They obviously weren’t going to take their eyes off of me until I was locked safely inside. To parents whose children didn’t grow up in New York City, it was a place where murder happened around every corner and a criminal was lurking in every shadow. I was pretty sure my mom had been clutching a canister of mace when she stepped out of the car.
Sliding my key card in front of the register, I pushed the door open. Before stepping inside, I waved at them. They waved back, smiling at me, Mom tucked under Dad’s arm, looking like the parents they’d been when I was in grade school.
At least one thing in my life was looking up.
The dorm hall was quiet. Silent. Most everyone was back home celebrating with their families, while the few that remained behind were likely out celebrating late into the night with their friends.
Shoving open the stairwell door, I walked down the empty hall, contemplating my next move. I was fighting every instinct to jump into the Mazda and not stop until I’d found Jude. I knew I should fight to stay put and do as he’d requested. Sit tight, give him some space, and he’d call me when whatever fit of rage that had risen had calmed.
But how long until he called? Did he mean tonight? Tomorrow? Next week?
Thumping my head into my door as I unlocked it, I toyed with the idea of flipping a coin. Thankfully, I came to the conclusion that was a disaster waiting to happen. I wasn’t going to let fate make my decisions for me. That was my job. I’d rather be the one to blame for making the wrong decision than fate getting all the credit when I made a right one.
Switching the light on, I stood in the doorway, staring at the bed where Jude’s suitcase and the pink rose he’d given me hours earlier rested. The rose was already starting to wilt.
Staring at that flower, the pink petals curling at the ends as the life bled out of it, helped me make my decision. Turning off the light, I locked the door back up and ran down the hall. I wasn’t going to let what we had die due to neglect.
I was down the stairs and out the door less than a few minutes after my parents had pulled away. I had yet to purchase one of those snow scraper thingeys native New Yorkers seemed to have at least two of in the trunks of their cars on any given day of the year, so I used my forearm to scrape the snow off the windows before tossing myself inside.
I blasted the heaters as soon as I started it up and punched the gas a little too hard given the winter driving conditions. The car fishtailed a pattern in the snow before I got it under control. I hadn’t made it out of the parking lot and I was already losing control.
Taking a slow breath, I pressed down carefully on the gas and the car behaved.
By the time I’d left Long Island, I was feeling just comfortable enough with driving in the snow to be dangerous, but the roads were quiet and would only get quieter by the time I made it to Syracuse. It would be well past two a.m., maybe even later with the roads, before I pulled into Jude’s gravel driveway.
I didn’t know that’s where he’d gone—he could be anywhere—but that would be my starting point. I’d look under every nook and explore every cranny of New York until I found him. I didn’t care that he told me to leave him alone, to give him time to sort out his shit. I also knew there was truth in what my mom had said about men not wanting to talk the issue to death.
I didn’t need to talk—I just needed him to know I was here for him. I just needed to have him hold me while he figured out what needed figuring. I needed him to know I wasn’t going anywhere and he couldn’t send me somewhere that wasn’t where he was.
I just needed to have him look me in the eyes and know that everything was going to be okay.
It was after three by the time I cut the ignition outside of Jude’s. The snow had made the trip tricky and added another hour to the five hour journey. I wasn’t tired anymore though, because parked across the front lawn was Jude’s truck, the evidence of this afternoon’s incident, where his truck became a punching bag, facing my direction.
The usual rabble of cars dotted the street and driveway—not a party night showing—but every night at this place was some sort of party night.
Walking across the lawn, I made sure to go slow because the falling temperatures had made most of the state of New York a thin sheet of ice. I still had my Mary Jane’s on and they weren’t exactly ideal shoes to be tramping through an ice field in.
I made it up the walk and stairs and, resting my hand over the doorknob, I exhaled, realizing I’d been in such a hurry to get here, I hadn’t really planned out what I was going to say.
I didn’t need to say anything, I reminded myself. I just needed to wrap my arms around him and let him know I was here for him. However he needed me to be. Just as long as it wasn’t being left behind on some street in Soho.