Chapter 3
“I would not have pegged you as a contemporary art kind of guy,” I say as we stand outside the doors of the Museum of Modern Art. It’s been about a decade since I last stood at this spot. The last time I was here was for a tenth-grade class trip.
He pauses, his palm on the handle of the entrance, his brow furrowed. “What kind of thing did you peg me for?” Some of his bangs fall in his face as he talks, and he pushes them back.
“Hmm,” I say, putting a finger to my chin as I ponder. “A serial killer?”
“Only on Tuesdays,” he quips as he opens the door and a blast of cold air-conditioning hits my face.
We get in the back of the line, which isn’t that long for a weekend at this time of year.
It only takes a few minutes in line before Jay purchases us tickets (even though I throw a tantrum because he paid for mine without asking) and we enter the main exhibit area.
Jay heads toward the elevators, and I feel panic race through me.
I don’t think this building is very tall, but I’m not really keen on elevators today.
“They have escalators,” I say, pointing over to the left of us.
“Yes, but this is a short elevator ride. It’s good practice,” he says, nodding toward the pewter-colored doors just ahead of us.
I blow air out of my lips and let my shoulders sag. My poor attempt at a pout. I doubt it was even remotely cute, but I wasn’t really going for that.
“We’re just going to the fifth floor,” he says as we take the few steps needed to arrive at our destination.
I swallow loudly. “Just the fifth floor?”
“Yes, I promise,” he says, a soft smile on his lips as he presses the up arrow.
We enter the elevator and I breathe deeply. Normally I wouldn’t even care about a five-floor climb. But today, I care. Maybe I have PTSD.
“Why do bees hum?” Jay asks as the elevator starts to move up.
“Oh gosh, please, not more dad jokes,” I say with a roll of my eyes.
My dad offers crappy jokes and puns all the time, and it used to drive Elena and me insane.
For some reason, they aren’t so bad coming from Jay.
Don’t get me wrong, they’re totally not funny, but I just can’t bring myself to mind. Also, it’s kind of cute.
“Humor me,” he says.
“Okay, why do bees hum?” I ask, my voice flat, keeping up the pretense. He doesn’t need to know it doesn’t bother me.
“Because they don’t know the words,” he says. He gives me a double-eyebrow lift.
“Yeah, that was terrible,” I say, even though I’m fighting a grin.
“Don’t worry, there’s more,” he says with a smile that I can’t help but enjoy. Jay has a spectacular smile. It doesn’t just go to his eyes—it’s like it goes all the way to the sky. Big and broad with nice white teeth. He should be in an advert for toothpaste. They’d sell millions.
The bell rings and the elevator doors open, and we walk out, Jay’s hand going to the small of my back again, anchoring me.
Such an odd familiarity accompanying the gesture, with the familiar feelings becoming even more defined every time he touches me there.
Almost like a strong sense of déjà vu or something.
This is all so weird. I think I’ll just try not to think about it too much.
As we walk out, a sign points to the exhibit, but Jay steers me in a different direction and stops me as we stand near a half-wall railing that overlooks the atrium in this building.
I saw a sign for the Marron Atrium when we first entered.
I had a feeling I was going to have to look down at it from above.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Sure,” I say as I take the teeniest, tiniest steps over to the edge.
As we get closer, Jay puts his hands on my hips, keeping a small, gentlemanly distance between us. “I’ve got you. You won’t fall over. Now look.”
His hands on my hips would normally seem like a creepy-creeper move, but somehow it doesn’t. It feels like he is genuinely trying to make me feel safe. How someone I barely know could make me feel this way is crazier than going to the top of the Empire State Building. At least, for me it is.
I peer over the ledge of the railing and look down.
“Okay, that’s kinda far,” I say. “I would definitely die if I fell over.”
“But you won’t fall over; I have you,” he says, still standing behind me, his hands still on my hips. “Focus on things other than how far down the floor is,” he says, leaning in so he’s looking over my shoulder.
I’m actually finding it hard to focus on anything but him behind me and the small space between us that just got smaller, to be perfectly honest.
“Um,” I say, as I peer over just a tiny bit farther. “I guess I like the way the light makes shadows around the space.” The contrast of the light and dark around the room is rather striking.
“Good,” he says. “What else do you see?”
His breath is on my neck again, and oh wow, he smells good.
Soap and a bit of fresh-cut grass. Which would make sense since we were in Central Park not too long ago.
With my luck I probably picked up the not-so-lovely smells of the city, like eau de body odor or essence of homeless guy.
Suddenly the closeness of him is making me feel rather self-conscious.
“Did I lose you?” Jay asks, nudging me a little to the side so he can see my face, his hands still on my hips, holding me steady.
“Sorry,” I say, feeling like such a girl right now. I am one, so this isn’t too shocking. “It’s not quite as scary when I don’t focus on how far down everything is.”
“Great,” he says, pulling away from me. “You passed. Can I interest you in some Van Gogh?” he says as I turn around and face him.
“Sounds Van Good,” I say, and then cringe at my terrible pun. I can’t believe I just went there.
“Ah, young grasshopper, you are learning,” Jay says in a terrible Japanese accent.