Disclaimer: The lyrics are from the song "More Like a River," from So Weird, of course.
Chapter Eight
We stood on the corner of 33rd Street and 7th Avenue, and he released my hand. Cars and people rushed by on all sides. "You guys sounded great," I said. Another inadequate statement.
"You look amazing," he replied.
I wanted to argue and tell him that was impossible—I had just spent two days traveling and showered in a tiny public stall on a moving train this morning—but instead I just blushed. "So do you." It was the truth.
"Do you want to get lunch?" he asked bluntly.
"Carey, it's almost four o'clock."
"Dinner, then?" It was really too early, but I was more or less starving. Amtrak food hadn't done much to satisfy my appetite.
"Sure," I said. He took hold of my hand again, and I knew I should have pulled away, but I didn't want to. Carey always had made it impossible to decide with my head instead of my heart.
We ended up eating at a tiny but clean restaurant on Broadway, and not until our food was served did the conversation start to flow. He told me how he joined another band after he left Hope Springs, which I had known about. When the band seemed like it wasn't going anywhere, they broke up to begin their separate projects and lives. One of the other guys in the band, Josh, told Carey that he was planning to go to New York to meet up with a friend from college, and asked him if he wanted to come. Carey had been in New York ever since, living with Josh and his friend Brian in their Jersey City apartment. All three guys were musically inclined, except for the fact that none of them could sing very well. That's where Julia came in—they saw her performing one night at a local club and approached her afterwards, asking if she wanted to join their band. At first she thought they were crazy for approaching a total stranger, but their impulsiveness and spontaneity ended up being the reasons why she agreed. At first they did gigs here and there, but eventually longed for something more consistent. Julia's friend jokingly suggested that they should play in a subway station—but they decided to take her seriously. And that's what he had been doing for two years now.
"I didn't even know people could make money playing in a station," I confessed.
He smiled. "The way they figure it, we play, it creates an atmosphere, and all the people in the station stick around long enough to buy more from the food stands and shops. I don't know if it's actually true… but I don't really care either. Besides," he added quickly, "it's not about the money. I love it. Every day, I wake up and perform a show in New York City. And, okay, it's not Madison Square Garden, or even close, but it still feels pretty amazing."
"Actually, Madison Square Garden is only a few blocks away," I pointed out, and he laughed.
"I guess you have a point."
He asked me about Jack and Fiona. "They're doing great," I told him. "They're really happy. We all are."
"Any man in your life?" I blushed again. It was just like Carey to get right to the point.
"Not to my knowledge. What about you? You and Julia have a thing going on?"
"Julia?" He seemed shocked at the suggestion. "No way."
I raised an eyebrow. "Why not? She's pretty."
"Not compared to you."
I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks again. "Carey…" I began.
"I can't believe you found me," he said quickly, before I could object to his compliment. "I can't believe you actually wanted to see me again."
"What are you talking about?"
"The way I left…"
"It was a long time ago," I said quickly. "I mean, I'm not going to lie. After you left, I was depressed, confused, angry… I felt like it was all over for me. But the pain doesn't last forever, Carey. I moved on, just like you did."
"Why are you so sure I moved on?"
I was a bit taken aback by the question. "I mean—didn't you? You can't—Carey." He was staring at me more intensely now. You can't still feel that way, I wanted to say, but I couldn't bring myself to form the words.
He abruptly broke his gaze and stared off into the distance. "I'm not sure," he admitted. I sighed. "I mean, I thought I did… I tried to…"
"You wanted to," I filled in.
Once again, his eyes met mine. "No. That was the problem. I didn't want to."
"But there must have been other girls…"
"Of course there were other girls. But none of them were you."
"No, because they were all girls instead of an old lady," I teased.
"You're not an old lady," he said quickly.
"Come on, Carey. You can't possibly still want to be with me."
"Don't act like it's one-sided. You want this as much as I do."
"No," I said firmly. I was lying straight through my teeth, and he probably knew it, but he didn't argue. "No, I don't."
"Why'd you come here, then? What the hell are you doing here, Molly?"
"I wanted closure."
"You traveled over two thousand miles so we could have closure?"
"Yes," I said unconvincingly.
"Fine," he said.
"Carey…" I pleaded. He didn't say anything. I knew I had hurt him. Here he was, pouring his heart out to me, and I… I wasn't even sure what I was doing. "I just want to be friends," I said, feeling like an idiot.
"Friends," he repeated numbly. "Friends."
"I just want you back in my life."
Now it was his turn to sigh. "I'm not sure I can be your friend," he whispered, and slowly looked up, meeting my gaze once again.
"Try," I said.
Finally, there it was—the smallest of smiles. "Okay," he agreed. "But I can't make any promises," he added jokingly.
"It's okay," I replied. "You were never good at making promises, anyway."
"Molly…"
"Carey, it's okay," I said quickly. "I'm kidding."
"All right. What do you want for dessert?"
So it went on like that—a perfectly innocent conversation. We left the restaurant around six o'clock and took a train uptown to Central Park. I felt silly, lugging my duffle bag wherever we went, but at least I had packed lightly. Carey made no more attempts to hold my hand, which was a complete relief. We walked leisurely around the park, talking and laughing and teasing, like old friends. It was exactly what I wanted. Finally we came to a bench and Carey sat down.
"Rest stop," he declared.
"I wasn't aware that taking a stroll through Central Park would be so exhausting," I teased, sitting beside him.
"Nah, it really isn't. I was just looking for an excuse to play my guitar." He grinned.
"That's just like you, Carey. You can't stop playing for more than a few hours without going through withdrawal, can you?"
"Yeah, well, some things never change," he told me. I couldn't help but wonder if there was a deeper meaning to his words. He took his guitar from its case and began to strum. I recognized the melody instantly.
"You had to do that, didn't you? You just had to play one of my songs?" He ignored me and kept playing.
"I'll take care of the melody. You can fill in the words."
"Carey…" I realized any protests would be useless. And what was the harm, really? So I started to sing.
Can I be more like a river
And less like a wall
Not have to hold back these feelings at all…
Some other people in the park had stopped to listen, from a distance.
'Cause when I miss you
When I'm dying to kiss you
I want to let that flow…
More like a river
We sat there, perfectly; he played and I sang until the song was over. Then he turned to me and smiled. I smiled back. There was nothing left to say. "It's going to get dark soon," he remarked. "We should probably go. I love Central Park, but that still doesn't make it a nice place to be at night." He placed his guitar back in the case and stood up. I remained sitting, watching him, trying hard not to admire his tanned skin, or beautifully toned body, and fighting the urge to run my fingers through his soft, wavy hair. "Molly?" he looked at me questioningly.
"Oh. Yeah. Of course," I said dumbly, standing up. I felt so lightheaded. What the hell just happened?
"Okay then, let's go. You're staying with Rachel, right? We can hail a cab from here. I'll go with you, if you want me to. Just to keep you company for the ride. I mean, I have nothing better to do. Or you can go alone, if you prefer—" He abruptly stopped talking then… because that was the moment when I decided to kiss him.