Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
HAPPILY EVER BEFORE
Will
Arden is standing in my living room, and watching her explore my space feels like watching someone read my diary . As her fingers trail along the spines of books I've collected over years, many from college, even more since.
In the last weeks we’ve always landed in her space rather than mine. She’d text me and I’d come running. It wasn’t far, but I would have gone regardless.
We sat on the floor of her apartment eating takeout.
Sipping champagne as she showed me her plant collection.
Trading details of our day like secrets.
Finally ending our nights tangled in a way that our bed sheets could only tell the story of in the morning. And yet, she’d never been here. It was like some last threshold she’s been unwilling to cross.
Until now.
"So," she says. Pulling out a dog-eared book with the kind of gentle reverence that indicates her own relationship with reading is much deeper than just the late night companion by her bedside would imply. "You read ?"
"No, actually," I say, unable to resist teasing her. "I just collect them for aesthetics."
She rolls her eyes in that way that somehow manages to be both exasperated and endearing, carefully sliding the book back into its exact spot, as if she wants to leave everything exactly as she found it. Terrified that any record of her would be left behind.
"You know what I mean," she says, turning to face me. "I just... didn't realize you enjoyed reading."
"You never asked.” I’m leaning against my kitchen counter, watching her methodically, carefully, comb through this space. “Though I'm curious what gave you the impression I was illiterate."
I have books that are stacked in towers on the coffee table, some with paper markers protruding like multicolored flags marking territory in an academic war zone, preparing for the next tour, assisting in some research at the museum.
"Well, you do spend an awful lot of time staring at pictures," she teases, pulling out a hefty one on Renaissance art. "This looks more like you are moonlighting as a professor… Docent by day, distinguished academic by night?"
"Not distinguished at all." I move behind her, my chest pressed against her back, as I drag my fingers across her neck sweeping her hair away from the nape, pressing a kiss in its place.
She spins in my arms to face me, the book she was holding the momentary barrier between us wraps around my back as she reaches up on her toes to knot her arms at my neck.
Speaking secrets onto my tongue, and smiles into my kiss.
“Let’s run away” she says.
“Where do you want to go?”
She drops down to her feet, face full of joy and presents me with the book she just retrieved from the shelf.
“Narnia.”
So we do… for hours with her head against my chest, and my breath against her forehead, we trade the pages back and forth.
I know that knock, that irregular, too-heavy rhythm that means Alfie decided that a bottle of whiskey wasn’t going to finish itself after a long day. He does this about once a month, sometimes more, sometimes less, depending on what deals are going through or what fight is going on at home.
While there’s not much about our lives we share, he turns up here knowing that regardless, I’ll open the door under some misguided familial obligation. Even though it often results in the same fight the next morning when the whiskey wears off and he’s faced with his own reality.
I carefully extract myself from Arden, who is sleeping peacefully in my bed, her hair spread across my pillow like melted gold.
Before I can reach the door, Alfie's voice booms through it, followed by a kick and an expletive that slips through the crack in frustration as he jiggles the door handle.
"WILL! Open up."
"Shit," I mutter, rushing to open it before he wakes the entire floor. "Alfie, what the hell?!"
He stumbles past me, reeking of the same bad decisions I’ve come to expect. Those bad decisions wear a much fruitier scent than his wife does.
"Had a great night," he announces, too loud for the hour. "Closed a massive deal. The kind dad would've?—"
"Keep your voice down," I hiss, trying to guide him toward the couch. "It's the middle of the night."
"Oh, you've got company?” He chuckles dangerously as he’s rummaging in my fridge for another beer. He slams it against the counter to open and the bottle crashes to the hardwood spilling its contents to be a sticky memory in the morning.
But Alfie's already noticed the second wine glass on the coffee table, the unfamiliar coat draped over my chair. His bloodshot eyes narrow with something that looks alarmingly like contempt as he takes thunderous steps towards my bedroom door.
Despite the length of my stride and my desperation to keep her safely behind that door, it’s all too late.
It cracks open with sleep and Arden is standing there rubbing the confusion from her eyes. She’s standing there in nothing more than a t-shirt of mine and my chest aches at the innocence on her face. Her lips are pink and full with sleep still pressed in the patterns of her cheek.
“Oh this is too good, you're still playing house with that girl from the bar." Alfie drawls, leaning against the doorframe despite the fact that I've immediately stepped between them.
“It’s all okay, just go back to bed.” I cup her face and try to speak just to her.
“I just want to hear how she convinced you…” It’s not just a drunken statement, he says it with every intention of grabbing her curiosity.
"That's enough." I grab his arm, but he shakes me off and from the voice behind me, it’s clear he’s got her hooked.
“Convinced you of what?” she asks, a voice that’s scared of the answer, but directing the question to me all the same.
“That this” Alfie waves his arms around at dismissal of the space, “is worth giving up his life.” I’ve yanked him back by his shirt, as he spouts actual nonsense. But it’s just emboldening him. Making him meaner. If I didn’t know better, I’d even say he’s jealous.
I push him onto the couch and he throws his hands up in the air in submission.
"I, I.. I should go." Her voice barely above a whisper.
“Arden, please.” The words feel desperate on my tongue. But Alfie’s face broadens with a cruel smile that looks genetic.
"No, stay,” he croons. “You know he's not really this person, right?" He directs at Arden. "This whole artistic soul thing? It's just his latest way of running from responsibility. And you're just the latest girl in his bed helping him pretend."
“You don't know what you’re talking about." I snarl, putting more space between them.
"I know you're throwing your life away!" he shouts back, face reddening. "Talking about other people's accomplishments instead of making something of yourself! And for what? For her ?"
When I look back, Arden's already hurried herself into a pair of jeans and is gathering her things.
"Arden, wait!"
"Don't," she says, and the tremor in her voice kills me. "Just... don't. I know better, I, I knew better."
She pushes past us both, and I can hear her bare feet on the hardwood as she runs. Literally this time. Shoes in hand. The sound of my front door slamming reverberates through the apartment like a gunshot. Feels like one too.
"Are you happy now?" I run my hands through my hair with barely contained rage.
"Someone had to say it," he mutters, but the fight's gone out of him, replaced by a dull glaze that to anyone else that could look like drunken momentary regret. It’s not.
"Don’t fucking move." I say, already grabbing my keys, and his, because the last thing he should do is put any of this drunken judgement behind the wheel of a car.
I don't wait for his response, just race after her. She's fast, but I catch up to her at the elevator where she’s frantically jabbing the button to escape.
"Let me explain," I beg, my voice getting to her before my feet do.
“Is he right?" she bursts out, whirling to face me. Is he right?
"Alfie doesn't know what he's talking about.” I insist, reaching for her desperately. “He's drunk and angry and?—"
"But he knows you," she cuts in, backing away slightly from my touch. "Maybe he's right. Maybe I'm just... maybe this isn't..."
The elevator arrives with a cheerful ding that feels like mockery. She steps inside and I follow her. The two of us enclosed the space, a short ride in silence as we reach the ground level. Staring at our distorted reflections in the metal doors.
“Look at me, of the three of us, I can promise you he isn’t right. I know how that sounds, I know what you must think, but he doesn’t know me, you do, and I know you, too.”
As the doors open, so do her eyes. More awake that she was in the last minutes of this whirlwind.
"There's a reason you walked into the museum that day.” I continue softly. “There's a reason I walked into that bar that night. There’s a reason you showed up at Simon’s party. All while being right across the street."
"And what reason is that?" she breathes. My hand reaches for her, intertwining like it's the most natural thing in the world, even in a moment where she’s uncertain.
"Because sometimes two people are tied together without ever realizing it,” I say drawing her closer, “and the universe continues to take the strands of their lives and weave them together. That's why. I can’t stay away from you, and I don’t want to. That has nothing to do with what Alfie thinks, my dad thinks, that has to do with me and you.”
We’re standing on the street between our buildings, she’s got a decision to make, if she is going to take steps farther from me. Cross the street and leave me on the other side of the crack that would put between us. She’s quiet for a long moment, I don’t let the silence fill with any of the voices in her own head telling her different.
"And there is no part of me I'm going to convince to stay away from you when the whole fucking universe put a giant gold frame around this tapestry of our future."
“I want to run.” she whispers, her voice even in the most hushed tones wraps around me in the night air.
“Okay, but I’m coming with you.”
She steps into my arms as I press her head to my chest. Maybe she can feel my heart beat pounding its way to her.
“I’m sorry for him,” I whisper into the crown of her head. And I feel her nodding against my chest until her face tilts up and pulls me into a soft kiss.
“Me too,” she says, and it sounds like pity. “But that’s the last time I’m staying at your place.”