internship at Clear Channel in an attempt to find a new job. He would be interning three days a week, without pay, on top of his current workload at his present job. I thought it would be a perfect time for him to get his life together. Just as I thought I was getting through to him, he shook his head, jerked his hands out of my grasp, and started to pace across the room.

“I just expected you to be there for me while I was starting a new position. I’m going to be extremely stressed with all of the new responsibility and it would be nice to be able to come home to my girlfriend, who should be taking care of me,” he was practically shouting now. “Not running off to fulfill some ridiculous fantasy to travel the world.”

I stood there, stunned. Nicholas had a few drinks in him but I couldn’t imagine the alcohol could provoke such a hateful and selfish statement. His eyes, which were normally wide and welcoming, were narrowed. I searched for the words to address this situation calmly.

“Where is this coming from? You’ve known about this trip for a while now. Nicholas, I think you should take a step back and listen to what you are saying to me. I am not running off to fulfill any sort of fantasy. What you’re saying to me is a little selfish.”

I walked over to him and gave him a hug. He stood there still, arms defiantly pressed against his own body.

“Now why don’t we just go back outside and join the rest of the party; people are probably wondering where I am. We can talk about this tomorrow, I promise.”

“All right, Amalia, whatever you want,” he uttered dryly. Nicholas never called me by my name. The formality of it made him seem cold and detached, like a scolding grammar-school teacher. It made me a little nervous.

“So will you come back to the party with me, then?” I asked, hopeful we could still salvage the evening.

Without answering me, Nicholas walked out of the bedroom and made a beeline for the living room.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

He grabbed his jacket off the couch and turned to me and said, “I’m going home. Have a wonderful evening.”

Before I could open my mouth to answer, he had slammed the door and left. Thankfully the music and chatter was too loud for anyone to have witnessed his temper tantrum. Feeling like I could hardly stand, I sat down on the couch, stunned by the events that had just transpired. This was officially the worst birthday in a very long time. I tried to cry, but nothing came.

After a few minutes of sitting and staring at Cassandra’s deep-brown, hardwood floor, I walked back into Cassandra’s bedroom and retrieved my cell phone from my purse. In much need of cheering up, I was hoping for a message from Michael, but there was nothing. Fueled by my accelerating anger and two glasses of cheap champagne, I scrolled down my address book, found his name, and hit dial. I felt the need to know, no, demand, where he was and what was so important he couldn’t at the very least stop by for an hour or two. After all, the rule usually is that on your birthday, you can do whatever you want. You can drink until you vomit, you can have sex with a stranger, hell you can put on a wig and call yourself by a different name if you so fancy, so what was wrong with a harmless phone call?

The phone rang three times before I heard, “You’ve reached the voicemail of Michael Rathbourne. Leave a message at the—”

I didn’t even let the pre-recorded version of him finish before throwing my phone down onto Cassandra’s bed and starting to tear up. I sat on the bed for a few minutes longer and wondering if anyone would notice I was gone, and would come looking for me. No one did. Five minutes later, still sitting on Cassandra’s bed, I felt my phone vibrating. A text message from Michael. Finally, I thought, he’s probably on his way.

I opened the message. “Sorry I couldn’t make it, have a drink for me!”

I read the message again, sure that I was mistaken. That’s it? He didn’t even wish me Happy Birthday. The tears were starting to fall harder and I decided it was time to go home. I crept out of Cassandra’s bedroom, grabbed an unopened bottle of wine from the kitchen, and when no one was looking in my direction, slipped through the front door.