Page 9 of Exit Lane
“Me, too, actually.” His eyes spark, like a challenge. “By Washington Square Park. I can’t believe we’re just now bumping into each other.”
“How do you guys know—” Gabby’s trying to read us, I realize.
“Iowa, technically. But make no mistake, Marin and Iwere not friends. I simply escorted her to the city in my busted, hand-me-down Buick at Sloane’s insistence, and then Marin told me she never wanted to see me again.”
Is that what I said?
“Sorry, who’s Sloane?” Gabby turns to me now, and it hits me. I’ve never mentioned my best friend to her in the four months we’ve been quasi together. Gabby doesn’t know the most important person in my life’s first name.
“Uh, my college roommate, sorry. I’m sure I’ve brought her up. I haven’t seen her in a long time.” I try to downplay the relationship to soften the blow, but then I feel like an asshole for acting like Sloane means anything less to me than she does. “She set up—not, like, romantically—she set up me and Teddy to drive here on graduation day.”
I try my best to look totally unfazed by the mess I’m making with this run-in and how I’ll have to clean it up later.
Teddy’s eyes search for mine, and I make an effort to avoid his gaze. The appropriate thing would be to actually introduce Gabby and tell him we’re dating, but I can’t bring myself to. “Nice catching up with you,” I say instead, reaching for my pool cue.
He laughs, like he’s genuinely charmed by my dismissiveness. “Is that what we just did? Well, hope to do it again soon.”
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and he tracks the movement, bites his lip, and turns back toward his group.
Determined to prove to myself and to Gabby that theTeddy run-in was in fact innocuous, I finish the game, grab her hand, and drag her to the musty bathroom.
“Who is that puppy dog of a man, and what did you do to him?” she asks as I slip off her jacket and sling it over the sink.
I laugh, kissing the spot where her neck meets her shoulder, but I’m finding it hard to focus. “Teddy was my long-haul Uber driver. He was obsessed with Sloane.” I’m on my knees, pulling at Gabby’s jeans, desperate for her, trying not to correlate the sudden need I feel with the man I just saw. I am reckless, untethered.It was that call withSloaneearlier, I tell myself. It has nothing to do with seeing the ghost of Teddy Past.
“Hey—” She plays with my braid. “Can this wait until we’re back at yours?” She’s trying to let me down gently. She’s seen me hungry but never... depraved. Never with all caution and cleanliness abandoned. “Come on,” she says, reaching for my elbow. “I’ll get you a real drink somewhere with proper lighting.”
As we settle into a bar down the street with twenty-dollar cocktails, I take in Gabby. She is the most beautiful person here, easy. And yet, I am angled toward the street, straightening my back at the sight of anyone who looks remotely like Teddy walking by. I refuse to try to determine whether it’s something I’m avoiding or all I’m hoping for.
Gabby takes a work call outside, and I join her to smoke. The ancient cigarette at the bottom of my bag’s a pretty lame excuse to scan the other side of the street. Her face hardens on the phone, one hand blocking the other ear.“It’s kind of important.” She rolls her eyes. “I have to deal with it. But it’ll just be a few hours. Finish your drink. I’ll meet you back at yours.”
I don’t know what time it is, but I nod. I kiss the corner of her mouth goodbye.
Living in the city feels like a fact of my life, as natural as the weather. But nursing a Manhattan alone at a bar on a Wednesday night is exactly the type of scenario that reminds me of the wonder and improbability of it all. I pay the tab and walk the sidewalks the same way I used to when I first got here. I try to push Teddy into the recesses of my subconscious in the same way I used to when I first got here. All I’ve programmed myself to care about is work, my sister, my mom, and Sloane. Realizing I never told Gabby about Sloane, let alone my dad, makes my stomach turn. I can’t land on a reasonable explanation. I decide to keep wandering while my feelings crystallize. The farther I inch my way uptown, the clearer my desires become. I might not know exactly what my next move is, but I am sure of one thing: There’s only one way to end this night.
Teddy
Of course the first time I see Marin in three years, she’s making out with the second-most beautiful woman in Josie’s. My instinct was to run onto the street, call Carter, tell him that not only do I think about Marin every day but that I just saw her, in the flesh, as if his call conjuredher. But instead I stayed put, because it meant that I could watch her, even if only out of my peripheral vision, even if it was to see her slip into the bathroom with someone else. She’s still Marin. I’m still me.
“You sure you’re up for this?” Cleo asks. “You look pale.” I nod, pulling on my jacket to follow the rest of our pared-down crew to St. Mark’s Place. At some point, Sad Girl Karaoke became the official Judicial Oversight after-party. The one rule: only ballads and singer-songwriters. It makes for horrible performances and the best time. We roll up, nodding at our usual guy who brings pitchers of lukewarm beer into the private room before we can even open the laminated songbook. Someone chooses Bonnie Raitt, our patron saint of SGK. But tonight, even a criminally bad rendition of “Case of You” can’t keep my mind from racing. Marin was right there. And I couldn’t even get her number or ask her for coffee. And what if I had? It’s not like she’d want to be friends. I’m sure she’s forgotten about the drive mostly, the kiss entirely.
When it’s my turn, I flub what was meant to be a heart-wrenching cover of “Closer to Fine,” triggering a round of Miller Lites on me. Three steps from the bar, I stop dead in my tracks at the sight of a sweatered shoulder pulling a whiskey shot. Its owner is bent over the surface, conspiring with the bartender. I see the flash of a smile I memorized years ago. It’s a mirage, brought to me by the combination of beer, Indigo Girls, and hyperfixation. I swear I’ve never felt the divine appointance of luck like this in my life. If it is, in fact, Marin Voss, I promise myself I won’t mess it up.
Her presence, even unconfirmed, calms something inme. I feel like I’m wearing horse blinders, unaware of a world outside of this single frame with her in it. She makes sense of everything in a way that makes no sense, and her mere proximity calls forth the calming hum of the tires on the road that brought us to where we are now. It might be fate or God or the waning number of East Village establishments open at this hour, but it feels like I’ve won the lottery twice in one night.
She grabs her drink, turns, and sees me. I hold my breath for her reaction—a response unburdened by the knowledge that I’m watching. When she smiles, every muscle in my body goes limp.
“Teddy McCarrel, you’re stalking me.” The way she says it, laughing and shoving my shoulder as she approaches me, I have to remind myself to breathe.
“Marin Voss, this is my territory. You can have Baby Grand, but Sing Sing is mine.” She laughs. We’re a barstool away from each other.
I search for her companion from before. “Solo at Wednesday night karaoke? Where’s your girlfriend?”
“She had work stuff come up. I wasn’t ready to go home yet.” I watch her debate elaborating. “Solo karaoke seemed... cathartic. And for what it’s worth: not quite a girlfriend.”
Before I can take it all in—cathartic, not quite a girlfriend—she continues, “Are you here alone, too?”
The idea of explaining Sad Girl Karaoke to Marin or introducing her to my friends makes my languid muscles tense. “My friends are just wrapping up,” I fib.
