20. Kai
CHAPTER TWENTY
KAI
KAI: I have an idea for hanging out, but you might not like it.
KAI: It’s okay if you don’t.
Will he think that means I don’t want to hang out?
KAI: I’m flexible.
God.
KAI: I mean flexible about what we do. As long as we see each other. Because I definitely want to do that.
KAI: And I agree, PK drills suck.
Goddammit. I can hear Mom saying, “Stop while you’re ahead.”
Too late for that. At least he’ll know I still want to go out.
Since I haven’t done any watering today, I open my plant care calendar. Pothos, philodendron, and cast iron plant. It takes a couple of minutes to get my kit out of the closet and run water in the can.
“Your turn today,” I tell the philodendron, waiting for the moisture meter to stabilize.
God, does everyone talk to their plants?
After I give the plants a drink, I open my tablet and settle down to read. It isn’t long until a message pops up on the screen.
OSKAR: Hey. Sorry I didn’t answer sooner. Fell asleep after practice. How are you?
I run my thumb along the lower edge of the tablet and think about what to say. I don’t want to sound like an idiot again.
Jesus, this is…
KAI: NP. I’ve been watering plants. Are we still getting together?
OSKAR: Fur shure.
OSKAR: See? More American every day.
My grin is entirely too wide.
KAI: I see that. Impressive.
OSKAR: What’s your idea about today?
Still grinning. Definitely losing it.
KAI: I’ll tell you, and if we need to choose something else, no problem.
OSKAR: Fair. What are you thinking?
KAI: NYC has candlelight concerts in different places. There’s one tonight at a church in Hell’s Kitchen, not too far from our neighborhood. It’s classical music if that’s a problem for you. A string quartet from Juilliard (good music school). I could probably get tickets.
Better not to say I already bought them just in case.
OSKAR: That sounds great! I love all kinds of music so no worries. What time?
KAI: Fantastic. It starts at 9. We can walk it from here in about 40 minutes, but we’ll need time to get seated and talk. Meet me outside my building at 8?
Outside because… yeah.
OSKAR: It’s a plan. What should I wear?
KAI: If it helps, I’ll have on jeans and a blazer.
OSKAR: No shirt? Woo hoo!
Now he’s set my cheeks on fire.
KAI: I’ll wear a shirt, smartass.
OSKAR: I’ll wear one too, then. See you at 8. Hej d?!
KAI: Can’t wait. Hej d?.
Oskar looks amazing. There’s nothing flashy about him, no designer labels or anything screaming for attention.
He’s wearing dark charcoal pants that leave nothing to the imagination, white sneakers, and a soft gray jacket over a blue turtleneck that makes him look expensive and touchable at the same time.
I’m tongue-tied from the start, checking him out so often I stumble on the sidewalk and nearly fall into Ninth Avenue traffic. His reflexes save me, and he holds my hand after that. I certainly don’t object.
“You okay?” he asks, his thumb stroking my knuckles.
“Fine. Your blue sweater is pretty with your skin.”
“Thank you.”
His pleased look makes my breath hitch.
As we make our way up the avenue, the city pulses around us with car horns, sirens, and people talking as they squeeze by. Normally, I’d be filtering all the noise, compartmentalizing it like I do on the ice. But with Oskar’s big hand holding mine, it’s harder to do.
“This city never seems to take a break,” he says, leaning closer to be heard over the traffic.
“Welcome to New York. This is pretty quiet for a Wednesday.”
“The city’s quite a place.”
“Are you sorry you rented here?” I ask. “How are you dealing with the commute to Jersey?”
He squeezes my hand. “Not sorry at all. And the commute is fine. I grew up with public transportation.”
The blocks blur together as we walk. I can’t stop counting steps in my head, but I always do. It keeps me calm.
“You got quiet,” he says.
“Just enjoying the walk.”
“Your hand is sweating.”
“Sorry.” I try to pull away, but he holds on tighter.
“Don’t. I like you sweaty.”
I look over, and his eyes tell me he’s thinking about a different kind of sweaty.
Dear God. Now I am too.
Not tonight. This is about making sure we’re solid.
As we wade into the sea of people at Restaurant Row, every muscle in me tenses. Eateries, bars, and businesses are everywhere, and the noise is much louder. Food smells fill the air, adding to my unease.
My stride shortens as we navigate the crowded sidewalk, something I don’t realize until Oskar adjusts his pace to match mine.
Without comment. Without making it a thing.
He gently pulls me toward a crosswalk. “Better light over there,” he says.
When we reach the other sidewalk, I look over and squeeze his hand. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“The better light.”
He nods, as if it’s nothing.
It’s a little quieter when we turn onto West 46th. We pass several tall brownstones before St. Luke’s Lutheran Church appears. It’s built of stone and brick, and people are scattered on the wide steps leading up to the door.
“Is this it?” Oskar asks.
“Yeah. Pretty impressive, right?”
“I like it.”
Inside, the air smells of old wood and wax. Thousands of LED candles are set around the sanctuary, on the floor and altar, and along the Gothic arches.
We find our seats about midway up, close enough to see but far enough back not to feel claustrophobic. Oskar sits close, his knee touching mine, and rests his arm on the pew behind me.
“Hope this is okay,” I say, resisting the urge to lean against him.
“It is perfect.”
He points at a Viking-style ship hanging near the altar.
I look twice to be sure it’s what I think it is. “That’s amazing. I promise I didn’t tell them I was bringing a Viking.”
He chuckles softly. “Sweden is a Lutheran country, or at least used to be. Sailing ships in churches are common there.”
“Wow. Do you know why?”
“Nja. Something about going to the promised land.”
Before I can ask more, the lights dim, and the musicians come out and take their seats.
The room goes quiet as they tune their instruments and start playing.
I recognize the Bach piece from one of my reset playlists.
I love Bach because of all the patterns.
The math in the music helps steady my thoughts.
Oskar’s eyes are closed, and there’s a smile on his lips. He isn’t putting up with this for me; he’s enjoying it. A peace settles over me that has nothing to do with the Bach.
The music shifts to something else I recognize, by Vivaldi. Oskar’s face relaxes even more.
When the string quartet moves on to Mozart, my foot taps in time with the music. I try to stop, but can’t. Oskar stills it by putting a hand on my knee.
I lean back against his arm and let the music wash over me. With Oskar, it is more beautiful than ever.
When the concert ends, the applause is too jarring after the beauty of the concert. We get up and join the line to exit the church.
When we reach the door, Oskar takes my hand again. “Ready?”
“Yeah.”
The outside air is chilly, and the streetlights seem extra bright after all the candles. The sidewalks are still crowded, and the smell of food lingers throughout the neighborhood.
But I’m more comfortable. Less thinking, more being.
We don’t talk much during the walk home, though we spend a lot of time looking over to catch each other’s eyes.
As we turn onto my street, Oskar says, “Thank you for tonight. I haven’t been to a concert for too long.”
“You really liked it?”
“I loved it. And it was even better because I was there with you.”
My chest does something stupid and fluttery. “Yeah?”
“Definitely.” His thumb traces circles on my palm.
In front of my building, he turns to face me, and the doorman pretends not to watch.
Oskar raises our hands and places them against his chest. His heartbeat is so steady I want to touch it with my other hand too.
Resisting the urge, I break the silence. “Thank you for going with me. This has been so nice.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says.
“Good. I should be home by noon.”
He nods, but we keep looking into each other’s eyes.
“I should…” I start, not finishing because I don’t know how to end the sentence.
“Yes. I need to get home.”
He leans in and brushes a kiss over my lips. Our stubble catches as he pulls away, such a thrill that I almost ask him to stay.
“Goodnight, Kai. Du ?r s? skon.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, trying to ignore the thrill racing up my spine. Swedish is… Well, how can it sound so… If he says much more, I might get hard.
“It means you are comforting to be around. My brain goes quiet when I touch you.”
Without saying anything else, he releases my hand and turns to walk away.
“Oskar?”
He looks back. “Yes?”
“The next time we see each other, maybe you should catch the rebound.”
At first, I think he doesn’t understand, but then a slow smile spreads across his face. “Only if you promise to let one in.”
“We’ll have to see.”
He nods once, like we’ve made a gentleman’s agreement. “Goodnight, baby.”
“Goodnight, Oskar.”
This time I let him go. Inside the lobby, the elevator’s already waiting. The doors close, and I’m alone in the small space, remembering the first time I brought Oskar home.
I lean against the wall on the way to my floor. Even though I’m not in the reset room, I don’t try to block what I’m feeling. I let it move around me, enjoying the warmth spreading through my body.
I can still hear his words: “My brain goes quiet when I touch you.” I’ve never once thought of myself as quieting anyone.