than I remember being in a while, in fact.
It’s just not what I’d define as pure, untainted joy. What interrupts the feeling is the sneaking suspicion I’m deserting what’s really important with every step I take into a future that’s distinctly mine.
I wonder if I’m right to imagine more, or if I should bury my nose in a book of my own.
Juniper
IF THERE’S ONE thing you have to do in New York City, it’s find yourself some pizza.
When we finished touring NYU late in the morning, Fitz and I grabbed unfulfilling café sandwiches, then took the subway uptown to Columbia. We’d scheduled two schools for one day, not wanting to miss either even though we knew it’d be exhausting. Finally, finished with Columbia and desperately hungry for dinner, we ducked into the hole-in-the-wall pizzeria we found near the campus. It didn’t disappoint, the way New York pizza never does. Dripping with delicious grease, scald-the-roof-of-your-mouth hot, with crunchy crust—the two, or it might’ve been three, slices Fitz and I each devoured were perfection.
Lewis didn’t have dinner with us. He volunteered to drive ahead to Philadelphia and “make sure everything’s okay with the hotel.” It was a flimsy excuse if I ever heard one to leave Fitz and me alone and force us to carpool, considering we’d chosen the new hotel and called them this morning. While we finished off the pizza, Fitz explained he’s overheard Lewis have increasingly frequent phone calls with his girlfriend, Prisha, and Fitz suspects relationship stress combined with worries over his job interview have put his brother on edge. Lewis could probably use the time on his own, Fitz says.
We check out of my hotel and hit the road. I can’t help the awkward disjointedness I feel every time I notice Fitz in the passenger seat, where Matt would sit. It’s like I’ve tumbled into a parallel universe. I keep glancing in Fitz’s direction because I feel like if I don’t, I’ll forget and say something to Matt. Which would be a level of uncomfortable with which I completely could not deal.
“Do you want to listen to music?” I blurt while we head toward the interstate. I’m conscious of how direct and desperate the question comes out. It’s just, Matt would have reached for the radio while we were pulling out of the hotel. The newness of having Fitz in the passenger seat draws the differences from driving with my ex into unbearably crisp focus.
“Up to you,” Fitz replies. “What do you usually listen to?”
Matt would’ve started pressing for his eighties playlist he knows I can’t stand. This is too weird. “Podcasts?” I suggest.
“Cool. Let’s do that.” He’s holding his dictionary in his lap, lightly tapping his thumb on the spine in a steady pulse. The sound is booming, my brothers jumping in the upstairs hallway while I try to study. He picks up the tempo, the beat audibly anxious in the silence.
I don’t know why things are suddenly so stilted between us. We’ve never struggled in conversation before. Words normally flow too easily. I remember texting him nonstop on the drive to New York, earning irritated glances from Matt every time my phone buzzed with one of Fitz’s replies. We weren’t even talking about anything and yet we had everything to say.
Now something is different, and I don’t know what. It might have to do with this car ride being the first time Fitz and I don’t have distraction. There are no colleges to tour, no stars to watch, no definitions to trade. Just us. Fitz and me—and a two-hour drive. Cold sweat prickles my hands.
“Which podcasts do you like?” I ask desperately. I’d put anything on at this point, even the show Anabel is obsessed with devoted entirely to American Girl dolls.
“Oh, any of them.” Fitz doesn’t look pleased with his reply. He turns his gaze to his shoes. I fix my eyes on the highway.
“Pick one.”
“I, um, don’t know any,” Fitz answers. “I don’t actually listen to them. But put on whatever you like. I’m sure it’ll be interesting.”
I almost take him up on the offer, but it feels like giving up. Like stalling the silence instead