Lisa Desrochers - A Little Too Much

He glares over his shoulder at me. “Screw you.”

“Back at ya, asshole.”

Jess tugs me away before I take a swing at the guy. “Karma will take care of people like that,” she tells me.

And then I look up and see where we are.

In front of me is the block where the World Trade Center buildings stood before the attack. It’s now a cobbled park with two giant reflecting pools where the bases of the buildings use to be. We move closer and it becomes noticeably more hushed, the cacophony of chattering tourists dropping to a rustling of whispers. The reverence is clear in the face of everyone around us. Inside me, everything shifts, and I feel the sudden urge to go back and apologize to the guy with the camera.

“Can you feel the energy here?” Jess whispers. “It’s different than anywhere else in the city.”

And for once, I think I kind of get her, because it does feel different.

Out of the total blue, a huge knot of grief forms in my chest and tears spring up behind my eyes. And the image that accompanies those feelings is a beautiful sixteen-year-old boy without a father.

I heard the sirens. I felt the city scream. What happened that day changed everyone. But Alessandro’s father died here, and his life changed in ways I can’t even imagine.

I move to the edge of the enormous pool where the north tower used to be and walk around the edge, scanning each name engraved into the side and looking for one with the last name Moretti. I find it halfway around the second side. Lorenzo Moretti. So, Lorenzo was a junior. I lean into the edge and trace my fingers over his engraved name, sniffling into the sleeve of my jacket.

He was assistant chef at Windows on the World, at the top of the north tower. He walked with Lorenzo and me to the subway when we left for school that morning, and that was the last we ever saw of him.

Tears come harder at the memory of Alessandro’s words—at the memory of the haunted look in his eyes as he said them. I imagine him here, standing just where I am as an adult, finally grieving his dead father.

Ghosts.

Jess steps up next to me and lays a hand on my back. We just stand here for what feels like a really long time as I imagine Alessandro’s family before. Two parents. Lorenzo, the troublemaker. And Alessandro, the adoring little brother.

I remember how he was when I knew him . . . always trying to sort through his feelings. Trying to make sense of the world and all the shitty things that happen in it—trying to make sense of why his father died, and why his mother left him.

That was his way of trying to stay sane in an insane world.

Finally, when I feel the knot in my chest start to ease, I scrub my sleeve across my face and back away from the pool.

“You okay?” Jess asks.

I nod and we head back the way we came.

I come away from the Century 21 two hours later with a bottle of Brett’s aftershave, a scarf and some gloves for Mallory, a graphic T-shirt for Jeff, a new Lego set for Henri, and finger paints for Max, because Mallory mentioned his physical therapist said tactile things would help his sensory integration, what ever that means. I couldn’t find anything that I thought they’d let Mom have in prison.

“So, we only got to number one on your list earlier,” Jess says as we trudge back to the subway. “What else?”

We start down the stairs into the subway. “There’s a guy.”

She glances at me as we reach the bottom. “Other than Brett?”

I nod.

“The one you were dancing with at Club Sixty-nine? Because I’ve gotta tell you, that guy made me question my sexual preference.”

“I don’t really know what’s going on with us. I mean, I’m with Brett, and I’m not looking for anyone else, but . . .” I hang my head.

“You just met him, right? He’s got that dark, mysterious thing happening. It’s hotter than hell, but as soon as you get to know him, you’ll find out he wets the bed and still lives with his mommy or something. Not that I’m a big fan of Brett’s, but the grass is always greener, Hil.”

We slide our MetroCards and walk through the gates.

“I didn’t just meet him. I’ve known him forever.”

She shoots me a glance as we weave through the crowd to the platform. “How long is forever?”

“We were in a group home together when I was fourteen.”

We find a spot on the platform and I can feel her eyes boring into me. “There’s more to that story.”

I hang my head and grab a handful of my kinks. “I was in love with him back then.” And maybe still am. “We kind of had a thing.”

“A thing?” She leans closer and asks, “Did you hand him your V card?”

“No. I handed it to his brother.”

She doesn’t say anything, and when I look up at her, she’s just staring at me. “Please tell me you didn’t sleep with both of them.”

“I slept with both of them.”

She breathes deep. “And now?”

“We do things together, and . . .” I shake my head. “I just like spending time with him, you know? He’s interesting and different and . . .” I shake my head again. “I don’t know.”

She tucks her bags behind her legs and leans back into the wall. “So this guy just showed back up out of nowhere.”

I nod. “But I told him I can’t see him anymore.”

“Because of Brett?”

My stomach knots. I really want to tell her everything—the real reason I can’t be with Alessandro, but I made a promise. “Because of a lot of things.”

She looks at me for a few seconds, like she’s going to push for details, but then she shakes her head. “When it rains, it pours.”

“Tell me about it.”

When I get back to the apartment, I go to the bedroom and wrap all my Christmas gifts. Then, since we have no tree to put them under, I stuff everything back in the bag and stick it in the closet. The gift I already bought for Alessandro is there, in the corner. I pull it out and turn it in my hand. The tube is wrapped in green paper and has a red bow tied around it. And in the middle of the bow is my cockroach.

I put it back and close the door. Brett will be home in a few days. Things will be easier then. Maybe I haven’t given him enough credit—taken our relationship seriously enough. Maybe we can be more than just roommates with benefits.

He’s uncomplicated. He’s predictable. He’s easy. And he’s not Alessandro.

He’s everything I need.

He’s all I need.

IT’S CHRISTMAS EVE and I’m working. So ho, ho, fucking ho. And the cherry on top is that the only person in the bar is Bill-Bob, so I’m probably looking at five bucks in tips.

Brett will be there when I get home from the bar tonight. His flight got into Newark at six. He texted me from the airport to ask if I wanted to come to the cast party. I lied and told him I wanted to, but I was working. The working part wasn’t the lie.

It’s been six weeks, and I know I should be dying to see him. I’m not. But the thing is, I have to stop thinking about Alessandro, and the quickest way I can think to do that is to drown myself in Brett.

I’ve spent the two and a half weeks since I last saw Alessandro working and walking. I’ve got a five-mile loop I do around Central Park every morning now—avoiding Bethesda Fountain. I don’t know if it’s the exercise, or the fresh air, but it’s the only time my mind clears enough that I can think straight. When I’m walking, I know what’s what. I know who’s who. The rest of the time, I find myself pining over things I can’t change. Things I can’t have.

Bill-Bob staggers off his stool and leaves a little before eleven, and when I clear his spot, I see I’m indeed clairvoyant. A wrinkled five is tucked under his empty mug, like he thought it might blow away or someone might steal it.

When the phone rings ten minutes later, I’m leaning on the bar, half asleep. I flip the phone—one of those old jobs stuck to the wall with an actual cord—to my ear.

“Hey, Hilary! How’s it hanging?” Jerry says.

“Low as your Christmas balls, Jerry. And fuck you very much for making me work tonight.” I was so pissed I had to work that I’m actually out of uniform. I’m in my most comfortable jeans instead of my ass shorts.

“Slow?” he asks.

I point the receiver into the empty room. “I can’t hear you over the roar of the crowd, Jerry, what did you say?”

“If it’s slow,” he’s saying when I stick the phone back to my ear, “you can lock up and go home.”

“Do I still get paid for the last three hours of my shift? Because I’m bringing home a whole five bucks in tips.”

He blows a laugh into the phone. “Call it your Christmas bonus.”

That’s all I have to hear. “ ’Night, Jerry.”

“Merry Christmas,” he’s saying, but I don’t wait for him to finish before I slam the phone back into the cradle.

By the time I get home, I’m tired and cranky and I just want to forget the whole freaking day. I twist my key and push open our apartment door, and when it opens, Brett is there on the couch, buck naked and totally ready, waiting for me. When I hear a long moan and a series of grunts from the TV, I know why. He’s got the porn channel on.

He stands and has me pinned against the back of the door in a heartbeat, tugging my coat off. “Miss me?” he asks, a wicked smile on his face and a bleary look in his eyes. That, coupled with the whisky on his breath, tells me he’s totally drunk.

“Yeah. How was the party?”

“You should have been there, babe,” he slurs, tugging at the zipper of my jeans.

He yanks them down, and I keep telling myself I should want this. It’s been a month since we’ve been together.