The Tailgate Read Free

overwhelming urge was to head back to Nantucket for the weekend, the way she always did. She sometimes thought of herself as a humpback whale. She could hold her breath for the four and a half days a week she spent in Cambridge, but eventually she would have to come up for oxygen. Nantucket Island was her oxygen. It was the only place she felt safe, healthy, whole. The weekends the year before when Clen had come to Cambridge had been torturous, despite his presence, simply because Dabney had to stay on campus instead of going home. Two of those weekends she had actually gotten sick, and Clen had spent hours at her bedside, reading and bringing her soup from the dining hall.
    But now that Clen was expressing doubt, Dabney redoubled her fortitude. She would go to New Haven, no matter what.
    â€œYes,” she said. “I’m definitely coming. We’re leaving at seven thirty in the morning. I’ll be there by ten, just like I said.”
    â€œOkay,” Clen said. “Because some things have come up.”
    Kendall emitted a loud, exasperated sigh. Dabney turned around and forced a smile at Kendall, holding up a finger indicating she would just be one more minute . The hall clock said 3:53.
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œI have to cancel dinner at Mory’s,” Clen said.
    â€œWhy?” Dabney said. She felt a sharp sting of disappointment, and not only because she wouldn’t get to wear the fabulous borrowed black outfit or carry the debutante purse. Mory’s was a legendary Yale supper club. Dabney had envisioned cold martinis and shrimp cocktail, and dancing to Sinatra between courses.
    â€œTurns out, I’ll be on deadline,” Clen said. “I have to go back to the paper right after the game.”
    â€œYou’re kidding me,” Dabney said. “I thought we agreed I was staying over? What about the post-game party at Morse? Are we doing that?”
    â€œWe can go for a little while, I guess,” Clen said. “I don’t know how long I’ll be at the paper, though, Cupe. It might be late.”
    â€œSo you’re telling me I’m on my own?” Dabney said. “You’re leaving me after the game and you won’t be back until late?”
    â€œIt’s work,” Clen said. “I’m writing a big story.”
    It’s work, Dabney thought. He was writing a big story. It was a college newspaper—granted, the oldest newspaper in the country—but how big a story could it be? Dabney didn’t want to be the kind of girlfriend who complained. Clen had wanted to be a journalist his whole life; it was a consuming passion, and wasn’t that one of the things she loved about him the most? Nevertheless, a part of her wanted to scream: Screw the deadline! I have finally mustered the courage to travel to New Haven and you should have CLEARED YOUR PLATE! Clen knew Dabney would not do well with being left alone for…what? Seven hours? Ten hours?
    She flashed back to her eight-year-old self at the Park Plaza Hotel. Where’s my mama?
    Your father’s on his way, May, the Irish chambermaid, said. Then she sang to Dabney—“American Pie,” in a lilting accent.
    Clen must have realized this news would be a deal-breaker, and that once he announced that he had to work, Dabney would cancel altogether.
    He wanted her to cancel, she realized.
    Kendall cleared her throat. The clock said 3:58.
    â€œNo problem!” Dabney said in a false, chipper voice. She would not let this flare up into a loud, messy, emotional brouhaha for Kendall and the other students on the floor to appreciate. “You do what you have to do. I’ll see you tomorrow at ten at the east entrance, okay?”
    â€œOkay,” Clen said. His voice still held a strain of uncertainty, she thought. What could this mean?
    â€œOkay,” Dabney said. She paused, waiting for him to say it first.
    â€œI love you, Cupe.”
    â€œAnd I you,”