“Are you drunk?” I slurred.
“Are you, MatthiUSSSS?”
“I nee’ take you somewhere, ’kay, Gracie?” I pulled her along as we stumbled out onto the street and down to the subway. We were laughing hysterically as we tried to keep our balance without touching the subway poles. The other riders were not amused. We got off downtown and walked a few blocks. “Look,” I said, pointing to City Hall, “we ssshould totally get fuckin’ married righ’ now, Grace! Thass the only thing that’ll make this ALL better.” I grabbed her shoulders and looked her right in the eyes, which were alight with happiness—or maybe it was drunkenness. “Wanna?”
“Thass a grea’ ideeea, Matt.”
I don’t know how but we managed to fill out all the necessary paperwork and fork over the fifty bucks. The justice of the peace, an irritated, short, red-haired woman told us, “You need a witness, and I’ve only got fourteen minutes left on the clock. You’d better hurry.”
“Wait,” I said, “Hold on.” I came back a few minutes later with a homeless man who said his name was Gary Busey. I had to pay him ten bucks.
The ceremony was over in about a minute. I think I said, “I do,” as did Grace, and then we kissed sloppily.
Gary Busey cleared his throat behind us. “Come on you two, get a room.” We hugged him and then ran into the bathroom and washed Gary’s overwhelming salami smell off our hands. When I came out, Grace was waiting in the hall. I held my hand out. “Mrs. Shore, may I have this dance?”
“Yes, husband, I would be honored.”
We danced around like fools for a few minutes and then stumbled out of the building, laughing. After we took the subway to the East Village, I gave Grace a piggyback ride eight blocks to Senior House, where we passed out, eating tortilla chips in the lounge.
* * *
DARIA SHOOK MY shoulder. “Matt? What are you two doing down here?”
I looked up at her and squinted. My head was pounding and the small desk lamp on the end table in the lounge was like a powerful Vita-Ray blasting my skull. “Oh shit,” I said, holding one hand against my head and the other against my stomach. I had achieved the mother of all hangovers.
I turned to see Grace passed out beside me on the grungy couch. “Grace.” I shook her and she groaned and made a pained sound, whimpering like an injured animal.
Daria helped us get up, and we headed to our rooms. I worshipped at the porcelain altar of a vengeful god all morning before passing out again.
Later, I went to Grace’s dorm and found the door cracked. “You okay?” I asked as I walked in.
“Yeah, come in,” she said. I found her lying on the floor, her face pressed to the germ-y carpet. Her pallor had a greenish tint to it.
Swaying in the doorway, I dry heaved and then braced myself against her desk. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Ouch,” she said, sounding like E.T. She reached her index finger out toward me and said, “Eliot, phone home.”
Chuckling weakly, I pressed my hand to my forehead and buckled over. “Shit, don’t make me laugh, my head is killing me.” I moved across the room and sat on the edge of the bed, my head drooping between my legs. “We got so messed up yesterday.”
“We got fucking married, Matt.” She opened her bloodshot eyes wide for emphasis.
“I know.” Although a part of me hadn’t been totally sure until now.
I looked across the room at myself in the mirror. My hair was sticking up in every direction, and there was a mysterious stain across my white T-shirt.
“Holy. Shit,” she said.
“What?”
“What are we gonna do? Was that even really official?”
I pointed to her finger, where I had placed a ring made out of a gum wrapper. I held up my own matching gum-wrapper ring. “I mean . . .”
“Wait. Did you say ‘nanu-nanu’ when you put this ring on my finger?” she asked. I gave her a guilty smile and nodded. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you did this for a bet, Matt! What is wrong with you?”
“Wait, what? How did you know?”
“Tati came by this morning and proceeded to roll around on the floor, laughing her ass off, while I puked my guts out. She said she’d been bluffing and couldn’t believe you went through with it. All news to me, thank you very much.”
“That bitch,” I whispered. “She still owes us a night out.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Hold on a second. You stood there, right next to me, with Gary Busey as our witness, and said I do. I didn’t force you to do anything.”
She sat up and held her head. “I was fucking wasted, Matt.”
“Grace, wait, let’s calm down and go lie on your bed.”
“No. No way. We need to figure how to get this thing annulled. Like, today.”
“We can get it annulled tomorrow. Let’s just take a shower and go back to sleep, okay?” She sat there, rubbing her head for a few seconds. “Or, and this is just a thought . . . maybe we don’t have to get it annulled?”
She looked up, shocked. “What? Have you lost your damn mind?”
Her tone was like a knife to the heart. She wouldn’t even entertain the idea. Granted, it wasn’t exactly an ideal way to get married, but she acted like the idea of being married to me repulsed her.
“You want everything from me, Grace, and then you act like this? Like being married to me is the worst thing in the world? Why don’t you just go to Europe with Pornsake? What difference does it make? We’re so young, and we should get to do everything we want to do. Isn’t that what you always say?”
“You know what? I should get to do everything I want to do. Tati’s right; maybe I’m turning down a great opportunity just to stay here and wait for you. Maybe I will go with Pornsake after all.” As the words left her mouth, I felt both of us tense up. I waited for her to turn to me, to apologize, to take it all back. But she turned away. She wouldn’t even look at me. “Leave me alone. I can’t deal with you right now.”
I stood up from the bed, fuming. “Don’t worry. You won’t have to deal with me ever again.” I stormed out of her room and slammed the door. I didn’t know what had happened, but in the span of a minute, I felt like my whole fucking life was over.
I waited a day, hoping she would come to me and apologize.
Nothing.
I waited another day, resisting the urge to apologize myself.
On the third day, I slipped the annulment paperwork under Grace’s door, if only to get her to talk to me. I heard her crying that night through the wall and then she played the Bach suite on her cello for three hours straight. I fell asleep with my ear to the wall.
Still nothing. Not a single word exchanged between us.
Days turned into a week. A week turned into weeks. We didn’t talk. I didn’t even see her. I felt like shit. When I’d hear her door open or close, it took everything in me not to run out into the hall and grab her and say, What the fuck are we doing to each other?
17. We Belong Together
GRACE
We hadn’t talked for weeks, and all the while I was brutally aware of time passing. Matt was going to leave for South America in six days.
I had lost so much weight since our fight, and I felt weak and sick all the time. It was impossible to concentrate on anything, or even think about having a social life.
Tati apologized profusely for being at least partly responsible for that afternoon that ended everything between me and Matt. “It’s probably for the best. You didn’t want to pull a Jacki Reed anyway, did you?”
Jacki Reed was a girl I went to high school with, and I used to tell her story to my friends like a cautionary tale. Jacki Reed used to brag at the lunch tables about her college boyfriend off in Nevada somewhere. For a long time, none of the other senior girls at my high school even believed the dude existed. Jacki always acted like they were so evolved because they were in a long-distance relationship—like that meant he liked her more. She actually referred to i
t as an LDR. I told her that you can’t make up acronyms for everything; people won’t know what you’re talking about. When we graduated, she enrolled in a shitty junior college in Nevada just to be near him, even though she got accepted to Yale. He dumped her two months later. Now she lives back home and works at the Dairy Queen. We all thought she was the biggest moron.
Poor foolish girl was probably just in love.
It wasn’t Tati’s fault, or the Jacki Reed story. Matt and I fell apart because the walls were closing in on us. Him serving the annulment papers to me proved to me that he wasn’t all-in like he said he was. He probably realized what I had realized: we were on separate paths.
Graduation was approaching so I spent a lot of time in my room, filling out forms for grants and trying to hide from everyone. Matt tried to stop me in the hall once, but I ignored him. I regretted it later when I saw that he had left a sandwich for me outside my door. I cried the entire time I ate it.
There was a stack of mail on my desk that I had been ignoring for a week because I knew what one particular piece contained. It was in a regular envelope, addressed to me by my mother. There’s nothing cheery about a standard, white envelope. I picked it up and stared at it. The front return address was blurry, like someone had spilled water on it. I realized, after reading the letter, that it could have been her tears.
Finally, one morning, I decided to open it.
Dear Graceland,
I’m so sorry that I couldn’t tell you this in person but there is just not enough money in the bank to pay for a flight home for you this summer. Your brother needed a new backpack for school and we hadn’t bought your sisters any new school clothes this year. Everything is falling apart. How can I say these words to you? Your father’s drinking has gotten to be too much for me. We are getting a divorce and he is going to live with your uncle. Your brother and sisters and I are going to move into Grandma’s until we can get on our feet.
I know your father loves you and we are so proud of you. We don’t want you to take any of this on as your burden. Right now we just can’t help out, and I don’t think we will be able to afford to come for your graduation. Please understand. You’ve always been so independent, and we didn’t think you would want us there anyway. You’ve always been able to make ends meet on your own, Grace, and we are proud of you for that. We love you. When you can afford it, come home and visit and we will make a bed for you on Grandma’s couch.
I must tell you we had to sell the piano and some of your things that I don’t think you wanted anyway to help pay for your sister’s tooth. We love you. Keep doing a good job.
Love, Mom
To say I was hysterical would be an understatement. I could not stop crying. How could they? I thought. How could they just abandon me because of their own mistakes? I didn’t even have a car or money to live on, and my mother was using my sister’s tooth as an excuse again when I had given her half of my student loan for it. Where had that money even gone? It was all too depressing to think about.
The second envelope was a notice from the Student Financial Services office stating that I still owed eight hundred dollars for housing. Sitting in the corner of my room as the tears ran steadily down my cheeks, I thought about all the things I could do. I could do some cello gigs, but that would be a minimal amount of money.
With my knees propped up and my head dropped down between them, I sobbed. I could sell my cello. I could go home and live on my grandma’s couch and get a job at the Dairy Queen. I could give up.
And then I heard Matt mumble, “Baby?” as he pushed my door open. I hadn’t heard his voice in three weeks.
“I’m fine, Matt.”
He came over to me. “What happened?”
Without looking up, I held the two tear-soaked pieces of mail toward him. He read them quietly, then sat down next to me.
“I can help you.”
“No.”
He brushed his thumb over my cheek, capturing the tears. “I have money to cover this.”
“No, Matt. You’re going to ask your dad and I don’t want him bailing me out again.”
“It’s not my father’s money. I sold a photo. I was going to tell you but you wouldn’t fucking talk to me.”
“I thought we were broken up.” I stood, walked over to my desk, and grabbed the paperwork I had received confirming our annulment. I tossed it to him. “And you divorced me.”
Matt quickly made a paper airplane out of it and sailed it out of my open dorm window. “I hereby declare you my ex-wife. So what? Who cares. It means nothing.”
I stared at him.
“It’s not gonna be that easy, is it?” he said.
“I need time.”
“We don’t have much.”
I sat on the windowsill, looking out at the lone tree in the courtyard, swaying back and forth. “That’s my problem. Time.” I turned to him. “Which photo did you sell?”
“The one of you. The first day we met. The one where you’re picking the button off the floor. Mr. Nelson chose it for the university gallery and it sold the first day. I jokingly put a thousand dollars on the price tag, thinking no one would buy it. It’s as much your money as it is mine. I want you to have it.” His look was sincere and sweet. We were talking and it felt good.
“It’s not mine.”
“Well, as my ex-wife . . .” He started laughing. “We might have been married at the time the photograph sold. Who would know?”
I couldn’t help but laugh, too. “We were married for a couple of days. And anyway, it would be fifty-fifty.”
“Okay, fine. I will take the other five hundred and then give it back to you for all the modeling work you’ve done for me.”
“I wish I could really laugh about this, but I’m just so angry with my parents right now. I can’t believe they act like I wouldn’t want them here for my graduation,” I said.
“It’s their way of making themselves feel less guilty.”
“They’re gonna fuck me up with this pressure.”
“No.” He was suddenly serious. “No, they’re not. As soon as you stop thinking that way and you see how amazing you are, all that resentment you have for them will turn into gratitude. You’ll be like, ‘I’m glad my parents didn’t give a shit because it made me fuckin’ awesome.’ ”
Letting his words sink in, I sat there quietly for several moments. I knew what he meant. “Yeah, I guess. Someday I’ll be like, ‘Thanks, Mom and Dad. You fuckers.’ ”
“Exactly!” Matt said, triumphantly.
“Thanks, Matt.”
“Anytime,” he said, standing up and walking toward the door. “Hey, will you stay here for a bit? I need to run and get something.”
“Okay.”
He returned a short while later with donut holes, orange juice, a tiny practice amp, and an electric guitar that I recognized as one of Brandon’s. I was lying on my bed so I turned on my side, propping my elbow under my head, and watched Matt move around the room. He put three rainbow-sprinkled donut holes on a plate and handed it to me, along with the mini bottle of orange juice. He didn’t say a word; he just gave me a small smile. It was early but already hot and stuffy in the room.
He kicked off his shoes and pulled his Smiths T-shirt over his head then threw it at me. “You can wear it if you want.”
“Matt . . .”
“What, you like wearing my shirts.”
That was true. I stripped down to my bra and underwear and then pulled Matt’s T-shirt on. That Matt smell made me feel all warm and tingly.
“See? Better,” he said. I nodded.
He wore only his black jeans and the belt I had made for him, with his wallet chain swaying back and forth as he moved around the room.
Squatting near the amp, he plugged it into the wall and looked up at me. Tears were filling my eyes again. “You okay?”
I nodded. I wasn’t crying about the letter or the money or the photo; I was crying because the thought of Matt leaving, even just for a
few months, killed me. He would be leaving in a week. He’d be a world away, and I would be left behind, crying over being too young to give it all up or to ask him to give it all up. Crying that I hadn’t met him later, when getting married would have made sense and neither one of us would have freaked out.
My face was throbbing and puffy with tears as I watched him sit on a wooden stool and position the green-and-white Telecaster on his thigh. He strummed it once and looked up for approval. It wasn’t loud; it was a perfect, clean sound. I had never seen him play an instrument or even attempt to, but something became very clear to me in that moment. Matt had been practicing . . . for me.
“Before I start, I just want you to know that I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too,” I said, instantly.
“Can we please go back to the way things were?”
“But what about . . .”
“Grace, can we please enjoy the time we have with each other?”
“Yes.” I burst into tears.
His fingers plucked one note and I knew he was playing “Hallelujah.” I cried even more.
He sang the words softly and flawlessly. I marveled at him, so young and beautiful, sitting shirtless and barefoot, with undeterred focus. When he was finished, he strummed one last time and looked up at me. At that point I was a blubbering fool. His smile was a pitying, sad kind of smile, reserved only for when a person knows there’s nothing that can be said to make things right. He was leaving. And I couldn’t stop him.
In a shaky voice, I told him how beautiful his playing was and I asked how he learned the song. He told me that Brandon would sometimes hang out at the PhotoHut, so he had asked if Brandon would teach it to him. He’d practiced it over and over for me since the Jeff Buckley concert so I’d finally get to hear it live.
18. We Were in Love
GRACE
The last weeks of the semester passed by, and with them came more pressure from Tati and Dan to join the orchestra. I always said no.