Forty-Three Years Ago

Forty-Three Years Ago

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," Cory said. "There's nothing more to say."

"Why not?"

"You're working a hundred hours a week. You won't even miss me."

"I miss you right now. I miss you already."

They were walking around the Strand Bookstore, Cory searching through their new arrivals table. Cory browsing through books, trying to ignore him and this conversation Liam knew she didn't want to have.

She was right about how much he was working. He had been at Hayes for three months and had put in more hours than most people did in a year. No one understood him even taking the job in the first place.

He'd been a summer associate at Bain Consulting, and everyone assumed he'd accept a permanent position there and all the perks that came with it: a Midtown rental apartment, a six-figure starting salary. But Liam had been assigned to a project at Bain that moved the goalposts for him. He was brought in to analyze a large hotel group, three-star and four-star resorts around the globe, more than twelve hundred properties. He was supposed to be looking for opportunities to cut costs, to eliminate redundant staff positions, to recommend property changes across the portfolio so everything would run more efficiently. Efficiently as in cheaper. No particular interest in better.

This was when he fell in love with the business and his plan started to concretize. Even if he didn't know all the shapes and colors of it yet, Liam was going to do everything he could to create the opposite.

"Come on, Cory. You can't tell me that there are no good writing programs in New York," he said.

Cory picked up a copy of The Hotel New Hampshire, added it to the stack of books in her already full arms, including a fresh copy of Barefoot in the Park . She had given Liam her original copy, had given him a slew of Neil Simon plays. Neil Simon was one of her very favorites.

"University of Southern California has one of the best writing programs in the country," she said. "They're giving me a full ride, and I'll get to focus entirely on my writing. No waiting tables, no babysitting."

"You've mentioned."

"And it's just for a year," she said.

"Time is just a construct?"

"Why are you turning this into such a big deal?"

"Because. It won't just be a year."

"How do you know?"

"Because who would be dumb enough to let you go?"

She ignored this, continued looking through the books. He moved closer to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him.

"Cory…"

"Would you please get in line for the cashier while I finish up here?" she asked. "I really don't want us to be late for the movie. Indiana isn't waiting on us to save the Ark of the Covenant."

"What if we got married?"

"Married?"

She laughed. She laughed so loudly that the woman on the other side of the new arrivals table jumped back.

"Why is that so funny?"

"Sorry," she mouthed to the woman.

Then she leaned in closer to Liam. "Please. Marriage didn't save my parents. It wouldn't save us."

"What would save us?"

"Who says we need saving?"

"I want to be with you."

"You are with me. And I'm with you. In the ways that matter."

"Oh, for goodness sake. Here we go."

"Witnesses to each other's lives," she said. "That was the deal."

"I wish I had never shown you that poem—"

"… Not something we push and pull from, no promises that someone may need to break. Just the people who know each other. Who love each other. Who see each other. Best friends. Lovers. Whatever title you give it or don't give it, just how we've always been. No way to lose each other."

"Why is marriage mutually exclusive with that?"

"It isn't. Not for all people. But for certain people I'm looking at, it would ruin it. You're not ready yet. You're not even close to ready to be in the kind of marriage I want. And in my limited experience—"

"You think you'll get less preachy with more experience?"

She gave him a smile. "I think you can try to lock up commitment in legal papers and promises. It is human nature to want that kind of security. And then it's human nature to fight against it. Because it is all those things and it's so much more. And we are lucky enough to have the more."

"You make this complicated," he said.

"You make this complicated," she said. "I just pay attention. If we are supposed to get married, that's for another day. If we tried to do it today, you know as well as I do, it wouldn't work."

"Why not?"

"For starters, I'm going to grad school three thousand miles away."

"Maybe."

"Definitely," she says. "But, putting that aside, I wouldn't get this anymore. All the good."

"What's the good?"

"You."

She looked at him with such love. Such understanding. That for a brief, shining moment, he believed her.

What did Cory like to say? Fidelity is who you tell your stories to. If he never stopped listening to hers, would she eventually trust that being here (with her) was the only thing he truly wanted? That it would never make him feel trapped. That it was, in fact, the thing that made him feel free.

"What if I told you I have a ring?"

"You have a ring?"

He nodded. He had it in his pocket. He often had it in his pocket. A simple band. Nothing to gawk at, but what he had to offer. His proof that he would know how to sustain it. To do his part to sustain them.

"I would tell you I don't need a ring. And, if you pushed me, I'd remind you that you'd be terrible to be married to."

"Thank you for that."

"You're welcome."

He kissed her neck, his hand cupping her head. "So… you'll think about it?"

She started to laugh, her cheek pressing into his face. "Ask me again when the right answer is yes."

"What if I don't want to wait that long?"

"Then you can go ahead and throw that ring of yours away."