Old Pal

All week long, the pumpkin sat on the front step, its grinning face starting to sag and fold in on itself. In the days since the party, the gourd’s gnarled orange skin had begun to develop sinister-looking black spots. There was also a smell. Andrea knew she should do something about it, but several of her friends back home had posted alarming statistics about the number of pumpkins that ended up in landfills this time each year. These posts claimed that what you should do was take the pumpkin out to the woods and leave it for the deer, thus making a positive contribution to the local ecosystem—but if you chose to do this, you had to be sure to cut the pumpkin in a very specific way, so as not to allow the deer to get its head stuck while eating. Andrea wasn’t even sure if there were any woods around here, and if there were, she couldn’t see herself marching into them with a mutilated, rotting pumpkin. And so it remained on the porch, growing more grotesque every time she passed it.

Ryan also refused to do anything about it, which seemed unfair to her because the party had been his idea in the first place. Who wanted to carve pumpkins and drink old fashioneds when it was still eighty degrees at 9 PM? She’d been told that Texas didn’t get much of an autumn, but she had expected to at least be wearing long sleeves by now. But that was how it was with Ryan—ever since they were kids, once he got an idea in his head, there was no talking him out of it. And of course, it was just a bunch of his friends at the party that night. Andrea had to admit that this was unavoidable; she didn’t really have any friends of her own in town yet, unless you counted the girl she chatted with in her yoga class each week as they rolled up their mats. Still, it made for a pretty awkward atmosphere.

She had been nervous about the party for all the obvious reasons, but also because it would be her first time meeting the famous Cecilia. Throughout Ryan’s first two years in Austin, while Andrea was still back home finishing her thesis, his emails had been full of “Cecilia this” and “Cecilia that.” Clearly she was the star of his program, so it made sense that he was a little in awe of her. Andrea wished she had been able to resist the urge to find her on Facebook, where she discovered that Cecilia, while extremely pretty, looked nothing like Andrea, who was short and curvy, with auburn curls and a galaxy of freckles strewn across her upturned nose. She and Ryan had been sweethearts since high school, that time of blind hormonal desperation when physical preference barely registered, but over the years she had learned what his type was, and Cecilia embodied it perfectly with her refined features and willowy figure. So Andrea went into the evening prepared to hate her, though she was still surprised at how quickly it became apparent that the feeling was mutual.

“Right, the poet,” Cecilia had murmured when Ryan introduced them. Her green eyes narrowed as she took Andrea in, frankly appraising her.

“Oh, I’m not a poet,” Andrea replied. “I mean, I used to write a little. Not so much, these days. But I did my thesis on Adrienne Rich.”

At this Cecilia cocked her head to the side like a dog startled by a strange noise. With her oval face and long wheat blonde hair, she really did resemble some kind of angular, noble dog, Andrea thought, perhaps an Afghan hound.

“How interesting,” Cecilia said. “So what are you doing now?”

Andrea didn’t have an answer for this question when she was stone-cold sober, much less after half an old fashioned. The STEM people were always like this, sneering at her like anything that didn’t have a practical application was childish and absurd. As if the things that moved people, made them feel something strange and wondrous in their hearts, could ever have any practical application. Her eyes darted around the backyard as though searching for salvation in the sea of unfamiliar faces.

“She’s still getting settled in,” Ryan said as he put his arm around her and pulled her in close. Andrea was pathetically grateful for this show of affection, especially when she saw how it made Cecilia wrinkle her elegant nose.

Andrea made an excuse and detached herself, discarding her drink once she was inside the house. She found the kitchen quiet and empty, the hors d’oeuvres spread practically untouched. It would be demolished later, she knew, once everyone was sufficiently sloshed. She looked up from the bacon-wrapped dates she was rearranging when someone came stumbling down the hallway. He was tall and lanky with an unruly swoop of dark hair. He stopped short when their eyes met.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.” She stood up straight, pulling her shoulders and hips back as she tucked a stray curl behind her ear.

“You surprised me. Thought I was all alone in here.” Ice rattled in his glass as he came closer. His dark eyes glistened in the yellow kitchen light, and beneath a scruffy beard, his cheeks were slightly flushed. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Matthew.”

“Andrea. Ryan’s girlfriend.”

“Oh, right.” He nodded. “The poet.”

“How do you know Ryan? Are you in the program?”

“Me? No, I’m not one of the gifted and talented. I’m just here with Cecilia. I think I’m in the doghouse tonight, though. She hasn’t said a word to me since we got here.” Matthew’s eyes made a brief detour to her chest before finding their way back to her face. He cleared his throat and lifted his glass in the air. “Anyway, I’m about due for another drink. You want one?”

“As long as it’s not an old fashioned.”

“Not a fan, I take it. How about an old pal?”

“I don’t know what that is,” Andrea said.

“It’s like a negroni, but with rye instead of gin. And dry vermouth, not sweet.”

“What are you, a bartender?”

“I used to be. Do you have Campari?”

“Possibly. Check the cabinet above the fridge.” As Andrea watched him reach up and open it easily, she wondered what it was like to live in a world designed for bodies like yours.

“Here we go.” Matthew set the bottle of orange liquor on the counter, then opened the fridge and pulled out another bottle. “Martini and Rossi. Not ideal, but it’ll do.” He dumped the remnants of his drink into the sink and opened the cabinet, staring at Ryan’s collection of mismatched glassware. “This isn’t going to be the best old pal I’ve ever made, just so you know.”

“Understood.”

 “Are you from Iowa too?” he asked as he shoveled ice into a pint glass.

“Idaho.”

“Sorry. Idaho is… potatoes, right?”

“Right.”

“Sorry.” He added the liquor and began to stir, frowning. “I must sound like an asshole.”

“It’s okay. That’s pretty much what everyone says when you tell them you’re from Idaho.”

“Ouch. What’s it like there?”

“Pretty. Colder this time of year.”

Matthew’s fingers brushed against Andrea’s as he handed her the cocktail. She felt a surge of heat in her chest as she clinked her glass against his.

“Let me know what you think. You can be honest. You won’t hurt my feelings.”

Andrea took a sip and tried not to make a face. It was bitter, just like the old fashioned. “I like it. Not too sweet.”

 “So what are you doing, now that you’re here?” he asked.

“I haven’t quite figured that out yet. Still trying to get my bearings, I guess.”

Matthew nodded absently. The silence hung in the air between them until Andrea became uncomfortably aware of the powdery, artificial scent of her deodorant. He wandered over to the window above the sink and stood there looking out at the backyard.

“You know they’re fucking, right?” he said.

Andrea followed him to the window and peered outside. Cecilia and Ryan were right where she had left them, except that their bodies seemed to have gotten closer since she walked away. Suddenly her face was very hot. Matthew turned to look at her. The pressure of his gaze made her feel exposed in her too-tight dress, her body soft and fleshy as a piece of overripe fruit. She brought the glass to her mouth and downed the rest of her drink in one gulp.

Andrea could feel the warmth of the liquor in her belly as she flung the back door open and marched straight up to Ryan. A flicker of annoyance showed on his face when he turned away from Cecilia, but it was gone in an instant.

“Hey honey,” Ryan said. “What’s up?”

“Is it time to carve the pumpkins?”

Earlier that day, they had set up a couple of folding tables in the backyard and covered them with newspaper. The party was BYOP—“bring your own pumpkin”—so everyone who wanted to participate had deposited theirs on one of the tables when they arrived. Now Ryan told them to take their stations. When Andrea looked around, she saw people consulting images on their phones, sketching elaborate designs of owls and ghosts and witches riding broomsticks. One ambitious couple was attempting a portrait of Marie Curie. It hadn’t occurred to Andrea to draw anything but a simple face, but now this seemed inadequate. As Ryan stood there watching, she took the cap off her marker.

“You sure you don’t want to do this?” she asked.

“Not unless you want to do the cutting. It’s a team effort. That’s the whole point.”

Andrea sighed and drew an oval for the left eye. “Are you having fun?” she asked.

“Sure. Are you?”

Andrea shrugged, chewing on the marker’s cap. The right eye had come out bigger and rounder than the left. “You and Cecilia seemed like you were deep in conversation.”

“She’s working on a really interesting project right now.”

“I’ll bet she is.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Forget it.” Andrea drew a triangle nose and a wide, grinning mouth with a single jagged tooth. When she was finished, she set the pumpkin on the table.

“That’s it?” Ryan asked. “It’s done?”

“Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“Well… nothing. It’s just kind of basic, don’t you think?”

Andrea glared at him. “This was your idea, dude. If you want to make it less basic, go for it.”

As she handed him the marker, she felt a tap on the shoulder. She turned to see Cecilia, her face drawn and pale in the moonlight.

“Andrea?” she said. “Could you come help me with something?”

Andrea swallowed her surprise, nodding, and followed her toward the house. They were almost to the back door when Cecilia turned around.

“Sorry,” Cecilia said in a low voice. “It’s just… I just started my period. I looked in the bathroom, but I couldn’t find anything.”

“Oh,” Andrea said. “Okay, come with me.”

Andrea led her in through the kitchen and down the hall, aware that Cecilia was sniffling quietly. They stepped into the bathroom, and Cecilia closed the door behind them.

“Are you… is everything okay?” Andrea asked.

Cecilia breathed in noisily, wiping at her face with the back of her hand. A smudge of black eyeliner had collected beneath one eye. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just, you know… cramps.”

“Oh. You want some ibuprofen?”

Cecilia shook her head. Andrea crouched down and opened the cabinet.

“Okay, let me see what I’ve got.” Andrea dug around until she found the box of tampons she had hidden at the very back, far from the prying eyes of guests. She didn’t know why she did that, like it was some big secret that she was a woman of child-bearing age who menstruated. “Here,” she said as she handed one to Cecilia. “Do you need anything else?”

“No, this should be good. Thank you.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll see you outside.” Andrea angled past Cecilia, pausing as she reached for the doorknob. “Oh, I met Matthew earlier. He seems nice.”

A look of confusion passed over Cecilia’s face, but then she laughed. “Oh yeah, he’s great,” she said. “Everybody loves Matthew.”

Andrea blinked and nodded as she hovered on the threshold. She stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind her. As she walked away, she could hear Cecilia let out a strangled sob.

Outside, Ryan was elbow deep in the pumpkin, pulling out globs of seeds and stringy fiber. “I always forget how messy this part is,” he said, but Andrea could tell he was loving every minute. She looked around and saw Matthew smoking a cigarette by the back gate. He gave her a small wave, and she lifted her hand in return. Ryan glanced up at her, his pale blue eyes betraying irritation.

“I guess you met Matthew,” he said.

“He made me a drink earlier.”

“Huh.” Ryan reached for the knife.

“Are he and Cecilia… together?”

“Last time I checked.”

Andrea watched as Cecilia emerged from the house and made her way through the backyard. She stopped to chat with one of the couples carving pumpkins, but once she left them behind, Cecilia’s demeanor changed entirely. When she reached Matthew, she stood before him with her arms crossed in front of her chest. He smirked and said something that made her mouth fall open. As the volume of their conversation increased, people stopped what they were doing to stare. “We are not doing this here,” Cecilia declared, her voice clipped and steely. Andrea turned away, embarrassed. When she looked again, they were slipping out the back gate.

“That was dramatic,” she said. Ryan sighed and stabbed the pumpkin through the eye.

Andrea stayed by Ryan’s side for the rest of the night, gamely making the effort to follow along with conversations that didn’t involve her, to laugh when it was appropriate and never when it wasn’t. Was this all she had to look forward to, playing hostess to Ryan’s dull friends? Graciously absorbing their blank, glassy stares, their smiles of polite disinterest? From time to time, she found herself wondering what Matthew and Cecilia were doing, whether they had gone home together or separately. It was a relief when the last of the guests finally left, taking their pumpkins with them. Ryan put the food away while Andrea got started on the dishes. She barely remembered to go back to the front porch and blow out the jack-o’-lantern before getting ready for bed.

Ryan was already in bed by the time she lay down. No sooner did Andrea turn off the light than he got on top of her and started pushing himself against her, grasping at her breasts beneath her T-shirt. It had been so long—possibly not since right after she got here. As he rolled her onto her stomach, she tried not to think about what it meant that he finally wanted to do it now, like this.

The week that followed was like any other, except for one thing. Andrea got a friend request from Matthew. Shortly after she accepted, a new message appeared: Sorry I left without saying goodbye the other night. Maybe you’ll let me make you another drink sometime? Though her first instinct was to delete it, Andrea found herself returning to Matthew’s message again and again. She crafted countless responses in her head, but the one she sent was short and direct: I’d like that. When?

Andrea arranged to meet Matthew on a night when she knew Ryan would be working late in the lab. She went to his place, which she was relieved to learn he did not share with Cecilia. Matthew made her an old pal, and then another. She wondered if it would be like losing her virginity all over again—there had only ever been Ryan. But in the end, it wasn’t as strange as she had supposed. The first time was clumsy and mechanical; the second time was better. For the first time in months Andrea felt visible, worthy of someone’s desire and attention. Still, when Matthew asked if they could do this again sometime, she said it was probably better if they didn’t. Andrea wasn’t interested in having an affair, and she knew Matthew wasn’t an exit strategy. He was more like a dare. A way of proving something, if only to herself.

Andrea got home almost an hour later than she’d planned. As she approached the front door, she saw the pumpkin sitting there, mocking her with its leering, caved-in smile. Ryan would be home any minute, she really ought to hurry up and get in the shower; she smelled like sex and another man’s sweat. And yet she stooped to pick it up. The sickly sweet odor of rotten produce filled her nostrils. Though the rind had gone soft and spongey, the pumpkin felt surprisingly heavy in her hands.

Arms outstretched, Andrea turned and carried it through the yard, stopping when she reached the curb. The streetlight across the way cast an amber cone of light into the darkness. A gust of wind shook the leaves on the trees, and a delicate shiver rippled down her spine as she lifted the pumpkin to her chest and flung it away with all her might. It landed in the middle of the street with a satisfying splat. Cool air came rushing into her lungs, and she realized two things at once: she had been holding her breath, and the weather was finally changing.