Before We Were Strangers

  Every other photo was of Grace: in the lounge, in the park, sleeping in my bed, dancing in my dorm. All of her, captured in color.

  I laid out each photo on my coffee table and stared at them as I thought back, reliving all the memories with her. Did I tell her I loved her? Did I know I loved her? What happened?

  It was eight thirty and I hadn’t eaten all day. I was sick, disgusted by what Elizabeth had done. It all started to make sense—the way Grace had acted, so guarded on the phone. She had tried to reach out to me.

  I hopped onto my computer and did a reverse phone number search. I found the name G. Porter on West Broadway. She was married? Even though I had been married, too, the realization stung. I Googled “Grace Porter musician nyc” and found a link to the high school where she taught music. I clicked through several more links and found out her department was having a special performance that night at the high school gymnasium, but it had started an hour before.

  Without even looking in the mirror, I was out the front door. I just couldn’t leave things at an awkward phone call.

  Once I arrived at the school, I took the stairs two at a time down to the gymnasium. I could hear the sound of applause, and I prayed I wasn’t too late. There was no one manning the double doors, so I slipped through and stood in the back, my eyes scanning the room for Grace, but all I saw were four chairs arranged at the far end of the gymnasium—three occupied, one empty. The crowd quieted as a man approached a podium set up off to the side of the incomplete quartet.

  “Ms. Porter has something very special she would like to share with you all.” My timing was perfect, if not fifteen years too late. “This is indeed a treat, and a rare performance, so let’s put our hands together for her talented quartet.”

  Grace approached the podium, and I couldn’t catch my breath. What I had loved about her all those years ago was still there: her unique mannerisms; how unaware she was of her beauty; her hair, still long and blonde, draped over one shoulder; her lips, a full, natural pink. Even at this distance, I could see her spectacular green eyes. She was dressed from head to toe in black—a high-necked sweater and pants, so striking against her light skin and hair.

  She tapped the microphone and smiled as the thumping sound echoed off the walls. “Sorry about that.” Then a giggle. Jesus, how I missed that sound. “Thank you for coming out tonight. I don’t usually perform with the students, but we have something very special to share with you. Our first and second chair violinists, Lydia and Cara, and our first chair violist, Kelsey, will be performing with the New York Philharmonic next weekend.” The crowd erupted in cheers and whistles. Grace looked back at the three girls, who smiled at her, poised with their instruments. “This is a very proud moment for me, so tonight I would like to join them in a performance of ‘Viva La Vida’ by Coldplay. I hope you enjoy.”

  Still my modern girl.

  Grace walked to the farthest chair on the right and placed the cello between her legs. With her head down, she began the count. She had always played for herself, and as I watched her now, I could see that nothing had changed. I didn’t have to see her eyes to know they were closed, the way they always were when she played near the window in our old dorm.

  I watched, enraptured, my eyes never leaving Grace as the song filled the gymnasium. At the end, right before the last pass of the bow, she looked up at the ceiling and smiled. The crowd went wild, the place shaking with thunderous applause.

  I waited through the rest of the performances, starving, tired, and wondering if it was all in vain. The crowd cleared out a little after ten thirty, and I waited, my eyes still trained on her. Finally, she made her way toward the double doors, where I had stood the entire time. When I made eye contact with her, I could tell she had known I was there all along. She walked toward me with purpose.

  “Hi.” Her voice was light and friendly, thank God.

  “Hi. That was a great performance.”

  “Yeah, those girls . . . lots of talent there.”

  “No you, you’re so . . . you play so”—I swallowed—“beautifully.” I was a bumbling fool.

  She smiled but her eyes were appraising me. “Thank you.”

  “I know it’s late, but . . . would you like to get a drink?” She started to answer but I cut her off. “I know that phone call was awkward. I just want to talk to you in person. To”—I waved my hand around—“clear the air.”

  “ ‘Clear the air’?” She was testing the words.

  “Well, catch up. And yeah, clear the air, I guess.”

  “It’s been fifteen years, Matt.” She laughed. “I don’t know if ‘clearing the air’ is possible.”

  “Grace, listen, I think some things might’ve happened that I didn’t fully understand at the time, and—”

  “There’s a little dive around the corner. I can’t stay out late though. I have something in the morning.”

  I smiled at her gratefully. “Okay, no problem. Just one drink.”

  God, I was desperate.

  “Let’s head out, then. This way.”

  We walked side by side down the dark street. “You look really fantastic, Grace. I thought so as soon as I saw you the other day on the subway.”

  “Wasn’t that so weird? It was like the universe was teasing us; we saw each other just a second too late.” I hadn’t thought of it that way. I loved her mind. “I mean, apparently we live a few blocks from each other but we’ve never run into each other. It’s kind of strange.”

  “Actually, I just moved into that apartment when I came back to New York last year.”

  “Where were you before that?”

  “I moved to the Upper West Side five years ago, but then I left for L.A. for a little while. After my divorce from Elizabeth was finalized, I came back to New York. That was about a year ago. I’m renting the loft on Wooster now.”

  I watched Grace’s reaction carefully, but all she said was, “I see.”

  Inside the dark bar, Grace selected a small table, hung her bag over the back of a chair, and pointed to the jukebox in the corner. “I’m gonna pick out a song. It’s too quiet in here for a bar.” Her mood seemed lighter. I thought about how she couldn’t handle being indoors without music. She was fine outside, listening to nature, but when she was inside, she always had to have music on.

  “Can I order you a drink?”

  “A glass of red wine would be great.”

  I had to constantly remind myself not to reminisce in my head and to just be in the moment. There was a lot to say, after all. When I returned with our drinks, she was sitting, elbows propped on the table, her chin resting on top of her clasped hands. “You look great too, Matt. I wanted to say that earlier. You haven’t aged much at all.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I like the long hair, and this . . .” She brushed my beard with her fingertips. I closed my eyes for a second too long. “So, you were in L.A.?”

  I tried to control my breathing, to stop myself from breaking down and crying. I was totally overwhelmed in her presence.

  A sad song came on with a droning male voice. “Who is this?” I asked as I took a sip of my beer.

  “It’s The National. But, Matt, you said you wanted to talk, so let’s talk. You went to L.A. after your divorce: did you stay with your mom? How’s she doing? I think about her from time to time.”

  “I went before I got divorced, actually. To take care of my mom. She passed away while I was there.”

  Grace’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Matt. I’m so sorry. She was such a wonderful woman.”

  My throat tightened. “It was ovarian cancer. Elizabeth thought Alexander should’ve stepped up, but he was too busy trying to make partner at the firm. My mother was dying and her sons were fighting over who should take care of her. So stupid.” I looked away. “My marriage was already on the rocks. Elizabeth was desperately trying to get pregnant, but I was thousands of miles away, across the country. I think, on some level, she thought I was trying to avoid her. I
just thought she was being selfish. We were both angry and hurting, I guess.”

  She nodded. “What happened after that?”

  “While I was in L.A., watching my mother wither away, Elizabeth started having an affair with my friend and our co-worker Brad, a producer at National Geographic. Eight years of marriage—poof.” I made an exploding motion with my hands.

  “Eight years? I thought . . .” She hesitated.

  “What?”

  “Never mind. I’m really sorry, Matt. I don’t know what to say.”

  “You can tell me this: why did you leave?”

  “Leave when?”

  “Why didn’t you leave a note or a message when you went off to Europe? You just left.”

  She looked confused. “What do you mean? I waited. You never called me.”

  “No, I couldn’t. I couldn’t make any more calls. The only person I talked to was my mom because I could call her collect. I was out of cash. We got stuck in a village with a broken vehicle and hundreds of miles of rain forest around us. I just figured you’d understand.”

  She looked shattered. “What about that article in that photography magazine? It basically said you had a job with National Geographic and you were going to Australia after South America.”

  “Back in ’97?”

  “Yeah.” She threw back her entire glass of wine. “There was a photo of you taking her picture and it said you were going to Australia with her for six months.”

  “I’ve never even read this article you’re talking about, so I’m not sure what you mean. Elizabeth asked me to go to Australia, but I turned her down. I came back here to be with you after my internship was over, but you were gone.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I thought you were going to Australia. That’s why I ended up joining Dan’s orchestra.”

  I was shaking my head now, too. “No, I didn’t go to Australia. I came back at the end of August. I tried to call you before I left, but I couldn’t get through. I went straight to Senior House, thinking you’d still be there. When I couldn’t find you, I thought maybe you had moved to grad student housing, so I went to check with the registrar. He told me you had deferred your grad school admission. On my way back to Senior House, I saw Daria and she said you had joined Pornsake’s orchestra.”

  Grace started crying, full, quiet sobs into her hands. “Grace, I’m so sorry.” I grabbed napkins from the dispenser on our table and handed them to her. “I thought you were the one who left me. I didn’t know how to reach you. I didn’t even accept the job at National Geographic until I found out you were gone.”

  She let out a laugh through her tears. “Holy shit. All this time . . .”

  “I know. I tried looking for you a few times, but I could never find you online. I didn’t know until tonight that your last name was Porter.”

  Grace was hysterical now. “I married Pornsake, Matt. He changed his last name to Porter.”

  My heart was murdered. “Oh.”

  “Not right away. I waited almost five years. He’s dead now. You know that, right?”

  “No. How would I know that?”

  “I wrote to you.”

  “You did?” Elizabeth. Turned out she still hadn’t told me the whole truth. It was like I had fallen into some alternate universe, where Grace loved me and I was the one who had left. All these years I had spent depressed over losing her, yet all this time she had been trying to find me.

  I reached across the table and took her hands in mine. And she let me. “I’m so sorry about Dan. He was very kind. How did he die?”

  “Enlarged heart. He died with a damn smile on his face,” she said, proudly.

  “Did you love him?” I knew I had no right, but I was dying to know.

  “He was good to me.” She looked up at the ceiling. “I loved him in my own way.”

  “Yeah?” I was getting choked up again.

  Her eyes met mine. “Yeah. But not the way I loved you.”

  “Grace . . .”

  “What the fuck happened, Matt?”

  “I don’t know anymore. I thought I knew. Elizabeth just told me she sent you a letter?”

  “I got one letter from you, maybe in ’99 or 2000. The rest of my calls and letters went unanswered.”

  “Elizabeth wrote that letter, not me. I swear to God, Grace, I never would have ignored your calls.”

  “Well.” Her voice got very quiet, shrinking in on itself. “It’s too late now, isn’t it?”

  “Why? Why does it have to be too late?”

  “I would say fifteen years is pretty late. So much has happened to us and . . .”

  I squeezed her hands. “Let’s get a piece of pie or pancakes or something, like we used to.”

  “Are you insane?”

  “Yes,” I deadpanned. “We need to get out of this place.”

  “I don’t know . . .” She withdrew her hands from mine.

  I looked at my watch. “Breakfast for dinner?”

  She ran a hand across her face and sat up straight, putting some distance between us. I couldn’t tell if she was contemplating the idea or trying to think of a nice way to say no. I searched her eyes and she smiled. “Okay. I’ll go with you, on one condition.”

  “What’s that, Gracie?” She laughed at the nickname and then her eyes started welling up again. “Please don’t cry,” I said.

  “We have to forget for a little while who we are to each other. No talking about the past. That’s my condition.”

  “Deal.” I left a fistful of bills on the table, grabbed her hand, and pulled her toward the door. But just before we left, I turned to her. “Wait. Let’s do a shot first. We’re young, the city is ours, you don’t have to wake up early tomorrow to teach, and I don’t have an asshole for a wife.”

  “Sure. Why not?” Her cheeks turned pink. She suddenly seemed happier, younger. And though I had promised her we wouldn’t talk about the past, I couldn’t help but feel like we had traveled back to the best time of our lives.

  We each had a tequila shot, left the bar, and found a little twenty-four-hour diner. “I think I want pie,” I said as we stared into the refrigerator case.

  “Me too. You wanna share a piece?”

  “Let’s share two pieces,” I said, practically daring her.

  “You’re talkin’ dirty now. I like it. Let’s do a slice of chocolate cream and . . .”

  “A slice of peanut butter?”

  “That’s so perfect. I’m gonna eat the crap out of that pie.”

  God, I loved her. “Same here,” I said.

  We ordered and then sat in a green vinyl–upholstered booth. She traced the sparkles in the retro tabletop with her finger. “So, how are Alexander, your dad, and Regina?”

  “Great. My dad will never retire. He and my brother are partners at the same firm. Alexander and Monica have two kids and a big house in Beverly Hills. Regina is the same, except her face is tighter.”

  Grace laughed but then her smile faded. “I’m sad to hear about your mom. I really liked her. I felt like we were kindred spirits.”

  I thought back to the days before I lost my mom. She asked me what happened with Grace, and I told her it just didn’t work out. I was confused as to why my mother was bringing Grace’s name up after so many years had passed. She had no idea Elizabeth and I were having marital problems, but it was like she wanted me to know she still thought of Grace. I think she must have felt that they were kindred spirits, too. Elizabeth was never close to Mom, even after knowing her for a decade. One visit, and Grace was in my mom’s heart forever.

  “Yes. She went peacefully. My dad actually came to see her before she died. It was heartbreaking because, after all they went through . . . she still loved him. That’s why she never remarried. I think, once everything was stripped away and he saw her near the end of her life, he loved her, too. At least, that’s what he said to her. If he didn’t mean it, at least my mom died believing it. I came to respect him more after that.”

 
“I can understand that.” She said it as if she spoke from experience.

  I took a deep breath. “Let’s talk about something happier.”

  “I followed your career for a while and saw that you won the Pulitzer. What an amazing accomplishment, Matt. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you. It was unexpected and hard to appreciate because, I think, at the time, I was in a really dark place.”

  “That was before your mother got sick though, right?”

  “Yeah. She got to see me accept the award. She and my dad were really proud.”

  Grace was so interested, so compassionate. I thought I had made up all those things about her in my mind. How fitting her name was. How real, beautiful, and genuine she was in the flesh. All those times I had stared at her photos and wished I could hold her, touch her, or just see her in person, in color, here she was, just like I remembered.

  The slices of pie sat untouched between us. I stabbed a piece and held the fork up to Grace’s lips. “Pie makes everything better.”

  She took the bite, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her mouth. I licked my lips, thinking about how she tasted—what it had been like to kiss her.

  “That’s soooo good.”

  “I know we aren’t supposed to talk about the past, but I’m dying to know what you did after we graduated. How was the orchestra?”

  “It was wonderful, actually. We traveled for a couple of years. Tatiana did, too. When we came home to New York, Dan got his old job back at NYU, and I got my master’s in music theory in an online program. I taught at the college level for a few years, and now I direct the orchestra and band at the high school.”

  “That’s fantastic, Grace. How is Tatiana?”

  “She’s good. Still single and feisty. She’s with the New York Philharmonic so she travels a lot. She’s a very dedicated musician.”

  “What happened to Brandon?”

  She chuckled. “He was just one of many for Tati.”

  “I should have guessed. So you never wanted to go down the same path as Tati? I might be biased, but I always thought you were a stronger musician than her.”