180 Seconds

  “Hi, Carmen.”

  She stands up straight. “Oh, hi, Allison.” I don’t blame her for looking tentative.

  “Are you going out tonight?” I ask. “You look nice.”

  “Thanks. Yeah, I have a date. Or sort of a date.” She smiles a little. “Meeting him at a party.”

  “Cool. Have fun.”

  She assesses her appearance in the mirror and rubs her lips together. “You want to come with me?”

  I don’t have my usual urge to run away screaming, which I find interesting. “I actually have a friend in town this weekend, and we’re still recovering from last night. But thanks.” I start toward a free shower stall and then look back. I’m nervous and shaking a bit, but I say, “Maybe next weekend?”

  “Yeah. That’d be great.”

  I set my bath products on the floor of the shower, hang my robe, and turn the faucet to just below scalding. A shower has never felt so good, and I take my time, praying that this shower will clear my head of the jumbled mess that’s swirling around inside. I wish Steffi could stay longer, especially with what’s been going on. My usual quiet college life has been turned upside down, and I don’t know what’s going to hit next. Although, I must admit I don’t actually feel unhappy right now, and not just because Steffi is still here. Now that I’ve at least had a conversation with Esben, the entire video incident feels less unpleasant, and I don’t have constant waves of anger or shame crashing over me the way I did before. Perhaps, as Steffi suggested, Esben is an exception. I don’t know.

  When I get back to the room, Steffi is still gone, so I text her. My stomach is growling like crazy, and I hope she actually did get five orders of dumplings, because I could down them all in a flash. After a few minutes, she replies that she got lost going to the restaurant, and now they’re backed up. I set to tidying up the common area, and the box tower grabs my attention. I debate for a bit, then take a box from the top of the pile and bring it to my bedroom.

  I set it on the bed and stare at it. Then I move it to the desk, and I sit on the bed and stare at it. Then I stand up and pace back and forth like a tiger in a cage. For the first time, I am yearning to open one of these boxes, and it also feels like I’m up against a challenge, as though I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t open any of these care packages because I don’t deserve them. Now I’m tempted to cave.

  Screw it.

  I grab some scissors and slice the tape. After a few deep breaths, I open the box.

  Immediately, I start laughing. The top layer of the care package is made up of microwavable macaroni and cheese cups. It’s so perfect. When I’ve got my giggling under control, I see what else Simon has sent. Plastic spoons, lemon cookies, and tea bags (for a tea party, Simon insists!), instant soups, hair ties, body lotions in various fruit scents, socks with monkeys on them, a ten-cup coffeepot, a bag of ground Sumatra, two red mugs, individual raw sugar packets, and a twenty-dollar bill earmarked for pizza. He’s included a card, and on the front is a picture of a leopard seal. Inside, he has written:

  Allison—

  Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a card with a leopard seal on it? Very. In fact, they do not seem to exist, so yours truly made one using an online photo service. THAT’S DEDICATION!

  Let me know if there are other things you would like me to send for you, even though that is unlikely, because I know that you are not opening these boxes, and that’s okay. I’m still going to send them, because that’s what fathers do for their daughters. Or maybe it’s just what I do for you, my sweet girl.

  I hope one day you’ll be ready to open these, but if that day never comes, that will also be okay.

  Much love,

  Simon

  Five times I read the note, and then I cannot get to my phone fast enough.

  “Hi, kiddo. How are you?” Simon answers with his usual cheer.

  “How did you know I wasn’t opening the care packages?” I demand.

  He laughs. “Well, honey, every time you call to thank me, you are very polite but very vague. I figured that if you’d been opening them, I would have heard something about the inflatable unicorn, which I knew you wouldn’t find funny, but I do.”

  “I’ve only opened one box.” I pause. “You sent me an inflatable unicorn?”

  “Maybe . . .”

  “Simon?”

  “Yes?”

  “I really like the coffeemaker.”

  “I’m so glad.”

  “And I’m going to open the rest of the stuff you sent.”

  “Whenever you want.”

  I realize that I am smiling broadly. “Hey, know what? Guess who is here?”

  “Santa Claus? The Easter Bunny?”

  I laugh. “No. Steffi. She flew in for the weekend to surprise me.”

  “Wow, that is a surprise. That’s a long trip for such a short time. Anything urgent going on?”

  “No,” I say too quickly. “No, it’s just . . . well, she got all worked up over something that happened. There’s this boy, and . . . I don’t know.”

  “Ahhh,” he says. “A boy. A boy you like?”

  “I don’t like him like him. It’s just something weird happened between us, and Steffi got crazy over it.”

  Simon’s voice grows concerned. “Something weird meaning that I should be mailing a box of condoms instead of coffeepots?”

  “What? Simon! Oh my God!”

  “Just checking.”

  I hear rattling at the door. “Can I explain another time? Steffi is back with dinner. But don’t worry. Everything is fine.”

  “If you say so. Call again soon, will you? I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too.”

  I am frozen with the phone in my hand after I hang up. I don’t believe I’ve ever told Simon I miss him. But I do. I realize that now. I’m allowing myself to miss him.

  Clearly, I am having some kind of bizarre midcollege crisis in which my mind is being taken over and replaced by someone else’s.

  Steffi is now kicking the door from the outside and hollering at me. “Hello? A little damn help here would be nice!”

  I jolt from my poor attempt at self-analysis and rush to the door. Steffi is holding an enormous paper bag in one hand and a plastic bag from the liquor store in the other. “The handle on the Chinese-food bag ripped, and we’re about to have a lo-mein disaster of epic proportions.”

  “Where have you been?” I ask as I take the bag of food. “You’ve been gone for ages.”

  “I told you. Got lost, long wait, blah, blah. Let’s eat. And drink!”

  She sits on the floor and pulls out a bottle of tequila. “Picnic time. Let’s just set everything out here.”

  “I guess. I’ll get a towel or something—”

  “Stop being so uptight. Sit. Eat. Don’t worry about messes. There are bigger problems in the world than a bit of soy sauce on the rug.”

  I frown but sit down anyway and start to set out the cartons of food. “You’re as slobby as Esben.”

  She unscrews the cap from the tequila and takes a long drink. “Esben’s a slob? I knew I liked him. And you got past my lack of obsessive-compulsive tidiness, so you can get past his.”

  I can feel her staring at me with hopeful eyes while I locate chopsticks and dig in to the carton of dumplings. “He helped find a lost parrot once. Using social media. I looked through his old pages. Stuff that he’s done.”

  “I saw that parrot one!” she squeals. “Did you see how he started a dance party in a mall once?”

  I laugh. “No, I missed that.”

  “Insane! I’ll show you. And that boy’s got some moves, by the way. Just so you know.”

  For the rest of the night, we eat way too much food, Steffi drinks way too much tequila, though I only have a few shots, and we cruise the Internet and read about Esben Baylor and his various social projects. At two in the morning, when both of us are overtired and simply cannot stay awake, we get into bed.

  I stir at six in the morning.
Steffi is sitting next to me, her hand on my arm.

  “You ready to go?” I murmur.

  She nods and squeezes my arm. “Yeah.”

  My eyes adjust to the dark. “Text me when you land in LA, okay?”

  “Of course.” Then she leans over and puts her arms around me, hugging me tightly.

  “I love you, Steff.”

  “I love you, too, Allison.” She holds me more tightly. “Be brave. With yourself, with Esben, with everything. Okay? Tell me you will.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “No, tell me that from now on, you will be brave. Take more risks. And mean it. It’s time. You can’t live in this room and never go out. You’re going to miss too much. So tell me.”

  My thoughts are still foggy in the early morning, but I know this is important to her, so I agree. I promise. “I’ll be brave, Steffi. From now on, I’ll be brave.”

  CHAPTER 12

  BEAR

  Monday morning arrives both too quickly and not fast enough. I jolt awake at five in the morning, unable to fall back asleep. This is a pivotal day for me. It’s a day when I will either crawl back into my hole or make massive changes in my life. Both options ripple terror through me, but I am truly more scared to retreat than I am to advance. I promised Steffi that I would be brave, and I need to do that, but not just for her. The ache for more, the ache that I have been pushing away for so long now, has become too strong to ignore. It was already growing, but I’m finally admitting to myself that those one hundred and eighty seconds with Esben somehow threw me into a whirlwind.

  Either I get slammed to the ground by that force or I soar. What I’m going through is not Esben’s fault, and I’m not angry with him anymore. Esben caught me on a vulnerable afternoon. He couldn’t have known that I’d be so fragile and fearful.

  Of him, of everything.

  Hurt, rejection, and emptiness made up my childhood, and they have controlled me for so long now that I don’t know if I can stop them.

  But, God, I want to. I don’t want to live like this.

  I throw my arm over my eyes to dam the tears that threaten to come.

  I am so ashamed of how cold I am. That I have only one friend. That I live in a bubble of my own creation.

  I am brave. I am brave. I am brave.

  But I cannot stop the tears. “I don’t want to live like this,” I say out loud over and over through my sobbing. I cry for who I have been, who I am, and who I could be. However, I also cry with an iota of relief, because a change is about to happen. I know this. A change that has the possibility of lifting me from the wreckage. What it will look like is very unclear, but I have to take a chance.

  I am going to hope again.

  I am brave. I am brave. I am brave.

  Much later, when my tears subside, a degree of calm takes over. I crawl from my bed and take the coffeepot that Simon sent and start a very strong brew. I leave the box and packing material on the floor in an intentional effort to ease up on my strict sense of order. I head to the shower, and the hard waterfall against my skin refreshes me some, but my eyes are horribly puffy, so when I return to my room, I run an ice cube over them while I sip coffee from one of the red cups. I dry my hair and then attempt to replicate the curls that Steffi gave me the other night. I put on a sleeveless white mock turtleneck and a camel-beige open cardigan and pair those with jeans and brown boots. Then I put on some makeup. It’s less than Steffi would suggest but more than I usually do. I want to feel pretty today, because I need any boost I can get.

  I open another one of Simon’s care packages. In this one, I find a fabric-covered journal, three kinds of new tea and a squeeze bottle of honey, microwave popcorn, two bars of dark chocolate, and—God bless him—a caffeine eye cream for reducing bags. I smear some on, say a little prayer, and then fish out the last item in the box.

  I may start crying again.

  Simon has sent a teddy bear. A floppy, long-limbed, chestnut-brown teddy bear with a polka-dot bow around its neck. I hug it close and shut my eyes. No one has ever given me a stuffed animal, and I am struck by what a devastating realization that is. How unforgivable and insurmountable it feels. Honestly, I don’t think it occurred to any of my foster families that I wouldn’t have a stuffed animal. I used to fall asleep hugging pillows, and today I have a teddy bear. The smile on my face when I take a selfie of me with the bear is genuine, and I text it to Simon. He replies almost immediately: Every kid should have a teddy bear. You’re too old for this, and you were too old when we met, but . . . a father has to give his daughter a teddy bear, so better late than never.

  I close my eyes and hold the bear close. And I breathe. Better late than never, indeed.

  Thirty minutes later, I am at the door to my Social Psych class. Stepping across the threshold feels like a monumental moment, but I remain calm as I take my usual seat and set my bag onto the seat next to mine. Intentionally, I am the first student to arrive, and I keep my eyes glued to the doorway, waiting for him. I do not put in my earbuds, and I do not bury myself in reading or pretend note taking.

  Today, I just wait for him.

  The room is nearly three-quarters full when he arrives.

  I sit up taller in my seat.

  Esben acts as if he cannot decide whether to look around the room or not, and I pray he’ll look my way. He starts up the stairs to my right, and just when I think he’s going to move into a row in front of me, he stops and very slowly raises his head. He’s apprehensive, presumably waiting to see what I’ll do.

  I feel for him. I haven’t exactly been predictable.

  I give him a small smile, and his face relaxes. Other students are trickling in, and I’m sure we are being watched, but I don’t mind. I take my bag from the seat beside mine and tip my head, asking him to sit with me. There’s an adorable bounce in his walk as he makes his way up, while other students brush past him to get seats. Today, he doesn’t respond when a few people greet him, and he has no reaction when his name is called from a few rows up. He just walks to me as if there is no one else in the room.

  When he lowers himself into the seat beside mine, his arm grazes against me. “Hi,” he says softly.

  “Hi.”

  “How was the rest of your weekend?” he asks with a glint in his eye.

  “Less drunk,” I reply.

  In the sweetest voice I’ve ever heard, he says, “You’re cute drunk.”

  I bite my lip to keep from smiling too much, and I’m glad that the lights suddenly cut out when our professor flashes a PowerPoint display on the classroom screen. We don’t speak or even look at each other again during class, and when the lights come back on, I fumble for an unnecessarily long time, packing up my things.

  Esben stands. “Well . . . I’ll see you Wednesday, I guess, yeah?”

  He turns to go, and I feel my heart begin to pound.

  “Esben, wait. Wait.” I am panicked and frazzled and desperate. If I don’t do this now, I will never do it. “Please, wait.”

  Fight or flight time.

  “Do you . . .” I swallow hard. “Would you like to get a cup of coffee? Or something? Maybe you hate coffee. So we don’t have to do that. We could do anything.”

  He’s got this outrageously charming look on his face, but he still isn’t saying anything.

  “But if you want to, I love coffee,” I continue. “Like, a lot. Probably too much. We could just go to the student union. It isn’t exactly gourmet there, but . . . um . . .”

  He takes my bag from my hand. “There’s a really fun coffeehouse not far from here. Sofas and cushy chairs everywhere. And the coffee is much better than the union’s.”

  “Sure. Yes. That sounds nice.” I’m trying to sound casual, as though I may not faint at any moment. But then I again take in how kind he is, how easy he is to talk to. Just because I’m not fueled by gin doesn’t mean that I should forget that. Although I am sort of wishing I had that teddy bear with me to cling to.

  “My car is parked right
behind the building.”

  “Okay.” I seem to be having trouble moving.

  Esben reaches out a hand. “I dare you not to like their mocha quad cappuccino.” He gives me a reassuring smile.

  So, I set my hand in his and let him pull me from my seat. My hand stays in his as he leads me through the crowded hall to the back exit of the building, and I have to force my legs not to buckle. When he lets go to open the door, my palm feels noticeably empty.

  He looks at me. “I should warn you about something.”

  “You’re not as nice as you seem, and you’re going to stuff me in the trunk of your car and roll me off a cliff?”

  “There aren’t any cliffs around here.” He gives me a playful pat on my arm. “I’m kidding!”

  “I hope so, or I’m making a really big mistake.”

  “You’re not.” He flashes a perfect smile. “So, here’s the deal. You thought my room was a mess? Prepare yourself for my car.”

  I rub my forehead. I’d forgotten that I’d called him a slob. “Oh God. Sorry about that.”

  “Don’t be. You’re right.”

  We walk to an older silver sedan, and he opens the passenger door. “See? You don’t have to ride in the trunk!”

  I laugh. “You’re quite the gentleman.”

  Esben circles his hand in front of his waist, then bows. “I aim to please.”

  In the few seconds I have after he shuts my door and before he’s in the driver’s seat, I exhale loudly. I am brave. I am brave. I am brave.

  The radio comes on when he starts the engine. “It’s not far, but a little too long for a walk.”

  “It’s nice that you have a car.” I glance around the floor. “Even with the many empty cups, crumpled papers, books, and . . . I believe, forty pairs of sunglasses?” I smile to let him know that now I’m the one teasing.

  “Ha! Right? I have a sunglasses problem. I keep thinking I’ve lost a pair, so I buy another cheap pair, then find the lost one. It’s an endless cycle.”