26
WHEN I REACHED THE APARTMENT DOOR, BEFORE I TURNED the lock, I imagined Nate sitting there. He’d say hey, and I’d scream at him until he begged for forgiveness. Then I’d say welcome back and initiate the perfect hug, without a trace of unease, and he’d offer a sensible reason for going, and for coming back, after which he’d tell me what to say to Frank.
He wasn’t there, though. And there was too much space. Could my key have opened someone else’s door? I had read of drunk or otherwise disoriented people doing that. I was surprised it hadn’t happened before.
But no, there was Harry. It was just that things looked different. The clutter was more spread out, still messy, but not quite as bad as I’d remembered.
I opened the refrigerator and closed it, and then opened it again when I realized there was food inside: peanut butter, jelly, bread, cheese. Had that been there before? Maybe he had bought the groceries before he left? Or maybe it was a miracle and the food would last until he got back.
I wasn’t hungry, so I returned to my living space, where I collapsed amidst a folded clump of mismatched socks.
I stayed in that position until the phone startled me out of a daze.
“Did I wake you?”
“No!” It was Nate. Finally. “Where are you?”
“This is the first chance I’ve had to call.”
“Are you here?” He sounded so close I checked to see if he was in the bathroom. It was empty. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing serious,” he said.
“What is it?”
He sighed. “How’s Harry?”
He was napping on the far cushion. “He’s mad at you.”
“Tell him I’m sorry,” he said.
“Are you okay?” I said. “Because if you’re in trouble or something—”
“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “I’ll be fine. How are you?”
“You’ll be fine?”
“What’s going on over there? Any news?”
“No, not really. Oh, wait. Yeah, kind of, actually. I think Frank proposed today.”
“What? Are you serious?”
“That is news, huh?”
“I’ve only been gone a few days.”
“It feels like longer.”
I waited for him to fight me, but when he didn’t, I thought maybe it was because he was at the door, like Frank had been. I looked through the peephole, but there was only the hallway.
“Are you still there?” I said.
“I’m here.”
“What do you think I should tell him?”
“It’s really nice. An opal. It was because you left I think. He did this thing, with sugar packets and—it was—I don’t know. I guess you had to be there.”
“What did you say?”
“This is one of those times when you could say something like that, that you had to be there, because it was really strange.”
“Did you say yes?”
“To who, Frank? I’ve told him I don’t want to get married, I think. I hinted—in other conversations. He knows I’m not wifely. Is that a word, wifely? It sounds like one. Except when I think about the ring—”
“Lucy,” he said. “Is this what you want?”
I examined my hands. “The left one?”
“What?”
“I should have tried it on.”
“Did you hear what I asked?” he said.
I examined my fingers. Which one was left?
“Frank is serious about this.”
“I know that!” My hand clenched into a fist. “You think I don’t know that? I think I know Frank a little better than you do. I know what it means when a person commits.”
He took a breath. “Okay.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “That was loud. I didn’t mean to yell.”
“It’s okay.”
“Don’t go, okay?”
“I’m not going.”
“Can you tell me where you are?”
I could hear him on the other end exhaling through his nose.
“Or is that against the rules? Are you a spy or something? That would make me feel better if you were.”
I knew he wasn’t going to answer.
“Would you come home if I married Frank?”
He sighed, heavily. “Do you love him?”
“I don’t know. I mean, yeah. I guess.”
“You guess?” he said.
I thought about how much Frank was sweating when I noticed the ring, how important this whole thing seemed to him.
“How do you know?” I said.
“Nobody really knows,” he said. “But most people say you just do.”
“Like in your gut? Because in my gut—I mean, he’s such a great guy, but in my gut, when I think about the future—I don’t know.”
“Then you shouldn’t say yes.”
“But it could be that I’ll never know, you know? I mean, all those stupid movies about finding ‘the one’ and all that stuff, I don’t connect to that.”
“Because those movies suck,” he said.
“Yeah, but it’s more than that. It’s like I never understood those characters. I never planned for any of that.”
“You never planned for anything. Ever.”
“That’s true, but it’s because I can’t really. Executive—”
“Functioning. I know. That’s what you say.”
“So I should say no?”
“I can’t tell you what to say.”
“Can you tell me if you’re on your way back?”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not supposed to be on the phone for this long. I need to get going.”
“Wait!” I said. “Why? Are you in jail?”
“No,” he said. “But I have to go.”
I took a second. “Is this because of me?”
“No,” he said. “None of this is because of you.”
“Can I do anything to help? If we need money, I can play poker.”
“You don’t have to worry about money. I’ve got all the bills electronically, and there’s three hundred dollars underneath a stack of menus in the kitchen, far-left drawer.”
“Isn’t that your money?”
“It’s ours. Mostly twenties. Don’t use it all at once, but if you need more, you can ask Byron.”
“Byron?”
“He has keys. Did you get the food?”
“That was you?”
“That was him, but you can ask for more.”
“I don’t have his number.”
“He’ll stop by again,” he said. “You can always leave him a note.”
“I don’t like notes,” I said.
He paused for a half a second. “His number’s on top of one of the menus.”
I checked. It was all there.
“You have enough pills in the cupboard to get you through the next thirty days, plus whatever you had left over from before. I’m sure you noticed that, but I wanted to make sure you knew you wouldn’t run out.”
“Because you’ll be back before then?”
“Luce—”
“Yeah?”
“I’ll call again later. I promise.”
“When?” I said, but he’d already hung up.
WHEN I WAS SURE he was gone, I returned to the sill and searched again. Maybe that’s what Harry did when he curled against the pane—watched for Nate, or when I wasn’t there, for me. Or maybe he was thinking about getting out too.
It was real now. Before, I could sleep through it and imagine he’d return by the time I woke up. Now I couldn’t close my eyes. I couldn’t get Nate’s voice out of my mind—the weight of each word, the stress on every syllable, the futility of what I’d expressed. I could have said more. Or less. I could have just listened.
I wondered when Byron would be back. Would he walk in the moment I had my spoon in the peanut butter, while I was in the bathroom, when I was asleep? If I timed it right, I could greet him at the door and ask him questions. I could stay up and wait for him—all day, if I had to.
Or I could call him.
I hovered over his number for a long time, contemplating what to say, how to say it, choosing my words, my tone, and then—
“Hi. Do you know who this is? You probably don’t. It’s Lucy, Nate’s—”
“Lucy! Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s fine. It’s just—will you come over? I mean, if you’re in the neighborhood, if you were planning on coming back at some point anyway. I have some questions, and I thought if you weren’t doing anything, then, you know?”
“Give me half an hour,” he said.
WHEN HE WALKED IN, Byron smiled, his mouth a pearly landscape. He was very pretty, I noticed then. Not rugged like Nate, not boyish and nerdy like Frank, but pretty, like Captain America. His eyelashes were tangled and dark, his lips pink and wide. I wondered if his hands were as soft as they looked.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, surveying the space. “Would you be cool if I sent over this cleaning crew we work with sometimes?”
“Is it that bad?” I said.
I frantically tried to fluff a pillow, but I only ended up smooshing it.
“I can’t clean. I’m sorry. I’m sure we can’t afford a service.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I can’t clean either. But my uncle knows a guy.”
“I’m trying harder to be neat. I really am.”
“Forget it,” he said. “It’s a process.”
“Right. So what did Nate say?”
Byron stopped inspecting and looked at me. “We only talked for a minute.”
“Did he say what he’s doing?
“He was more concerned about you.” He nodded toward the kitchen. “He told me about the money. Do you have enough food?”
“Yes!” I said. “Thank you. It’s amazing. How did he sound to you? Is he ever coming back?”
“Of course he is.”
“How do you know?”
“He promised he’d let me join his band when he starts one.”
“But he took his guitar,” I said, searching the room again. “I looked for it.”
I started pacing, thinking about Byron going through everything, taking inventory.
He reached down to pick up Harry. Harry barely let me do that, let alone anyone else, but he was so calm in Byron’s arms, so secure.
“I thought you didn’t like pets.”
“I don’t, but they all seem to like me.”
Harry was actually purring.
“What else do you know?” I said. “Has he ever done anything like this before?”
“Do you want to sit for a second?”
“I think I’d rather stand,” I said. “I like the movement.”
“I get that,” he said. “You mind if I pace with you?”
“I guess not,” I said.
He let Harry go.
“You know, when he first got here he didn’t even drink. Total straight-edge. He said he was too focused to lose control. That’s how he was: all or none.”
I always thought he was more like Mom, but that sounded like Dad.
“First he was talking about being a doctor. Then he was all about philosophy: freedom versus determinism and moral truth versus relativity and the value of religion. And then poli sci. And his guitar. He was on a good track, but—I think the stuff with your dad hit him pretty hard.”
He stopped talking as if to gauge my reaction.
I looked at Harry. “You think he needed solitude?”
“I don’t really know what he needed, to be honest. But my guess is that he wanted some space to figure out how to get focused again, to reprioritize. You’re a big part of that. You know that, right? He wants to make sure you’re taken care of.”
“He doesn’t have to worry about me.”
“He’s always going to worry about you. The key is that he worries about himself too. He’s no good to anyone unless he’s in the right state. I think he finally gets that.”
“So is he okay now? Can you tell me that?”
“He’s going to be fine. I’m sure of that. But look, you can’t worry about him right now. Now you’ve got to worry about taking care of yourself. Do you have everything you need?”
No, I didn’t. I didn’t have my mother or my father or my brother, and I wasn’t sure how to take care of myself. That was the whole point. But I couldn’t let Byron know that, so I moved to the door.
“You don’t have to worry about me anymore,” I said. “I don’t want to be anyone’s burden.”
“You’re nobody’s burden,” he said. “You’re your own person.”
“Sure,” I said. Whatever that means. “Thanks for coming.”
He looked at the floor and held his gaze on a sketch of Gus.
“How’s that zoo dream of yours?”
I hadn’t thought about it in too long. I was ashamed of that. And Belle. It had been a while since I’d seen Enid. I’d let her down too.
“Still just a dream,” I said.
AFTER BYRON LEFT, I returned to the window and noticed the pigeon was still there. Pigeons were the rats of the sky, people liked to say. But I never understood why. They wouldn’t give you rabies or eat your babies. They were just as good as other birds—common maybe, plain, sure, but they never hurt anyone. This pigeon looked perfectly nice, peaceful even, soothing if I stared into its nest for long enough.
WHEN FRANK CALLED the next day, I wasn’t sure what time it was. It could have been dawn; it might have been dusk. It was all blurring together.
“Hi,” I said.
“I hope it’s not too early,” he said.
“It’s not. What time is it? I’m up. I’ve been up.”
“I wanted you to know—I can take back the question.”
When I looked around the apartment to think, I saw only the emptiness, and felt the quiet.
“No,” I blurted, louder than I intended.
“What?”
The words poured out. “I don’t want you to take it back.”
He seemed to gasp. “Does that mean yes?”
“Was that what I said?”
I took a minute. Maybe this was the only responsible choice left.
“I guess so?” I said.
“When I didn’t hear from you, I didn’t think—I can’t believe this. We need to celebrate. I’ll come over.”
“Now? I don’t know,” I said, but he was already on his way.
There was no going back.
He took a cab, so he arrived in twenty minutes, armed with a goofy smile and a gold box of chocolate. He said it was his mom’s idea to add that, her favorite kind, “to sweeten the deal.”
“She wants to meet you,” Frank said. “She’s been wanting to meet you since I told her about seeing you in the shop that first day, but now she can’t wait. I always knew it was you. Tonight. Will you have dinner with us?”
“Tonight?”
I had no sense of where I was, how swiftly this was moving, where we were going. It was as if I were watching someone else’s life.
I opened the chocolate box and ate three. At first, I was just eating them to keep my mouth occupied, comfort. But on the third, the taste hit me. Dark-chocolate ganache in a darker chocolate shell covered in dusted cocoa powder. I let the filling melt on my tongue, brushed it along the roof of my mouth. They might have been the best chocolates I’d ever had. I imagined these boxes lining the walls in every room of his parents’ house, me making my way through them row by row.
