30 Guys in 30 Days (14 page)

“What?” I said, hoping to stall for time and diffuse the situation somewhat.

“You tell me, Claudia,” he said. “What the hell is going on?”

“Nothing
is going on, Drew,” I insisted. “Except for the fact that I ran into some people I know and you’re totally freaking out.”

“Yeah, I’m freaking out, because apparently the people that you ‘know’”—he made sarcastic air quotes with his fingers—“are a bartender with cute nicknames pertaining to your alcoholic tendencies, and a stalker who’s looking to sexually assault you in the middle of a concert! Who, by the way,
claims
to have been on a date with you? I mean, huh?”

“Well, okay, but it’s not like I was
encouraging
either of them!” I shouted. The strain of being so close to Drew all weekend and not knowing where we stood, the pent-up emotions, and the incredible heat
of the club were all pressing upon me. I was ready to combust.

“Well what’s your deal, lately, that you’re coming to bars and drinking until you puke on your date? I’d be upset, you know, that you’re dating, but somehow I find it slightly more disturbing that you’re
throwing up
on your dates! Or going around with guys who
clearly
have, shall we say,
expectations
of you? I mean, is this why you don’t want to get back together? So you can puke on strange boys and beat off your more … aggressive suitors? Is
that
what your independence is all about?”

“My independence isn’t
about
anything, Drew!” I yelled. “I told you yesterday that I love you, and I meant it. I’m not looking to replace you! But being here, being away, on my own, is a chance to figure out who
I
am, just me, without any more outside influences.”

“So I’m an outside influence?” Drew asked, sounding appalled.

I lowered my voice. “In a good way,” I said. “I promise. But there’s a reason we each went to different colleges. We have different interests, and different sides of
our personalities that we need to develop. We owe that to ourselves. I’m not saying this isn’t hard, or that I don’t miss you—of
course
I miss you. But we made promises to ourselves and to each other, and I just think it’s too soon to recant.”

Drew shook his head sadly, uncomprehending. “I don’t get you, Claud,” he said. “I understand wanting to come up to Boston, try out a new scene. But I don’t see why that means tossing aside everything we had.”

“It’s not—”

“And don’t tell me it’s not, because it
is.
You could be here, doing your own thing, and I could be at Columbia, but we could still be, you know,
us.
Together. But you’d rather …” He trailed off, gesturing ambiguously in the direction of the bathroom. “You’d rather be binge drinking with strange boys than be my girlfriend. And I guess
that,
really, is where we’re different.” He paused. “Because I can do my thing and still be with you.”

I looked at him, chin hanging practically to his chest. He looked so defeated. I wanted to pull him close to me, to stroke
his hair, but I knew that wasn’t the answer. He was right: We didn’t want the same things. And therefore I didn’t have anything to offer him.

“I’m gonna go,” he said, finally.

“But—I have to—”

“You can stay,” he said. “You
should
stay. I think I need a little bit of time to myself.”

“Drew, I can’t let you go back to campus all by yourself,” I protested. That would have made me officially the Worst Ex-Girlfriend of the Year.

“Seriously, I want to,” he said. “We’ve taken that stupid shuttle enough times already this weekend that I could find my way back in my sleep. Just let me go back and relax for a little bit. Cool off.”

“If that’s what you really want,” I said, dubious.

“It is,” he assured me. “Come on, Claudia. If you follow me home, we’re just in for another two hours of awkward silence.”

“You have a point,” I admitted. It was annoying how Drew was always so logical. “But do you really think time apart will help you?”

“Let’s put it this way: It couldn’t hurt.”

“Okay,” I said. “In that case, you go and I’ll be home in an hour or two.” I fished my dorm key out of my back pocket and held it out to him. “Take this. But you’d better let me in when I get home.”

He laughed. “I swear. After all, won’t I need your meal card in the morning?”

I rolled my eyes. “Go. Now.”

He turned and loped up the stairs slowly. I leaned against the wall and watched him go, feeling a mixture of confusion, resignation, and plain old sorrow. Maybe Drew was right. Maybe “finding myself” was just some sort of euphemism for acting out a scene from
College Girls Gone Wild.
I mean, since when was a yak-o-rama my own personal declaration of self? Sheesh.

I sighed.

“Wow, I think that’s pretty much the sound of the weight of the world.”

I looked up. It was Gabe, looking concerned.

Huh?

“I’m just having a—what are you doing here?” I asked.

“I love Mad Salad. Wouldn’t miss it,” he said. He put his hand on my forearm. “I kind of overheard your argument. I’m really sorry you guys aren’t getting along.”

“You
overheard
us?”

He jerked his head in the direction of the bathroom. “I had to go. And then, you know … with the cat. And the curiosity.” He gazed at me with bemused interest. “Did you really puke on a date?”

“It wasn’t a date!” I said irritably. “It was a friend of a friend of Charlie’s.”

“But the barfing …,” he prompted.

“Sad, but true.”

Gabe burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, but that’s totally classic.”

I tried to stay frozen in irritable-mode, but Gabe’s laughter was infectious. Besides, it had been a really long night.

There was something off, though, about seeing Gabe at the concert. Something that didn’t feel quite right. At first, I couldn’t put my finger on it. But then I realized. “But Gabe,” I said, “if you love Mad Salad so much, why’d you offer your tickets to me? I mean, you could have
used them. You
should
have used them.”

“Well, I mean, I just …” He looked down and began to toy with a nonexistent piece of lint on his shirt. “It seemed like it’d be good for you. Something to do with Drew. You seemed nervous about the visit,” he said finally.

I stared at him, struck by his response. How incredibly thoughtful and considerate it was of him to not only suggest an outing for me, knowing that I was going to have a guest, but to offer me his tickets and inconvenience himself. It was generous to the point of being odd. I didn’t quite know what to say.

“Wow,” I said finally. “That’s … that was really thoughtful of you. I’m sorry you had to go buy yourself another set of tickets. I mean, since you’re a fan and stuff.”

He shrugged. “Not a problem. Glad to help out. I know it can be really awkward when the exes come to town.”

“Let me make it up to you,” I offered. “I could buy you a drink.”

He wagged a finger at me. “No way, young lady. That way leads to messy endings. I know your nickname, after all.”

I groaned.
“Please
don’t tell anyone at the
Chronicle
about this?”

He held his hand up, a Boy Scout taking an oath.

“Tell them about what?”

I looked up, and thought,
I should have known.

Standing next to Gabe and beaming brightly ahead was Kyra.

I tiptoed anxiously up the stairs to my dorm room, stepping around drunken couples giggling in the hallways. The building felt deserted despite the fact that I could hear movement and hushed whispering from behind closed doors. I reached the front door of my room and hesitated, nervous to enter, nervous to see Drew. I rapped on the door lightly, half-hoping he wouldn’t answer, though I didn’t know exactly what I’d do if he didn’t.

Of course, Drew hadn’t locked me out. He opened the door a crack, then pulled it back fully. The room was pitch-black, sharply divided by the shaft of light ushered in by the open door. Drew was wearing his boxers and a T-shirt, and his
close-trimmed hair stood up from his head in sleep-sculpted spikes and peaks. His eyes were half-closed. He pulled me inside and closed the door quickly.

I glanced over at Charlie’s still-made bed. “Where is she?” I whispered, as though afraid she was sleeping under her bed, or in her closet.

He indicated to a note taped to my computer monitor:
Sleeping at Shell’s. See you in the morning?

Oh.

Drew crawled back into my bed and burrowed under the covers. I stood, unsure, in the middle of the room. Given the night we’d just had, maybe the right thing to do would be to crash in Charlie’s bed until morning? But … the rumpled sheets where Drew had cocooned himself were infinitely inviting. And my conscience had apparently gone AWOL. It was
Drew,
after all. And he was here, in my bed. And I didn’t know when or if we’d have another chance to be together this way.

Soundlessly, I stepped out of my clothing, letting them fall to the floor. I slid between the sheets and draped one leg over
Drew, pulling myself into the negative space carved out by his chest. As I touched him, his eyes flew open in surprise. I reached out my hand and covered them again. He smiled. It was all the encouragement I needed. I leaned over and kissed him. And then he was kissing me back, holding me, as though nothing had changed.

And for that moment, for that night, nothing had. We were together, would always be together, emotionally connected if nothing else. We would always have this memory. I knew that, in the morning, things would be different; we would both have to face the need to move on. But morning wasn’t for another few hours yet, and until it came, all I wanted was Drew.

Morning did come, of course, and with it the harsh glare of sunlight, sharp after a night tempered by alcohol, high emotion, and slow, hazy sex. I woke up before Drew, early, to find him pressed against me, spooning me from behind. His arm was firmly cinched around my waist, and he was breathing heavy, even breaths. I could
feel his chest rise and fall. Carefully, so as not to wake him, I flipped myself around so that I was facing him. I ran my fingers over his face lightly, tracing his features, committing them to memory. I didn’t regret our actions one bit, but I knew that the moment he woke up, the magic of those in-between hours would be broken. We’d be back in real time, facing the fact that he was going back to New York, and that I was not going to be his girlfriend anymore.

He peeled one eye open slowly, as if sensing my gaze. “Hi,” he said softly.

“Hi,” I replied, snuggling closer to him.

“What time is it?”

“Still early,” I said. “You don’t have to get up.”

“I have a train,” he reminded me. “I need to be back in the city in time for that study session.”

Don’t go,
I thought wildly.
Stay here. You can live in the dorm with Charlie and me—she won’t mind. You can transfer.
But I pushed those thoughts aside. They were knee-jerk ideas, not true to what I knew to be best.

Reading my thoughts, he leaned forward
and kissed me. “Thanks for having me this weekend.”

I smiled. “Surprise.”

He touched my face lightly, and we kissed some more. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said. “I mean, I was hoping you would consider getting back together, but I didn’t, you know, have a plan—”

“It’s fine,” I said. “More than fine. It’s what I wanted. I think it’s what we both needed. Right?”

“Are you saying we slept together because we needed closure?” he asked carefully.

“Not exactly,” I corrected. “It’s more than that. There’s much more emotion to it. But that’s a part of it, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” he conceded. “But whatever the reason, I’m glad we had a chance.” He hugged me tightly. “You know I love you.”

I nodded. “I love you too,” I said. I struggled to keep the tears that threatened to spill down my cheeks at bay. Crying would not help this situation.

“I’m going to pack up,” he said, “and then I’m going to hop that shuttle again for South Station. So I’ll be out of your hair
as soon as I can get my stuff together.”

“It’s okay,” I protested. Now that he was actually leaving, all of my resolve had turned to dust. “You can stay in my hair as long as—”

“Claudia, I need to go,” he said, pressing a finger to my lips gently. “And you need me to go.”

We rose, and Drew showered quickly. I tossed the bedspread back down and messily centered myself on it, Indian-style, throw pillows cradled in my lap, watching him pack and offering small nuggets of mundane conversation. But really, there was little more to say. Finally, he had finished, and there was no more putting off his departure.

“Okay,” he said, standing stiffly and holding his duffel in one tightly clenched fist.

“Okay,” I said, pushing aside the small mountain of bedding I’d amassed, and rising.

“Look, Claudia, I’m not angry. I understand why you need things to be this way,” he said.

“Do you really?”

He shrugged. “I’m not going to lie. Seeing firsthand just what exactly your ‘independence’ consists of wasn’t, you know, the most fun I’ve ever had. I’m sure you’d feel the same way if you were in my position. But I respect you—I’ve always respected you, and I want you to be able to experience your first year at college just the way you want to.”

“I really appreciate that,” I said.

“There’s always the future,” he offered.

“Drew—,” I said.

“I’m kidding. Sort of. The point is, never say never. You do your thing, and I’ll do mine. And if we’re meant to be together again, I’m sure we will be.”

He was right. Which only made the reality of the situation that much more vivid to me. “I guess we won’t be talking so much?” I asked.

“Well, I am
always
here for you. You can come to me anytime, with anything,” he said. “But I think we both know that the best way to move on is, well … to move on.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with Drew?” I teased.

“I had some time to myself last night,” he reminded me. “It was good for me.”