Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Daphne
D ad stands at the window and stretches his arms as wide as they'll go. Which is pretty wide. He's two inches taller than Damon. But he's still shorter than I am in these wedges. (Just barely).
What can I see? I need the extra height today. I need to feel bigger, to stand taller and prouder.
I don't have it in my heart, so I'm faking it with footwear. That's the great and terrible thing about life as a woman. All these ways to fake it with makeup and clothing and the expectation to keep up appearances.
But I'm not here to write a feminist manifesto. Not directly, anyway. Yes, the study of sex is typically aligned with feminist interests, but not always.
Nature doesn't live and die by ideals.
And then scientists aren't always as objective as they hope—
But now, I'm lost in a thread of logic. And no matter how hard I tug at the thread, I won't forget I walked away from my husband. I won't stop missing him. I won't feel at home.
New York is an amazing, alive city.
And it's three thousand miles from home.
Dad is loving it, though. The trip and the city. Even our tour of midtown apartments.
He looks at home in the small studio, the Empire State Building behind him. But then Dad looks at home everywhere. He projects the energy of a man who's succeeded in multiple careers, made millions of dollars, and charmed every person he's ever met.
Which he has.
But he's also fucked up a lot, been to rehab three times, and almost lost his son, literally and metaphorically.
I haven't hit nearly the highs or lows.
I don't have the confidence of a multi-millionaire.
But I know this is the right choice. If only that made it hurt less.
After three days, I'm used to the city. I love the energy of it. The tall buildings, the bustling streets, the echo of conversation in a dozen languages.
It has this history California doesn't.
But the avocado portions—
The less said about that, the better. (And they're not fresh either).
I push my thoughts of avocados and future ex-husbands aside as I look around the studio. It's nice. Hardwood floors, huge windows, stainless steel appliances.
There's just enough room for a desk, a bed, and a tiny table for two. Maybe two chairs on the balcony. Not that anyone will want to sit there come November.
How am I going to survive winter?
Snow.
Cold.
What if there's a blizzard?
It would be the perfect opportunity to stay inside with someone. Only there's no someone. Not in the Empire State.
Dad takes his own picture, sends it to Mom, loses himself in a text thread.
I check the bathroom. Also small but nice. The shower has room for two. Though shower sex is never as fun in reality as it is in fantasy. The water washes away all the natural lubricant. And the slippery floor makes it hard to get a good grip.
Not that I'm planning to take anyone back here. Not anytime soon.
But eventually… I can't spend my entire time in New York pining for my temporary husband.
I meet Dad in the hallway.
He motions to the front wall. "Good place for a Matrix poster."
"Don't even." Levity returns to my voice. Thank god Dad is here. I'd be a puddle on the floor without his bad jokes.
"Don't send you framed posters of all four Matrix movies?" He pats me on the shoulder. "If you tell me which posters you'd prefer maybe."
"What if I want bare walls?"
"Bare walls are for prisoners."
Yeah. That sounds right.
"I know it's hard, Daph, but you'll be great." He doesn't specify which part is hard. We haven't really talked about my accidental wedding. I said it's over, I don't want to discuss it and Mom and Dad—
Well, they didn't respect it, exactly.
But they stopped pressing after a few days.
Mostly.
"And I'll visit all the time," Dad says. "Mom and I will pay for an extra bedroom…"
"That will be great when I have threesomes," I say. "It's hard to sleep three in one bed."
"Not really," he says.
Ew. Gross. My nose scrunches.
"You think you can out-slut your old man?" He shoots me a please look I usually see on Damon. "No way in hell."
"Doesn't that bother Mom?" I ask. "That you've been with so many people?" She's never mentioned her number, but I know they got together when she was young. He might have been her first. Her only.
Or they might be swinging.
With Jackson's parents.
No.
Jackson's dad and my dad don't have a swinging kind of relationship.
But they were in a band together—
They probably did all sorts of—
This is just too much information.
Where was I? Right. My parents having sex. Even I, a future sex researcher, prefer to not think about my parents having sex.
"Of course, it did," he says. "But you know sex isn't always intimate."
"Because I'm a researcher," I say. "And because I hook up with lots of random guys."
"As long as you're safe and you're happy, I'm happy." He sells it well enough.
He's way better at this game than I am. Damon is too. It's annoying sometimes, but not right now.
Right now, I'm glad he gives me room to challenge him. He always has. I just don't always see it.
He wants the best for me.
Mom too.
They were doing their best all this time. So many of the ideas I internalized came from other people, from outside, myself.
Some came from them, yes, but I don't blame them for it. They've always made it clear they love me and want the best for me. They've always kept me sheltered and safe.
What more could parents do, really?
Still. I have to push back. A little. One day, I'll want to have sex with someone besides Jackson. One day.
"Seeing as how you're happy for me to experiment, I'm going to pass on having an extra room for Mom and Dad. Not great for my love life."
"Is that how you move on?" Dad chuckles. "That is the best way to get over someone. By getting under someone else."
"Dad!" Too much information!
He shakes his head in mock disappointment. "Some sex researcher."
"I've heard enough about your sex life to fill several books."
"Not from me."
And, yes, I was eavesdropping pretty much every time. But adults talk way more loudly than they think. It's like an invitation to eavesdrop.
Again, he laughs. "Come on, Daph. Let's look at the roof deck."
"There's a roof deck?"
"And a one-bedroom available in the building."
"Dad—" I do not need a spare room for my parents.
"How about a two bedroom?" He bids against himself.
It's a more reasonable offer. (To be as rich as he is, all on my own. Not that Dad did it on his own. He inherited the summer house from his uncle. But he paid for it a few times over on his own).
I want the space for him here. Mom too. I'm sure she'll visit. But Dad has a more flexible schedule. He can write music from anywhere. She has to be there, at the hospital, all the time.
Still, I counter, "How about three?"
"Done." He offers his hand.
I shake.
He smiles. "I would have bought you a penthouse apartment."
"I know."
He pulls me into a tight hug. "I'm going to miss you."
"Me too."
When he releases me, he leads me out the door. "I'll talk to management. Get a key for the other unit." He leads me to the elevator. "Meet you at the roof deck."
"Okay." The down elevator comes first. He waves on his way into it. Then the up. It's fast, but it feels like a million years.
There's something happening here.
Dad is being weirder than normal. Or maybe it's me. Maybe I'm still adjusting to the East Coast.
The elevator dings as I arrive. I step into the sunshine.
It's a beautiful day. Warm and sunny, with a light breeze. There isn't a cloud in sight.
June gloom was here yesterday. Today, the city welcomes me with a little taste of California weather.
The deck, like the apartment itself, is small but nice. The size of my parents' living room, with green and beige couches and chairs.
One is occupied by a couple in their forties. Another hosts a woman and her dog. Two businessmen stand at the railing, smoking cigars (actual cigars).
Another guy in a suit stands in the corner, alone.
I move toward the couches, and I see it.
That's not a random stockbroker.
That's Jackson.
I pinch myself, but the view doesn't change. Jackson is standing in front of the railing in a navy suit and a silver tie, a thick textbook tucked under his arm.
A study guide for the New York State Bar.
It's only been two weeks (thirteen days, if you want to get technical) since I've seen him, but the familiarity still overwhelms me.
I want to be close to him. I want to be with him.
If he's here with that book—
I don't let myself think it. Not all the way.
He catches me staring and nods.
I nod back.
He moves toward me first. "How do you like the building?"
"I like the view." It comes out like a cheesy pickup line.
But that only makes him smile. "I like it a little better than I did a minute ago."
My chest warms. My stomach too. Maybe cheesy pickup lines work. Maybe they're clichés for a reason.
Maybe I should take him back to that demo apartment and have my way with him.
Or I could do it right here.
Right here is good.
"What are you doing here?" I ask.
"Your dad—I begged him to help with the surprise," he says.
"Are you…" I don't know how to finish my thought. Is he looking for an apartment? Is he moving to New York? Is he mine.
"No. I have a place a few blocks from here," he says. "And a job. Alexander knows a lot of people."
"Are you…"
"I'm in an Airbnb right now," he says. "But I'm looking for a roomie. Do you know anyone looking for a place in New York?"
"I might," I say. "What's the neighborhood?"
"This one is nice," he says. "The firm is two avenues down."
Is that close or far by New York City standards? "The hospital is one subway stop away."
"That's a lucky coincidence," he says.
I nod. "This roomie, do you have any requirements?"
"I'm flexible on most things. She can have her own room or share mine. I'll cook. But she's got to do the dishes."
"And if she plays loud music?"
"I'm immune to that after twenty-six years with Cass."
My lips curl into a smile. "And sex?"
"Oh, well, of course, we're going to have sex. Isn't that what all roomies do?"
"That's what I hear," I say.
"What do you think?" His eyes meet mine. "Are you interested?"
"How soon can I move in?"
"I'm thinking… as soon as your dad leaves," he says.
"How about sooner?"
He smiles.
"How far is it to your place?"
"Ten minutes."
"How about eleven minutes?" I ask.
"What's the extra minute for?"
"For this." I take his hand, and I pull his body into mine.
I kiss him like I don't know how to live without him.
I do know.
But I'm really glad I don't have to.