Chapter 16 #2
“Welcome to my office,” Saul says. He pushes open a doctor’s office door on the third floor to a mini studio with mirrored walls and hardwood floors. It looks like a middle school dance after the lights come on. “Make yourselves at home.” He points to a couple plastic chairs in the corner.
“Thanks…Saul.” Eitan and I stare at each other like the newcomers to an inpatient unit. I unhook my purse from my arm and place it on the plastic chair.
“He’s a friend of the family,” Eitan says through a grimace.
“I was told specifically to confirm his cello ability.”
Eitan snorts.
“We have big decisions to make,” Saul says from behind us. He’s stepped up to a mini DJ booth, a glowstick circling his neck. “Penelope said that they still need to pick their first dance song.”
I open my mouth, ready to break it to Saul that the reception will have a band.
“Don’t worry.” He laughs self-deprecatingly. “I know there’s a band. But I thought we could jam together and pick the song, and it would give me the information I need about their music taste.”
I lean over and whisper to Eitan, “Are we sure we should be doing this without them?”
“I’ve been responsible for Josh’s music taste since his bar mitzvah, so I have him covered. Do you know what Pen likes?”
“Generally speaking, sure?”
“Good thing we have Saul Diamantis, Tastemaker, with us today.”
I shove him.
Saul fiddles with knobs and records on his mixing table. “Tell me more about Josh and Penelope. What music do they like?”
Eitan speaks first, rather confident. “Josh’s favorite artist is J. Cole. Favorite genres are hip hop and folk.”
I remember what Pen said when we were picking the band. Joshie and I both love country and pop. In that order.
I blow out a breath. “Pen is a hardcore Swiftie. She’s also really into Kacey Musgraves and Miranda Lambert.” Penelope’s incessant wedding texts haunt my eyelids every time I blink. “She wants something ‘classically romantic’ for the first dance.”
“What about ‘My Boo’?” Eitan asks.
“Pen might actually murder me if we pick an Usher song.” I tap my chin. “What about a song like ‘Kiss Me’?”
“Excellent choice,” Saul declares. The song’s melodic guitar intro blares out of the speakers, and white disco lights begin twirling.
“I know this isn’t actually what the wedding will be like,” Saul shouts over the music, “but listening to the song on a dance floor through the speakers helps imagine what it would be like on the wedding day.”
Eitan frowns, skeptical. “This doesn’t feel right for Josh. I’ve never once heard him listen to a song like this.”
“What about something by Taylor Swift?”
“Josh only likes early Taylor Swift. Debut album and Fearless. Maybe a song or two from Speak Now.”
“You sure know her discography well.” Playfulness sneaks into my voice.
Eitan’s eyes narrow at me. “I have a younger sister,” he says, for Saul’s benefit.
I can’t help but tease him, knowing he has at least three Taylor Swift albums in his car. “And she forced you to listen to every album—”
Eitan covers my mouth with a broad, warm hand. The feel of his palm on my lips is overwhelming. Literally. My body temperature skyrockets. Hot flashes have the best timing.
“What about Fleetwood Mac?” Eitan calls out to Saul. “‘Landslide’ is one of Josh’s favorite songs.” His hand falls away from my mouth, though the imprint of it makes no sign of fading.
“That song is depressing,” I say.
“Idea!” Saul holds up a finger. “If you two stop arguing long enough to actually dance with each other, you might find this decision easier.”
“He’s not wrong,” Eitan says softly, before holding out a hand. An invitation.
Why do I keep finding myself on the other side of Eitan’s outstretched palm? “I’m not good at dancing,” I say.
“No one is watching,” he whispers. “Besides Saul Diamantis, Tastemaker.”
“Why don’t we try a happier Fleetwood Mac song,” Saul offers from the booth. “Like ‘Dreams’?”
Swanky drums fill the room with liquid sound. Stevie Nix’s voice croons. Instead of listening to “Dreams” with Eitan in our Topanga Canyon ranch, I get to listen to it in a Northbrook doctor’s office while we pick out a romantic first dance song for someone else.
The Universe is laughing at me.
“We’re not getting any younger.” Eitan wiggles his hand, still outstretched.
“Dance!” Saul says, a manic rhythm master in his DJ tower of power. I wouldn’t be surprised if he broke out a tambourine.
I bite my lip, knowing I’ll regret it.
I take Eitan’s hand anyway.
He reels me in, one hand on my waist and the other holding my hand to the side. He sways me in time with the song’s gentle rocking. The space between us is charged, sparks sputtering in and out with every brush of our clothes.
“Ready?” Eitan whispers.
“Ready for what?” I ask, breathless.
Eitan just smiles, and raises the hand holding mine. His other arm crosses my body, twisting me into a twirl.
We recenter, face to face, centimeters apart, just in time to hear the chorus. The song creates a sonic meadow. We are surrounded by vibrant wildflowers made of electric piano keys, guitar strums, and velvety vocals.
“You’re good at this,” I whisper, alarmed.
He shrugs, the gesture almost lost among his movements as he leads us. “I’ve taken some lessons.”
I’ve tried dancing with a partner before, and this is more than just lessons. This is a natural grace. An instinct for advance and restraint.
Eitan shifts us, his hands moving like water everywhere at once.
Swaying us, stepping us across the small dance floor.
The movement is hypnotic, our bodies syncing into their own language.
His eyes flit over my face, from my cheeks to my lips.
Him, my touch-starved body hums. I have no choice but to get lost in it.
The here, the now. Close enough to lean in and kiss him, if I were brave enough.
“You’re not too bad yourself,” Eitan murmurs.
Friends, a distant voice tries to remind me. I can barely hear it. All the places where we touch—hands, waist, chest—create an electric circuit. A current. One slip and I’ll be electrocuted.
Does Eitan feel it too?
“I like seeing you relaxed,” he says, his hand skating over my ribs.
“It’s hard for me,” I manage to get out. “I’m not good at relaxing.”
“I think your mind is always dwelling on the past or the future.” Eitan’s lips press into a smile. “You just have to stay in the moment.”
“Easier said than done,” I counter. But I am caught in the moment.
My skin is a live wire of sensations. I’ve been touched before, sure.
Kissed. Clumsy presses of lips that taste like gin on a chilly street, the moon hidden behind the perpetual clouds of early spring.
One date even tried to take it further. A hand snaking up the front of my body to find my chest beneath a thick sweater.
The sensation felt like being caught in a crustacean’s pincers.
But Eitan’s touch feels like everything.
He leans toward me. I’m sure of it. Maybe he’s being pulled by the same current. His eyelids are heavy, like they want to drift closed. His head tilts down, slowly, like he’s close to letting his lips fall on mine.
In the final lines of the song, Stevie tries to warn me about players. The song slows. The instruments peter out, like the last drops of water escaping a faucet. The speakers go quiet, and with them, the spell that was cast on Eitan and I.
“Eh?” Saul asks, reminding me that he’s been here the whole time. “What did you think?”
“That was—” Eitan scratches the back of his neck, facing Saul. Avoiding my eyes.
My gut twists. Stupid, stupid, stupid, I berate myself.
He said it himself: I’m not really a relationship guy.
This is pathetic. We’re here to pick out a first dance song for someone else, and I’m getting lost in delusions of grandeur.
We’re friends. Eitan is here to do his duty as best man, and I need to focus on the same.
Boundaries. That’s what I need. All relationships have boundaries. And apparently, mine include music and touching.
“Romantic,” Eitan settles on, sounding like he could be talking about a standardized test. “Yeah. Could definitely see that being the song. What did you think, Ruby?”
My exhale gets caught in my throat, and I spew a garble of syllables before I’m able to turn them into words. “It was—yeah. Good.”
“Have we found The One?” Saul holds his fists up in the DJ booth.
His words catch up with me, and I blanch. We better not have.
I can’t leave Saul’s studio fast enough. I haven’t been able to stop sweating since “Dreams,” and I’m probably beet red. I plan to, first of all, forget that this ever happened, and second, climb inside my refrigerator.
Saul insisted we take merch with us, so I have on Mardi Gras beads and a pair of shutter shades. I look and feel ridiculous, standing beside Eitan’s Subaru, waiting for him to dig the key out of his pocket.
“Should I just make camp here?” I ask, impatient.
“What’s the rush?” Eitan finally finds his key and the car beeps. “Got a hot date?”
I squint at him. “Maybe I do.”
His lips purse. “I’m glad to hear that,” he says slowly. Diplomatically. “Good thing it’s not tomorrow.”
I climb into the car and turn on the AC, sticking my face directly on top of it. His last comment catches up to me. “Why is it a good thing it’s not tomorrow?”
“Because we have the movie?” Eitan says, reversing out of the parking lot.
“What movie?”
“Uh…The advanced screening of Blinklebob 3? With Calliope and Steve?” He says this like I’ve missed a glaring sign five feet in front of my face.
I sit back from the vent, temporarily cooled. “I don’t remember seeing anything about that.”
“There’s been a whole group chat about it.
” Eitan hands me his phone, instructing me to open his messages and find a four person group chat.
I swallow the small thrill at knowing he trusts me enough to have his phone passcode and go to the chat’s information.
There’s a number in it that’s one digit off from mine.
“This is not my number.” I point at it.
“Huh.” Eitan looks again. “That explains why you never replied. I just thought you were so excited to see Blinklebob you were speechless.” He smiles at me. “Well, lucky you and I were together! Otherwise you might have missed it. Wouldn’t want to blow off a plan you already said yes to, right?”
“I—”
“Right, Ruby?” His brows raise. I can already hear him winding up his dumb coach spiel.
“Right,” I grumble, deciding to pick my battles. Guess my newfound boundaries will be put to the test sooner than I thought.
“Calliope mentioned there’s a milk tea spot next to the theater. We’re meeting for boba beforehand.”
I sit back in my seat. “A dream come true,” I whisper.