Tiffany:
I’m not sure how I drove all the way home without crashing. I was in a state of shock. How could we have shared such an amazing few days in the city only for him to decide I was a huge distraction to him making his dreams become a reality? Had I not been encouraging enough? I thought he knew how much I supported him. But then again, I had turned my back on my dreams so perhaps he didn’t think I was this fountain of inspiration. I was crying, shaking, and flat out sick to my stomach. Too many scenarios bombarded me. Maybe his family didn’t like me. I was sure they did, but for all I knew, it was all an act.
My mom had adored him. She was so excited to see me this happy. And I was—blissfully happy! I pulled into the parking spot and ran out of my car to the front door. The tears were falling fast, and I wanted to avoid eye contact with as many people as possible. If I was lucky, I could make it to my room without anyone looking at me with pity or asking what was wrong. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to do anything but go to bed and cry myself to sleep in the dark. I stumbled down the corridor, head down, eyes on my sneakers, until I was in front of my room. With a quick swipe of my card-key, I was free. I opened the door, stepped inside, and flipped the switch so I could change into pajamas. But to my surprise, I wasn’t alone.
Becca was on her knees, face between her girlfriend, Jada’s, thighs. I immediately spun around, my face now hot from what I had seen. “I’m so sorry!” I said, unsure if it would be weirder to run out or to grab my stuff so I could have clothes and head to the sorority house. Paralyzed, I stood there, staring at the door, realizing it had a mirror on it so I could still see the girls.
Becca was in her bra and panties, but Jada only wore her bra. She reached for her underwear and shimmied into the pair. “I thought you were staying with your boyfriend tonight. Didn’t you say you were going to Harry’s?” Becca asked.
“He’s not my boyfriend. And I did, but I… uh… forgot my stuff.” Seeing they were both somewhat covered by now, I spun around and went straight to my dresser.
“It’s okay, Tiffany,” Jada said. “We all got the same stuff. No need to be embarrassed.” She pulled a T-shirt over her head and leaned back on the bed. Becca sat beside her, their fingers immediately intertwined. I felt bad for walking in on them. They were never home. The one time I needed to be alone…
“You all right, girl?” Becca asked, her brows knitted together as she really looked at me for the first time.
“Yeah. I’m fine.” I shrugged and turned back around to my dresser and pulled out a pair of pajamas.
“No, you’re not. In fact, you look like you got your heart stomped on,” Jada said, and I felt a lump form in my throat. Truer words had never been spoken.
“Yeah, what can I say? Boys suck.”
“Ugh. That they do. You’re way too pretty to even waste time crying over him. You seriously should consider being a switch hitter. We could get you hooked up and have your mind off of what’s his name in a heartbeat.” Jada winked at me, and I released a nervous laugh.
“Yeah, I wish it was that easy. I’d do anything to get him out of my brain.” I bit my lip to try and stop it from trembling. I grabbed a handful of items and stuffed them into my gym bag, then tossed in a few toiletries. Wiping my eyes, I forced a smile at the girls. “I’m really sorry. You guys have the room to yourselves all night. I promise, no more interruptions. Have a great night.” I turned the knob and pulled the door shut behind me, hoping Brit wasn’t going to have to make me listen to a night of “I-told-you-so” lectures. I didn’t want to hear it. I only wanted a place to cry.
When I got to the sorority house, the door was open, so I let myself in. It wasn’t weird for me to be here—a lot of the sisters did their homework here or pitched in with events, so no one really raised a brow when I gave a quick wave to the girls in the living room and darted up the stairs. Natalie was outside her door, making out with her boyfriend, Enzo. They were so lost in each other they didn’t even notice me walking past them. The whole damn world was paired in twos, and I couldn’t avoid it, even in a house that was supposed to be girls only. Knocking on Brit’s door, I heard a faint “come in” and breathed a sigh of relief. I opened the door and stepped inside. Brit was sitting on her bed, her guitar in her lap and sheet music in front of her. She had a pencil stuck in her pony tail, and I knew she was songwriting.
“I’m sorry, is this a bad time?” I asked, trying so hard to say the words without them sounding shaky.
“Nah, I’m having some writer’s block anyway.” She leaned over to place the guitar on the side of her bed, then looked at me for the first time. Her eyes widened in alarm. “Tiff, what’s wrong?”
I dropped my bag to the floor, and all the tears I had been holding back since my dorm room came pouring out of me. “Everything,” I said as I slid beside her and wrapped my arms around her neck. Her body became rigid in surprise, then softened as she hugged me back.
“It’s okay. Take a few deep breaths.” I did as I was told, but the tears were in control now. “Tiff, you have to calm down. What happened?”
“Ha-Harry,” I said with a hiccup.
“What did he do?” Brit sounded like a mother, her concern for me on high alert. “Did he hurt you? Did he touch you?” She was frantic, all her worst fears swimming in front of her, causing her to see red.
“He ended it. He ended it all,” I cried. “We can’t even be friends.”
“He doesn’t want to be friends?” Brit repeated, sounding confused.
I let go of the death grip I had around her neck and drew in a shaky breath. “He said he wants to focus on culinary school and going back to New York, and that I put too much pressure on him.”
“Pressure?”
“I don’t know. I guess I did. The friend thing was too hard, Brit. I’m in love with him. How can you be friends with someone when their smile warms your day and their sadness breaks your heart? I thought I could convince myself that watching movies and occasionally holding hands was enough, but…”
“It wasn’t.”
“No. I want it all. I want him, and he doesn’t want me. And it hurts so bad I can barely breathe.” I doubled over, crumpled my body into a ball, and fell against her pillow. I must have been sobbing exceedingly loud for there was a knock on the door, and Natalie popped her head in.
“Everything okay in here?” she asked.
I turned my face to the pillow so she wouldn’t have to see my swollen eyes.
“We’re fine. Go back to your forty-minute good-bye with Enzo. Seriously, he needs to start paying rent,” Brit said.
“He already left, wise guy.” I felt the bed shift and a hand on my back. Drama Queen was officially involved now. “Tiffany, what’s wrong?”
I couldn’t speak a word, not when I was face down in the fetal position.
“Harry Archer,” Brit said, and I could tell there was a tinge of disgust on her tongue.
“Oh no… did he…?” Drama Queen didn’t finish her sentence. They really did think the worst of him. Kristen, ironically, was my only ally.
“He doesn’t want to be my friend,” I said into the pillow, causing the words to sound muffled and even more pathetic than they were.
“I don’t get it,” Natalie said.
“He hurt my big, and now he hurt my little. Do I have permission to kill him yet?” Brit said, unable to hide the anger in her voice.
“Stop being dramatic,” Natalie said, ironic coming from her.
I sat up, feeling slightly dizzy. Too many tears. “It was all too much. I think we got too close too fast. He wants to focus on his career. So, that’s it. Story over. He didn’t do anything wrong. No need to plan his execution.” I pulled my hair up and tied it into a sloppy bun.
Natalie’s gaze fell on my neck. “That’s pretty. Is it new?” she asked as she took the anchor and rested it under her fingers to admire it.
“Yeah. Harry gave it to me.”
“Wait. What?” Brit looked confused and leaned in to get a better look at the charm. “An anchor? You know what an anchor means, right?”
“Yeah,” I said sadly. “He told me.”
The girls looked at each other then back at me. “Tiffany, he didn’t back away from you to focus on his career,” Brit said with conviction.
“Then why did he?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say he feels the same way about you, and it scared him.”
“But, wouldn’t you want to get a little lost in love? Why is it so awful?”
“Because he’s an addict, Tiffany.” Her voice softened. “He’s afraid to have anything that he wants.” She sighed. “And I’d say, based on that charm, he wants you. And wanting you absolutely terrifies him.”
The stores were already hanging their window’s with hearts and baby cupids. Valentine’s Day was a few weeks away, but I tried my best not to notice. Instead, I had made a promise to myself to focus on school work and signed up for extra dance classes to relieve some of my stress. Ms. Margery noticed I was no longer attending the ballroom lessons but didn’t push the issue when I chose to fill the time slot with Jazz instead.
Needing someone to confide in other than Brit, I called Iris and asked if she would go for a walk with me. It was a weird day, too warm for February, and so I strolled outside in leggings and a hoodie while Iris had her denim jacket and trademark skirts.
“This weather is such a tease. A snowstorm is coming at the end of the week. If it’s bad, I’ll probably close the Den. No need to drive in dangerous weather. Anyone who would need a beer that bad would only have a problem, and I don’t want to be an enabler.”
Her casual remark made me feel a little nauseous. “Did you ever have to deal with real alcoholics coming in?”
“Sure! I mean, for the most part, I think a lot of the regulars imbibe a tad more than they should, but yes, I’ve seen a few sad souls come in that door over the years.”
“Did they ever get help?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I suppose some did because they never returned. Why do you ask?”
I didn’t answer. “Could someone with an addiction go on to lead a normal life? Do you think they could control it, if they wanted to or had a reason to?”
Iris stopped short and turned to look at me. “Tiffany, why do I feel we are not talking about my customers?”
Technically we were. I mean, Harry was a customer. I could have been honest, but instead, I danced around the issue. “When I went home last month, one of my closest friends revealed to me she was in a relationship with an addict. He’s clean now. He’s been clean for almost two years, but I’m worried about her.”
“Wow. That’s a lot of responsibility to deal with. Can your friend handle that?”
“She feels she can, but when things started getting serious, he pushed her away. Now she doesn’t know if she should fight for him or let him go.”
“Let him go,” Iris said without even pausing to consider the question.
“Really? Just like that? But shouldn’t she stick around and prove to him that she’s not afraid? That she is strong enough?”
Iris looked at me and for a moment, I wondered if I was being transparent. “If she really loves him, she needs to let him go so he can decide what he wants. If he’s ready for commitment he’ll come back to her. If he’s not, well, your friend has to respect that.”
As simple as her words were, they made sense. “Thanks, Iris. I’ll pass along your wisdom.”
“For the record, I hope it works out for them.”
Iris’ words struck a chord with me, and so I did what she advised. I let Harry Archer go. I whispered my intent to the universe. I sent him good thoughts. I sent him healing vibes. I sent him my love. And then, I worked on fixing me. I have always been of the mindset that if you open yourself up to new experiences and opportunities, they start to present themselves to you. That’s what happened. I kept myself busy, and the busier I became the more opportunities crossed my path. I assisted Ms. Margery’s teen ballet classes. I helped Natalie with sorority events as much as possible, and I studied and focused on school. Plus I had my job at the Den. Iris never brought up Captain Jack, and I assumed she knew the truth—that the day I sought her advice, I actually was inquiring about me. It was embarrassing knowing she knew. Not because I didn’t trust her, but because I was too weak to admit I was the one hurting. The pages on the calendar turned, and before I knew it, I had gotten through February. Was I happy? Not really. I missed Harry so much it hurt. But I had given our odds to the universe, and right now all I could do was wait it out.
By the second week of March, I was in a routine, and in a few weeks, I’d be on Spring Break. Not that I was flying to Cancun or anything—although, in hindsight, that would have been a fantastic distraction. But I was going home, and the best part was Brit was visiting Erik, so she’d be in New York, too. We already had plans to have a girls day with Kristen. Slowly, I was putting my life back together, one distraction at a time.