boyfriend, Matthew, for the last few months. She was in New York to go over preparations for a gallery show that was going up in April. Hilary was a journalist, and she’d been camped out in Jane’s guest room in Cambridge of late, putting the final touches on a true crime book about a string of serial killings that had occurred in the area. When she heard that Emma would be driving down, she hitched a ride and scheduled meetings with several publishers who’d shown interest. And when Jane heard that all of our other former roommates would be here at the same time, she’d arranged for a substitute at the school where she taught and insisted on coming along. “I’m nearly six months pregnant—this may be my last opportunity to go anywhere for a while,” she explained.
“When’s Peter getting here?” asked Emma.
“He’s not,” I said. “I thought it would be nice for it to be just us tonight.” Peter had been concerned when we’d finally spoken by phone that afternoon. I had filled him in on what had happened that morning and the possibilities Jake and I had discussed. He urged me to pack it in early and head home, but I’d wanted to see my friends.
“How’s the living-in-sin thing going?” asked Hilary, poking through the bowl of mixed nuts with her cocktail stirrer, searching for whichever kind she liked best.
“It’s good,” I said.
Jane, usually the most even-tempered among us, grabbed the bowl of nuts from Hilary. “Either take a nut, or don’t take a nut,” she snapped.
“How’s the living-in-Jane’s guest room thing going?” Luisa asked pointedly. Hilary scowled.
Jane turned to me. “I’m sorry, Rach. What were you saying?”
“Nothing. Just that living with Peter is good.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Just good? Not wonderful? That’s the word you usually use when it comes to Peter.”
“No, it is wonderful. Really. He even cooked for me last night—lasagna.”
“With what?” asked Emma. She’d spent a lot of time in my apartment.
“Apparently, I own a casserole dish.” I took a sip of wine. “Anyhow, it’s great to have him here. I think it’s just going to take some time to get used to actually living together. The apartment’s sort of small for two people, and there’s definitely not enough closet space for two. I could barely fit my own stuff before. And Peter has his own stuff, and it’s all over the place, and I don’t know where we’ll put everything. And I’ve been swamped at work, and I don’t think he really realized before what my hours are like, much less the pressure of it all. And he doesn’t seem to understand that sometimes I have to work late, and on weekends. And I gargled with his aftershave this morning, and it was really gross. And the whole thing is just sort of strange. To have someone there all of the time. It was never like that before.”
As soon as all of these words spilled out of my mouth, I regretted them. I was lucky to have Peter, and I knew it, but I kept finding myself in the guilt/annoyance loop: first guilt for not loving every part of having him in my life, then annoyance about feeling guilty, and then a fresh wave of guilt at being annoyed.
“He lived in California before,” Luisa reminded me. “And you only got to see him on weekends, after flying across a continent. I can’t believe they don’t let people smoke in bars in this fascist city.” She was fidgety without her cigarettes.
“I know. It’s much better this way than trying to sustain a relationship long-distance. Really. It’s just that it’s so… permanent. ”
“The last time I checked, you guys were getting married,” Hilary said. “You might want to get a bit more comfortable with permanence.”
“I am,” I said, taking another fortifying sip of wine,“comfortable with it. It’s what I’ve always wanted. Anyhow, ignore me. I’m babbling. It’s just that it’s been a really weird day.”
“Why?” asked Emma.
“Somebody died in
“When’s Peter getting here?” asked Emma.
“He’s not,” I said. “I thought it would be nice for it to be just us tonight.” Peter had been concerned when we’d finally spoken by phone that afternoon. I had filled him in on what had happened that morning and the possibilities Jake and I had discussed. He urged me to pack it in early and head home, but I’d wanted to see my friends.
“How’s the living-in-sin thing going?” asked Hilary, poking through the bowl of mixed nuts with her cocktail stirrer, searching for whichever kind she liked best.
“It’s good,” I said.
Jane, usually the most even-tempered among us, grabbed the bowl of nuts from Hilary. “Either take a nut, or don’t take a nut,” she snapped.
“How’s the living-in-Jane’s guest room thing going?” Luisa asked pointedly. Hilary scowled.
Jane turned to me. “I’m sorry, Rach. What were you saying?”
“Nothing. Just that living with Peter is good.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Just good? Not wonderful? That’s the word you usually use when it comes to Peter.”
“No, it is wonderful. Really. He even cooked for me last night—lasagna.”
“With what?” asked Emma. She’d spent a lot of time in my apartment.
“Apparently, I own a casserole dish.” I took a sip of wine. “Anyhow, it’s great to have him here. I think it’s just going to take some time to get used to actually living together. The apartment’s sort of small for two people, and there’s definitely not enough closet space for two. I could barely fit my own stuff before. And Peter has his own stuff, and it’s all over the place, and I don’t know where we’ll put everything. And I’ve been swamped at work, and I don’t think he really realized before what my hours are like, much less the pressure of it all. And he doesn’t seem to understand that sometimes I have to work late, and on weekends. And I gargled with his aftershave this morning, and it was really gross. And the whole thing is just sort of strange. To have someone there all of the time. It was never like that before.”
As soon as all of these words spilled out of my mouth, I regretted them. I was lucky to have Peter, and I knew it, but I kept finding myself in the guilt/annoyance loop: first guilt for not loving every part of having him in my life, then annoyance about feeling guilty, and then a fresh wave of guilt at being annoyed.
“He lived in California before,” Luisa reminded me. “And you only got to see him on weekends, after flying across a continent. I can’t believe they don’t let people smoke in bars in this fascist city.” She was fidgety without her cigarettes.
“I know. It’s much better this way than trying to sustain a relationship long-distance. Really. It’s just that it’s so… permanent. ”
“The last time I checked, you guys were getting married,” Hilary said. “You might want to get a bit more comfortable with permanence.”
“I am,” I said, taking another fortifying sip of wine,“comfortable with it. It’s what I’ve always wanted. Anyhow, ignore me. I’m babbling. It’s just that it’s been a really weird day.”
“Why?” asked Emma.
“Somebody died in
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