Джули Салливан - Friends and Strangers

Her heart raced as she walked to Laurel Street. When she pushed open the back door, she swore she could feel Elisabeth’s presence on the other side.

But she found Andrew in the kitchen instead, feeding Gil scrambled eggs.

“Elisabeth had an early call with her agent,” he said. “She went down to her office a while ago. She seemed nervous.”

Sam wondered how much he knew.

After a brief silence, she said, “I can take over from here.”

“Okay,” he said. “Great. Thanks.”

Elisabeth didn’t check in by phone or text like she usually did.

Sam was confused. She was the one who had been lied to, and yet she had shown up.

Andrew called the house while she was giving Gil his lunch.

“Can you stay late tonight?” he said. “Like six? Elisabeth has a friend coming into town for dinner, so I’ll be getting home before her. Sorry, she only just told me.”

“Sure thing,” Sam said.

So Elisabeth was leaving him to deal with the mess she’d made.

Would they ever speak again? Sam was mad enough that she almost didn’t care, but it made her sick to think of not seeing Gil after today. Was he old enough to wonder where she’d gone? All the times she had imagined the future, Sam thought they would send pictures and updates, maybe see each other once or twice a year, here or there, wherever there was.

She smiled through tears as she wiped his hands and face. She rocked him to sleep instead of letting him cry himself out, which was for some reason what you were supposed to do. Sam didn’t lay Gil down in the crib for his afternoon nap. She held him to her in the rocking chair until he woke up. They played for the rest of the day. She didn’t look at her phone once.

When Andrew got home, she said in a rush, “Would you mind paying me now for today and Monday?”

“Sure,” he said. “Let me get my wallet.”

While he went to find it, she whispered “I love you” to Gil, and kissed his soft, fat cheeks as many times as she could.

She got home a few minutes later and searched around for Andrew’s cell number. She found it on the “In Case of Emergency” contact list Elisabeth had given her back in September, which sat crumpled at the bottom of her book bag.

She sent him a text.

Hi! It’s Sam. I’ve just realized the rest of the semester is going to be super hectic. There’s no way I can work tomorrow and next week. Sorry for the short notice.

Andrew replied, Okay…hope everything is all right. Will we still see you Sunday for dinner?

Sam didn’t respond.

—

On Sunday, with two weeks to go until graduation, George arrived to take her to her final discussion group meeting. Sam thought of saying she couldn’t make it, but when George called the night before and said he was going to pick her up, he sounded cheerful.

“We’re having a bon voyage for you,” he said.

He didn’t mention Elisabeth. Maybe he didn’t know, Sam thought. Or maybe the two things could remain separate.

But as soon as they were in the car, George said, “Andrew thinks something is up between you and Lizzy. Is that true?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” Sam said. “If that’s okay.”

“You two are such pals,” George said. “Whatever it is, you’ll work it out.”

Neither of them said anything for a bit, and then George said, “You haven’t mentioned your friend in the dining hall lately. How is she? Did she get her childcare issue worked out?”

Sam looked at him. “I need to tell you something. But it’s really awful, so I’m going to look out the window when I tell you so I can’t see the disappointed look on your face.”

George chuckled. “All right. Out with it. You’re making me nervous.”

Sam still hadn’t told anyone but Clive about the letter she’d written to President Washington. She hadn’t been ready yet to own it. It was too shameful, too embarrassing.

But now she told George.

“Gaby didn’t understand that I was just trying to help,” Sam said. “Or maybe she understood, but she didn’t care. I feel like she thinks I’m this privileged person. Like Isabella. Or Elisabeth. When really, I couldn’t be further from it.”

“There are a lot of different kinds of privilege,” George said gently. “Education, for one.”

“I’ll be paying off my education until I die.”

“Still,” he said. “It makes all the difference. You should know that. Take it from someone who never dreamed of going to college. You’ve got your calling card now.”

Sam felt chastened, even though she knew he wouldn’t want her to.

“You meant well,” George said. “I have no doubt. But you never should have sent that letter without asking them first.”

“They wouldn’t have let me send it,” she said.

“Right,” George said. “Exactly.”

Sam had done to Gaby almost the same thing Elisabeth did to her, but with far worse results. Would George say that Elisabeth had meant well too? Sam wanted to be forgiven, but she didn’t want to forgive.

They did not speak for the rest of the ride, until he pulled into the parking spot in front of Lindy’s Bakery. Through the window she saw the old men seated around their usual table. Red balloons tied to an empty chair.

—

Later that night, Sam talked to Clive for the first time in a week. She’d been ignoring his calls.

“I’m sorry,” he said as soon as she answered. “I should have told you sooner. Please don’t let this come between us. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she said. “But I think I should take the job in Brooklyn. For now, at least. We can do long distance for a while. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said. “If that’s what you want.”

They both cried. After they hung up, Sam kept crying. She told herself it wasn’t over. They hadn’t broken up. But she saw his niece and nephew, Freddy and Sophie, gone from her life. She saw the house in the country Clive had so often described, gone.

She thought of having to make an online dating profile and be out there, alone, like everybody else. Lexi had told Sam that every guy who liked her profile asked, “What are you?” or “Where are you from?” When Lexi said, “Chicago,” they’d say, “But where are you from ?” And then there was the guy who sent Isabella a picture of his penis with a ribbon tied around it on her birthday.

The idea of it made Sam cry even harder.

Isabella walked in then, and froze in the doorway.

“I’ll kill him,” she said. “What did he do to you?”

Things between them had been strained. But Sam laughed.

“Nothing,” she said. “I did it to him.”

Isabella came and sat beside her on the bed, hugged her tight. She didn’t let go, and she didn’t say a word, which was the perfect thing.

—

On the Thursday before commencement, Sam arrived at the president’s mansion. Every light was on. The house glowed from within like a jack-o’-lantern. Out front, a banner reading CELEBRATE WOMEN! obscured the second-story windows.

Sam went around to the back.

The dinner was meant to honor the college’s top one hundred alumnae donors and their guests. Events like this were a showcase. The steak would be of the highest quality. The wine would cost fifty dollars a bottle. Five kinds of pie would be served. In a hundred and fifty years, it had never been otherwise.

Usually the best part of working an event like this was getting to eat the food. But tonight Sam wasn’t hungry.

The kitchen was bustling when she entered. Women from dining halls all over campus were busy cooking, preparing, arranging. They spoke to one another in Spanish, moving extra fast. One of them handed Sam a tray and pointed her down a long hallway, where other student waiters were coming and going.