Lost in Love (20 page)

SOMEONE WATCHING ME RIGHT NOW
wouldn't notice anything unusual. A camp counselor putting her group of girls on the bus that takes them home every day. Hugging a girl who gave her a necklace she made with pink and purple beads. Laughing at something another girl with rainbow tie-dyed shoelaces said. Telling the girls to have a fun weekend. The same routine someone would see if they were watching me out in front of the school any Friday after camp.

There is someone watching me right now. She's standing across the street, leaning against the chain-link fence, one leg bent up behind her. She is too far away for me to tell if I know her. But I get the feeling I've seen her before. Normally I wouldn't even notice someone standing across the street. Only . . . this girl is fixated. Her concentration is
so blistering it's radioactive.

The bus pulls away. I shade my eyes under the blinding sun, trying to figure out who that girl is. She pushes off from the chain-link fence. She starts walking toward me.

When she crosses the street, I realize who she is.

Nasty Girl. Addison.

The girl who spilled punch on me at the camp party. Who lied about working at the other camp.

The girl who told those horrible lies about me to Mica. Mica, who was going to be my good friend. Mica, who won't talk to me anymore.

The girl who hates me even though I'd never seen her before in my life.

I wipe nervous sweat from above my mouth. I cannot believe Addison is so twisted she's stalking me at my job. My heart is racing like it's going for a state record, doing wind sprints and jumping hurdles. Am I finally going to get answers to the questions that have been hammering away at me every single day?

Addison comes right up to me like she belongs here. All the other counselors are gone. The campers have all been picked up by guardians or taken away in buses. No one else is around. A shot of panic makes my heart race even faster. Addison could do anything she wants to me. Right out here in the open. There would be no witnesses. A few people are walking by across the street, but I seriously doubt any of them would notice us. Unless I screamed.

“Hello, Rosanna.” Addison doesn't bother fake smiling. This time she's practically seething.

“What are you doing here? I know you aren't a counselor at the sister camp.” I hope my pounding heart isn't showing. I would glance down at my shirt to check, but I don't want to break my gaze. A steady gaze implies confidence. She cannot know how afraid I am right now.

Addison is unfazed by getting called out. “Thanks for the discovery, Nancy Drew. Do you also know I don't really live in Mica's building?”

“What?”

“Yeah . . . I lied to Mica about us having the same housing. I actually lied about a lot of things. Sound familiar?”

“Why did you tell her those lies about me?”

“But I do live here,” Addison continues, ignoring my question. “In New York, I mean. Born and raised. So when I heard you were going to UNY and working here this summer, it was perfect.”

My heart stops racing. No more sprints. No more hurdles. My blood is cold as ice.

“How do you know about me?” I ask. “All that stuff you told Mica. How do you know all of that?”

“Oh, did I forget to introduce myself? My bad.” Addison sticks her hand out for me to shake, then drops it. “You know my uncle. Or, you knew my uncle. Back in Chicago? There was this rumor going around that he molested you. Do you know who started it?”

Oh.

My.

God.

The man who molested me when I was eleven was someone's uncle.

He was Addison's uncle.

Addison takes a step closer to me. Mascara is smudged under the outer corner of her left eye. There's something tangy on her breath. Sugary orange. No, grapefruit. Her gold metal bracelets clink together when she reaches up to tighten her ponytail.

“Because I heard it was you,” she says.

My mind begins to wrap around the horrifying reality that Addison is the niece of the man who molested me. But she's not on my side. She isn't about to apologize for what her uncle did.

She doesn't believe he did anything wrong.

“If you can spread lies about my uncle? One of the kindest, most generous people I've ever known? Then I have no problem spreading lies about you.”

“I didn't lie.”

“Did you really think you could get away with it? He's a good person. A real person. With a real family. A family who cares about him. A family who would do anything for him.” Addison shoves me. Not hard. Just hard enough to jostle me. “Including revenge.”

“Why would I lie about that?”

“Duh, for attention. Stupid girls do stupid things.”

“Addison. Think about it. Your uncle threatened to hurt my little sister if I told anyone what he was doing to me. The only reason it got out there is because I told my best friend and she told her mom. It's not like I was broadcasting what he was doing.”

“But your lies about him got out there.” Addison traces a manicured finger over the loop of her gold hoop earring. She squints at me like I am a lab specimen she's been assigned to observe. “You pushed him out of his town. He was forced to move away, which he couldn't afford. He's still in debt because of you. You destroyed his entire life.”

What about how he destroyed my life? What about how it's such a challenge for me to trust D, or how I'm scared to move forward with him physically? Why is Addison so determined to believe nothing happened to me?

“I didn't lie,” I repeat. But I can tell no matter how many times I repeat the truth, Addison will never believe me. She made up her mind about me a long time ago. Nothing I can do will change her beliefs.

“Did that punch stain ever come out?” Addison asks innocently.

“Why were you at that party if you don't work at the other camp?”

“Because I knew you'd be there, silly! Donovan's sister is super friendly. She didn't even question me when we met and I said I was a counselor. She told me about the
party and everything. So I wasn't technically crashing. I haven't seen her since the party. How
is
she?” Addison blinks at me with icy eyes. “Oh, that's right. You and Donovan don't hang out with his sister, do you? Why do you think that is?”

My face burns with shame. I've been wondering the same thing. He hasn't introduced me to his parents yet, either.

“Yeah.” Addison sneers. “That's what I thought. You know what else I think? I think things are about to get ugly for you. Real ugly.” She pokes me hard in the center of my chest. “I know where you work.”
Poke.
“I know where you live.”
Poke.
“I know more about you than you want me to know. And I'm not shy about using any of it. Oh, and I know all about Donovan, too. Which reminds me . . . how gorgeous is Shayla? We hung out last night. Shayla was at this club I just happened to be at.”

Fear tightens my throat.

“We didn't talk for that long, though,” Addison continues. “Just long enough for me to tell Shayla that you're going to break up with Donovan. You know, just so she would know he's available. As if she's not already acting like he is. But don't worry—I swore her to secrecy.”

I can't breathe. There's so much I want to say to Addison. But I can't breathe. I want to tell her off. I want to tell her to go to hell. I want to be fierce and confident and say that if she ever comes near me or anyone else in my life again,
I will take her down. But none of these things come out. The sad truth is that I'm afraid of her. I'm afraid that if I say any of these things I want to, she will come at me even harder. She's already angry enough. One wrong move and I could tip her over the edge.

“Anyway.” Addison gives me a bright smile. “Be seeing you around.” She turns on her heel and leaves me speechless and shaken under the blazing sun.

I mentally beat myself up on the subway ride home. Why didn't I say more? Why didn't I stick up for myself? That was my chance to speak up. I had a chance to defend myself and I blew it. I hate myself for letting her intimidate me. I feel so repulsive I can't even stand to be in my own skin. I am completely violated. Addison ripped me apart until I was naked. She scraped out my insides, ground them into the hot gravel, and smeared them down my chest. And I just stood there and let her do it.

By the time I climb out of the searing subway station, my fear and pain have expanded to fill every crevice in my body. I catch my reflection in some storefront glass. Frazzled. Sweaty. Gross. On the verge of tears. Is this how I look? I'm disgusting. My hair is spazzing out. The heinous combination of unbearable heat and humidity has whipped my hair into a curly, frizzy mess. This is my hair for the rest of my life. I'll never be able to afford to straighten it. Or even to afford better products to tame it. I am, and will always be, at the mercy of external variables.

The more I think about Addison and how her uncle took advantage of me, the more depressed I become. I try to be a good person. I'm struggling to scrape by even though I work hard. That's okay with me. But when it's still not enough to prevent abuse, torment, and deceit, that's not okay. I'm working harder than ever and for what? To be taken advantage of all over again? I thought I could start a shiny new life here. Reinvent myself in a city where no one knew me. But I was wrong. My past will always follow me. People like me will always get shafted while people like Darcy will keep getting more privileges. Darcy will never have to worry about the things I do, from big picture to trivial details. Right down to her hair. She has the kind of straight hair that does exactly what she wants it to do. Everything has been served to Darcy on a silver platter, superior genetics included.

By the time I get home, the subject of my miserable mental ruminating has shifted from Addison to Darcy. What kind of fantasy world was I living in, accepting those clothes from her? Darcy bought those clothes for me out of pity. She obviously sees me as a charity case. I thought we were actually becoming friends. What a joke.

The apartment is sweltering. But I don't care. Turning on the air conditioner would be like throwing money out the window. I'd rather sweat and save. I strip off my camp clothes and put on the skimpiest shorts and tank I have. Then I yank every piece of clothing Darcy gave me out
of my closet and throw everything in a heap on my bed. I rip all of my other clothes off their hangers mercilessly, the way Addison ripped into me.

My face burns with shame as I think about how I've been prancing around in these fabulous clothes Darcy gave me. Like I belonged in them. Darcy doesn't know what it's like to be so poor you can't afford to buy the yearbook, pretending like you're bringing back autograph books that year. Or what it's like to rummage through used clothes at thrift stores that kids from your school donated during charity drives, only to be exposed by one of the most popular girls in front of the whole class when she was like, “Isn't that my shirt? I thought my mom threw it out. Ew, did you dig through my garbage?” Darcy never had to pretend to be sick and stay home because she couldn't afford the extra fee for a field trip. She was encoded for success before she was even born.

Darcy comes home while I'm flinging my clothes everywhere.

“Why didn't you turn on the air conditioner?” she demands.

AUSTIN ASKED ME TO GET
together with him tonight.

I was looking forward to another boy break weekend while I was walking home from my internship yesterday. I'm working on elaborate warm fuzzies for all of my friends from high school. We're planning a party in August before college starts and most of them move away. Warm fuzzies will look cute on their bulletin boards. My boy break weekend also featured a whole season of
Gilmore Girls
to binge-watch and a whole watermelon to eat while I was watching.

I was thinking about whether I wanted to slice the watermelon or bust out the melon baller when Austin fell into step beside me.

“Hey,” he said. “Can we talk?”

“Depends on what you want to talk about.”

“Us, Sadie. What else is there?”

The way he said it, the mix of desperation and passion in his voice, made me stop walking. He looked like he was willing to do anything to get me back. He was the Austin I remembered.

“Can you meet up with me tomorrow night?” he asked. “There are some things I have to tell you. Things I think you'll want to hear.”

Butterflies flapped wildly in my stomach. That same rush I felt the first time I saw him came flooding back. There was no way I could deny that I wanted to hear those things.

So I said yes. He told me to meet him on the southwest corner of 55th and 5th. The butterflies are back as I stand on the corner waiting for him. I'm trying to figure out why we are meeting on this random corner in Midtown. Tiffany's is two blocks away. For a second I think Austin might be taking me to Tiffany's to pick out an engagement ring. Then I get a grip.

I look up and notice exquisite etching on the building across the street. There's an elaborate ivy pattern etched below each row of windows. A light suddenly blinks on in one of the windows. I love this time of day when city lights start to blink on. When the city wakes up for the night and every wish you ever had about summer city nights could come true.

Austin strides up to me. He must have seen me spacing
out from across the street. I was so deep in city love I didn't even notice him.

“Hey,” he says. “Thanks for coming.”

“Where are we going?”

“This way.”

We start walking toward 6th Avenue. Nobody says anything. Our silence is making everything else sound louder: the snap of my flip-flops, a police siren in the distance, and the tourist couple in front of us speaking a language that might be Hungarian. Walking with Austin used to be one of the most romantic experiences of my life. We would hold hands the whole time, talking nonstop. We couldn't take our eyes off each other. Every few blocks we would stop and kiss up against a building or even right in the middle of the sidewalk. But walking with Austin now is painfully different. It's weird not to be holding hands. It's weird that nobody has said anything for ten seconds. Or that he's not pulling me over to the side because he has to kiss me.

Is it weird that part of me wants all of that back? After everything that's happened?

There's a replica of the
LOVE
sculpture at 55th and 6th. I totally forgot that's where it was. The second I see it when we turn the corner, I know this is where we are going. We walk right up to it like Austin knows I know.

“You once told me you're in love with love,” Austin says. “You are the most romantic person I've ever met. So
I wanted to bring you here to tell you what I want to say. I wanted it to mean more than just words.”

My heart pounds. I'm having an epic feeling that what he is about to say will be monumental.

“I told her all about you,” he says. “My wife. Shirley. I told her that you're my soul mate. I told her that I've never felt the way I feel about you for anyone else. Including her.”

“That must have been really hard to hear.”

“It was. She said she wants a divorce.”

“What do you want?”

“The same thing. She was served with divorce papers yesterday. That's why I waited until yesterday to talk to you again. I wanted to wait until the papers were served.”

He actually did it. He actually left his wife for real. They are not only separated. They are getting divorced.

“So this is happening,” I say.

“This is happening.”

“You're getting divorced.”

“Correct.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“Relieved. Like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Like I can breathe again.” Austin tentatively reaches out to hold my hand. His touch feels too good to break. His eyes lock into mine. He says, “Like I can be with the person I'm meant to be with.”

Why does this have to be so freaking complicated? We
were meant to be together. Anyone who saw us together before could tell that from a mile away. But people can be soul mates and still screw it up. People can be oblivious to their issues or have no interest in working them out. People can lie and cheat and deceive. When you find true love, it doesn't always look the way you thought it would. Should the forces keeping us apart be forgiven just because the forces that brought us together were stronger? Forces that had been bringing us together for much longer than we were aware, in ways we will never know?

“There's something else I didn't tell you,” Austin says.

My stomach clenches. I take my hand back. Then I mentally prepare myself to make a run for it after hearing whatever other horrendous thing he kept from me.

Austin takes a deep breath.

“Shirley cheated on me,” he says. “We had only been married for five months when it happened. She reconnected with some old boyfriend from high school. They got together a few times. They didn't sleep together—or so she said, but I'm not sure I believe her. I had no idea what was going on until he called one night.”

The irony is not lost on me. Austin found out his wife was cheating the same way I found out he was married. I'll never forget how devastating it was when his wife told me who she was over the phone.

“Why didn't you tell me before?” I ask.

“I was embarrassed. I thought it was my fault somehow,
like I was lacking in a way she needed. No guy wants to admit his wife cheated on him. It sounds lame, but I thought you would think less of me if you knew.”

“It wasn't your fault. That was all her. Not you.”

“What she did doesn't excuse my behavior in any way. I just wanted you to know there was more to why I was planning on separating from Shirley before I even met you. Looking back on everything . . . I should have gotten the marriage annulled. But I felt obligated to make it work.”

“You should have told me you were married. You lied to me. Being honest now doesn't excuse lying to me then.”

“I know.”

An older couple approaches us. They have that comfortable vibe of people who have been married forever. At first it seems like they are going to ask us something, like to take a picture of them in front of the sculpture. But when the woman takes a closer look at us, she gives me a kind smile and gently pulls her husband away. She obviously could tell Austin and I are in the middle of something.

“I can't tell you how sorry I am,” Austin says. “All I can tell you is the truth. From now on, that's all you will get from me. The truth is, every other time I thought I was in love before seems ridiculous now. I love you more than the person I was married to. I love you for all the right reasons. Not just because I'm attracted to you or you live nearby or we have the same internship. The love I feel for you is the ultimate kind of love. The kind of love that makes you
want to be a better person. The kind of love that fills up every empty space in your soul. There's no doubt how I feel about you. I don't have to wonder if you're the one. I know you are.”

When you meet the right person, there's no doubt in your heart that the search is over. That's how I felt about Austin. How could I have a Knowing about something so right that turned out to be so wrong?

I couldn't. I was right all along. We both know what this is.

Austin messed up. He majorly, historically, catastrophically messed up. The thing is, he knows it. He feels horrible about it. And he's doing everything he can to make up for it. So it comes down to trust. Can I ever trust Austin again?

I know no relationship is perfect. Everyone has challenges to overcome. Maybe our biggest challenge came right away. If that's true, won't everything work out in the end? We have the kind of love people search for their whole lives and sometimes never find. What if I decide we're over and I end up walking away from the love of my life?

“Remember that sunset on Trey's roof?” Austin asks. “I already felt so close to you. We'd only known each other for what, one day? How can you explain a feeling that strong unless we're meant to be?”

His eyes look into me. Searching. Hoping.

“Will you give me a second chance?” he asks.

“I have to think about it.”

“Take your time. Whatever you need.”

Austin reaches under the middle line of the
E
in the
LOVE
sculpture. He peels off a square envelope that was taped there. He hands the envelope to me. The color of the envelope is almost an exact matching shade of
LOVE
red. There are rainbow heart stickers around my name printed in black on the front.

“I made you a warm fuzzy,” he says.

Oh my god. How can I be mad at a boy who made me a warm fuzzy? And came here early to hide it on the
LOVE
sculpture? Austin is too adorable.

I don't trust myself to stick around and get swept up in Austin's magnetic aura. I'm not totally sure I can let him in again, even with his warm fuzzy. So I tell him I have to go. We're both going downtown, but taking the subway together would be awkward.

“I'm going to walk for a while,” I say.

“Okay. Well . . . talk to you later?”

I nod, restraining myself from throwing my arms around him and kissing him like crazy. Being impulsive won't help either one of us. I have to think about this.

Austin crosses the street to walk west. I walk east back to 5th Avenue, then start walking downtown. The lions can help me decide what to do. They are outside the New York Public Library on 42nd Street. When I was little, my mom would bring me to that NYPL branch for story hour. One of the books was about the lion statues
outside the library on the grand staircase. The story said that the lions' names were Patience and Fortitude. The lions and I became friends that day. I said goodbye to each of them on our way out, petting their stone paws. These days they remind me that most problems can be solved with patience and fortitude. Both of which I could really use right now.

The traffic light across from the library turns green as I reach the curb. It's a good sign. The lions draw me into their protective fold as I approach the staircase. I pick a spot in the middle to let their collective energy envelop me. I focus on being in the Now like Darcy says, not thinking about Austin, not thinking about anything. Clearing my mind to make room for patience and fortitude.

Austin's warm fuzzy pokes out of my bag. I lift the bright red envelope out and open it. Inside is a card with a glossy photo of the
LOVE
sculpture on the front. The card is blank on the inside with this note from Austin:

  
Dear Sadie,

  
You are the love of my life.

  
You are the woman of my dreams.

  
You are my soul mate.

  
I will never stop loving you.

  
Love,

  
Austin

I'm not sure how long I have been sitting here when my phone rings. It's my mom. She's probably going to give me a hard time for not staying longer when I stopped by last week. But my mom doesn't understand that I needed to move on. Part of moving forward means not looking back.

“Guess where I am?” I say when I answer.

“Where?”

“Sitting between Patience and Fortitude.”

“You and those lions always were inseparable.”

“Sorry I didn't stay longer last weekend, but—”

“I'm not calling about that.”

“You're not?”

“Sadie.” Mom clears her throat. “I have something to tell you. About your brother.”

“What is it?”

“He's coming home for the rest of the summer.”

“No way.” Marnix never comes home except for Christmas. He always complains about the humid summers here. Arizona's dry heat works for him. “He loves Arizona in the summer.”

“He's not in Arizona. He's upstate.”

“What?”

“Marnix . . . was in a rehab facility for a while. Getting better.” Mom's voice breaks. “He . . . tried to commit suicide.”

I am completely shocked. I didn't know anything about this.

“When?” I ask.

“Near the end of last semester. Your father and I found a good facility for him upstate so we could visit him once a week.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Marnix made us promise not to tell you until he was better. Now he's ready to come home.”

How could something this drastic have happened to my brother without me knowing anything about it? How could I have been figuring out what to knit him for Christmas instead of how to help him when he needed help the most? True, we don't talk that much. We just don't have that much to say. But I should have been better about reaching out to him. Did he really try to kill himself? That doesn't sound like the Marnix I know.

It's more obvious than ever that I don't know my brother.

Marnix isn't someone I ever really knew. He couldn't wait to leave for college, either. I guess he had his own reasons to move on and not look back. Except now he has to look back. He has to stay at home for the rest of the summer so my parents can monitor him. He might even have to miss next semester.