Chapter Seventeen
The townhouse where Desiree lived was far nicer than Erik expected it to be. Colorful fruit filled a bowl on the kitchen counter next to stacked cookbooks. Pumpkin and vanilla scented candles adorned the shelf above the fireplace. Cozy blankets were draped over the back of a mauve couch, accenting the beige tile floor, warmed by throw rugs and runners placed throughout the living room.
Bare feet bounced down the stairs. “Okay, so, a gallery?” Desiree said. “That’s what you’re worried about?”
“It’s an art gallery,” Erik said. “River told me to wear my Sunday best, whatever the fuck that means.” River had probably been joking, but there wasn’t much room to parse his intent through Instagram messages. “I have one pair of black jeans that aren’t destroyed. One. And I own one button down, which he’s seen me in already.”
“That’s a start,” Desiree said. She stood before Erik with four dress shirts, two in each hand. “These”—she lifted the shirts in her left hand—“might fit you. Maybe. Like, if you have to tie your shoes, you might bust the seams, but maybe.”
“What about those?” He nodded at the shirts in her right hand.
“Now that I’m looking at you?” Desiree wrinkled her nose and tossed them onto the couch. “Absolutely not. You’re giant. So—” She handed over a black button-up with pink cuffs. “Try that one first.”
Erik rolled his eyes. He shrugged his jacket off and threw it on the counter, followed by his slouchy gray undershirt. Desiree’s brows lifted, mouth pinched. Erik wasn’t sure the shirts she’d found in the back of her girlfriend’s closet would fit him. “These are Serena’s, right?” He put his arm through one sleeve, then the other. “She won’t mind if I borrow one?”
“As long as one fits you, yeah, she said it’s fine. She hasn’t worn either of these in a while, anyway. Usually only pulls them out for drag king nights.”
“Serena does drag?” Erik laughed, surprised. The shirt was snug. Really snug. But it fit, and the sleeves were only a smidge too short.
Desiree cocked her head. “Yeah, but she’s been busy with school, I just moved in, drag nights are always on Fridays, and Fridays are fight nights—I could go on and on.” She smoothed the front of the shirt, grabbed the cuffs, and folded them up on his forearms to disguise the length. “How’s it feel?”
“Fine, I guess.” Erik rolled his shoulders and looked down at himself. “Does it look like I’m trying too hard?”
“Looks great.” She flicked her palms across his shoulders. “You’re just broad up here. Does it feel restrictive? Can you move around?”
He swung his arms back and forth, up and down. “It’s got some give, should be fine. Where’s your bathroom?”
“On the right.” She nodded toward the door in the hallway.
Bright, fluorescent lights illuminated the sink and his reflection. Erik straightened his back. Polished black buttons climbed toward the collar. The bottom of the shirt was long enough to tuck. He was a study in contradictions, pressed and polished in some places, scarred and inked in others. His hands looked especially out of place, the way his knobby thumbs jutted from his palms. Erik inhaled a steady breath. He remembered that first night—kissing River in the middle of a storm and wondering if he’d be lucky enough to do it again. Now he was here, doing this. Dating. Falling.
Desiree appeared in the doorway and shoved a long black pea coat at him.
“I have jackets, Desiree. I don’t need you to dress me.”
“Wow, and here I thought that’s what we’ve been doin’,” she said. “Seriously, do you own a jacket that isn’t leather or denim?” Her smile thinned, and she shook the coat at him. He rolled his eyes but snatched it from her anyway and draped it over the sink. “That’s what I thought. Now, c’mon, take that off before you wrinkle it. Want a juice? I could use a juice.”
“You buying?” Erik teased. He unbuttoned the shirt carefully, watching inch after inch of a charade disappear—a projection of what he could have been in another life. Sometimes he wondered if River was immune to his poison, or if River was poisonous, too. If they were infecting each other with something awful and beautiful, and something that wouldn’t, couldn’t last.
Sometimes Erik wondered if would ever stop being afraid of the things he wanted. Futures and forgiveness and beginnings.
“Yeah, yeah, fine, I’ll buy,” Desiree hollered from the entryway.
Erik took another glance around the townhouse, the framed photographs on the wall and the well-loved book on the coffee table, envious of all the permanence a home could truly hold.
…
They arrived at Green Glow, a juice bar in Pioneer Square, right after the mid-day lunch rush. Sunlight peeked through gray clouds, and blotches of blue splattered the sky between tall buildings. Erik walked beside Desiree with his hands in his pockets. A man strummed an acoustic guitar in front of a boutique. Seattle held on to him, whispered pleasantly that it wasn’t going anywhere and that it didn’t understand why he would, either. At this point, Erik didn’t have an answer. The city and the people felt like a home he’d left and found again.
“Did Pete talk to you about Austin?” Erik asked.
Desiree propped the front door to Green Glow open with her wedge heel. “The Texas gig? Yeah, he mentioned it. I told him I’d rather stay here, though. Why?”
“He asked me, too. I told him I’d consider it.” Erik had said more than that. He’d said I don’t see a problem, just give me enough time to pack when you’re ready. That had been months ago, before Seattle started to feel like more than just another city. Before bruises on his throat in the shape of River’s mouth had appeared more frequently than the ones he brought back from fights. “Putting down some roots, huh?”
“I did just move in with my girlfriend, so, yeah, I’d say so,” Desiree said. They stood a few feet from a glass case boasting an array of vegan pastries, and studied the bright menu on the wall above the polished white counter. “And I’ve been seeing Crystal more, trying to figure out if we’re in the introduce-partners-to-other-partners stage yet. Just seems right to stay. Are you even sure you wanna leave? Seems like you’ve got a good thing goin’ with that cute tattoo artist. Especially since you asked me for fashion advice six hours before another date with him.”
Erik narrowed his eyes at her.
“A Sunday best,” she teased, grin pushing dimples into her cheeks, “at a fancy art gallery.”
Instead of answering, he stepped toward the counter and ordered a chia seed infused green juice with extra pineapple. Desiree followed his lead and politely ordered two coffee cakes.
“Thanks,” he said, accepting the cake she held out. They sat down at a small table near the window.
“You looked happy, Erik,” Desiree said. She tilted her head, seeking his attention until he finally met her eyes. “At the club last week. You looked really happy.”
“I am happy.” He shrugged, as if insinuating that he would be anything but happy was ludicrous.
“You looked happy with River,” she corrected. The knitted scarf around her neck slouched over one shoulder, pooling in her lap. Light caught the glitter on her cheeks, dusted over foundation that covered a bruise from her last fight. Erik picked at his coffee cake, his gaze steered to the table between them, fingers restless around a fork, before he took a bite and shook his head.
“I can be happy with him while I’m here,” he said. “But Pete made me a good offer, and it’s not like me and River are…” Serious? Of course they were. Committed? Erik thought so. Real? What he’d found with River was the realest thing he’d had in years. “Compatible,” he supplied. “He’s an artist, and he’s sweet, and he’s smart enough not to waste his time. Not for long, at least.”
A server set their juices in front of them. Erik grabbed his eagerly, thankful for something to focus on other than Desiree’s lifted brow and stern, set mouth.
“Waste his time on what? On a relationship he looks damn well happy in?” Desiree flicked a crumb at him. “You’re an idiot, Erik.”
“No, I’m a realist.”
“Pessimist.”
Erik chewed on his straw and looked out the window, cheeks hot, chest tight and sore. “I’m still thinking about it, okay? Nothing’s set in stone.”
“All right, all right.” Desiree held her hands against her chest. Erik hadn’t noticed the bite in his voice until he glanced at her, met with her wide eyes and worried frown.
“I’m sorry, it’s just… This whole thing is happening really fast, and I’m…” Scared. “Nervous. That’s all.”
Desiree nodded. “I get it, honey. I do. But I’d hate to see you let a good thing go. That’s all.”
He thumbed at the plastic lid of his cup. “I get it.”
“Speaking of which, you’ve got two hours. Want me to drop you off at home?”
Erik swallowed the last of his coffee cake. “Yeah, if you wouldn’t mind.”
They took their juices to go. Desiree nudged him with her elbow as they walked to her car. She took a breath, hesitated, and let it out as a sigh. Erik wondered what she’d had to say, what she’d wanted to say, but he doubted it would be anything he wanted to hear.
Not yet, not now, not like this. Not when he’d stumbled into something intimate with River, something he did not want to run from.
“Have fun tonight,” Desiree said. He accepted a one-armed hug over the center console.
“Thanks, Des. Tell Serena I appreciate the clothes.”
Erik shut the door. He watched the white Subaru disappear down the street. Friendship was a rare thing for him. Not as rare as love, but close. He replayed Desiree’s words as he stood still on the wet sidewalk—You looked happy—and was cruelly reminded that River wouldn’t be the only one left behind if he took Pete’s offer.
His phone buzzed. A text lit the screen.