Page 113 of Backslide
I shoot him an impatient look. “Noah. Be serious. Listen. Long ago…”
“In a land far, far away called New Amsterdam…”
“Noah!”
He is cracking up and, though his laugh is adorable, I want to kill him. On the upside, my frustration is a motivator for me to blurt out: “Shut up for a second, please!”
And he does.
“What I’m trying to say is that last night was so great, all of yesterday was amazing.Beyondamazing. But it can’t happen again because we have no future together and I live in New York and you live here and we’ve broken each other’s hearts enough and it feels really good to finally not be mad at you anymore after so many years and so, yeah. Okay?”
There’s a moment of silence while he absorbs this and I catch my breath.
“No,” he shrugs.
“No?”
“Yup, that’s what I said. No.”
“No to what?”
“No to all of it.”
“Noah… you can’t just say no!”
“Yes, I can. And I just did. Anyway, is it my turn to speak now? You had your chance. And, honestly, it was not your best work.”
I cross my arms over my chest and purse my lips. “Fine!”
Without warning, he pulls the car over onto a little patch of grass by a dirt road and turns to face me.
“What are you doing?”
“Having the talk you wanted.”
“But the oysters…”
“The oysters are headed nowhere good. They won’t mind stopping.”
I grumble but give in.
We’re back in full sun country and the light is blasting bright behind Noah’s head like a sign. Like he is destiny. Which I’m worried I’m starting to feel he is. And that’s dangerous. I need to have this talk, create ground rules, because it’s the grown-up thing to do. But it’s also about self-preservation. I am not at all sure I trust myself.
“You’re not wrong,” he says. “About our history, about our separate lives, about how much I rocked your world last night.”
“I didn’t say that.”
He toggles his head. “Mm. I’m pretty sure you did.”
“Maybe that’s what you heard.”
“That isdefinitelywhat I heard—multiple times.” He raises his eyebrows at me. I try not to blush. “But you’re wrong about a few things, too. First of all, I don’t live here. I live in LA. A city you love. Where you have lived before. Where there are many opportunities for art directors should they decide that winter is kind of bullshit and the sushi is better. Second of all… well, I can’t remember second of all. But the gist is this: You’re getting way ahead of yourself.”
“Am I now?” I roll my eyes. “Tell me more.”
“The long term may be complicated, but this moment is not,” he says. “We have one more night together before we all leave tomorrow. I get that the idea of the future scares you. Okay. That’s fine. Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s impossible. But there’s no reason whywe can’t see what happens before then, let tonight unfold however it will. There’s no reason to shut it down.”
He has a point. Maybe I am getting ahead of myself. Maybe the new me can just be in this moment and get what I can out of my time with him, then carry it with me as I reapproach my real life. At the very least, this experience has reminded me not to settle—not for the Alfies of the world. Not for anyone.
