Sarah Mlynowski - Monkey Business

“What are you doing now?” I ask him in the hallway.

“I’m thinking of trying scuba diving. I’ve always wanted to swim with the sharks.”

I laugh and rub his arm. “Want to grab some dinner away from the caf? Maybe that little Japanese restaurant on Main Street?”

“Sure. Why not?”

I should be studying for finals-that’s why not. I’m okay for most of them. All except Finance. I have no idea what’s going on in that class. It’s like they’re speaking Korean. I’m not sure how I’m going to pass the exam. Even though I’m not planning on coming back next year, I still want to pass. No need to leave on a bad note. I still can’t decide what I should do about this summer. I don’t want to be in New York by myself. If Jamie and I hooked up, maybe we could share an apartment in the city. And maybe I could be persuaded to stay at LWBS.

Twenty minutes later we’re seated at a table for two near the window. He takes my coat and pulls out my chair for me. Two things Russ never did. A tea candle burns in the middle of the table, and I pour the wax on my hand and make him a heart.

“Thanks, darlin’,” he says. “I shall wear it on my sleeve.”

The waitress asks us if we want something to drink. Jamie surprises me by ordering sake.

“I thought you don’t drink,” I say.

“I didn’t drink. Presently I find it helps me dwell in my melancholy.”

My heart sinks. “Because of Layla?”

“Yes,” he says, and gets choked up. “She won’t even talk to me.”

I don’t know what to say, so I sip my water. When the sake comes, he pours us each a cup, then raises his in mock salute. “To unrequited love.”

“To unrequited love,” I repeat.

He downs his cup and refills. “Why do we always have to love the people who don’t love us? Maybe it’s just me. I think I should go back to not trying. Coasting. That works. Not caring. Not caring about my future. Not caring about women. Before Layla, everything was just a joke to me.” He downs his second cup.

My lip begins to tremble. “What about me? Didn’t you care about me? Way back in September?” I need to know he cared about me. I need to know I matter. I need to know that I wasn’t a joke.

“Of course I cared about you, Kimmy. But we barely knew each other. But when I met Layla…”

I give my best smile. “Right.” But he knows me now. I lean in close so he can get a better view of my padded cleavage. I get soy sauce all over my shirt. “So what do you want to order?” I ask, forcing my voice to sound chirpy. “Want to share a California roll?”

“I’ve moved beyond California rolls, Kimmy. I’m ready for the real thing, now. Bring on the spicy tuna.”

Three platefuls of sushi and four more carafes of sake later I’m still laughing.

“Maybe we should take one of the carafes back to the Zoo and instigate a floor-wide game of spin-the-sake,” Jamie says, his voice about two octaves higher than usual, his eyes bright, his cheeks flushed.

“Sounds like a plan.”

Jamie signs his name in the air for the bill. “Do you think that’s the international sign for bring-me-the-bill? We should ask Nick if in Australia they sign upside down.”

He drops four twenties on the table and waves my hand away when I reach for my wallet. “My treat. You’ve finally allowed me to take you for dinner.”

“Thank you,” I say, sincerely.

“Don’t touch my mustache,” he replies.

I peer at his face. “You don’t have a mustache.”

“Doitashimashite,” he says. “That’s Japanese for ‘you’re welcome.’”

Because of our inebriated state, we leave his car on the street and walk the five blocks back to campus. He tries to do a fox-trot, and I can’t stop laughing.

When we get to the Zoo, he can barely make it up the stairs. He puts his arm around me to help him balance. Instead of focusing on the act of stair climbing, he’s singing, off-key, some song about falling in love. No surprise there, considering that most songs are about love.

Giggling, we half carry each other to his room. He unlocks his door and falls face forward onto his bed. I climb in beside him. He’s still singing. He knows I’m lying next to him and he hasn’t told me to leave, so I snuggle into his arms. He smells like warm wine. He fingers a lock of my hair and closes his eyes.

Now’s my chance. I can take my clothes off and let his hands wander, or I can start kissing his neck. And then we’ll be exactly where we were in September. With Jamie being in love with me. Instead of with Layla.

I close my eyes and pull him close. He doesn’t pull away. I inch my mouth to his.

He’s no longer singing, he’s humming, but it’s the same song.

I fell in love with you…

Where’s that from? I know that song.

Right. Eric Clapton.

Layla .

I sit up with a start. What am I doing? My head pounds, my mouth feels drier than the Arizona desert, and my stomach feels queasy. What the hell is wrong with me? Layla’s helped me through everything this year and I try to screw her just because my self-esteem’s been shredded to pieces? Why am I such a horrible person? Jamie doesn’t love me. He loves Layla. And she loves him, no matter what she says.

I can’t always be the weak link in the band of sisterhood. I disentangle myself from his arms and back out of the room.

He hangs his head over the bed. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

I rush to grab his garbage pail and place it directly in his potential target zone. Then I sit back down on the edge of his bed. “You know what? So am I.”

Tuesday, April 20, 10:00 a.m.

White noise blares through my alarm clock.

Happy birthday, Dara.

I slam my hand against the alarm. Head. Hurts. Room. Smells. I open one eye and throw off my covers. I’m fully clothed yet nicely tucked into my bed. It smells like ass in here. Oy. That must be because of the garbage pail of puke beside my bed.

What happened last night anyway? The last thing I remember clearly is drinking too much sake. But somehow I must have found my way back here. And set my alarm. Or maybe Kimmy did it for me. Who knew she had the mother gene? I’m not getting up today. I shall mourn Dara’s birthday in bed. Nothing matters, anyway. My head is broken and my heart is broken. Why bother getting up?

I turn the alarm off. No thanks.

The phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Jamie?”

“Mom, hi.”

“You weren’t still sleeping, were you?”

“Sleeping? What’s that?”

“Are you getting enough sleep over there? Have you tried those earplugs I sent?”

“Yes, Mom. Thanks, Mom.”

Pause. “I’m calling to thank you for the flowers.”

Flowers? Oh, right, flowers. I forgot I ordered the flowers. Wait a second. She never calls to thank me. “You are?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, Jamie.”

“Well, Mom, I’ve been sending them for twenty years and you’ve never called to thank me before. Not that I need a thank you. I’m just wondering why this morning I get a phone call.”

“You’re right,” she says, and I hear her eating on the other end. “I’m seeing things differently, since my mother died. I wanted to tell the people I appreciate how much I appreciate them before it’s too late.”

“Well, then I appreciate you telling me that you appreciate me.”

“I appreciate you, I appreciate you. I always have, since the day you were born. Even though I didn’t want to have you.”

“Um…thanks?”

She laughs. Laughter on Dara’s birthday? “That didn’t come out right.”

I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. “So why did you decide to have me?”