Sarah Mlynowski - Monkey Business

I fell. Again and again. And again. Russ was a champion at it, flying from side to side. Show-off.

“I was thinking that today could be a cuddle-by-the-fire-place-and-drink-Baileys day,” I say hopefully.

“But we paid for two days of boarding.”

Does he always have to be doing something? “But I want to relax.”

“But it’s beautiful out.”

But, but, but. My butt is killing me from all that falling. “But I’m not a good boarder.”

“You won’t get better by not practicing.”

Even talking to him is exhausting. “Can’t we just relax? We’ve been running around all week.” We’ve shopped, we’ve Metroed, we’ve boarded and we’ve hiked. Ever since his hand has healed he’s wanted to do every possible activity imaginable. “This is spring break, not spring workout.”

“I was happy to stay at the Zoo for the break. You were the one who wanted to get away.”

“Get away for a vacation. Not to make myself even more worn-out.”

“But we’re here. Let’s not waste any time.”

“Since when is relaxing a waste of time?” Is cuddling a waste of time? Next he’ll be saying that being with me is a waste of time.

“But the tickets!” he says, jutting out his chin.

“So go.” I storm out of the bed and go to the bathroom.

Sometimes he’s so annoying. I sit on the toilet, and then see a splotch of red in my panties. Shit. I’m bleeding. It’s my period. Damn. I don’t know if I should be happy or upset. On one hand, I’m relieved I’m not pregnant; on the other hand, I can’t believe I got it now.

Damn. I’ve ruined the vacation. He’s going to start fantasizing about someone else. He’ll meet some sexy boarder on the hill who knows all the right moves, and he’ll forget all about me. And then who will I live with this summer? Not that he’s asked me yet, but why wouldn’t he? There is no point in us having our own places when we sleep in the same bed every night, anyway. I haven’t suggested it outright yet, but I’ve been hinting. I’d prefer if he came up with it on his own. Unfortunately, I don’t think skipping boarding will help my cause.

I find my emergency tampon in my makeup case, then turn the shower on and call, “We better hurry if we want to hit the slopes.”

The bathroom is full of steam. He steps into the shower and I wrap my arms around his chest. If I give him a blow job now, he might want to skip sex tonight. Here’s hoping that the slopes wear him out.

Friday, March 19, 1:15 a.m.

R ing, ring.

Phones ringing in the middle of the night make me nervous. I pause Casablanca and pick up.

Me: Hello?

Voice on phone: Hi, ya! It’s Layla.

Me: Everything okay?

Layla: Of course.

Me: (Exhaling in relief and then singing her name song.)

Layla: You’re up!

Me: So are you, apparently.

Layla: I can’t sleep.

Me: Where’s Bradley the frog?

Layla: (Loud sigh.) That didn’t work out.

Me: (Heart soaring into the sky like a kite on speed.) What happened?

Layla: He wasn’t as perfect as I thought.

Me: After all that?

Layla: It happens. How are you? How’s the job search going?

Me: Job search? Is that what I’m supposed to be doing?

Layla: Does that mean you haven’t found anything?

Me: Actually, I did find something. Your contact gave me a bunch of names. I’ve decided I definitely want to get a job in movies. And I’ve spoken to a few production companies. They all seem interested, but none of them want to pay me. I’d be a kind of intern, aka slave laborer.

Layla: With half an MBA you shouldn’t be working for free.

Me: It’s not always about the money.

Layla: You’re right. You are so right. I love that you’re following your passion.

Me: (She’s my passion. Maybe I should start following her .) You do?

Layla: I have a confession to make. I’m jealous that you’re not going for the money, that you’re going to do something you love.

Me: ( What I’d love to do is you .) You love what you do.

Layla: I love working. But I wish I worked somewhere where I could make a difference, instead of pushing papers and million-dollar deals that don’t mean anything.

Me: What would be your dream job?

Layla: Remember Danielle Grand? The executive director of the Girls Group in Danbury? I would like to do what she does.

Me: So why can’t you do that?

Layla: Because I already have a job. And you don’t get to wear Chanel suits at a nonprofit. And-this is going to sound horrible-working at a nonprofit just feels like such women’s work.

Me: Excuse me?

Layla: It’s such a stereotype. Like teaching. My sister is in Teacher’s College. And I’m disappointed in her. I thought she could do better.

Me: ( I hate that she said, “I thought she could do better.” For sure she’d never go out with me .) Teaching shapes the minds of our youth. Isn’t that one of the most important jobs there is?

Layla: I know, I know. Rationally, I know. But I would still worry about people putting down what I did, like it was some kind of woman’s hobby. ( She sighs loudly .) Isn’t that dumb?

Me: Yes. Do you want to be a banker?

Layla: My mother is a banker. My father is a banker.

Me: That’s the worst answer I ever heard.

Layla: ( Laughs .) I love working. I’m just not crazy about the projects I work on. ( She sighs again .) Let’s talk about something else. So is it quiet there? Empty? Is it weird?”

Me: It is weird. Like that scene in Vanilla Sky when Tom Cruise is walking through an empty Times Square.

Layla: I loved that movie. So what did you do all week?

Me: I instant-messengered my mom. Never show a lonely mother how to use the Internet. She’ll use it against you.

Layla: My mother wouldn’t have time to IM me. She works twenty-five-hour days. But if we didn’t communicate by e-mail, I would never hear from her.

Me: What about your dad?

Layla: Same.

Me: You must have seen them this week while you were in New York.

Layla: Nope.

Me: That’s so sad.

Layla: Isn’t it?

Me: Were you a lonely kid?

Layla: I had my sister. And my friends. And my work. Yeah. I guess I was. ( She laughs again .)

Me: Maybe you want to be a banker because you think it’ll bring you closer to your parents.

Layla: ( Pause .) That’s very astute of you, Jamie. Maybe you should look for a shrink job instead.

We stay on the phone until I look out the window over my bed and the light has started to eat its way over the empty campus, turning the sky vanilla.

Sunday, March 21, 7:00 p.m.

Ican’t wait to see Jamie. He’s funny and sweet and smart and passionate, and he organizes book drives.

I pull my car into my underground parking spot and take a deep breath.

Jamie’s the one.

He’s perfect for me. He gets me. I don’t know how I didn’t realize this before. As soon as I see him, I’m going to tell him. No, I’m going to throw my arms around him and show him. Unless he’s still in love with Kimmy.

How silly of me, encouraging him to go for Kimmy when he’s so perfect for me.

I shift the gear into Park, grab my bag and lock the door. If only the Zoo had a valet. Or a doorman. This is taking too long! I have to know if he feels the same way I do.

I sprint out of the garage, into the Zoo and up the stairs, run right to his room and pound on the door. “Jamie! It’s me! Open up! I have something to ask you!”