"Besides, I'm not leaving right now. I need to save money first."
"And we can meet up in New York, once we're both settled in other places."
Deep sadness fills me at knowing that Hugh and I might never live in the same city again. I'm determined that we'll stay close, but it won't ever be quite the same. It's the end of an Andie-and-Hugh era.
"We'll come for a weekend and fill our bellies with tacos, pho and bagels," I say.
"We'll go for a walk in the park, then head to the baths to have a good sweat."
I set down my ice and reach over to take his hand in mine, like we're an old married couple on this bench with all the time to watch the world go by. I'm glad I'm moving toward something new and exciting. If I were staying here in the same old life without Hugh and Dad, it would be so much harder.
I look over at my very dearest friend in the world, and tears fill my eyes.
"I love you, Hugh."
He squeezes my hand tightly. "Love you, too, baby."
Seventeen
In Brooklyn,not too many friends drop by unannounced and ring my doorbell. City dwellers also don't deal with many solicitors so when someone buzzes my apartment on a random Thursday afternoon, I assume Marly has forgotten her keys. Not wanting to let a rapist into the building, I press the intercom and ask who it is, just in case it's not her.
A rich, low voice says, "Hey, it's me, Seth."
I stare at the intercom for a few seconds like I've heard the voice of a creature from another planet. Seth is here in New York, standing in the tiny entrance space of my building. I've thought about what I'd do when we met again, but I pictured it happening at the farm. I was going to look amazing and possibly take a Xanax first.
"What do you want?" I ask, stalling for time as I glance over my shoulder. My front door is at the end of a long hallway, and I can't get a good look at my living room from here. Since I got back from the farm, I've been trying to keep the place neater, meaning there aren't dirty dishes on the couch or socks on the floor. It doesn't look like a former Marine's living quarters, but it's clean. There's nothing I can do about the fact that the plants make it look like the set of Little Shop of Horrors.
"I'd like to see you," he says, reminding me that he's still there, waiting for me to unlock the door.
His tone suggests that he isn't sure I'm going to let him come up here, and I'm thrilled that he's the one feeling vulnerable. Taking the stance of a runner on the blocks, I buzz him in and sprint down the hall toward the bathroom. I have less than a minute to brush my teeth and improve my hair before he arrives at my door. I'm still spitting toothpaste when he knocks. He can wait while I run a comb through my hair and apply lip color. I'm wearing my favorite Madewell sundress because I was planning to hit the flea market in Williamsburg later. I'm also having a terrific hair day. I make a steely-eyed assessment of myself in the mirror and whisper, "Eat your heart out, my little carnivore."
First, I open the door with the chain still hooked on it and peer out, as if I'm checking whether it's really him. Our eyes meet and the wind is knocked out of me. He's standing on the other side of my door, all delicious six foot three of him. I re-close the door gently, leaning my body against it and allowing myself to experience the full pleasure and pain of having him so close to me again. Then I pause, draw a deep breath and straighten my shoulders before unchaining the door and opening it all the way.
"Come in," I say, as formally as the Queen of England.
He enters and sets his backpack down on the floor, and I motion for him to walk down the dimly lit hallway, past the bedrooms and bathroom, to the main living area of the apartment.
There's nothing more awkward than this, Seth and I standing in my living room, staring at each other. He looks so out of place here in my apartment. It really is like an alien has landed in Brooklyn.
"You weren't kidding about the plants," he says, taking in the vegetation surrounding us.
"I know, it's crazy."
And then the conversation dies an ugly death. The silence stretches between us, and I wait for him to tell me why he's here.
"Have a seat," I say, finally. "Can I get you a drink?"
"A glass of water would be great."
He folds himself onto our low couch, nervously rubbing the knees of his jeans. He's wearing Levis and a white t-shirt with the blue Joyful Goat logo. Instead of his usual work boots, he has on Pumas I've never seen before.
My hand is trembling as I take the glass out of the kitchen cabinet and fill it with water. I clutch it tightly so that when I give it to him, my hand looks steady, or at least I hope it does.
"I'm sorry to barge in like this without telling you I was coming," he says, stopping to take a sip of water before placing the glass on the table.
His hand looks a bit shaky, too. I'm still standing, hovering near him, trying to decide whether to sit across the room in a chair or take a seat with him on the couch. I decide on the chair, since maximum distance from his body seems safest at this point.
"Why didn't you text me?" I ask, curling my legs under me.
