Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Twenty-Nine
So, yeah. Here I am, playing it cool, super cool.
I like a guy and that guy likes me.
No big.
Lots to just sort of casually ponder in a totally relaxed and contemplative way.
My next few days are complete crap. Miles is leaving Tupperwares of food for me after work and checking in by text, but I’ve yet to lay eyes on him again since I watched him walk down the sidewalk.
How does one interpret this? He’s avoiding me because…he thinks I’ll take him unawares with my prodigious seduction technique?
He’s providing space after a really intense and emotional change in our relationship?
He’s spending his free time hyperventilating into a pillow at the mere thought of my silky lips?
He assumes that I’m stumped over this waiting idea and will likely badger him relentlessly to tell me what he means? I mean, correct, but…
Ainsley is lounging next to me on the couch and singing a song she’s had stuck in her head for days. I’m prickly and sensitized to everything. Especially with this load of staticky laundry that I’m attempting to fold. It’s attracted every bit of lint known to man and there are socks hiding in all the shirt sleeves.
I chase down a rogue undershirt three quarters of the way inside a bedsheet and yelp when I get about fifty static shocks in a row. “Ow! No! Why?”
The sheet gets lifted off me all at once and my hair goes with it.
“This is a good look for you,” Miles says, standing overme.
“Hopefully irresistible?” I say with a half glower/half grin. Because I like him and he likes me and he just made my heart skip and I don’t understand why we he won’t kiss me.
Lots to feel while folding laundry.
He just raises his eyebrows and glances over at Ainsley. “You ready?”
“Sure!” She scrambles up and leaps off the back of the couch. Miles catches her reflexively and sets her on her feet.
“Where are you going?” I ask, on my feet, hands on my hips. The unsaid part of that sentence is: without me? I, too, would like to jump off the back of this couch into Miles’s waiting arms.
“Practicing dancing,” Ainsley says.
“Why are you folding their laundry?” Miles asks. “Reese doesn’t ask you to do that, does she?”
“No, I just needed something to do. To occupy my brain.” I playfully glare at him.
He nods and then backs away from me.
“Hey!” I say, and step toward him.
He reaches down and picks up Ainsley by the armpits, holding her in between us. “Protect me,” he tells her.
She cranes around to look at him. “From what? Lenny?”
“Yeah. She’s frustrated with me.”
She turns and looks at me. “What’d he do?”
Made me want to kiss him.
“Nothing. I’m being a butthead.”
“Oh, okay, then. I’ll protect you, Miles.” She, still in his grip, lifts two little boxer fists. “Don’t make me do this, Lenny.”
Miles and I burst out laughing and Ainsley looks mighty pleased with herself. Miles sets her back on her feet. “It’s cold out today,” he tells her, and she scampers to go get her coat and boots.
And then the two of us are standing alone, the dregs of laughter subsiding, with almost nowhere to look.
I kick my socked foot at the carpet. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you these last few days. I know nothing is settled but…You don’t have to avoid me, okay?”
There’s a long pause and then, “Okay.”
And that’s all I get.
“What’s going on, guys?” Reese asks, leaning against the living room entry and eyeing the two of us. I have no idea how long she’s been standing there.
“I’m rea-dy!” Ainsley sing-shouts from the front hall, once again saving the day.
“Be back in an hour or so,” Miles says with a lightning-quick wave, and disappears.
Reese comes in and picks up the now-discarded sheet. “You really don’t have to fold laundry,” she says. “I’d never ask you to do that. No matter what Miles thinks.”
“I don’t mind,” I say. “And he was just…being Miles.”
She eyes me and then tosses the sheet down. “All right. Come clean. What’s happening between you two?”
“Me?” I point at myself. “And him?” I point at the direction he’s gone.
She laughs at my clearly over-the-top acting but then sobers. “I hope…It’s not my business, like at all, but I don’t want Ainsley to…”
“Get caught in the middle of a whirlwind love affair between her babysitter and her uncle?”
Reese raises her eyebrows. “Your words, not mine.”
I start pairing socks.
“First of all, there’s no love affair to speak of,” I say. “And second of all, most importantly, we both really care about Ainsley and her well-being.”
Reese purses her lips and folds a top sheet.
“Reese.”
She finally looks up at me.
“Miles is never going to do something to intentionally hurt her. She’s one half of the entire reason he’s even in New York City.” And you’re the other half, I don’t say. But her eyes darken. She understands, even if she wishes she didn’t.
—
It’s the group chat that breaks the stalemate.
I’d forgotten the tentative plans we’d put in place, but Rica hasn’t.
Rica: Still on for tonight, everybody?
I text immediately: I’m in. How’s 8?
Jericho texts next: Perfect.
Jeffy is next: K.
Rica: Don’t sound so excited Jeffy.
And then Miles swoops in and makes everything wonderful: What about we meet at the disco bar.
There’s a very long pause where I think all of us are processing the fact that Miles has suggested we go to a disco bar.
But then Jericho chimes in: You mean Sacha’s?
Yeah.
Jericho again, What do you know about Sacha’s???
Miles sends a shrugging emoji. It’s not too far of a hike from Queens for Rica and Jeffy.
Jeffy up next: I hate Sacha’s but Miles suggested it so I’m in.
Rica: Literally can’t wait to see Miles disco.
I didn’t think this through, Miles texts.
Too late! Jericho says. Attn: everyone. The dress code tonight is no pockets.
What? Miles texts. Dress code? No pockets?? I can taste the panic. What am I supposed to wear for pants? And where do I put my wallet?
After the plans are set, and Miles has insisted to me over text that he can handle his own outfit, I hit a thrift store. I’m torn between two lovers. One of them is a sweater dress so red and soft that you could bake it in a pie. The other is a metallic purple jumpsuit that’s skintight everywhere except the cowl-neck collar. It’s horrific and uncomfortable. Of course I choose that one. We’re going to a disco bar, after all.
Miles texts that he’s late due to dress code requirements, and we all wait outside the bar for him.
“I’m surprised you didn’t come together!” Jericho says tome.
I shrug. Exactly how much do I tell them? “I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with him, but he says we need to slow things down so now we’re giving each other space or something?” Apparently, I just err on the side of telling them everything.
I turn to see all three of them gaping at me. I laugh at their identical expressions.
“This…” Jeffy says dimly. “All happened since we saw you on Saturday?”
I shake my head at myself. “Oh, God. I guess so?”
Rica’s viciously frowning. “He said you need to slow things down…Like he’s not ready for commitment?”
“Oh. No.” I realize now what that sounded like. “I think he thinks I need more time.”
This is apparently just as confusing to them as it is to me. But at that second the man of the hour comes jogging around the corner, his breath puffing into frigid clouds and his cheeks pink with cold. He screeches to a stop in front of the group.
All of us give him an epic up-and-down. He’s in blue sneakers, pale green pleated suit pants (no pockets, of course), and a white long-sleeve waffle tee.
“Where’s your coat?” Jeffy demands.
“You said no pockets! All my coats have pockets!” And then he digests the fact that all of us are wearing coats with pockets. “Wait, what the fuck!”
We burst out laughing and Rica and Jericho both promptly unzip their coats and envelop him inside a coatful hug.
“Sorry,” Jericho says sincerely. “I should have clarified that weather-necessary clothing is an exemption.”
“Wow, you really didn’t want to get disqualified on a technicality,” Jeffy muses.
“Let’s go inside before Miles gets pneumonia,” Rica suggests.
Miles and Jericho go first, followed by Jeffy, but Rica tugs at my hand and we fall back. “Tell me exactly what happened between you two. Leave no stone unturned.”
Miles is glancing back at me and I’m glancing at him, but I tell her the whole story out of the corner of my mouth. By the end of it she looks like she gets what I clearly don’t.
She pats my shoulder. “You got yourself a good one, Lenny. Don’t worry about it too much. Enjoy the ride.”
I open my mouth to further inquire, but she narrows her eyes and I find myself at the receiving end of a perfectly gorgeous nail with a gemstone glued on. “That’s an order,” she says.
I’m really good at taking orders, turns out. “Enjoy the ride,” I repeat with a shrug. “Okay.”
We sweep inside and it’s got the lights, the mirrors, a long curving bar with upholstered barstools, and—I squint— amotorcycle suspended from the ceiling of the dance floor, neon-style flames spewing from the exhaust pipe.
Jeffy secures a high-top table for us and we divest ourselves of our coats (except for Miles). Jeffy’s in sweats (no pockets, of course), and this earns him a frown from Jericho. Rica’s in what can only be described as an Oscars dress the color of Ariel’s tail, and this earns her a thumbs-up from Jericho. I pull off my coat and get a “You’ve got to be kidding me!” He strips off his coat and, oh, boy, we’re both in purple jumpsuits. He laughs and we hug and Rica takes a bunch of photos of us.
Miles leaves and comes back with a tray of prescribed drinks and then quickly agrees to pilot the table while we test-drive the dance floor.
I’ve barely spoken to him tonight but I can feel his eyes all over me and by all over me, I mean that I think he might like the jumpsuit.
I saw Jericho’s confident dance moves at the concert, so they don’t surprise me. He melts toward the middle of the dance floor. Jeffy’s dance moves consist of jumping up and down and a halfway committed air guitar. Rica, however, takes one step onto the dance floor and is immediately confronted by a man with two long French braids down his back and a Yankees cap on. “You,” he says, taking off the cap and holding it over his heart. “You are the one I’ve been waiting for.”
She’s gaping at him, clearly never having met him before, but then she does a long, lazy appraisal and shrugs. “Sure,” she says. “Why not?”
She holds out one hand and he twirls her away.
“Aaaand,” Jeffy says, “that’s the last we’ll see of Jericho or Rica tonight.”
“Really?” I ask, accidentally bumping him.
“Oh, yeah.” He offers his hand as a slower song comes on and I immediately take it. “She and Jericho tend to get swept away by suitors pretty early on.”
“Got it. And you?” I ask, clasping my hands around his neck and feeling very charmed by his extremely light touch against my waist as we step to one side and back, one side and back.
“Oh, I’ve learned to make friends with bartenders.”
We chuckle. “You can always call me when you’re lonely,” I promise. “I keep odd hours. I’ll swoop in and save you from drinking beer by yourself.”
He cocks his head and smiles, a real smile. I feel, for a moment, almost overwhelmed with luck. Then he glances to the side and does a double take. “Should we go sit with Miles?”
I glance over as well and burst out laughing at the expression on Miles’s face as he watches Jeffy and me dance.
We make our way over to him and take a stool on either side of him. “Why were you laughing at me?” he asks.
“Your glower,” I say, still laughing. “You look like Satan’s hot little brother.”
He immediately frowns. “I can never tell if you’re flirting with me or heckling me.”
“ I can tell,” Jeffy says, and leans in and clinks Miles’s beer glass on the table. “And on that note, I’m going to go see what the bartender’s favorite Marvel movie is.”
He’s gone before I can insist he stay behind, and Miles and I sit and watch the dance floor. “So.”
He turns to me. “Hm?”
I take a hand and gesture to my boobs, point at my ass, sweep up and down my entire visage. “So, eat your heart out.”
He stifles a grin, shakes his head, and casts his gaze back to the dance floor, taking a sip of beer. “Lenny, I’m eating my heart out even when you’re in your Morty’s Car Wash T-shirt.”
I nearly inhale half my drink up nose and he gives me a few helpful thwacks.
“Miles, for the love of God, can we go into that hallway over there and make out?”
He gives me a disapproving frown. “By the bathrooms? Gross.”
“Fine! Then take me home and do me!”
Now he’s the one inhaling his drink through his nose and I’m the one thwacking him. Gotta say, much more fun to be the thwacker.
His Satan glower is back. “You want me to take you home and do you.”
“Sure!”
He leans back, crosses his arms over his chest, and eyes me. And I mean, this is a thorough appraisal. “Nah. My way is better.”
“We haven’t even tried my way!” I poke his shoulder. “My way you get to put your hand inside this jumpsuit.”
A few hairline cracks seem to spiderweb their way up his resolve. His eyes drop from my face down to my body before they skitter away back to the dance floor.
I’m encouraged by this reaction. I pull my hair out of my ponytail and flip the whole mess of it over to one side, looking up at him through a pout. “Miles,” I purr, drawing a circle over the back of one of his hands. “Have I waited long enough?”
He groan-laughs and scrubs his hands over his face. “You’re torturing me.”
“Well, that makes two of us!” I drop the sexpot act and sit up straight. “You’re the one who’s obsessed with waiting!”
He crosses his arms again and watches me. “You know, you acclimated to this change a lot quicker than I thought you would.”
“What change? Oh, from friends to lov-ahs?”
He icks at my use of that word but carries on. “It would be…a big change.”
I consider this solemnly. “Well, obviously I freaked out upstate when I realized how I felt.”
“But that was more about Lou than about…you and me, right?”
“Right. And in terms of you and me…maybe it isn’t such a big change.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…I can’t say how long I’ve been feeling exactly like this. But I’ve been wanting to crawl inside your sweatshirts for a while now.” I shift a little bit closer to him and play with the pushed-up fabric at the bend of his elbow. “And you’ve been feeding me and washing my hair and herding me around town.”
His eyes are on my hand, and when I brush my fingers down to his exposed forearm, the muscle goes tense. He takes a big swallow of beer and forces himself to look at anything that isn’t me touching him.
I tug-tug at his shirt and he looks back at me. “My mom asked me if you treat me well, Miles. You know what I said to her?”
“What’s that?” he says in a low, husky voice.
“I said that you walked into hell and dragged me back out.”
Something crosses his face, I’m not sure what, and he turns away from me, covering the bottom half of his expression with his free hand. “Lenny.”
“Why should I be scared of kissing you, Miles? I’d just be getting even closer to the safest place in the whole world.”
He slams his eyes closed for a moment and when they come open, he’s burning with determination. “I’m gonna go.”
“What? Why?”
He laughs, exasperated. “I’m not obsessed with waiting, Len. I’m obsessed with…Look, I really want to get this right. It’s important. There are signs that’ll tell me that you’re…But if we rush…So…when the timing is right…it won’t just be because you’re looking hot as fuck in…that thing.” He gestures to my jumpsuit. “It’s not about that for me. You’re not an itch. You’re…You’re…”
Perhaps the most important thing in his life.
He doesn’t say the words but they rise up between us, and some of my confusion about his reticence vapors away.
“Dance with Jeffy,” he says instead of finishing his thought. “Text me when you wanna go home? I’ll call you a cab so I know you’re safe.” He’s standing up, really readying himself to leave. I twirl on the stool and grab him by the shoulders. But he won’t be stopped. “Have fun, okay?” He says it like he really means it, takes my hands off his shoulders and, for a moment, just holds them. He gives them a quick squeeze and then drops them.
He waves goodbye to Jeffy at the bar and is gone.
What happened? Jeffy mouths to me with big, illustrative movements. I shrug and shake my head. Hell if I know.
—
Breaking: a man can resist the bend and snap.
I know this because I performed one in front of Miles and he only expressed mild concern that I’d just slipped a disc.
Now that I know he eats his heart out when I’m in an oversized tee and torn jeans, I’m curious about stretching the bounds of my power. He claims our connection is not contingent on sex appeal. But I’m interested in speeding this mythical “timing” along a bit.
He’s not avoiding me nearly as much as before, but neither is he accepting my advances. Of which there are many.
I eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with pornographic enthusiasm. He rolls his eyes and checks his email.
I spread my legs à la Basic Instinct, but I’m wearing granny panties and cargo pants besides and all it accomplishes is Miles telling me to get my feet off his kitchen table.
I pretend to fall asleep on his couch and he pokes me and tells me to hit the road.
A week of this bullshit and I’m about ready to give up the whole endeavor.
“He can’t be seduced!” I shout into the phone.
“I don’t think other daughters say this kind of thing to their mothers,” my mom placidly replies.
“Well, you asked!”
She did, indeed, ask how things were going with Miles when she called and I answered.
“I’m thrilled you answered the phone, Lenny, but I don’t think I’m going to be much help here. I’m not an expert.”
“You’ve been with Dad for thirty years.”
“Exactly. Which means I haven’t tried to get something started with someone in thirty years. But how hard could it really be? He’s obviously gaga for you.”
“Are you sure? Like, really sure?”
“No one comes to Sunday dinner and lets a man force-feed him grappa unless he’s hoping that man will be his father-in-law someday.”
“I see you’ve conveniently excluded the duck from the list of things Miles was force-fed.”
“See? He clearly loves you. The duck just proves my point.”
Mom signs off with me because she’s standing out in front of her pottery class and she doesn’t want to be late. I continue my long walk through Central Park, stopping only to stand with a big group of birders and pretending to see what they see when one lady repeatedly points it out to me.
I keep on going, winding my way through the twisting paths. It strikes me that I feel at home here. As a lifelong Brooklynite, I’ve settled into the Upper West Side over the last few months. It’s disorienting to not be lost up here.
It strikes me that all the hardest stuff in my life—spiraling out from grief, abandonment of my former loved ones, retreat from my entire life—that somewhere along the line the hardest stuff might have become…the easiest thing to do.
And now the hardest stuff in my life is no longer the plummet into despair. Now it’s trying to pull myself up out of it.
I’ve unintentionally started speedwalking, and by the time I make it back to the studio apartment I’m breathing hard and have broken out in a sweat. I’d like to change clothes, but I don’t really have any clean ones so I take this energy and I haul everything to the laundromat and back. I put all my clean and folded clothes away. But now that the dirty clothes are clean, all the other clutter is bothering me.
I straighten everything up, wipe down all the counters, take out the trash and recycling, and dig Miles’s tiny little dust buster out of the tiny little closet. When everything is neat as a pin, I call it a good job and go take a shower. The sun’s gone down in the meantime so I deem pajamas necessary.
Finally I’m a heap on the bed and watching shadows on the ceiling. My mom’s thrilled voice when I answered the phone today washes over me.
Bang-bang-BANG. I jolt out of a dream and scramble to my feet. The room is layered with shadows and soft with sleep. Someone is banging on my door at the witching hour and I suddenly have…a Converse in my hands? Where did that come from? Terrible weapon.
“Lenny?”
Oh. “Miles?”
I ca-klunk open the door, rubbing at my eyes and tossing the shoe aside.
“What’s going on?” I ask, sleep still tugging at all my edges, making everything, including him, wobble.
He’s stepping inside, glancing around. “Oh. Were you sleeping?”
“I was having a dream that I invented a new recipe with figs and cheddar and it was so good they brought me on Live with Regis and Kathie Lee to talk about it.”
I close the door behind him and go back to collapse on the bed. “What’s going on?” I ask again through a yawn, fluffing my pillow. “Is everything all right?”
“Yeah,” he says, still standing by the door, taking in everything.
“Well,” I prompt him. “Why are you banging on my door in the middle of the night?”
He blinks at me. “It’s nine-forty-five.”
“Oh.”
“And you weren’t answering my calls or texts so I got worried. But…you were just sleeping.” He blinks. “At a normal hour. In pajamas.”
I shrug and snuggle against the pillow. “I was sleepy.”
There’s nowhere for him to sit in the tiny apartment, so he toes off his shoes and comes to sit at the foot of the bed. “Still are, from the looks of it.”
“Mm-hmm.” My eyes pop open. “But you interrupted my REM so I’ll probably never be able to sleep now. Thanks a lot.”
He crinkles his nose. “Sorry.”
“You assumed I’d be wandering the streets, looking for traffic violators to accost?”
“Or hungry in Queens with nowhere to go and nothing to eat.”
“Or drunkenly dancing with strangers whilst wearing my entire life in a backpack.”
“Hey,” he says, looking around the apartment with a frown on his face. “It’s clean in here.”
“Yeah,” I agree with a cracking yawn.
He slides off the bed to the floor and comes to sit by my head. We’re eye-level this way. “Why?”
“Why did I clean?”
He nods. I didn’t bother to turn on any lights, so he’s richly shadowed and inscrutable. His cinnamon eyes have gone coffee.
“I was aggravated by the mess. And amped up from all the waiting, ” I say with a scowl.
He briefly smiles, his eyes all over my face. I’m taking long blinks and snuggling further into the pillow.
“And then,” I continue, “I got tired from all the cleaning so I went to bed. You know, you’re extremely interested in the details of what is turning out to be a very boring story.”
To my surprise, and contrary to all the arms-length-ing he’s been doing recently, he actually comes closer to me.
He puts his head on the bed next to my pillow, stacking his hands under his chin. “ Live with Regis and Kathie Lee, huh?”
I laugh. “That’s how you know you’ve hit the big time.”
“I once had a dream that I got to meet the queen of England but when I got to the front of the line, I handed her a burrito instead. And then I took it back and ate it.”
I’m laughing more. “That actually explains a lot about you.”
We’re inches away from each other’s smiles and I’m just happy to be here. He reaches down and untwists the blankets, pulling them up over my shoulder. When he’s done tucking me in, his hand gets heavy and just rests against me.
“When did you get this?” he asks. His hand leaves my shoulder and migrates upward, his thumb gently tracing my eyebrow piercing. It makes my stomach swoop, this casual exploration, this confident line-crossing, like he knows he’s welcome on the other side.
“A couple years ago,” I say on a whisper, because if I talk at a normal volume, he’ll hear the tremble. “No big story there. I just thought my face was too boring without it.”
He gives me a laughing frown. “Boring? Come on.”
I shrug, affecting nonchalance, even though he’s still tracing my eyebrow and my heart is racing so hard I can no longer feel my fingertips. “Too ordinary, then.”
He gets a knowing look. “You’re fishing for compliments.”
“Well.” I dislodge one finger from under the pillow and poke at his shoulder. “Oblige me.”
“Not boring,” he says, and traces that thumb down my nose. He gets to my lips and hesitates. His eyes meet mine. “Not ordinary.” His thumb sweeps across my lower lip.
And just like that, “not ordinary” becomes perhaps the highest compliment of my life. How sad. I should probably have higher expectations, but how could I when he’s looking at me like that. As if he’s made of honey and he’d like to give it all to me.
“Yes, yes.” I rush to make a joke so he can’t see my aching heart. “Moderately attractive. That’s me.”
His nostrils flare with a silent laugh. “Whatever you say.”
“Mediocre at best, but you can’t win ’em all.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“Not hot as much as tepid, but then again, some people like that.”
He rolls his eyes.
“Let’s just call me passably adequate—mmmf.”
He pinches my lips closed. “Lenny, when I look at your face, I feel like I’m finally home after a really long day at work.”
I immediately turn my face into my pillow and attempt to withstand rapture. Because making someone feel like they’re home is so much better than being told I’m pretty. I come up for air. “I hear that ages well.”
“Hm.” He’s laid his head down on his arm now, so it’s almost like we’re lying in this bed together.
“You’ll age well too, I think.” I reach forward and trace the line between his eyebrows. His crow’s feet. His eyes fall closed and I skim the fringe of his lashes.
“I should go,” he murmurs, not seeming like he actually wants to leave at all.
My eyes are drifting closed, the world blurs, and when I blink them open Miles is looking at me. When I blink them open again a few minutes later he’s not looking at me. He’s got his little Nancy Drew notebook out and he’s making a line in it.
“What’s that?” I ask.
He jolts. “Thought you were sleeping.”
“What were you writing?” I reach for it but he flips it closed and quickly slides it into his back pocket.
“Not important.”
But actually, now that I think about it, he wasn’t writing in the notebook. He was making a motion I’ve become very familiar with over the last few months.
“You were crossing something out, weren’t you!” I scramble up to a sit.
“Oh, great. Now you’ll never sleep.”
He’s trying to get away, but I lunge forward and catch him by the shirt. “Miles, you called it a grand plan…but is it actually that you have your own list? You weren’t kidding when you mentioned the ocean? Mountains? The cannonball? Do you actually have a list of things that might need to happen before you think I’m ready to be with you? Do you have a Kiss Lenny list?”
He’s squeezing his eyes shut.
“You said there were things that wouldn’t count if you told me what they are. Things I have to do for myself.” He’s opened his eyes and I’m searching them. “Was me cleaning the apartment, or getting my stuff in order, one of the things?”
He sighs and turns to get his shoes on. “I think you might be pathologically incapable of patience.”
“I’m right!” I crow.
“Lists happen to be a really useful way to keep your thoughts organized,” he says grumpily.
“Now I just have to guess what else is on the list.”
“You think you’re besting me, but that would actually make me extremely happy.”
“Mark my words, we’re gonna be making out within a week.”
He’s laughing and rolling his eyes. “G’night, Len.”
He pushes out the door and I’m alone with all my thoughts and for the very first time since Lou died, that’s not a bad thing at all.