From what I heard, Dylan Waterhouse, my roommate who grew up in Connecticut and whose father owns a posh apartment overlooking Central Park, is back with Peyton, his high school girlfriend. Dylan and Peyton, who goes to Yale, had broken up and got back together numerous times last semester. According to Juliet, my roommate from Staten Island whose father owns a string of dry cleaners, they had gotten back together and broken up twice over Christmas break. I guess they’re going through an on period. All this drama gives Juliet an insane amount of delight, despite the fact that she and Dylan had a thing for close to a month last semester and I was expecting her to be a little bitter over the whole thing.
The thing that’s even better than old friends is an old love. My old love, to be precise. I haven’t seen Hudson since we had gone skiing on New Year’s.
“Alice!” Hudson yells as I get out of the cab in front of our building. He wraps his arms around me as I try to fish out a $10 bill to tip the cab driver.
He has recently shaved. His skin feels smooth and smells of coconut oil, his DIY aftershave. I wrap my arms around him and hug him as tightly as I can. Then…my heart jumps into my throat. I take a breath. My chest hurts and no air comes in. My heart starts to beat faster and faster. One more second and it’ll pop out of my chest.
“What’s wrong? You okay?” Hudson asks.
He pulls away from me.
“I’m sorry. I’m just…” I mumble. “I can’t breathe.”
“Oh my God, Alice. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head. “I just need a minute.”
I double over and put my head in between my knees. I’ve never had a panic attack, but that’s what I heard Dr. Drew say to do in situations like these. Hudson patiently pats my back and waits.
I take one deep breath. Then another. Slowly, my heartbeat returns to normal. It hits me. It’s love. I’m actually overwhelmed by love.
“Okay, I’m good.” I stand up straight. I’m no longer sweating, but I’m suddenly keenly aware of how sweaty I am. My shirt is soaked and I’m getting colder with every second. Hudson stares at me with his brows furrowed and his face as serious as I’ve ever seen it. He’s concerned.
“Sorry about that,” I say. “I just got a little too excited about seeing you, I guess.”
He takes me into his arms again.
“Are you okay?” he whispers.
“Yeah.” I nod. “I think that was a mini-panic attack or something. No worries. It’s over.”
I look up at Hudson’s face. At the end of last semester, his tan had started to wear off, but now, it’s back again. It’s almost certainly from surfing and skiing over Christmas break. I take a moment to admire how nice his body feels next to mine. Even through all the layers of clothes, his arms feel strong and powerful. His piercing eyes sparkle under the lights of the city and alternate between hazel and green, depending on the angle.
Hudson’s light brown hair is longer than it was last semester, falling into his face. I move a few strands out of his face. My fingers brush over his lips, which are glittering and soft despite the cold weather and lack of Chapstick. He purses them and kisses my fingers lightly. Then he pulls me closer. Tilting my head upward, he kisses me. His tongue brushes across my upper lip and my knees grow weak. We start to move in unison, as if we’re dancing to the same melody. My breaths match his breaths. His shoulders drop at the same time as mine rise. It’s a game of give and take, with neither of us giving or taking too much.
A sudden gust of wind assaults us, bringing us back to reality for a moment. It’s almost 10:30 p.m. and twenty-three degrees on Broadway in January.
“Let’s go inside,” Hudson whispers without pulling away from my lips.
“Okay,” I mumble back. This is our special game—talking through our kisses. It’s something we have done forever and it’s one of the things that I love most about us.
8
We go upstairs. Juliet, Peyton, and Dylan are there, hanging out in the living room. Juliet and I share one room; Dylan and Hudson share another. We all share the living room, kitchen, and bathroom. After a ton of hugs and kisses, the guys serve us all drinks and we catch up or rather, I catch up. Everyone else has been here for a few hours already and, from the looks of it, the drinks were already flowing.
I haven’t seen Juliet since December and I’m taken aback by how beautiful her hair is. Juliet is a voluptuous brunette with porcelain skin and to-die-for silky hair. I don’t know how she makes her hair so shiny, but I’m jealous. She gave me all of her products to use last semester, but my hair never got that lustrous, no matter what I did.
Dressed in high heel boots, a tight turtleneck sweater, and a short black skirt, Juliet is the epitome of chic. I, on the other hand, look like the ‘90s threw up on me. I’m wearing leggings, a shabby t-shirt that’s way too thin for this weather, and a plaid button down shirt.
Dylan hands me a beer. He’s dressed in his usual uniform—a Nautica sweater, loafers, and slacks.
“Hey, Dylan, do you own any other clothes?” Juliet asks as if she’s reading my mind.
“What do you mean?” He shrugs.
“No, he doesn’t.” Peyton laughs.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Dylan asks, looking down at his clothes.
“You look like you just stepped off a sailboat in Nantucket.” Peyton smiles.
She’s making fun of him, but it’s obvious that she loves him and his clothes. He’s an L. L. Bean cover model and she’s the Connecticut queen on his arm.
Come to think of it, Juliet and Peyton could be sisters. They have almost identical chocolate hair, similar disapproving looks, and opinionated, know-it-all, coy smiles. Except that Juliet’s a lot curvier than Peyton. That’s really an understatement. Peyton’s so thin, she’s practically malnourished, and that’s coming from someone who lives in LA.
Dylan and Juliet play beer pong while Peyton’s nose is stuck in her phone. The fact that Juliet and Dylan are still on good terms is shocking to me. I mean, they slept together for over a month last semester after Peyton fell in love with her Resident Advisor at Yale. Yet, here they all are—Dylan and Peyton are back together without bruised egos or hard feelings and Juliet and Dylan are friends again. Honestly, they’re the epitome of some sort of post-relationship awakening—the image of modernity.
“Okay, kids,” Juliet says, finishing her beer. “It’s been fun catching up, but I’ve got to go. I have a date.”
“You’ve only been here a day and you’re already going out?” I ask.
“Hey, mama’s gotta play.” She shrugs.
“So, who’s your date?” Hudson asks.
“His name’s Brayden. He’s a stockbroker,” Juliet announces in her usual way. Name, then occupation or major. I’m Alice, English major. Dylan is Dylan, undecided. Hudson is Hudson, economics major.
As soon as Juliet leaves, Hudson nudges me to go unpack in my room. I smile and tell everyone that we’re going to go unpack. They all nod and pretend they don’t know what we’re going to do.