Chapter 23
23
Tatum
It’s been almost an entire day since I kissed June under the lights of the ice-cream shop. We had to break apart eventually, lips swollen, to walk home together so June could get some sleep before her investor meeting. We could’ve kept going. We could’ve stayed up the whole night together. But I knew better than to let her show up for her meeting without a good night’s rest.
We slept one wall apart—me in the office, her in Eleanor’s room. It might as well have been a thousand miles. Still, I found myself listening for her, my spine straightening at every creak in the floorboards, hoping against my better judgment that she was coming in to see me.
In the end, she made the right choice by staying away.
Dawn and I have spent the morning and afternoon going through her closet, a task she tells me she’s put off for over a decade. My work in Eleanor’s apartment has inspired her to tackle it. As we open box after box, Dawn shows me relics from her past—awards she’s won, dresses she wore to premieres and to nightclubs. Knowing how closed off she was when we showed up last week, it isn’t lost on me to have her be this open now.
“This,” she says, showing me a long slinky dress made of a liquid-looking silver fabric, “was what I wore when I got invited to the Golden Globes in 1979. It was very scandalous. I showed a lot of shoulder.”
It doesn’t take long for me to find the picture online. “Dawn, you look incredible.”
“Better than Martha Stewart?” she asks.
“Way better,” I tell her.
“Good. And I haven’t gone to jail for insider trading either.”
Sifting through the pieces of her life, Dawn tells me stories from her earliest New York days. It makes me sad to think of how long she’s been in this apartment alone, no one to collect this amazing wealth of information. The problem, I know, was also on Dawn, who hasn’t let anyone get close to her either. Still, it seems criminal that she’s been here all by herself, sitting with these beautiful clothes and amazing memories, believing no one cared enough to experience any of it.
When we get on the topic of the women she dated, she becomes shy, especially considering the way she treated me at the bar when we discussed my own dating history.
With lots of coaxing, she finally tells me about someone named Paula who she used to go clubbing with in her early twenties, before her big break.
“Paula didn’t take shit from anybody, which I loved,” she says. “All kinds of seedy men would hit on me at the clubs, and Paula could give them one look, and they’d leave me alone for the rest of the night. It was amazing. But with me, she was soft, which I loved too. She’d call me sweetheart, and she’d make sure I drank enough water after we’d been out all night. I always liked having somebody who took care of me. And Paula liked having someone to protect. We worked well in that way.”
Dawn explains how when she booked her first role, she had to stay in Los Angeles for six months. By the time she got back, Paula had moved.
“We’d both agreed when I went to work on that movie that it would be too much of a distraction to keep talking to each other,” she tells me. “I think back on that now, and I just want to smack myself. But I was young and ambitious then, and I didn’t want anything getting in the way of my acting career. Paula said she understood. I really thought she did too. I was always a little oblivious like that. When I finally got back to New York after the shoot wrapped, I showed up at her apartment and got greeted by a man and his pet parakeet. Paula had moved, and I had no way to reach her. We only had landlines then.”
“Didn’t any of your other club friends know where she was?” I ask.
“I asked them, of course. And everyone was cagey about it, telling me Paula moved to Brooklyn, then saying, no, she actually went to San Francisco, or you know, maybe it was London. Nobody would give me a straight answer. Next thing I know, I’ve got another acting job lined up, and I don’t have the time to look into it further, because I’m flying back to Los Angeles. I could kick myself now, I really could. I just let her slip away, and I told myself that it didn’t matter to me as much as my acting did. But I look back, and I miss her more than I miss acting, that’s for sure.”
Hope blooms in my chest, thinking of getting the chance to orchestrate Dawn’s happily ever after.
“Do you know her last name?” I ask.
“She died in 2004,” Dawn says, shattering my fantasy before it can even take root. “I found that out a few years ago when I thought to look her up online. She lived in Washington Heights. Five miles from me, the whole damn time.” She sees my eyes welling and snaps her fingers in my face. “Don’t you do that,” she warns. “I can’t do crying right now.”
“I’m not,” I say. “I’m just allergic to dust.”
“I know it’s sad, but you know what? It’s what happened. And it’s my fault, but it was Paula’s too. I think we could’ve really been something, but that’s all it is—a thought. Nothing more.”
“It still bums me out,” I admit.
“Am I allowed to ask you about June again, or are you gonna get up and perform another song instead?” She gives me her challenging glare, the one I recognize from all her best roles. She really could still command a screen. Her presence has only strengthened in the years since she last worked.
“We’re friends.” My lie falls out not as a defense but because what we have seems so precious, so new, that to talk about it feels like I could somehow startle it away.
“Bullshit,” Dawn says, unwavering. “She took you on a date last night. You’ve been randomly smiling all day, staring off at the wall. The world’s changed a lot, but I still know what it looks like when someone’s smitten.”
“Fine,” I concede, fighting the smile that’s bloomed just from thinking of June again, my hand cradling her neck, pulling her to me. “We had a very nice date last night.”
“And…” Dawn says, waving a hand at me, like, Get on with it already .
“And that’s all I know right now!” I protest.
It would be easy to spout off all the things that could go wrong. That’s kind of my whole thing. But I think back on this week, and how it’s all managed to go very, very right, and it seems too pessimistic to scrape together a case for all the ways it wouldn’t work.
“I really like her,” I continue, leaning into the optimism. “I really think we could have something.”
“Have you told her that?” Dawn asks.
“It’s a little intense for a first date,” I say.
“Please. That wasn’t really a first date. You two have been circling each other like hawks for a while now. This was a territory marking for you both.”
I laugh. “What a stunning way to describe romance.”
“Not many people appreciate me for my comedy. They think of me as a dramatic actor. But I’m funny when I want to be.”
“You are,” I assure her.
“Anyway, I think you should tell her all the gushy stuff,” Dawn says. “I think she’s been waiting a very long time to hear it from you, and I bet you’ve been waiting just as long to hear it back. Isn’t that the whole point you took from my sad story? That it’s never worth it to wait?”
Telling June how I feel would’ve been an impossibility for the old me. But that Tatum never made it onto this trip. She got left behind in the airport with my checked bag, and when the airline finally delivered the luggage to me, it was too late for that Tatum to join in on the fun.
“Maybe I will,” I say to Dawn.
“Hey,” she says, her tone completely changed. “What if you spent the night here tonight? I haven’t had a guest in about a million years.”
“Really? Me, not June? We both know you like her better.”
“I do,” Dawn says. “Which is why I gotta try with someone more annoying. Make sure I can tolerate it.” She smiles. “You’ve inspired me, what can I say? I want to see if I can handle having another person in my space again, even just as a guest. You’re my test run.”
I stick my hand out for a high five that she does not permit. “I’m in. Let’s have a sleepover. I’ll pop over to Eleanor’s before June is back so I can tell her, then I’ll come over here after.” I clap my hands together, oddly excited. It feels like the times I used to spend the night at my grandmother’s.
I’m not the only one changing for the better.
···
It’s dark when June finally comes back from her meeting. My pulse is up the moment she walks through the door, secondhand interest making me feel like a personal shareholder in her company myself.
“Well?” I start, searching her face for clues.
She’s placid as she removes her shoes, placing them beside mine at the entrance. Syrup comes to her, rubbing against her legs, and she bends over to pet him, cooing hellos.
“You’re killing me,” I say, still waiting.
After a quick kiss on Syrup’s head, she looks at me. Her face breaks open, the joy filling in every inch.
“You got it!” I scream.
“I got it,” she confirms. “They want to invest in me!”
And I throw my arms around her, so infected with joy that I have to share it. She matches me right away, and the comfort I feel in her arms has a sinking, sagging satisfaction to it. This is a place where I could live. These are the arms I always want around me.
We stand waist to waist, wrapped in each other.
And I do it again.
I kiss her.
She presses back, hungry, devouring the moment with fervor. My hands begin to explore her, searching for new ways to fire her up. She bites my ear and lets out a soft sigh of satisfaction as my hands find the buttons of her blouse.
“Yes,” she whispers. “Keep going.”
I do, ravenous with that need, staved off last night so she could rest up for her meeting. But the meeting’s over. The good news received. June has secured the investors. All that’s left is this.
I’m flicking each button of her shirt open like a woman possessed, using every bit of control I have to keep from tearing the fabric to shreds. When the last breaks free, her chest is bare, no bra beneath her shirt.
Which is exactly when Dawn knocks on the door.
“I heard you come in,” she calls out. “I wanna know how it went!”
June and I lock eyes, bursting into laughter.
“She does have impeccable timing, I’ll give her that,” I say, breathless. Then I steal one more kiss.
June hurries over to the mirror in the living room, buttoning up her shirt and tidying her hair. I wait until she’s presentable, enjoying this moment of just being , seeing her piece together the careful facade, knowing I was the one to muss it up. It didn’t last nearly as long as I’d like, but I can’t be too mad. Not when my heart feels this light.
Once June gives the all clear, I open the door for Dawn, who says, “What took you so long?”
June and I laugh again.
Dawn gives us both a look. “Well? Did you get them to sign on?”
“I did!” June tells her.
“Very good. Very, very good,” Dawn says firmly. “Tatum’s spending the night in my guest room.”
“Sorry, yes, I am,” I say to June. “I didn’t have a chance to tell you yet.”
This time, we hold in the laugh. But only barely.
“Am I not invited?” June asks, tipping her head down to give me the look .
“Dawn’s choice, not mine!” I tell her.
Syrup takes this opportunity to try to run out the door. June catches him only a few steps out into the hall.
“Well, I’ll be waiting for you, Tatum,” Dawn says. “I ordered pizza.”
Beneath her rough exterior, I know Dawn is excited. Me sleeping over there means more to her than she’d ever say. I wonder when exactly she last had a guest. Has it been years? Decades?
She excuses herself back to her side of the hall, leaving June and me alone.
“I don’t think I can cancel,” I say once Dawn is gone.
“God no,” June tells me. “I wouldn’t want you to anyway. This feels like a big deal for her.”
“I thought the same thing,” I say. “Tell me everything first, though. Walk me through the whole meeting. No detail is too small.”
We plop onto the couch together, and June recounts the whole affair, indulging my desire to hear about every sight, sound, and sensation she felt. I cup my head in my hands, watching her, feeling so much pride. These investors saw the light that I’ve always seen, the shimmer around her that tells you she’s someone you should know. They believe in her and her business the same way I do.
“It’s a lot,” June says once she’s run through it all, looking down at the way our fingers have threaded together. “It’s going to be a massive change.”
“Saturn return,” I say jokingly.
“But really, though,” she responds. “I started this perfume business in the garage of my parents’ house. Now I’m gonna move to New York City for it?”
“Wait,” I say, sitting up straighter. “You’re officially moving here?”
“I have to, if I want to stay involved.”
“When?”
“Pretty much immediately.”
I still can’t envision my life in Trove Hills without her. All I see are gaps, places where I’d miss her, long to be around her. That space doesn’t make me as sad as it could, knowing how much it means to her to see this dream realized. It’s the kind of letting go I understand. She needs to be here.
“I’m so happy for you,” I say.
This time when I hug her, there is none of the charged energy of earlier. This time it’s something deeper, our arms wrapped so tight around each other that it feels like we’re one body. I breathe in the smell of her, not just her perfume, but her skin, inventorying each detail for safekeeping.
“We have terrible timing, don’t we?” she whispers.
I feel something damp on my shoulder. That’s when I realize she’s crying.
“Don’t say that,” I tell her, pulling my head back to kiss her cheek. “Let’s just appreciate right now. We still have this trip.”
It might be all we have, but for now, it’s enough.