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Back You Exist Too Much Save as PDF
Chapters (23)
  1. Title Page
  2. Dedication
  3. Chapter 1
  4. Chapter 2
  5. Chapter 3
  6. Chapter 4
  7. Chapter 5
  8. Chapter 6
  9. Chapter 7
  10. Chapter 8
  11. Chapter 9
  12. Chapter 10
  13. Chapter 11
  14. Chapter 12
  15. Chapter 13
  16. Chapter 14
  17. Chapter 15
  18. Chapter 16
  19. Chapter 17
  20. Chapter 18
  21. Chapter 19
  22. Acknowledgments
  23. About the Author

At the restaurant, my mother and I sit beside each other, my cousin and her husband across from us. We all share pasta, rosé, and finally, crème brûlée. My mother and I dip our spoons into the bowl at the same time, shattering opposite ends of the crisp burnt surface and arriving at the soft custard underneath. Our silverware clinks. We look at each other, and I smile. She smiles back.

The next morning I find her asleep on the couch. I slept in her bed, which we normally share when I visit. I wake up disappointed that her side is empty.

Chapter 19

19

NEAR THE END OF A TOO-LONG WINTER, SNOW GIVING way to sleet and finally to rain, the professor and I arrange to meet for coffee. We’ve kept in touch over the years, at varying degrees of distance. We meet on the Upper West Side. It’s pouring when I arrive. I shake droplets off my umbrella and spot her waving at me from a table inside. She wears jogging clothes, New Balance sneakers, no nail polish. Though she hasn’t visibly aged, she looks different.

I tell her about Anouk over cappuccinos. I wonder if having a French girlfriend makes her suspect a fetish, before realizing she has no idea how I once felt about her. She talks about her children, now both in school. She asks if I plan to have any. “I’d like to,” I say. “But I’m nervous.”

“Parenting is like piano lessons,” she tells me. “It’s not always something you know you want, but no one ever regrets it.”

“Some people regret it,” I say, thinking back to my most traumatic childhood memory, of participating in a recital at the home of my piano teacher, waiting for my name to be called as twenty-nine other kids stood to receive their awards while I remained seated alone on stage, smiling in shame and feeling the entire audience’s eyes on me. “You’d be surprised.”

It’s stopped raining by the time we leave, and we walk together for a few blocks. We’re both headed in the same direction; she to pick up her daughter from school, I to a dentist appointment. I like walking beside her. I am taller and it makes me feel somewhat authoritative. We get to the crosswalk where we will part ways. We turn to face each other and I find myself anxious, still hoping that something might happen. It doesn’t. I lean forward and hug goodbye, possibly holding on for a little too long. Keep in touch, she says as always, though now I’m not sure she means it.