Page 107 of Ruin
But it’s not Tommy. It’s a text from someone almost as shocking: Antonio.
Hungry?
Along with the text is a blurry picture of him laughing and barely holding the camera while juggling a bag of Chinese food and a tray with two coffee cups.
Oh, my God. Antonio is here? On Christmas day? He and I exchanged a few text messages here and there since I saw him at my graduation party, but we were never able to find time to go out during the day. So this is…unexpected. To say the least.
I consider pretending I’m not home, but he must know that I didn’t go back to Long Island for the holiday and figured out I was here. Where else would I be on Christmas Day? And why would I lie to him, anyway? He’s harmless.
No pressure, but the food is getting cold…
He follows up with a few laughing emojis and cold emojis, so I pull the blanket tighter around me and shuffle to the door.
The stoop is slick with frost when I step outside. Antonio is leaning against the railing, balancing the food and coffees in one hand with his phone in the other. His grin is immediate,and I’m suddenly grateful for the familiarity.
“Merry Christmas, Gigi,” he says, holding out one of the cups, steam curling into the air.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I murmur, taking it from him, the heat taking the edge off the cold wind.
He shrugs. “Didn’t want you spending Christmas alone.” He glances up toward my apartment. “Is it okay that I’m here? I mean, it is during the day.”
I laugh and sip my coffee, nodding. I was adamant about not going out with him at night to make sure he never thought we were on a date, but I guess the only day of the year we’re both free is on Christmas Day.
“You’re fine. Thank you, Antonio. Seriously. It’s good to see a friendly face.” I emphasize the ‘friend’ in friendly.
He tilts his lopsided grin at me. “Kind of cold out here. Invite me up before I turn into a snowman?”
I should say no. I know I should. It’s not that I have an allegiance to Tommy, but my heart is not my own, and it doesn’t seem fair to Antonio on the off chance that he’s here for some reason other than friendship.
But it’s Christmas and my apartment is empty, plus the smell of sesame chicken is wafting out of the bag, so I nod. “Fine. But only because you brought me food,” I laugh.
Inside, I flick on the kitchen light and pull back a stool at the counter rather than sit down at the table with him. Antonio sets out the cartons like he’s been here a hundred times, and I find myself drawn in by his easiness.
At the same time, I notice the similarities between him and Tommy: the way he leans one hip against the counter, the dark hair that falls over one eye, the dark eyes. That’s the problem with Antonio. He looks enough like Tommyto be intriguing and familiar, but he’s not him. He lacks the intensity of Tommy when he looks at me, that force field that pulls me toward him, that feeling of completeness I get when Tommy touches me.
We sit at the counter chatting about our lives, catching up on details, on milestones, on what people we know have been up to. At some point, we move to the living room where I curl up under a blanket on the couch with a glass of wine and he sits on one of the chairs after he lights a fire in the fireplace.
When we come to a pause in the conversation, he watches me for a moment, and I get nervous. Is this where he tries to make a move, turn this into something else?
“So how are things between you and Tommy?”
I half choke on my wine, surprised by the turn in conversation. Definitely not what I was expecting.
“There is no ‘me and Tommy,’” I say, pouring more wine in my glass.
“You guys don’t talk at all?” he asks, settling back in his seat.
I shake my head. “No. I’ve seen him in the news on occasion, usually standing by Councilman Donovan, but other than that, I know nothing.”
Antonio nods. “He seems to be doing pretty well. He’s running Donovan’s campaign for assemblyman now. He started a PhD in Public Policy. Everyone says he’s being groomed to take Donovan’s place on the council, but Donovan wants him to stick around for a while. He’s doing a good job. Still hates me, but I guess I can’t fault him for that.”
I furrow my brow as Antonio laughs. “You can’t? You never did anything wrong, Antonio. You didn’t deserve theway he treated you. You didn’t deserve how I treated you,” I say, ducking my head in embarrassment.
It’s hard to hear that Tommy is thriving without me, but I’m proud of him. He’s come so far since we first got together in terms of his ability to navigate relationships with other people. There’s nothing he can’t do.
“Hey, Gigi.” He waits for me to look up at him, and when I do, I gulp my wine at the same time. He smiles softly. “That was a long time ago. I don’t hold it against you.”
“I would. It was a fucking terrible thing to do, and you didn’t deserve it.”
