Page 51 of Since She's Been Gone

“Really?” he says, genuinely surprised.

It is surprising, at forty-one years old, having been born and raised in Los Angeles, to have never visited New York City.

“I’m not sure how much Eddie has told you about my background beyond what’s recently happened with my mom,” I say. I tell him how Mom went to NYU and how, decades later, she was mugged at the reunion and told me to stay away from NYC. I explain that now I’m here to search for her medical records from that incident to see if there’s any information that might connect me to her if she’s still alive.

“And I thoughtmybackground was out there,” Paul says. He tells me about being a closeted gay boy growing up in North Carolina who was bullied in high school and nervous about going to college.

“I remember how scared I was when I first got to the University of Michigan and met Eddie. I was worried about having a straight male roommate who might bully me if he found out I was gay. But I hit the jackpot. He didn’t care. Heaccepted me for who I was. Do you know that he invited me to go home with him to LA during the holiday breaks, so I wouldn’t have to return to North Carolina and possibly run into the kids I grew up with who tortured me?”

Eddie never told me this, which is consistent with who he is, because doing good by others isn’t something he talks about. It’s just something he does.

“No, I didn’t,” I say.

“I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to repay him,” he says.

This is why I’m sitting in this car, why Paul and his husband are opening their home to me, despite the precarious place I find myself in.

We drive over a large bridge. “This is the Triborough Bridge,” Paul tells me.

“What part of the city do you live in?” I ask.

“NYU faculty housing in the Village through Anthony’s job.”

“How’s he been?” I ask.

“Thankfully, better,” he says.

“How’s your dad doing?” I say.

“He made it through surgery with flying colors. I’m so relieved. I can’t wait to see him this weekend,” he says.

We continue driving. When we reach the iconic arch in Washington Square Park, I know we’re in the Village. The only picture mom ever showed me of her time in New York City was the one of her graduating from NYU, clad in a purple cap and gown, standing in front of that arch.

I look out the car window and see young students zigzagging through the park with backpacks on their shoulders and books in their hands. Their faces are bright and round with hopes about the marks they want to make on the world.

I think about how Mom was once one of them, arriving here as an eighteen-year-old with big dreams, until something bad happened—the something that Pearl said she was relieved to leave behind.

Paul parks his car on a tree-lined street. He gets out and walks toward a small reddish brownstone. It’s autumn in New York. I follow him, stepping and crunching on small mounds of dry red, orange, and brown leaves that have fallen on the ground.

We reach the brownstone, walk up to the second floor and enter a stylish modern apartment with views of adjacent rooftop gardens. The place is decorated with artwork and several framed pictures of an adorable Labradoodle dog.

“You guys have a dog?” I ask.

“Had,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

He leads me to a second bedroom.

“This is our guest bedroom and my office. You can sleep here,” he says.

“Thank you,” I say. “I’m leaving now, so I’ll be out of your hair.”

“I wish I could go with you, but I’ve got a Zoom work call in about fifteen minutes that I can’t miss, and Anthony is at work already.”

“No worries. You guys are doing more than enough by welcoming me into your home. I’m very grateful,” I say.

“I’m glad I can help Eddie out. He asked me to put this tracker on your phone, so I know where you are at all times.” He holds up a square-looking tile. “You should also program my phone number in your phone, so you can reach me anytime if you need to.”

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