14. Miley
T he end of the red carpet leads us to the front steps of the New York Public Library. The flashbulbs of the paparazzi go off behind us as the next celebrities exit their cars and onto the red carpet.
“Paparazzi are like cats,” I say as I look up at him.
He leans down like he couldn’t hear me. “What?” he asks, his breath hot in my ear, making me shiver.
I repeat myself, louder, “Paparazzi are like cats!”
“I heard you the first time, Miles. I just have no idea what you mean,” he clarifies, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly.
Did he just call me Miles? “A group of cats is called a glaring. Get it, the paparazzi are glaring at you,” I explain. I look at him exasperated, a joke isn’t funny if I have to explain it.
He looks at me for a beat.
Then another beat.
Then he bursts out laughing. I can’t help but smile, even though I’m pretty sure he’s not laughing at my joke. I have been told on more than one occasion that my jokes don’t hit. Stand-up comic I am not.
As we slowly ascend the steps, Rohit looks around in awe. “Wow, this building is incredible! I’m sure I have walked past it a thousand times and never realized it was a library. When I’m getting from one destination to another, especially in New York, you have to walk so fast. I sometimes forget to enjoy my surroundings,” he laments.
I certainly know what he means. If you stop to look at something in the middle of the sidewalk, someone is sure to jostle you as they walk by and mumble ‘tourist’ under their breath. I can neither deny nor confirm whether I have done something similar to an innocent bystander.
I turn my attention back to the gorgeous architecture before us. “It definitely doesn’t look like any other library I’ve ever been to; it looks more like a museum. I was so curious, I looked up the building after my first gala and it is in the Beaux-Arts style and it first opened in 1911,” I say giddily. I glance at Rohit, assuming he doesn’t appreciate my inner nerd. Nobody else pays me much attention when I’m geeking out.
He smirks. “Ah, like the Grand Palais in Paris.” I see him cock an eyebrow at me. “You’re not the only nerd in this relationship, Miley.”
Relationship? Like the friendly relationship of two acquaintances who go to events as each other’s plus-ones? Surely that’s what he means. A real relationship—boyfriend girlfriend type—on the other hand, I am not interested in. My last long-term boyfriend was in college and that turned out terribly. I’ve dated other guys briefly, but it wasn’t satisfying in any way. I honestly can’t even recall why I even bothered. I can take care of myself. No man needed.
Utterly oblivious to my spiraling internal monologue, Rohit grabs my hand in his significantly larger one and escorts me to the steps leading up to the library door.
I place my other hand on his bicep to steady myself as I climb the stairs in my heels. I allow myself to feel his muscles through his jacket sleeve.
We reach the top step and the doors swing open. I gasp in awe as I get my first look inside. It is decorated beautifully every year, but this year may be the most impressive.
Small twinkling lights are strung all around the ceiling to look like stars in the night sky. Shimmering round orbs projected onto the walls move around like an interactive piece of artwork. Large shrubs line the side of the room, giving the space an outdoor garden type of feel.
There are floor to ceiling windows on both sides of the party room that go around the entire perimeter of the opulent space.
Between each window is a tall potted tree, reaching almost to the top of the ceiling with purple, pink, and blood red hibiscus flowers blossoming. Even from the doorway, the subtle scent wafts by us, sweet, fresh, and delicate.
Each table is incredibly long and runs down an entire half of the room, with a center walkway in the middle. Beautiful centerpieces line the tables up and down, white peonies in full bloom overflowing the modern geometric vases, accented with dusty pink roses.
Rohit is still holding my hand as we step into the grand room, probably so he doesn’t lose me in the crowd. A host greets us and takes our tickets. In exchange for our invitations, she hands us ten raffle tickets each.
I have never won the raffle, but it’s still fun to participate since I can’t afford to be part of the silent auction. I definitely do not have that kind of money.
Rohit leads me towards the open bar and we get in line. There is a couple standing in front of us and the woman turns around, eyeing my dress. “Wow, you look so beautiful in that color.”
“Oh, thank you,” I say demurely.
Rohit bends down as he whispers in my ear, “You most certainly do look ravishing tonight.” I blush as I know he is joking with me. I’ve seen the statuesque, Instagram model-vibe kind of girl Rohit chats up at a bar, and I don’t meet those beauty standards.
That said, a little harmless flirting never hurt anyone. So I counter, “You clean up alright yourself,” with an exaggerated wink and a friendly punch to his shoulder. I’ve never been good at flirting. Call me an awkward turtle. Rohit’s mouth turns up in a half-smile as he shakes his head. I, too, cannot believe how bad I am at flirting.
The woman then says to her husband, “Aren’t they just the cutest couple?”
I immediately jump to correct her, “Oh, we’re not…”
But she has already turned around as she reaches the front of the line and places her order, not caring what I have to say.
When it is our turn, I see the small board highlighting this year’s specialty drinks.
I shake my head with a laugh because this is yet another reason to love Planned Parenthood. In addition to all the good they do for public health and all.
I order a Safer Sex Spritz while Rohit gets a Healthcare Coverage Cojito. With our drinks in hand, we start walking around the room.
Noticing Rohit’s eyes wandering up, up, up the windows toward the ceiling, I lean close and whisper, “Did you know it’s 52 feet high?”
Without moving his head, he eyes me, a smirk teasing his lips. “Nerd,” he mutters, and I nudge him in the ribs. He feigns a pained groan then chuckles. “You mentioned you looked up this building after the first time you came to this gala. How many have you attended?” he asks.
“I have come every year since that first one, so eight times, I think. In college, I volunteered at Planned Parenthood in Ithaca, and one year, my boss had two extra tickets. I won a contest,” I explain.
Rohit eyes me suspiciously. “Tell me about this contest.”
“You won’t even believe me if I tell you,” I say, rolling my eyes.
He sips his drink, then looks at me. “Try me.”
After a quick sip, I nod. “Okay. Well, the tickets went to the person who could hand out the most condoms in the two weeks leading up to the gala,” I say as I chuckle, remembering how crazy I went.
“You know what? I totally believe it.” Rohit barks a laugh. “I can tell you are very competitive and I’m sure you could be very convincing, holding a box of condoms.”
What does that even mean, I wonder.