New York Nights
Page 50

“Good luck at practice today,” he said, handing it over. “This was made especially for you.”
“Since when do coffee shops deliver?”
He shrugged. “They don’t.”
I stared at the cup as he walked away, noticing that my name was etched atop the whipped cream in thin caramel, and that “Good luck,” was written in cursive on the label.
It was a signature, sweet Brian move, and I immediately felt guilty for not giving him my full attention last night. As I walked to the subway, sipping what was arguably the best coffee I’d ever had, I vowed to give him my full attention from here on out.
I deleted all of Andrew’s old texts and emails, even the ones I’d fake deleted by placing them in the archive. I blocked his number, preventing his calls from ever getting through, and although I couldn’t block his emails, I changed the settings of my inbox so they would go straight to my spam folder.
When I finally arrived at practice that morning, I danced better than I’d ever danced before...
 
Later that night...
“How do you find the time to take the subway just to meet me at practice and walk me home?” I looked up at Brian as we crossed the street. “Where do you find the energy?”
“I make time for all the things I really like.” He kissed my forehead.
“Do you want to catch a movie this weekend? My treat? I owe you one...”
“What makes you say that?”
“I still feel bad about gala night and what that guy from my past said to you,” I said. “I’m really sorry.”
“No worries. I’m sure he’s—” He stopped talking as we approached my house, pointing at the man who was leaning against the door.
Andrew.
I took a deep breath as Andrew walked down the steps.
“Good evening, Aubrey,” he said, smirking. “And your name is danseur, correct?”
“It’s Brian.”
“Close enough.”
Brian crossed his arms. “I could’ve sworn I overheard her say that she didn’t want you anymore. Why can’t you take the hint?”
“Because she says things she doesn’t mean all the time.” He looked at me, instantly setting my nerves on fire. “And I know she’s just angry with me.”
“Dude!” Brian let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m her boyfriend so clearly she’s moved on...She has a boyfriend.”
“I honestly don’t feel threatened,” he said, still looking at me. “Did you get my coffee this morning?”
What?! “That was from you?” My eyes widened. “I thought...”
“What coffee, Aubs?” Brian looked concerned. “What is he talking about?”
“Andrew...” I shook my head. “Thank you for the coffee, but that doesn’t make up for anything...”
“I never said it did.”
A cold wind brushed by and I felt myself being drawn to him, literally drawn to him, and I took a few steps forward. But then I took a few steps back.
“I’m with Brian now...” I grabbed Brian’s hand and led him up to my door, refusing to look back at a seemingly hurt Andrew.
I shut the door and peeped through my blinds, noticing that he was still standing there. Confused.
“Look, Aubs...” The sound of Brian’s voice got my attention. “I don’t think the two of us are going to work.”
“What? No, no, no. Of course, we will. This is just a minor issue.”
“I think your heart and mind are elsewhere...I think they always have been, actually.”
“Seriously?” I crossed my arms. “Because some psycho from my past shows up for one night and suddenly wants me again? That’s what makes you think that?”
“That, and the fact that some psycho sent me a text earlier today that said, “Her pussy belongs to me.” I’m just now remembering that...”
I sighed and he walked over, kissing my forehead.
“If it’s a minor issue, and he doesn’t mean anything to you anymore, we can try again in a month.”
“A month?”
He nodded. “That way I’ll know for sure, and our phone sex will be twice as amazing since we won’t have had it in so long...Then, maybe we can upgrade to actual sex.”
I said nothing, and he walked out of my place.
I peeped through the blinds again, watching him disappear into the night, and then I noticed that Andrew was still standing outside.
Livid, I stomped down the steps and headed straight toward him. “Do you have any idea how much I hate you right now?”
“Hate isn’t something that can be adequately measured.”
“You just ruined the one great relationship I had in this city. You just made him dump me.”
“Good,” he said. “I did you a favor.”
“Is this how you’re planning on getting me to talk to you again?”
“Part of it.”
“It’s not going to work.” I pressed my finger against his chest, emphasizing every syllable. “I told you that you would have to fucking beg me, and since I know that’s not how you operate—”
“You don’t know how I fucking operate.”
“Are you going to walk me to the subway station every morning?”
“I have a fucking car.”
“Walk me back from rehearsals?”
“Same answer.”
“Actually treat me with some goddamn respect?”
He cupped my face in his hands. “If you give me a chance to...”
I stepped back, still angry. “I’m not holding my breath.”
 
 
Omission (n.):

Inadvertently leaving out a word, phrase or other language from a contract, deed, judgment or other document.  
Aubrey
Subject: Brian-gate.
I’m not sure how many more times I’ll have to apologize for making your “boyfriend” dump you, but I am, in fact, sorry. Then again, maybe I should have waited until after you fucked him so you could be more appreciative.
—Andrew
 
“Ugh!” I tossed my phone across the room, nearly knocking over the beautiful vase of lilies he sent me yesterday.
Ever since last week’s “Brian-gate,” I had to face him every day in some capacity. In the mornings, he personally brought me my favorite coffee, walked me to the block where my subway stop was, and apologized profusely. In his own way, of course.
I never said a word back, though. I just sipped from my cup and listened.
Taking a seat on my couch, I grabbed an ice wrap and placed it on my shoulders. I was counting down the days to opening night, wondering how much more pain my body could take.
My feet were now unrecognizable; I no longer soothed their cuts and blisters. The muscles in my arms ached relentlessly, and when I told Mr. Ashcroft that I needed a few extra minutes to stretch my right leg yesterday, he said, “Then I need to replace you with a dancer who doesn’t.”
I cringed at the memory and heard a knock at my door.
“Coming!” I walked over and opened it, tempted to slam it shut once I saw Andrew.
“Yes?” I asked.