Love Nouveau (9 page)

In turn, I tell Phoenix more about my adventures in Italy. How I took the time away from home to really focus on myself and making me a better person. Phoenix senses my hesitation that comes with talking about my past, but is genuinely interested in listening to me talk about learning Greek and Roman architecture firsthand.

We’re standing fairly close together, taking turns getting lost in the stars and telling each other stories. If ever there were a moment to kiss me, this would be it. I know Phoenix can sense it too. He becomes increasingly more nervous and is the first to look away.

We linger in this moment a touch too long, evident that neither of us is bold enough to make a move. It takes all of my energy to suppress the urge to plaster my lips on his, wrap my legs around his waist and take him right here and now.

But I am
not
that girl anymore. I will not shamelessly take what I want whenever I want it. I force myself to step back and allow him to make the first move, relinquishing control and allowing him to take the lead.

“Come on,” I say, tugging on his hand. “Let’s go for a walk.”

We make our way down through the observatory. Phoenix gives a nod to the young man who let us in. I didn’t realize he was still on site waiting for us.

I lead him down Observatory Drive, cutting down a side path taking us to Lake Mendota’s waterfront walkway. This place is the epitome of peace in a vibrant college town. Darkness consumes the world in front of us and city lights strike the sky off in the distance.

We cross a wrought iron bench with a small memorial plaque affixed to the back of the seat and pause together to read the words etched for eternity.

For my dearest Delilah who loved this bench

nearly as much as she loved her family.

One day, we’ll enjoy this perfect view together again.

“Fancy a seat? See what Delilah thought the fuss was all about?” Phoenix gestures to the bench, then sits down beside me.

I lean over and rest my elbows on my knees, gazing upon the lake. I can’t help the wistful feeling taking over, knowing just how much I’m going to miss this place when I return home to Chicago.

What a perfect way to spend my last night in Madison. We haven’t spent a dime and yet we’ve managed to experience the beauty of this city. Phoenix has opened my eyes to a side of this place I’ve never even appreciated.

He mirrors my position, leaning over his knees. I can’t read him as well as I can read other people, but I
think
he’s into me. I get the feeling that he is just as cautious and weary of starting anything because we both go our separate ways tomorrow and it seems silly to explore this connection we share. From what I can tell, Phoenix could take me right here on this bench just as easily as he could give me a hearty handshake with a “thanks for the company” before turning and walking away.

“What are you thinking about?” he questions.

“You.”

“What about me?”

I take a deep breath and allow myself a collective moment to summon my bravery, thinking back to our earlier conversation about Sully. “Are you monogamous material?” I blurt out without considering that I might not want to know the answer to the question. My attempts at being coy are pathetic at best, but I’m feeling bold and discretion was never my best quality.

“Well, I have certainly never cheated on anyone like Sully has, if that’s what you mean. But I’ve never met anyone who struck me to the point of wanting to be in a serious, long-term relationship. I dated this one girl for a year or so, but she wasn’t the right one for me. I honestly don’t buy into the whole notion of marriage.”

His proclamation does not surprise me at all. I’m not sure I’ve ever known any guy to be into marriage without external pressures from their significant other, family, or society.

He takes a deep breath before continuing the thought. “When I was little, I walked in on my dad and another woman. It was devastating and practically tore my family apart. I was only nine years old at the time, but it completely wrecked my sense of security.” I suddenly understand his earlier comment about wanting to go back to being eight years old. It was a time where his family was still whole and his father was undoubtedly his hero.

“After Mom and I left him, I had to step up. Work granted her unpaid temporary leave, but most days she could barely function and I’d have to remind her to eat. She loved my dad so ferociously, but it was obvious her love was unmatched. I think the intensity and depth in which you love someone is directly proportional to the amount of hurt they are capable of bringing. It’s why I don’t judge Sully for sleeping around. It’s why I don’t buy into the theory of marriage, though I’m not opposed to it entirely for other people. It’s why I’m not sure one guy can just stay happy with one woman for all of eternity. How can something so sacred be fragile enough to shatter with one weak moment of stupidity?”

Phoenix bites his thumbnail and looks down at the ground, and I give him the silence he seems to need. My heart aches for nine-year-old Phoenix. But his last comment is what burns me. It’s
exactly
the reason why I’ve avoided truly opening myself up to anyone. Even with Matt there were always walls built, never letting him in entirely because I’m absolutely petrified of love and the pain it can bring. I gathered from my mom a long time ago that the person who loves the least is in control of the relationship. They are also the least likely to get hurt. And I hurt enough without love complicating things further, thank you very much.

“My dad spent the next thirteen years trying to prove his worth to her,” Phoenix continues. “He forced his way back into our lives. I’m not sure how much of that was because of me, because of guilt, or because of genuine love for my mom. God only knows how much therapy he went through, both by himself and with my mom. I don’t know how, but eventually she trusted him enough to let him in once more. I mean
really
let him in. Over time, they fell in love all over again and he re-proposed to her on the anniversary of the day they first met back in college. In spite of it all, all of his mistakes, I’m not sure they ever really stopped loving each other.”

I try to hide a smile and raise my eyebrows in delight. For some reason, his parents’ sweet story tugs on my heartstrings.

“I know, right? I’ve had a lot of friends whose parents divorced and remarried someone else, or filled the void with drinking, but I’ve never heard of anyone remarrying the same person they split from. My mom wanted something simple, just the three of us at the Justice of Peace. My dad insisted that he give her the wedding they never had twenty years earlier—the friends, the dress, the huge party. None of that mattered to my mom, but she wanted him to be happy, and allowing him to make her happy was part of their healing process.”

Phoenix takes a thoughtful pause as if he’s making a decision and cracks his knuckles.

“The week before their wedding date, my mom was on her way home from her shift at the hospital,” he looks from me to the ground and then back to my eyes again, like he’s willing me to fill in the blanks so he doesn’t have to say what happened next.

He swallows hard. “She was hit head on by drunk driver. First responders pronounced her dead at the scene,” he says, voice cracking.

I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. There are no words that I can offer up to ease the pain that he is still obviously feeling. Instead, I trail my fingertips along the back of his hand, a comforting, silent touch.

I watch Phoenix bite his lower lip as he collects his thoughts, and his face turns from hurt to seemingly angry in one quick moment. “Do you want to know the worst part about it all? The worst was everyone, even my dad, telling me that she was in a better place.” He laughs inwardly. “She’s dead, Ivy. My mom is in the dark, cold ground, not on a fucking beach in Tahiti. She’s not in a better place. There isn’t anywhere else she would have rather been than with her son and best friend.”

We’re both swallowing back the tears. I want to tell him that it’s okay for him to break down, but I know first-hand how awful it is for other people to tell you how you should feel.

“I … I’m so sorry, Phoenix.”

I know he doesn’t want my apology, but it’s all I can offer. His pain is still raw. Why does horrible shit happen to good people? Why doesn’t it happen to someone who deserves it?

Phoenix shrugs his shoulders. “I’ve come to terms with it, or at least I convinced myself I have. And while it’s clear mom forgave my dad, I’m not there just yet. I’m not sure I’ll ever be.” He gives me a quick sideways glance. “I haven’t seen or spoken to him since her funeral.”

Holy shit.
I suddenly find myself heartbroken, not just for Phoenix, but for his father too. Not only did he lose the love of his life that day, but he also lost his only child.

I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear and look out over Lake Mendota. It’s not awkward. It’s not uncomfortable. It just is.

“So to answer your original question, monogamous material? Probably. Marriage material? The jury is still out. I don’t want to end up like him. I don’t have it in me to cheat, but I’m not confident in the institution of marriage.”

I understand him on levels he doesn’t even realize. Honestly, I’m not sure I buy into the idea of marriage either. Or perhaps I’m not sure I buy into my own personal ability to stay faithful to one person for the rest of my life. Then again, maybe I haven’t met a person worth staying faithful for?

“What about you? What’s your story?” he asks softly.

“Well, as you know I’m Chicago born and bred. Up until last year I—”

“No. I know all that already,” he cuts me off. “I want to know
you
. Not the you that everyone else sees.” His eyes pierce right through me, daring me to tell him a secret. Something I would never willingly offer up.

I exhale slowly and ponder his request. At this moment, after Phoenix’s admittance, I’m feeling especially vulnerable and honest.

When you first meet a stranger, you have a choice. You can redefine yourself to be anyone you want to be, or you can be completely and totally honest. Radical honesty, to me, always felt perfect in the presence of complete strangers. And for some reason, I feel compelled to be radically honest with Phoenix, just as he has with me.

And technically, we all start as strangers. And aren’t strangers simply friends we haven’t made yet? All strangers have the capacity to become best friends, enemies, the other woman, husbands and wives.

“My family hates me.” The words spill from my mouth in an abrupt exhale. “I slept with my sister’s boyfriend after graduation my senior year of high school and I never lived it down. Well, more like
they’ve
never let me live it down. Glen — that was his name — was visiting over the summer break from Cape Cod. I was drunk. He was hot. And everyone and everything in my world was really pissing me off. I made a pass at him, not thinking he’d bite. In the end, he bit off more than he could chew.”

I glance sideways at him and he’s studying me intently. This is the first time I’ve ever even mentioned Glen to someone other than Rachel. I want to come clean and tell him that Glen wasn’t the only one. That I also slept with two other boyfriends of Genevieve’s that she never found out about. And then there is Matt and the laundry list of trysts that transpired over the past three years.

Damn, when I put it all together like that, I really do sound like the village tricycle where everyone gets a ride.

Silence fills the void between us and I can tell he’s judging me by the way he clenches his jaw. God, I hate being judged. I want to tell him how I’ve changed, but really if he’s not willing to find out for himself, he isn’t worth my time. I’m not normally in the business of defending my past indiscretions to anyone.

I refrain from telling him about all my promiscuity over the years. At an age I’m embarrassed to admit, curiosity killed my virginity. It wasn’t amazing or anything. It was just fine, I suppose. It was awkward and messy, nothing like the movies. So much for life imitating art.

But I wouldn't say that sleeping around makes me a bad person. Just like going to church doesn’t make you a good person. My parents go to church every Sunday and they most certainly are not good people.

It’s obvious that he’s reevaluating my “other woman” status. He seems really uneasy about it. I feel a sudden urge to try and explain myself. “I usually would blame being young and stupid, but—”

“Hey, don’t waste your breath explaining yourself to me. Just allow yourself to let me in. I can decide for myself.”

I like that my reputation doesn’t precede me with this guy. “Thanks,” I say genuinely and touch my hand to him arm. “When I look back, I think I wanted nothing more than to make a statement.”

“A statement?” he asks with slight amusement in his eyes.

“I’m not exactly proud of it, but it was more of a ‘fuck you’ to my entire family. I needed to ruin their expectations of me. For years, they’ve tried to prime me to live up to their standards. To marry rich, join the country club, become successful … a lawyer … a doctor … whatever would make the most money, whatever would help stamp continued success upon the family. When I told them I wanted to major in Art History and work in an art gallery or museum you would have thought I was confessing to murdering puppies in my free time.”

I will never forget the arguments that ensued after telling them my plans. They threatened to stop paying for my education, and I received daily emails from my mom detailing how deeply I had shamed them and how following this minimalist dream of mine was a waste of such intelligence.

Frightening as it was, I never wavered. Even without their support and approval, I knew I would find a way to get through school and follow my passion, no matter how strongly they disapproved. I made a promise to myself a long time ago that I would not be made to feel guilty for being who I am, and that I would stop pretending to be their perfect little daughter.

“Sounds like you’ve got quite the family,” Phoenix says as I try to gauge his reaction.