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junedenim · 2 days ago

Text

2014

beneath the boardwalk, part 12 (series masterlist)

fireside

warnings: slutty behavior

word count: 15k

I found out Alex and Arielle broke up through Facebook. Of course, because it's Alex we're referring to—a man who never touched social media with a 39½ foot pole—I didn't find out through a relationship status update, I found out through an article. I cursed the Facebook gods for knowing I would click on the article and nearly didn't but I did because I had to know whether it was legitimate or just gossip. The article didn't indicate much either way. I made the assumption I would hear about it if it were true and clicked off Facebook before it fully rotted my brain.

I spent the majority of January in England. I had gone back for the holiday season but had been convinced to stay through the new year through the pull of London. I caught up with old friends, most notably my old neighbor, Lee, and her two girls who I used to babysit and who were now both teenagers. I felt old.

When I returned to New York, my agent told me that one of the short stories from my upcoming book would be featured in the New Yorker. Featured, not just plain old staff writing, a full-on feature. Right up there with the likes of Shirley Jackson, Truman Capote, and George Saunders (okay, maybe not up there, but I have it in common with them). It was a nice start to the new year.

Fennel and Kaka had a dinner party in celebration, or just to have an excuse to throw a dinner party, they like those kinds of things. I wore a slutty dress Fennel provided and got drunk on champagne.

The day after this beautiful fancy party, Opal took me out for a proper celebration. Shitty bars and shitty clubs to get drunk off tequila. This was followed by the worst hangover of my life which made me vow to give up alcohol (fat chance).

Alex called me during this time and I missed it. There was a good chance people thought I was dead for several days. I didn't answer my phone and only got out of bed to vomit. I never returned Alex's call but he called me right before Arctic Monkeys performed at Madison Square Garden. I assume the call was some form of an invitation to attend but I wouldn't have gone anyway. I watched their cover of "All My Loving" on YouTube a week later and decided that I was only pissed that I missed that song.

Through Fennel, I had met Isaac Gaunt, a fashion photographer from London. He asked to do a photoshoot with me, which could've been a good way to be sex trafficked but considering the guy had shot for Vogue, I took my chances.

Isaac and the photos he took of me unlocked a whole new world for me. One where I would be referred to for my looks. All those years of being concerned over my author photo seemed to be indicating something.

My agent had no experience with fashion and graciously suggested I get another agent who specialized in it. She proved that not all agents are money-hungry monsters. So, I stayed with her and said I wanted her to handle fashion the same way she handled books because I was still a writer after all.

Because my image had cultivated somewhat of a following over the first few months of the year, I was offered more and more opportunities and got to feel like a diva when I turned down offers because I was simply "too busy." I loved it. It fed into my ego and made me feel way better about myself after feeling like shit for so long.

Of course, the buzz only lasted for so long but because I had the luxury of dictating my new career and whatever direction it was heading, I got to control the rush. I quite liked being busy too, especially when it meant getting invited to cool parties. Thus, I drank more champagne.

I got an invitation to this one party at the Museum of the City of New York. The building itself being this glorious display of Gilded Age glamour. I believe it was a fundraiser for the museum but also a celebration of the city and the talent it cultivated. I don't think I fell into that category, I just knew the right people, which is really just what it's all about. Knowing the right people.

Most people didn't know who I was and those who did recognize me didn't know I was British, which meant that they hadn't read anything I had written. So, I guess I was just a face now. I thought that would piss me off more but I liked being this mystery. I was luckily still taken seriously and people were intrigued when I said I was a writer instead of rolling their eyes and thinking I was some dimwit with looks who claimed to be a writer but actually barely knew how to string a sentence together.

At the MCNY, on the luxurious staircase, dressed in something that was expensive and vintage and left me fearful of spilling something on it the whole night, I ran into Jackson. We stared at one another and with a nod of each of our heads, we passed one another with not a word uttered. I assume he was there with one of his clients but I went on and met up with a group of people who were slowly becoming my friends and didn't see him for the rest of the night.

It made me feel mature. I didn't feel a need to prove how fabulous I was and no need to spin the skirt of my dress around or sip my champagne with no care for him. I was perfectly comfortable with a small smile and seeing that he was doing just fine. It made me feel like I must be doing just fine too.

On the first coatless day of the year, I got fro-yo with Opal and her friends, Nadia, Sophie, and Mina. Opal's birthday was the following week but I would be out of town so we had a mini girl's day with the latest craze of fro-yo. I had met all the girls before but only had a close kinship with Mina after she crashed at my place following a night of clubbing.

After buying our combination of swirls, we sat in Tompkins Square along a bench. By the time our fro-yo was melted, the topic of my goings next week arose. Opal asked, "How do you feel about seeing you-know-who?"

Nadia licked her spoon clean. "Who's you-know-who?"

"My ex-boyfriend," I informed. "I'm going to a wedding next week. It's his bandmate and my friend, Katie, getting hitched."

"Your ex-boyfriend is in a band?" Sophie questioned.

It was rather odd to me that my life had grown so far outward that people didn't know about Alex. I was grateful for it, specifically in terms of my career. My life moved on and my name was no longer followed by "Alex Turner's ex-girlfriend." It had been a new discovery that past year. Be it good PR people or, more likely, people in my line of work didn't care.

Though, I was shocked Sophie didn't know.

"What are you going to wear?" Mina asked. I went simple since I was flying in from New York. It was a soft blue slip dress. There was nothing fancy about it other than the gorgeous colour.

In regard to running into Alex, I didn't care. Well, I mostly didn't care. Okay, I cared, but I didn't actively try not to. I wanted to be friendly and my expectations didn't go further than that. I wasn't nervous about it anymore. I cared more about Katie's wedding dress than what I would be wearing. In any scenario, that was an unanticipated form of growth out of self-absorbedness that I never believed I could reach.

I cry at weddings. I am reduced to a blubbering fool. It's quite embarrassing. If I wasn't me, I would be making fun of me because being vulnerable is something I'm still not comfortable with despite how emotional I am. With Jamie and Katie, it felt understandable. They were a couple I watched grow together from two awkward kids to well-adjusted adults. It was an unexpected overwhelming feeling but Katie was so beautiful and I was jet-lagged.

After grabbing a flute of champagne, I got my emotions under wraps and had small talk with the various attendees, many of whom I hadn't seen in years. I lucked out by finding AB and Shay, who I had no clue were attending, and buddying up with them by the bar.

I sipped my champagne, talked with them, and looked out at the crowd the whole time, slightly dreading or rejoicing whenever the moment would come that Alex and I locked eyes. Eye contact was generally avoided during the ceremony. I sat too many rows back and think my stomach would have fallen out of my ass if we looked at each other when two people were getting married. I much preferred the idea of a dramatic, but subtle and tamed, wedding reception gaze at one another.

Breana found me during this time, sans Matt, which probably meant he was with Alex. As I hugged her, I feared Matt and Alex would come looking for her like she was some lost puppy. I felt ridiculous but Breana understood my predicament and didn't question why I was looking over her shoulder the whole time we spoke.

Cocktail hour wrapped with no sign of Alex, which meant I didn't get totally hammered before dinner. I was seated with AB and Shay, who were now engaged as well, and I spent the whole of our time together staring at the rock on her finger.

Right around when I began to dive into dinner, I spotted Alex eating at his table. His back was to me. I wondered if we were intentionally seated that way so we didn't have to stare at each other from across the room.

Cake was given and I managed not to ball my eyes out during the first dance. AB and Shay escaped me to do their own dancing, I felt impossibly envious and deeply regretful that I had not shacked up with someone to bring as a plus one because weddings are disgusting and lonesome when you're watching all the cute couples dance.

I made friends with the only other single gal at my table, Dolly, one of Katie's friends. We travelled to the bar together with interlocked arms, despite the fact we barely knew each other. We both got a margarita and cheers to an okay night, whatever that might be.

"I haven't been to a wedding in years and suddenly it feels like everyone is getting married," Dolly said.

I hummed and swallowed my drink. "We're getting to that age when you're either a single loser or having babies."

"My younger sister is engaged and I don't even have a boyfriend. How much of a loser does that make me?"

I leaned against the bar and deposited my empty glass, requesting another one. "It makes you smart."

"Can you tell that to my parents?"

We shared a laugh and the bartender gave me my next margarita. A tap was felt on my shoulder and the voice rang through my ears, "Hey you."

I managed not to fully choke on the liquor running down my throat. I covered my mouth to prevent a major coughing fit or spitting the liquid out onto him. "Hi."

I wasn't sure what else to say. He stood there. I noted the uptightness in his posture. He smirked to hide his nervousness as suaveness. I knew he had to be nervous because I was too. I did get a kick out of him being the one to approach me. For a change, I no longer felt like the girl falling at his feet.

After too long of a silence staring at one another while Dolly surely thought we were looney, Alex asked, "How are you doing?"

I nodded. "Fine." I was being dry and rejecting, leaving nothing for him to grasp onto. This was the crossroads. I could be cold and watch him walk away dejected, getting immense pleasure for the power I had over him. However, who was to say I did not have that power over him anymore? Who's to say I wouldn't have just come off as awkward and a loser? A boring single loser.

I could’ve smiled and asked him how he was and acted out pleasantries that were likely too sweet to be believable coming from my lips. Silence hung and I wasn't sure what to do. I took a sip of my drink and Alex did the same with his. It was a game. Whoever finished their drink first had to speak.

"I've just been chatting with Dolly here," I told him. I lost. Or won. I wasn't sure. I requested another drink pulling myself further on the road of alcohol poisoning. "How've you been?"

"Fine." He was smiling—no more than that—a shit-eating grin. He was mocking me. He was two seconds away from breaking into an uncontainable laugh. "I've been fine. The usual."

I hummed like some wise old man. "Yes, the usual. And what would the usual be?"

He shrugged and swirled his drink, looking down at the spiral forming around his ice. I wasn't sure what game we were playing. I felt like breaking the ice but it slowly began to feel like we were freezing ice between us. Everything was awkward and cold and Dolly was just staring at the whole thing.

She threw her pickaxe into the mix. "Jane and I were just talking about how it feels like there are suddenly so many weddings this year. I've got two more I've got to go to in the summer."

Alex pulled himself away from his hypnotizing drink, adjusted his suit jacket, and swung back into action. "It does feel that way, doesn't it? I suppose that's what your late twenties is." His eyes bore themselves into me and he sipped on his drink.

"For some of us," Dolly said. "The rest of us are left to deal with the scraps."

"Aw," Alex rejected, "you ladies aren't scraps."

Dolly replied, "I never called us scraps. It's you men that are the scraps."

I giggled and Alex tossed between a frown and a chuckle like he couldn't decide how he was supposed to react. "The ones that haven't been potty trained yet," I joked.

"We aren't all so bad, you know," Alex said. "Some of us at least know how to aim."

It broke me out into an embarrassing laugh. One that had me trying my back to him and leaning on the bar because I couldn't bear for him to see me clutch my stomach and snort my drink out. Dolly and Alex laughed more at me than the joke and I turned back in shame as the two of them stared at me. "Sorry," I muttered through my amusement.

Dolly shook her head at me. "All these weddings have made me acutely aware of how single I am. I've become one of those people who bitches and moans about that to people I barely know."

I relaxed against the bar and sipped away. "Welcome to the club."

"The only benefit of being single at a wedding is a chance of catching the bouquet," she stated.

Alex stood amused by Dolly, chuckling at her and sliding his hands into his pockets. "If it makes you feel better I don't even get a chance to catch the bouquet." His eyes drifted to me a moment later like he was waiting for a reaction. My eyes moved to Dolly. I realized this was his way of informing me he was single. I didn't know how to take that.

"You two are very Debbie Downer," I said. "You're 28, not the 40-year-old virgin."

Dolly straightened up. "You're right. I'm spiraling too much. I should be focused on the open bar and having fun."

I lifted my drink. "That's the spirit."

"My friend's just gotten married. I'm chatting with old and new friends. I could stumble on the love of my life tonight instead of bitching and moaning. Or at least a plus one to the next wedding."

"Husbands are overrated anyway," I stated.

Alex chuckled, grabbing my attention again. I almost forgot he was standing there. "Is that the subject of your next book?"

I pointed a finger at him. "You know, that's not a bad idea. At least for an article."

Dolly placed her glass down on the bar. "I'm gonna hit the dance floor. Care to join me?" I wasn't sure which one of us her question was directed at.

Alex eyed me and I eyed Alex. I looked back at Dolly and told her, "I'll catch up with you after I finish my drink."

She looked at me with a hint of something that I refused to acknowledge. "Don't spend the whole night by the bar," she warned.

"I won't," I promised as she walked away.

I leaned back at the bar and focused on my drink and not the man in front of me. It was easier to digest my decision that way because of course I only stayed at the bar for my drink and not anything else at all. Totally.

"She's nice," Alex said. He was still nursing the remaining liquor in his drink, even though the ice was beginning to melt.

"Shall I set the two of you up? We could be at your wedding this time next year," I quipped.

Alex feigned some laughter. "I don't think I'm ready for that kind of thing."

I narrowed my eyes. "Wives overrated?"

"I haven't found out yet." We stared at one another with the knowledge that whatever move followed would determine the rest of the night. I didn't finish my drink right away and he never took another sip of his. "How are you?"

"You already asked that."

He playfully rolled his eyes. "Right, you're fine."

It made me laugh and I dropped my shoulders, no longer feeling a need to be tensed up. "I've been busy but I like what I'm busy with."

"That's good."

"You?"

"The usual."

I rolled my eyes this time. "You're so funny, Al."

"What else would you like me to say?" The question posed so much with so little. We could run down a thousand different avenues with that one question. I could beg, I could insult, I could walk away.

I disguised my blushing as red-hot amusement. "That you've become a grand master in chess or learned how to get a ship into a bottle."

He gestured his glass at me. "You know, it's not as hard as you think."

"Come on, you have to give me something to work with. How else will I relentlessly make fun of you?"

"Like you don't already?"

I tossed my head back, pretending I was exhausted by him. I never could be it seemed. "I need new material."

He rattled the ice in his glass and moved closer to me, leaning his side against the bar. "I've been trying to learn magic tricks."

"Are you going to pull a coin out from behind my ear?" I hid my smile in my drink.

"I never said I was good at it." He placed his glass down at the bar like he was establishing his place there. "Have you learned any new tricks?"

I couldn't deny it then. He had confirmed it right there. He was flirting with me. I didn't know what to do with it or how to act on it so I just sipped my drink and didn't dare look at him. "I've taken to doing the New York Times crossword every morning."

He laughed at me. "How long does it take you before you look up the answers?"

I refused to allow him to see me blush. If I could dive into my drink, I would have. "Probably ten minutes." He laughed with me. "But they're just hints. I'm allowed hints. The Sunday one is really hard."

"I believe you. I know how smart you are."

His closeness was beginning to make me uncomfortable. I turned my body and leaned my back against the bar like I had so many times before. "There was a crossword clue mentioning Sheffield a few weeks ago."

"Really?” He perked up. Something about it felt so childlike or maybe like a dog who hears the rustling noise of a bag of treats. “What was it?"

"It was easy. Something like ‘stroller in Sheffield, 4 letters.’"

"Would it be a pram?" He looked at me expectingly like he was awaiting cheers to erupt.

"Ding ding ding," I sounded. "You're not as dim as I thought."

"Oh, thanks, Jane." He tried to act offended but his voice edged with mirth and a smile tugged on his lips.

He opened his mouth to speak but I beat him to it. "I think I'm going to go dance."

I placed my empty glass down on the bar and watched as he let delight spread across his face. "I should've known Backstreet Boys would get you on the floor."

I crossed my arms. "Well, it is ‘I Want it That Way’ after all. Just be happy I'm not screaming it in your ear." I turned away before he could say anything else. I joined Dolly in horrible dancing and singing as the margaritas blasted through me.

I lost Alex in the crowd. I think he might have been with Matt because I found Breana on the floor. I grabbed both her hands and spun around with her. At some point we had formed a mini circle of girls, kicking off our heels, and jumping around.

Perhaps it was too early to be shaking the floor based on some side eye we were given. Out of breath, Breana and I decided to step back into our shoes and sit down. She leaned toward me. “So, what have you been up to?” Her eyes were wide and coming onto me alluringly.

I held my stomach and worked on quickly reinflating my lungs. “Are you hitting on me?”

She pushed away from me with a laugh. “No, I’m just curious what you’ve been up to this evening. You’ve got your eye on anyone?”

I stared at her. “No.”

“Come on, the only benefit of going stag to a wedding is taking someone home with you.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “When did everyone become so sex obsessed?”

“I don’t know. Maybe in the last year or so. When did you become so prudish, Jane?” She teased.

I countered, “I don’t know. Maybe in the last year or so.”

I debated the idea of it but thinking of trying to hook up with a stranger at a wedding kind of disgusted me. Maybe because Alex was there. I think I also didn’t want to be the one trying to seduce someone. I wouldn’t deny a Four Weddings & a Funeral situation, especially if I got to be Andie MacDowell.

Breana stood up and asked, “Should we get a drink?”

I slumped in my chair. “Maybe. I feel like I might be too drunk already.”

She laughed. “There’s no such thing at a wedding.” She reached out and grabbed my hand. “Come on. I’ve barely had any. Take me to the bar.”

I guided her through the crowd to the deck of the bar. Along the way, I decided she was right and that free alcohol is free alcohol. We both indulged in cocktails with pieces of fruit and straws. “This is so sweet,” she said. “I feel like I’m gonna vomit.”

I gagged. “Don’t talk about vomit.”

Breana waved her hand to someone behind me, gesturing for them to come toward her. I looked behind me to find Matt and Alex. I kept my eyes trained on Matt and smiled and waved.

“Jane Cavendish!” Matt drunkenly cheered. “I heard you were crawling around.” He slung me into a hug. I returned it despite how sweaty he felt and how hard I was trying to not laugh at him.

“Matthew J. Helders III,” I returned his proper greeting.

Breana tucked her arm under Matt to keep him upright. “Maybe we should sit down,” she suggested. When Matt insisted otherwise, she decided for him, taking him over to their table, and leaving me with Alex.

He took a step forward towards me. “And I thought I was going to be the one to get hammered,” he said.

“Night’s young and the bar is still mighty full.”

He eyed my drink. “What’ve you got there?”

I stirred my straw, clunking the ice against the glass. “I believe it is called a woo woo.”

“A woo woo?”

“Yeah, it’s vodka, cranberry, and…” I took a sip. “Peach Schnapps. I’ve never had it before but I quite like it.” I eyed the hand around his glass. “And what do you have? Your bourbon,” I mocked, continuing to sip away at my woo woo.

“I go for reliability over experimentation.” He sipped his with a piercing stare at me.

I couldn’t tell if he was making a pointed comment at me or trying to make some eloquent quip. Either way, I didn��t care. I liked my woo woo too much to care. “You’ll never know the joys of a woo woo then.”

“Gimme a sip then.” He curled his fingers, beckoning me to move the drink toward him.

I handed it over. “Sip out of the glass, not the straw.”

He chuckled. “I’ve kissed you but can’t share a straw with you.”

I was determined for my face to stay neutral. “You’ll get the bourbon taste all over it.”

“Oh,” he sarcastically said.

He began to chug out of the glass until I pulled it out of his hand. “Get your own if you love it so much.”

“It tastes like candy floss.”

“No, it does not.” I sipped just to check. “It definitely doesn’t. I don’t think you’ve ever even had candy floss.”

“I’ve had it. Might have been 20 years ago now but I’ve had it,” he insisted.

I looked out at the crowd dancing. I had no clue what time it was or how long we had been there but it felt like no time had passed and hours had passed at the same time. I wasn’t sure what had a greater effect of time distortion Alex or alcohol.

“Have you danced at all?” I asked him.

He leaned an arm against the bar, slowly inching closer and closer to me. “Is that an invitation?”

“No,” I claimed, “I’m waiting for them to bring out more food. Can we get a second serving of cake?”

Alex chuckled, standing up straighter, no longer coming off as leering. “You haven’t had enough sugar from your woo woo?”

“Well, if I don’t have any food to soak up the alcohol than I won’t remember the rest of the night,” I told him.

“I think they’re bringing out pretzels soon.”

“Hard or soft?”

He smirked. Him and his dirty mind. “Soft, I think.”

“God, I could eat like five of those right now.” I felt like my stomach would rumble so hard it would shake the building causing a microearthquake. “What time are they doing that?”

He shrugged.

“You’re no help. You’re supposed to have the insider information,” I complained.

“I didn’t plan the wedding.”

“Go find out for me,” I commanded. I was desperately hungry and desperate for him to get away from me. It was his gaze that made me blush from a shared nervousness and awkwardness. I didn’t know how to act around him anymore, not with the way he was acting.

The wave of my hand shooed him away and he disappeared into the crowd again. I got a Moscow mule and went back to my seat. Before Alex returned, the soft pretzels were taken out and I was first in line. I got back in line before I even finished my first one.

When I spotted Alex across the room, I raised my pretzel toward him. He raised his woo woo back at me.

AB, Shay, Dolly, and I chatted over our pretzels and drinks at our table. Shay looked sleepy, leaning her head against AB’s shoulder, and I knew they’d be heading out within the next half hour. Dolly kept throwing her head back in laughter, even when the conversation didn’t prompt it.

I wiped my hands clean of salt and, encouraged by the group, chugged the rest of my drink. With the empty glass, I stood, curtsied, and headed to the bathroom. I was buzzed, maybe even drunk by that point, but still felt in control despite my heeled shoes growing bothersome. I was ready for another drink. Well, after I peed.

When I left the bathroom, he was standing there, acting casual with a drink in his hand and tapping his foot to the music, but I’m not sure why he would be standing outside the women’s bathroom unless there’s something I don’t know about.

I walked up to his profiled body. I placed my hands on my hips as the upturn slowly occurred on my lips. “Are you stalking me now, Al?”

“How was your pretzel?” He wasn’t being concealed. He couldn’t control his smirk and it felt like every second passed in a thumping heartbeat.

“Same as yours I’m sure.”

“I didn’t get one.”

“Well, maybe you should. They were good.”

“I was gonna pop out for a smoke. If you wanna.”

“Wanna what?”

“For old time’s sake.”

The nostalgia played a role but the look on his face tugged at me and as much as I wanted to deny it, I wanted to go out and smoke with him too. For old time’s sake. I was also itching for a cigarette and bumming one off Al was as good as anything else.

Night had covered the outside world. The once warm day had turned into a breezy night. We walked to a park bench outside the venue. The wood grates pressed through the fabric of my dress and I took the opportunity to curl my legs behind me and rest my feet.

Alex handed a cigarette to me before pulling one out for himself. I startled him by reaching into his coat pocket, perfectly aware of where his lighter was. I lit my cig before tossing it to him. I leaned back against the iron bar and watched as the smoke left his lips.

“Talk,” I urged him.

“I’m in charge?” He questioned.

“You brought me out here.”

He chuckled. “Nicotine brought you out here.”

I looked out onto the scene in front of us. It wasn’t particularly interesting. There was a car park and a field and the venue. There were some other people. A few were smoking, some leaving, and a few getting fresh air or trying not to act too drunk. “I’ve got a lot of addictions.”

“Woe is me much?”

I snorted. When I faced him, his eyes were already trained on me with a smile. “Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?”

“Dark and mysterious might’ve worked on me in college, Jane, but I know you better now.”

“You knew me pretty well back then,” I reasoned. “As I recall it.”

He hummed like if we looked into each other’s eyes long enough a wormhole would form and we’d be taken back in time to 2003. “You’ve always been easy to read. You did put up a good wall back then though.”

“Nothing compared to yours.”

He broke eye contact with me for the first time. He turned completely away, staring at whatever lay before him on the other side. “I have the reputation for it, I’m sure.” He looked back at me like he couldn’t resist it for too long. It burned me. He could have put his cigarette out on me for all I know. It burned a hole through the center of me. Too much. Too hurtful.

“Well, I was still able to read you pretty well.”

“More than I would’ve liked,” he said. “There I go sounding all despondent. How’s your next book going?”

I shrugged. “Somewhere. It’s been a little complicated lately. New ventures. And a new agent.”

“Ah, the post-Jackson era?”

“Yeah, kind of fucked that one up. Business wise.” There was no reason to get into all the personal propensities here or ever because I can barely recall that mess and have had limited desire to, clearly. “Lisa’s my new agent. She’s lovely and nice but it’s different. Jackson was my friend too. I guess I have a habit of not knowing how to keep friends.”

“It’s a natural part of growing up,” he tried to assure me.

“You are aware of whose wedding we’re at?” I longed to have friendships like Alex’s. I felt like I couldn’t hold onto those things. I think it’s easier for guys or maybe that’s just a grass being greener mentality.

He couldn’t argue, instead breaking into laughter. “Yeah, you are a bit shit at keeping friends.”

“Hey!” I whacked him.

He held his hands up. “I’m kidding. You’re my friend after all.”

“The aforementioned: a bit shit. Case and point.”

He laid it out. “You make things too awkward.”

“I think the situation is awkward.” Is there a proper way to interact with her ex? If so, I haven’t quite found it yet. There’s a fine line, especially with Alex. I felt we were always tiptoeing around our situation. That was the problem with never addressing anything. With no formal break-up, we never discussed and unravelled how things went down. We stayed tangled and flipped back and forth between the closest of friends to distant figures in one another’s lives. Here we tried to find the middle ground.

He pondered what I said for a minute. He sat with it and took a few drags before saying, “Who am I to talk? I’ve made my own messes.”

I almost didn’t ask but it was getting late, memories crept up on me, I felt warm, and he felt close. “With Arielle?”

Alex turned away, clearly not wanting to dive into it. I could see the environment pulling away at him too. He leaned against the bench’s backing and laid his arm on it. “Yeah, not that it would have worked out anyway.”

I felt myself leaning closer like he had lassoed me and was pulling me in. “What do you mean?”

He let out a half-suppressed laugh like he couldn’t help but laugh at the situation. He put out his cigarette but didn’t move an inch from his seat next to me. “Did you think you were going to end up with Jackson?”

To prevent the situation from travelling too deep, I leaned my temple against my fist, and joked, “I don’t know. Cavendishes are historically unhappy in their marriages.” I followed his suit and put out my cigarette, but stayed glued to my seat next to him.

He didn’t look at me when he said, “If you’re going to be unhappy at least aim wealthier than Jackson.”

I wanted to ask if he meant him.

I wondered what my next move should be. There was no longer anything between our fingers excusing us to sit outside. I felt my continued participation in the conversation would reveal something. I was probably reading into it too much, but it was sending him a signal I didn’t know if I wanted to give off.

“Should we go back inside?” I asked.

“Why?” His questioning sent a shiver down my spine. “You getting cold or something?”

“Thirsty,” I claimed. I feared he’d attempt to take his suit jacket off and throw it over my shoulders.

“You dipsomaniac.” He stood up beside me and we walked back in together toward the bar. I got a Tom Collins because I liked the way the bartender decorated the glass with the lemon slice and a drink would distract me anytime I needed to think of something to say.

Alex got something boring. I don’t remember. “What number is that for you?”

I stirred and thought. “I don’t know. I guess that says it all.” I stared out at the crowd of people on the dancefloor shimming to “Billie Jean” in a wild manner. It comforted me that the age of the crowd had levelled out and the sobriety of the crowd had diminished. “Have you danced at all this evening?”

“I’m not that drunk yet.” He took a mighty gulp. “You offering?”

I shook my head. “I don’t want my toes broken.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m a good dancer.”

“Not when you’re drunk.” Alex would shake, thrash, and toss when drunk dancing. He loses all control of his limbs and his coordination is deadly for someone who already suffers in the department. “What song would get you on the floor?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Chicken Dance.”

“This isn’t a school dance. Serious answer.”

“Why? You gonna go give the DJ a request?”

“I’m just curious. No need to accuse.”

“Some Spice Girls.” He smirked.

I glared at him. “Don’t mock me now.”

“Let’s get it on,” he offered.

“Huh?” Uncertainty lied in my reaction.

He raised an eyebrow suggestively. “Marvin Gaye,” he clarified.

“You’re not funny.”

“Then why are you smiling?”

The booming of “Single Ladies” blasted through the room interrupting any proper answer. I held my glass out to him. “Keep it safe for me?” I asked.

He nodded, wrapping his fingers around the cold glass. “Good luck,” he taunted.

I stuck my tongue out and headed to the girl-filled dancefloor. We bumped shoulders with one another and Katie pretended to throw it several times before finally releasing it. The bouquet twisted and turned and flew through the air before it landed directly into Dolly’s hands. She squealed and clapped her hands together, having won the ultimate prize.

When I returned to Alex and teased me with a pout on his lips. “I’m sorry you lost.”

I took my drink back and took a quick sip. “Eh. It’s probably better if I'm not the next to get married. Logically it’s actually Breana right?”

“Does it count if you’re already engaged?”

“I have no clue.” I sipped away and he stared at me. I felt like I was about to melt under his gaze. I almost asked him why he was but I knew why. Alcohol, wedding, single, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together. So. “Say it.”

“What?” He questioned.

I dropped my drink onto the bar with a blatant stare in my eye.

He shrugged like he wasn’t being obvious.

“Okay,” I sighed. I picked my drink up and finished it off.

I was prepared to walk away when the beginning notes of “Spice Up Your Life” began to play. Alex was taken way by laughter. Through his chuckles, he asked, “Did you request it?”

“No,” I said, “you saw me the whole time.”

He grabbed my hand tightly. “It’s fate.” With that he walked toward the dancefloor, dragging me behind him. I was laughing too. I couldn’t help it. I was happy. And drunk but that made me happy too.

His hand was warm and he felt firm. He dropped it when we reached the floor but we moved and jumped like we were toddlers still learning how to stand properly. He made faces and moved in a way that made unstoppable laughter wrack through me. I felt buzzed from the inside out, every limb, bone, vein affected by him.

It was too much. Drunk I could handle it but even the power of him made me feel nauseated as if it was eating me alive. I was risking too much. The fun of it was slowly overtaking me, wrecking the moves I had made to change things.

After a few more songs, the music cut. We watched as Jamie and Katie left and with it, the reception was pretty much over. I turned to Alex, who was already looking at me. Always looking first. “I’m glad I got to see you,” I earnestly told him.

“You leaving me now?” I kept feeling like he was pulling my leg. He was constantly smirking at me like he was playing some trick on me. Like there was some inevitable shoe about to drop.

“Everyone is leaving now.” The room felt like it had emptied quickly, a stark contrast to the packed reception.

“Do you wanna…?” He scratched the back of his neck.

I laughed at him. I’m not sure why. I think because he reminded me of his younger self. Even with the gelled hair and pushed-back shoulders, he still kept his awkward mannerisms and inability to get to the end of sentences. “Do I wanna what? Know?”

“Shut up.” His eyes fluttered slowly. “Talk to me more. I’ve got a mini bar.”

“You’re inviting me to your hotel room?” I raised my eyebrows at the implication.

“Yeah. Don’t be so dirty, Janie.” He hadn’t called me that in a while. “I just want to catch up more. I miss talking to ya.”

I stared at him blankly. “Right. Okay. I’ll get my purse and coat. I assume this is all on your tab.”

“Overpriced little bottles are on me. I’ll meet you out front.”

We sat on the carpet hotel room floor which I’m sure was probably covered in all kinds of germs and diseases but that night it was covered with little empty bottles and Alex and I leaning against the bed and dresser respectively.

I sat barefoot and he rubbed my feet. I don’t think I asked him to, it was just out of instinct. I couldn’t protest because they ached so much. He had taken off his suit jacket and loosened his tie enough that he might as well have just taken it off. There was no need to keep up appearances in front of one another.

I downed the little vodka bottle. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anything from the mini bar. My mother usually came prepared.”

“We did that one time,” he reminded me. “In Bristol. You got so hammered I doubt you remember.”

I giggled. “I remember the hangover. And I’m sure I’ll remember the one I’ll have tomorrow.”

“Drink some water.”

I shook my head. “Nah. I haven’t reached that level of intelligence yet. Plus, I don’t think I can get off the floor.”

He slumped against the bed like a ragdoll. “Yeah, I don’t think I can either.”

“We should just stay here forever.” It was a joke. Intended to be one, at least.

Alex smiled. “Yeah. Okay.” He moved his head around to stay awake and rubbed his eyes. “Make me laugh.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. You always find a way.”

I thought but humour abandoned me at that moment. It felt like all the funny had been kicked out of me. I decided to spill my guts. “On the plane ride here I decided to watch Eyes Wide Shut because I had never seen it before. I wasn’t aware of the massive orgy and the flight attendant had to come over and tell me that I couldn’t watch porn on the flight. So that was fun.”

Alex had fallen over into a fit of laughter. It eased me up and my embarrassment felt a little lighter when I knew it brought joy to him. “I’m going to tell some gossip mag that Jane Cavendish watches porn on planes.”

I kicked him with my foot. “Shut up.”

He collected himself and sat up straight. His look held so much in it. He looked like remembering and I wanted to experience every moment we had ever had together all at once. I looked away instead. But he didn’t and I could feel it. And then he said it. “I missed you.”

And like that, I was pulled back to him. My eyes looked into his and we were transmitting a longing we couldn’t dream of acting on. I smiled. “Me too. I’m used to it.”

He dropped his head. “Fuck.” His eyes plucked up. “Don’t say things like that to me.”

I crossed my brows. “Why?”

“‘Cause it’ll be what pounds through my head every night. Every day. How fucked up everything got. I’m wishing—I don’t know.” He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to erase himself.

I tucked my knees up to my chest. “I think it always was, Al. No need to beat yourself up over it.”

He stared at me as if to say, “Do you know who you’re talking to?”

I giggled. “We should move,” I suggested.

“No,” he whined.

With every fibre in me, I fought to stand up, eventually beating the effects of hotel-provided liquor. “Come on, mister.” I reached my hand down to him. He intertwined himself with me. Instead of me pulling, he yanked me down. Before I could shout a note of surprise, he silenced me. He kissed me.

It didn’t stop. He fought hard and I didn’t reject it. I was a phony and I could spout words of it being over for as long as I wanted but I don’t know if anyone ever believed it. How could they when it felt so good to kiss him? It was delicate and sloppy but I was sloppy too so I didn’t care one bit. It wasn’t about precision it was about emotion and I felt everything burning from the inside. It probably wasn’t smart but my other organs took over to act as my brain after it had been stifled from alcohol and his sweet words. I’d figure it out later. I’d keep him to myself for now.

We fell back on the carpet, my back hitting the floor and him towering over me. He tried to pull away to say something, to smile, or to breathe, but I wouldn’t allow it. I think if I looked him in the eye and he uttered a word it would have been too much so I didn’t allow it.

We became those people that soiled the hotel room carpet. In our refusal to get up off the floor, Alex pushed my dress up and his pants down and it was quick so we didn’t have to think about it. I felt sweaty and he tucked his head in the corner of my neck and kissed it, breathing me in. I pushed everything away and laid there with him because that felt good and I felt loved, even if those things were to have faded away, I was left with memories of when it was there and this was just a reminder.

When it was over and his out-of-breath body pinned on top of my out-of-breath body, I lifted my hand and tried to run my fingers through his hair. I pulled a face he couldn’t see. “Ew,” I remarked. “I’m not used to your hair being so greasy.”

I felt the rhythms of his laugh against me. He was quiet but his hands pried into the space between my back and the carpet and he hugged me to him. The tightness and pressure of it weighed on me and I could’ve been eaten alive by it if I didn’t think it brought him so much comfort. He nudged his nose against me and for a moment I forget we were on the floor of some random hotel. It felt old and familiar. Things didn’t feel so foreign.

“Bed,” I voiced. “I think I have rug burns.”

He lifted his head for the first time since. I saw the blur of his eyes and the thrash of his smile. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

I smiled back but couldn’t think of anything teasing to say. He pulled me to my feet this time and we found solace in the cloudy bed. Unspoken words sat in the gap between us and I could feel his eyes burn on me as mine began to flutter. “Al.”

He reached over and brushed my hair out of my face. He nuzzled closer to me with a comfortable distance one that caused an ember to shoot through me but not a wildfire. “We’ll talk in the morning.” And that was enough. It always would be.

I got up before him. I thought about waking him but that would mean facing things. With my pounding, but sober head, I panicked. I sat somewhere between losing it and jumping up and down. I stole his clothes, went to get a coffee, and sat in the hotel lobby. If he woke up, I wondered if he would have thought I left. I didn’t write a note or anything. Would it have brought him relief or disappointment?

My headache cleared somewhere in my people-watching time and with that, I was allowed to calculate my next move. Quickly I knew I didn’t want to leave. I would be an asshole move and I was trying to be less of an asshole. The communication part was hard. It almost made things feel more normal. Alex and I always struggled to get to the point. Last night it was the same way. We didn’t make sense of things. We only jumbled the Rubik’s cube up more.

When my coffee cup reached half-full, I went back upstairs. He was still asleep and I was left with nothing to do. Boredom was worse than inconveniencing him so I landed on the bed and began to shake until he woke. Asshole move?

“Alright, alright.” He placed his hand on my leg to stop my movement. He kept it there with no other words spoken.

“Hi,” I said.

He smiled. “Hi. Morning. Is that coffee for me?”

My eyes drifted off. “Well…”

He dropped his head on the pillow. It spread out across it in a new way. I was discovering new movements and how he looked different, not just with hair, but he gained new mannerisms and practices. He was teaching me new ways to act. I think part of me always wanted to be him. Being with him was the next closest thing.

His hands covered his face. “My head is killing me.”

“You can have the rest of it if you want.”

He threw the covers off and stood up. I forget he was naked underneath all that. I stared at his ass. I almost reached out to squeeze it but he turned too quickly. “No, I don’t want your slug.”

I giggled. It felt like an old routine. We were still the people we used to be. We had done this a hundred times before. I could do it a hundred times more. For a moment, it felt perfect. I think we only have a few of those, scattered across years and times; a clear view of when everything lines up and makes sense. Perhaps, the circumstances weren’t ideal, but I wasn’t thinking about that anymore. It was a distraction from everything else. I missed laughing with him.

“I can get you some milk,” I offered as he slipped into the bathroom.

Over a coffee, one bowl of Cheerios, and one bowl of Corn Flakes, Alex and I talked. Only a few people sat in the hotel’s dining area with us, scattered feet away from us. We slurped our cereal and Alex milked his coffee. It all felt disposable.

“I don’t remember the last time I sat and had breakfast,” I commented while spooning my Cheerios.

“Always rushing off somewhere?”

“I guess. Sitting at a table and eating by yourself feels weird to me. I usually get up too late for breakfast anyway.”

“You were up early this morning.” He sipped his coffee, still pepping himself up.

“Time difference. I’m all turned around.”

He nodded, perfectly aware of the struggle of time zones. “I’ve finally learned how to keep track of days on tour. Day of the week, month, number, everything.”

I smiled at his excitement. He could be so overjoyed about such small things. He paid attention to the small things. He was exceedingly good at spot the difference games because his eye was somehow able to take in all the fine details.

“When are you going back on tour?” I asked. The answer to our predicament lay in his answer.

“A week or so.”

I laughed in hopes of lightening the load. “Some honeymoon Cookie and Katie will have.”

“We are headed to New Zealand. It’s a beautiful place to go. You know that. Good hiking.”

“You sound like a travel agent.”

He leaned back and gazed at me. “Maybe I am one.”

I broke eye contact with the pain of letting him down. “Nice try.”

Alex nodded. He already knew my answer but held out for a change if maybe this had been one of the things I grew out of. “I’ll take pictures for you.”

“Email them to me,” I requested. “I miss your emails.”

He looked at me and didn’t say anything. He was pulling things apart in his mind. I could see his brain untying knots and straightening the wrinkles. He deciphered, walked down every path, and climbed every tree before he could have the best view of things. “When are we going to talk about…?” He gestured to him and I. Us.

Old habits were there for me to slip back into. It was easy to push away but he offered himself up to me. Him taking the first step alleviated me and the burden didn’t feel so painful to speak honestly. “Whenever you want.”

The ball was in his court and he bounced it a few times, double-checked its firmness, tested his racquet, and hit the ball back to me. “You’re going back to New York. Nothing’s changing that, right?”

“Yeah.”

He nodded along, working through things. His face stayed neutral and didn’t show any explicit reaction. He looked around the room as if the answers were playing hide & seek with him. “We’re touring all summer.”

“I know.”

Those words tapped into him. A smile crept out from the knowledge that I kept up with him, even if it was just the grand scale of his world tour. I didn’t lock him away from my mind. “Well, if you ever want to visit anywhere. I hear Germany’s nice in June.”

I raised an eyebrow. “With all the tourists?”

“You’ll fit right in with them. You can help me out with my German”

I chuckled. “I think your German might be better than mine.”

“Then I can show off.”

I toss my head. “Well, maybe if New York gets too hot. And someone pays for my flight.”

“You’re really milking me here.”

“I’m prostituting myself for you.”

He chuckled before all the humour sunk from his voice. “If you fall in love with some guy before then I’ll be happy for you, Jane. Or if you don’t want to do this—whatever this is—again, I’ll get it.”

It touched me, even though I knew it shouldn’t. I worried this was a pattern I’d repeat my whole life. “If you get a girlfriend I’ll kill you.”

Luckily, he smiled. “I’ll have to fight them off.” Eye roll. “Do whatever you want, Janie.”

I couldn’t look at him. I was too embarrassed that my cheeks were turning red. “I’ll be your Nell Gwynn.”

“Who?”

“Charles II’s mistress.”

He shook his head in laughter. “Only you would know that. Gimme more respect than that. I’m not some imperialistic floozy boinking everyone I see.”

“Boinking?”

Alex and I hugged each other goodbye and the next day I was back in New York. I had to attend this Writers in New York event for Gotham Writers where I got to wear a fancy blouse and suit jacket that made me look sexy professor librarian chic and not Hillary Rodham Clinton pantsuit disaster. I met up with a group of my writer friends because I had that now. There were all cool women because male writers are weird and either old or misogynistic or arrogant or all of the above.

I hung out with Maddie a lot. She was a year younger than me and worked as a part-time professor for The New School and spent the rest of the time writing part-time for Vogue Magazine. She was always complaining about how busy she was but she was always at these events. I had the opposite problem of having too much free time, although that was becoming less and less true.

We were smoking cigarettes outside with glasses of scotch and talked about how we wished we had cigars so we could be like those old literary professors we loathed. “All I need is a beer belly and a Viagra addiction and I’ll be lecturing at Columbia in no time,” I quipped. I took a drag like taking a deep breath.

“That’s until you get caught touching a student’s ass,” she joked back.

I waved her off. “I’ll get a cushy suspension package and be back in no time.” I sipped my scotch and was reminded of Alex’s hands around a glass. Maddie only vaguely knew about him and that’s why I felt the freedom to tell her. Opal could be judgy. (I did eventually tell her and she wasn’t surprised. She asked if it was worth it. I said yes. She said good. And that was that. Although, she did start to make plenty of annoying jokes about it but it was worth that too).

“Are you going to get back together?” Maddie asked with riveting curiosity as if she was reading through Page Six.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I weirdly don’t care. The ambiguity of it left a lot of imagining in the air. I don’t know when I’ll even see him again.”

“Do you want to?”

I nodded. “I still love him.”

“Then how can you not get back together with him?” The answer was always simple for me: love had nothing to do with our relationship. I would love Alex forever it would ebb and flow and change but I know we both would have a love for one another that only the two of us could fully understand. It was under lock and key in our minds and it was a shared experience only we would know about. It’s impossible not to love someone who shared that with you. It would not be ripped away from me.

When I got back home that night, Alex sent me an email with pictures of New Zealand. At the end of his length message, he wrote, Let me know if you change your mind. Australia is not too bad either. Or London. We could even grab a pint with Robert if you want though I would object to the threesome. I don’t need anything else making me insecure. Keep me updated and don’t drink too many woo woos. Love, Al.

The possibility of a vacation was wishful thinking. My second book was headed toward release and the summer seemed to fill my schedule up beyond a long flight to Australia that would likely cause me major sleep issues. London was a nice thought but having just been there it wasn’t likely. Moreover, I didn’t want to chase him this time. That’s what stopped me from saying we would get back together.

New York was too hot during the summer but I stayed in it. Alex and I talked on the phone occasionally. Conversations were usually mundane in the way I always loved. We were filling each other’s silence. Whenever we would get to the end and try and say goodbye the other thought of a story to tell and we talked for another hour. It was a dance we did. One time he tried to talk about it—whatever we were. I told him, “We’ll talk about it when we see each other again. Did you know the Eiffel Tower grows up to 6 inches in the summer?”

Fennel and Kaka threw a massive dinner party for their anniversary at Lotte New York Palace. I had never been somewhere so stunning in my life and with every move I was worried I’d break something and have to pay for it.

After dinner, I went out to the courtyard for a smoke. When I pulled the pack out of my clutch purse, I saw I had a missed call from Alex. He was in Iowa, back on the road. He answered after two rings. “Hello,” he said all formal and pristine.

“Heyo!” I cheered back. “What’s up?”

His voice was light and he sounded happy. “Nothing really. Wanted to see what you were up to.”

“I’m at Fennel and Kaka’s anniversary party. I told you about it.” We were back to that. We communicated about our days and lives and he no longer felt so far out of reach and with that I didn’t feel so far out of reach to my own self.

“Ah. Right.”

“I’m standing in this fancy hotel’s courtyard in a dress that is way too expensive to be stinking it up with my smoke right now. Fennel gave it to me as a gift for his anniversary ‘cause he’s a whackjob. It’s a 1997 Dolce & Gabbana sheer black lace gown thing and I know that doesn’t mean much to you but that’s expensive.” It was the perfect dress. I had never felt more tailored to a T. It’ll be a dress I give to my children because it deserves to stay in the family. Maybe I’ll be buried in it.

My hand moved down the lace just admiring it on my own body. He cleared his throat. “It means something to me.” I could hear the hunger in his voice.

I rolled my eyes. “Right. I forgot you’re André Leon Talley.”

He hummed. He had no clue who that was. “You should send me a picture so I know what it looks like.” He always struggled with subtlety in the seduction department. He didn’t even have a face that fell a certain way to hide behind.

“Alex, you’re not clever.”

“What?” He tried to act like he had no clue of his words or his tone that overflowed with lust. His voice naturally came off erotic after the effects of cigarettes, singing, and if you’re a person like me with a predisposition to a Northern English accent. “I want to see the Dolce & Gabbana. If you love it so much.”

“I never said I loved it.”

“Janie.”

I gave in because he was cute and horny. “I’ll send you the photo I took before I left. You gonna jack off to it?” I quipped. This was my version of flirting.

He snorted. “You’re so romantic, Janie.” (He didn’t deny it). “I’ll save you the trouble if you just want to have phone sex here.”

“You’re not funny,” I said back. “In fact, you’re a creep.”

“You’re horny.”

“Oh, my god. Ew, you’re disgusting.”

“No, you totally are. You only get freaked out by this stuff when you are. You turn into a massive prude when you’re turned on. Are you wet?”

“I’m gonna hang up,” I threatened.

He was laughing at me. “You’re totally gonna go into the bathroom and jerk off right now.”

“Bye, Alex. Have a nice time with your penis.”

I sent him the photo and refused to give into the idea he had of me and whatever his sick perverted fantasy he projected on to me. (I did it when I got home).

Alex visited me the last week of September. Fall had allegedly begun but summer weather remained to haunt. He decided to spend part of his tour break in New York claiming it would be cooler than LA but it was in fact hotter. Besides, if he wanted cooler weather he should’ve just gone back to Britannia.

He came in around dinner time, taking the subway to my apartment. He buzzed up and I met him at the top of the stairs because I didn’t want to help carry his belongings. After he dropped off his things and refreshed himself, we got dinner at Gage & Tollner, which was fancy but you could get away with wearing jeans. He made fun of me for getting oysters and we split a Baked Alaska for dessert because I had never had one before.

We went back to my apartment and watched Halloween H20: Halloween 20 Years Later, which made us feel stoned even though we never lit up. Alex was particularly fond of LL Cool J’s role. The movie has since become a staple around Halloween time.

I began flipping through channels after the movie had finished not wanting to watch whatever Superman movie followed it. It was nearing 11 PM and the options were limited to The 700 Club or some late night talk show.

I flicked away and Alex leaned over and kissed me. I was taken away by that programming. We slept together. I think that was inevitable. It was unavoidable no matter how much at dinner we joked and skirted around what had happened at the wedding. We waited until the night hours when the sun didn’t shine the truth on us.

In the morning, we fell into an old routine. I wore his boxers and one of my ratty white Hanes tank tops and he didn’t even bother to put on a shirt as we ate breakfast. We even did the crossword together.

We dressed for the day—I, in a skirt and some spaghetti strapped top, him, in jeans and a dark tee, unrespectful for the balance of the seasons. I was already sweating by the time we stepped outside. He was fine somehow, something I’ll never understand.

I grabbed an iced coffee from the corner cafe and we took the subway up to Central Park, walking from the south of it to the northern edge. “I never come here,” I told him. “It’s too long of a ride.” I didn’t mention that it reminded me of him. It felt stupid for a landscape so large and iconic to forever be tainted by one person that you’d avoid said landmark. Well, it was also a 40-minute subway ride away and Brooklyn had parks of its own but Al still liked to go to Central Park.

“I loved going here,” he said. “I would come up here while you were at work and go somewhere new every time but always ended up watching someone play baseball.”

I laughed. “You’re gonna end up coaching one of these days.”

“Like Little League or something?” He questioned.

I didn’t answer questions about little children and Alex being the coach of some kid’s baseball team. Not just some kid but his kid. “Why’d you never tell me that?” I knew about his love for Central Park but these excursions were mysterious. It would be a simple shrug on how his day went and he would say he went to Central Park and then that was all. I never asked what he did there either. I was less interested in other people in those days.

He thought about it as we climbed up the makeshift stairs for a hill. He scratched his cheek with his mouth in an open circle. Chewed up whatever he was thinking in his mouth. He landed on, “I don’t know.” He chewed some more. “It felt more special that way. It was something just for me, you know? We did so much together that…I don’t know.”

The way he put it made secrets feel like a sweet thing. The omission of things is actually a treat and was something for me to be endeared by now. Suddenly, every other thing he kept from me, those nights were he sat far away from me and smoked outside with a closed notebook, they were all delights for him and not things I pondered about until I fell asleep.

“Did you feel a need to keep things from me?” I blamed myself. Even in that moment, I knew it was stupid to feel that way.

“No.” He thought about it a little. He moved his face, twisted it up in a way that I knew he didn’t fully believe that. “Not intentionally.”

We were descending the hill when I asked, “What’s that mean?” I was lighthearted about it. I had the attitude that what was done was done and it had been done so long ago that it almost felt like another life. I had a dull edge to it.

“Young and a natural inclination to be taciturn. It wasn’t even that big of a deal. I just walked around but I think I didn’t have a lot of things that were my own here. You had a whole life here that I wasn’t apart of.”

I almost told him that wasn’t true but I could already picture the look he would give me and I would agree that it was probably true. I acclimated much quicker to New York with a job and friends. I don’t think Alex ever fully adjusted. “I always worried about what you were keeping from me and I’m realizing now that it was probably just a bunch of your typical dorky shit.”

“Oh, thanks, Jane,” he chuckled. “I didn’t mean to come off that way. Truthfully, I just didn’t have a lot going on in the first place.”

“You were bored here.” It never occurred to me that Alex could feel the same as me. Call it being in your twenties and raised with selfish role models. I’m still undoing the whole world revolving around me thing. I am writing a book about myself so…there’s that.

He tossed his head from side to side. “I wouldn’t say bored. Not by New York. I think I was bored of myself.”

“Are you still?” He was the most fascinating person to me I couldn’t imagine the idea of being bored or tired of him. He saved me from boredom endless times. Just the idea of him, daydreaming, fantasizing, lamenting over him. I did it all.

“Sometimes. Not as much as before. Kinda too busy to deal with that.”

I nodded and sipped the last of my iced coffee before tossing it. “A rare benefit of no free time. I’m no longer so concerned with myself because I don’t have time to be. Only in the mirror in the morning really.”

“When you give yourself pep talks?”

I jabbed him with my elbow. “I did that one time. Maybe if you gave me a pep talk before that job interview I wouldn’t have had to do it myself.” He was still laughing at the memory.

We stood on the top of Bow Bridge and watched as people sat on the lake in their rowboats. “You wanna do that?”

I scoffed. “No, rowing hurts my arms.”

He gave me a taunting grin. “Weak.”

We walked up to The Met. They had an exhibit called Early American Guitars that piqued Alex’s interest but they didn’t have that many so we ended up going to the In Miniature exhibit that piqued my interest because I like tiny things. We roamed the halls of it until we got too hungry we had to leave for lunch.

I wanted to go to Lexington Candy Shoppe but Alex insisted he was so hungry he couldn’t walk the three blocks to get there. So, we bought hot dogs and sat on the steps of The Met. “I can’t remember the last time I had a hot dog,” I said.

He was chewing and trying his best to not have his toppings fall on his clothes as he said, “Neither can I.”

“I thought I would hate it but I kind of like it which is totally disgusting because this hot dog has probably been sitting in his cart for like years because you know they buy these in bulk for sure and then they are sitting out there all day until we order them and then they are thrown in this dirty water that they never clean but it’s still good. In fact, it’s probably the best hot dog I’ve ever had and it’s disgusting. I’ll be burping hot dog all day but it’s worth it, I think. I was starved and this feels like my death row meal.”

He listened, nodded, and said, “What would you be on death row for?” Because that’s the kind of person Alex is. He listened to that whole rant about hot dogs and appreciated it. I think he might have some sanity issues because I don’t really know how a person can put up with my level of talking and enjoy it. He claims to.

“Stealing hot dogs or something. I don’t know. Or a hot dog cart license. Do you know how much money they make? I read an article that hot dog stands make over $100,000 per year but a license, especially in a place outside The Met or Central Park is so expensive that not your average Joe can do it. Maybe you should invest in something like that.”

“Wouldn’t I then have to run the actual hot dog stand?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe you can hire a guy to do it for you. Because it’s never women is it? Have you ever seen a woman run a hot dog stand?”

“Do you want to work at a hot dog stand?”

“No. Maybe only men are gross enough to deal with that dirt water boiling thing. I think we need to break the gender barrier on that.”

“This sounds like a great piece for The New York Times. Front page news.”

I laughed with him. “Don’t mock me. I’m serious.”

“I know. Truly I’m entranced by you talking about hot dogs. I don’t think any other person can do that. I think you should write a piece about it.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”

“Kind of. Then again, I think you could write a piece about anything.”

Saturday night I had plans to go out. It was the standing day of the week and counted as my job falling somewhere in the category of “networking.” I told Alex that he could come along or spend the night in at my place or get up to whatever secret shit he wanted to.

He strangely enthusiastically said, “No, I’ll join ya!”

The Good Room (horrible name for a club) had opened that year and it felt like everybody who lived in Brooklyn went there, at least everyone I knew. It was loud and seizure-inducing but still probably the best club in Brooklyn. Not that I really go clubbing anymore.

Drinks were heavy and it was the kind of place where you felt like the night would never end, the music would keep going and the party would never die down. Alex met some of my friends. They shouted their names at each other and shared the experience of dancing in the middle of a booming bass speaker. It didn’t make for good conversation but it was a nice bonding experience.

We were there until the night became morning but not as late as most of my friends stayed. Alex was leaving the next day and even though the flight wasn’t until the afternoon he still wanted a good night’s sleep (and time to do other stuff).

Before we left we had a smoke outside because tradition is tradition and few things in life are as good as being sort of drunk, dark outside, and Alex standing beside me. It also left time for it to feel like the world was cracking open in front of my eyes and daunting truths that I didn’t want to let slip from my lips now felt powerless to stop them from coming out of my mouth. “We should probably talk about it now. Before you go.”

He nodded but didn’t talk.

“This is a bit of an endless cycle,” I said. “You and me and maybe—”

He interrupted. “Let’s talk about it later.” He wouldn’t look me in the eye. The ground was much more interesting. “After the tour.”

“Okay,” I muttered. Anything not bite-sized felt impossible.

We left it at that. The routine didn’t change but everything was tinted differently. A sense of goodbye haunted the area. We were numbed by alcohol. In the morning, we hugged goodbye tightly like we were two old pals. As if we were in a timeline where all we ever were to each other was friends.

Photos were taken of us outside the nightclub and it made me laugh. I have a sense of humour about these things that might be misplaced but Alex and I joked about it as if we’d be cutting it out and placing it in our scrapbook. Like the conversation being photographed wasn’t some awkward jolted painful thing. Like we weren’t some awkward jolted painful thing.

History Lesson was released on the first day of November. It was less eventful than my first book. I suppose the second time around isn’t as exciting. You’ve already conquered the mountaintop and after people aren’t as shocked you did it a second time. Or maybe it is more shocking? If you do it well I guess, which was kind of the consensus for that collection of stories. It sticks out like a sore thumb and maybe my lack of enthusiasm was because I wasn’t super satisfied with how it turned out.

Still, I did a book tour for it, which was fine. I’m still not a fan of tours. I like home. Whatever or whoever that is at the time.

It was the last one I ever did and with reason because I don’t really see why authors have to tour and scattered signings around major cities are fine with me. I went to Syracuse on this tour. Syracuse is not fun in winter.

But I ended up in LA. For Alex and me, this was the benefit of touring.

He came to the event. I think I hated that most of all about the book tour. He showed up before it began and we grabbed a coffee at this place on the corner because I hate Starbucks (I wish it was in the social justice way but no they just always mess up my order). He joked about showing up at the table to get his book signed and I said if he did that I’d skin him alive.

Luckily, he didn’t. We talked about the book briefly, mostly him just being nice about it, things that weren’t true despite his continued claim that they were even after I told him to shut up about it. We walked back to the bookstore and I refused him being in the audience of chairs so he walked around and stood out of my view. He said he wouldn’t listen in but I know he did.

On the drive back to his place, he wouldn’t stop talking about how eloquently I had spoken. I think he got a kick out of the way I told him to stop and would duck my head to the side so he couldn’t see I was blushing.

“And you always said you were a horrible public speaker but you’re a fucking good one,” he enthused.

We were stuck in LA traffic. “I think you’re gonna need your eyes checked, Al. I said ‘um’ about a million times and stuttered while reading my own words.”

He shook his head. “You’ve heard me speak and you think you’re bad at talking.”

“You know, we can both be bad at something. It’s not a competition.”

He chuckled tightly, almost embarrassed by it, covering his mouth as it rippled out. “Oh, my god. You of all people are saying it’s not a competition.”

I squashed my laugh the best I could. “Fair enough. But I think we both lose either way.”

He made me dinner. I couldn’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal. One that was sloppy and that he forgot to bring out a fork for me and he oversalted it but I didn’t say anything. It was too lovely to ruin with my criticism.

“I would love to learn how to cook but there’s barely any space in my apartment so if a fire starts the whole place would burn down right away,” I told him over a glass of wine.

“As long as you can boil water, I think you’re fine,” he assured me. “You could come out here and practice.”

I furrowed my brows. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve got a lot of space in my kitchen. If you ever wanted to try or something.”

I didn’t engage with his suggestion. I wanted to enjoy my stay and whatever this was. My response to it, a rejection of LA and moving out here again for him, would ruin that bliss. I changed the subject and everything else went along smoothly.

My stay was supposed to be for a week. As the week moved further along, Alex dropped words about how warm LA was compared to the bitter cold New York had become. Again, I didn’t engage with it. We enjoyed our time hiking, movies, drinking, and having sex.

We didn’t kiss outside the area of sex. If one of us kissed the other it was a clear message of “Hey, I’d like to fuck you now.” We both had free schedules and a large house to ourselves so it was easy to engage in this behaviour.

One evening, while I was giving him head a pain shot through my mouth. I pulled back instantly clutching my cheek. “What?” He asked. “What’s wrong?”

I shook my head not able to talk with the pain in my mouth.

“Are you okay?”

I shook my head again.

“Okay. Okay. What can I do?” His concern was unimaginably sweet but I couldn’t help my amusement of his hard dick standing there while I winced. “Medicine?”

I shrugged but after I opened my mouth an inch and excruciating pain rippled through my whole body I quickly nodded.

Alex ran off to fetch some. I sat trying to dissect the pain. I felt around my mouth with my tongue and the pain just increased more. He returned to the sight of my body curled up on my side and my face scrunched up barely able to look at him.

He held my back to help me sit up. I struggled to open my mouth to take the pills. After I swallowed, he asked, “What hurts? Did you break something?”

I managed to mumble. “Mouth. Teeth.”

“Did you break a tooth?”

I shook my head.

“You still have your wisdom teeth, right?”

I nodded and pointed a finger, emphasizing that this was definitely that.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be in this much pain.”

“I’m fine,” I muttered. “Sleep make better.” I started to spread out on his bed.

“I think you should be able to talk more than Frankenstein’s monster.”

It made me laugh, which only hurt me more. It took me a while to fall asleep. He stayed up until I did.

My teeth were infected. Not only infected but impacted. They were laid on their side, unable to fully erupt, stuck in my gums, infecting them, and now my mouth. Of course, they had erupted just enough to begin slicing the side of my cheeks.

It was determined through the emergency dentist, Alex, and myself that I would not be going back to New York with my wisdom teeth. I couldn’t imagine going through airport security with that level of pain, I could barely make the car ride to the dentist.

On the ride back from the consultation where it was determined that I would need to get them removed as soon as possible but still had to wait until they had an opening, Alex joked, “Do you think my cum infected it?”

It was so gross and disgusting and made me laugh so hard that I forgot about the pain for a moment until it shot through me again. As I winced, he took one hand off the wheel and placed it on my shoulder, squeezing it and rubbing my upper back for the remainder of the car ride. I wanted to kiss him, kiss the hand that was the only comfort I had, but it hurt too much.

After I got them removed, drugged up, and gauze stuffed in my mouth to stop the bleeding, I talked in muffled words as the dentist told Alex the aftercare instructions. I felt warm all over him watching him listen intently to the dentist but also stare at me and my messed up swollen face. He made faces at me to make me feel a little better like I was a baby he was playing peek-a-boo with. I don’t remember anything I said but Alex said I was emotional and very funny. So, not much different than my regular disposition.

The hazy effect of the drugs began to ease up on the car ride home where I was able to at least follow what was going on around me. “I love drugs. Modern medicine is great.”

“Yeah, you’d probably be dead from the infection otherwise.”

I stared at Alex. “Wow, thanks. That’s really comforting.”

“Well, you’re not dead.”

“Thanks, Al. I didn’t realize.” I laughed. I don’t know if I found it funny or the drugs found it funny. “I would’ve had to have you use pilers to get them out.”

He grimaced before shaking off the thought. “Well, all of your wisdoms gone. What are you going to do now?”

I rolled my eyes. “Very funny, dad.”

In the days of recovering, we camped out on the couch. We talked occasionally but that was tough for me in the first few days. Alex did a good job of taking care of me. Better than I would have done that’s for sure. He made food and searched high and low for these freezy pops I like that had a tough time being located in winter.

As I began to get better and actually function independently with manageable pain, the question of when I would leave was raised. The unanswerable idea of what we were doing remained until the swelling in my mouth went down and I told him, “We should probably talk about it before I leave. You know, boundaries and rules.”

He smirked. “You’re very proper.”

I shamed him for making me laugh. It was always his greatest tool in distracting me. “I’m serious.”

“Shall we write up a contract?”

I rolled my eyes. “Alex.”

“Jane,” he sighed. He leaned against the back of the couch, placing his head on his fist. He looked too relaxed for my liking. I was mulling things over, stuck in distress and he looked fine as ever. “You’re going back to New York. I’m staying here.”

“So, we should…end it.”

“Is that what you want?” He was wide-eyed like he either didn’t want to believe me or didn’t believe me at all.

I almost lied. It would have been easier. It would heal the wound and not leave things festering to be hurt more. It would be closure but that would have been boring. “No.”

His mouth ticked up. “There it is then.”

I raised an eyebrow, still completely lost on our status. “Are you my boyfriend again?”

“Do you want me to be?”

I threw my hands up in the air. I pulled my hair into a bun feeling too heated to have it down. “Why do I have to make all the decisions?”

“Everyone knows you wear the pants in the relationship, Janie.”

“Sexist,” I quipped.

He smiled all-knowingly like he had a premonition of how this was all going to turn out and he was just waiting for me to realize it. “Do you want me to make the decision?”

I shrugged. I liked having my way but I no longer wanted to drag the person along with me, kicking and screaming. “I’d like your input. I care what you think.”

“I think you’ll go back to New York and I’ll stay here and in the next couple of months maybe I’ll visit and maybe you’ll visit or we meet somewhere. I could be your boyfriend then. If you wanted.”

“Like during those visits?”

“Yeah, and if during those times when you’re alone in New York if you want to go out with some other guy then that’s fine with me.” He was very matter-of-fact. Not one ounce of jealousy poured out of him and I realized that it no longer bugged me. It kind of turned me on more than a jealous Alex ever did. He trusted me. Go figure, that’s actually a good thing.

I smirked at him, inching closer. “Is this just your rule so you can bang a bunch of hot girls?”

“No,” he chuckled, “if I wanted to bang hot girls I wouldn’t be driving you to the airport tomorrow.”

I blushed because he was saying things like that and looking at me like that and I wasn’t sure how I was going to be able to get on a plane tomorrow when I wanted to be doing just that.

“And if at some point New York gets boring or too cold or if LA burns down or people talk about their cold-pressed juices too much then maybe we’ll end up somewhere together.”

The idea felt mature and practically and maybe a little flawed but it felt like a Sex & the City adult relationship. We both knew what we could give the other and this time expectations were set to prevent disappointment.

He kissed me for the first time since the surgery. We didn’t have sex after. He just wanted to kiss me to kiss me.

a/n: i hope this isn't too alexa chung coded. anyway, i'm very proud of this chapter. maybe just because i wrote so much. so i hope you like it. happy v day.

#alex turner #alex turner fic #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x oc #alex turner x reader #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x you #alex turner smut #junedenim #beneath the boardwalk

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