Diversification #4
“Yeah, I love it. If I don’t have to be anywhere quick, I like the walk better than the train.
I think it’s good to remember where we live sometimes, get some perspective,” she says, as Aleksandr’s arms wrap around her, drawing her into him.
He rests his chin on her head, and she settles her cheek against his forearm.
“Like, I know it’s overplayed—center of the world, all of that, but it has to mean something, sometimes.
Even the most skeptical person has to feel for it, every once in a while. ”
He murmurs a hum of assent, pressing a kiss to her hair.
“Whatever you choose to do, you’ll be a force,” he says.
Lili shrugs, smiling; and tugs him along after her, heading into the city.
As they walk into the foyer, she yawns. Tucked under Aleksandr’s arm, she hears him say hello to Louis; she waves a greeting,
sleepily.
“Would you like water?” Aleksandr asks as the elevator opens onto the loft.
“No—sleep,” she says, pulling him towards the bedroom.
“Lili, some water would be good for you—”
“No, no, time for bed,” she says, face-planting into the mattress.
Behind her, unseen, Aleksandr laughs. Lili feels a tug at her feet, then her shoes, unlacing, as he takes her combat boots
off.
“Thank you,” she mumbles into the duvet, stifling another yawn.
Another laugh, then she feels a kiss on the back of her head.
“You need to shower, Lili.”
“Need to wash the Greenpoint off?” she teases.
Her body is exhausted: feet tired from the walk, throat hoarse from somewhere around Bowery when she’d started passionately
yelling at Aleksandr about how Rawls was actually a socialist, after he’d called her a fair-weather Rawlsian for her take
on neoclassical economics—but she lets him lead her into the en suite now, before she pulls him into the shower with her.
Afterwards, lying in bed, the hush of late night is gentle between them.
“Not so bad, was it?” she asks across the pillow. Lying on their sides, they’re facing each other, her legs tangled with his.
“I have been to Greenpoint before.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” she murmurs. Strands of hair escape from her braid. Her skin is flushed and warm from the shower, from
how she feels like he’s kissed almost every inch of her tonight: kneeling before her in the shower, the press of warming marble
against her back.
Lili grasps Aleksandr’s hand and settles it under her cheek. She tries to hold back a yawn, eyes fluttering closed as she fails.
When she opens her eyes again, tired, Aleksandr is looking at her.
There’s something in his gaze. Foreign, a little guarded. Softer, kinder. Still half-hidden in these hours after midnight,
with a crease in his brow.
Sleepy, Lili reaches out and tries to smooth over that crease.
“Don’t frown,” she murmurs, settling her hand on his forearm. Nestling closer, she runs her fingers over his bare skin. Warmth
that’s familiar and comforting: the temperature of his body, the pace of his pulse.
At her waist, his arm settles. Lili breathes, another sigh: body tired, mind tired. Like her feet have traveled somewhere,
like she’s arriving somewhere.
A kiss between her shoulder blades, distant through sleep. Lili burrows deeper into the sheets.
Some warm laugh against her skin.
“I’m going to work.” A murmur.
“Have fun,” she mumbles into her pillow.
Another laugh. He strokes her hair over her shoulder. “I’ll see you in a couple weeks,” he says, quiet as if not to wake her
further.
Lili frowns, blearily opening her eyes. Aleksandr is sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed. “Oh,” she says. “You’re
going going.”
“Yes, flight leaves soon.”
“Wait, wait,” she says, sitting up. “Let’s have breakfast or something.”
“It’s seven, you can sleep.”
“I’m awake, I’m awake,” she grumbles, kicking her feet free of the blankets. She grasps his hand. “Come on. How long do you
have?”
“An hour before I have to be at the airport.”
“Perfect,” she says. She rubs her tired eyes, tugging him into the living room.
It’s a bright blue day, outside the windows. The shirt she slept in feels soft and comfortable. As the coffee brews, Lili
looks over his record collection. Glancing over the fraying spines, she tugs out a familiar album; setting it on the record
player, a crackle of feedback before the guitar starts, then the kick of drums. Crisp, clear sounds like bleached sunshine.
At the kitchen island, Aleksandr shakes his head, smiling as he thumbs through the day’s newspapers.
“What?” Lili asks, grinning as she sways to the music.
“Nothing,” he says, dropping down onto the couch. He picked out The Guardian. “Just thinking of what my sixteen-year-old self would think, seeing my life now.”
“You mean, the materialism? The exorbitant capitalism?” Lili teases, trying to pull him onto his feet.
“Not quite,” Aleksandr says, pulling her onto his lap instead, her thighs falling around his hips. “No, I mean the woman,
and the song, and the morning.”
“It’s a good song,” Lili says. She smooths her hands over the fabric of his shirt, under his suit. Dark gray today, charcoal.
“It was one of my favorites, as a boy.”
“You were listening to the Stones in nineties Leningrad?”
“Well, the records took a while to make it across the Iron Curtain,” he jokes.
Lili laughs, rests her palm on his cheek, the scratch of his beard against her skin as she hums to the music. Aleksandr grasps
her wrist, turning it so he can kiss her palm.
“You’re headed to California today?” she murmurs, nestling closer. The scent of coffee, the record. The sense of wanting to
stay here—in the amber of this moment.
“San Francisco,” he says. “Finalizing an acquisition that’ll integrate into that office.”
“You’ve been before, right?”
“Once or twice a year. It’s one of our major offices, I like to visit often. Be on the ground.”
“The fog will be bad,” Lili says. “Always foggiest in the summer.” There’s that gray at his temples that she pointed out weeks
ago and said she’d liked. He hasn’t dyed it yet.
“Have you been back recently?” Aleksandr asks.
Lili shakes her head. “No, not since freshman year. I’ve stayed in the city since then. I actually thought about visiting
this summer, but it didn’t work out.” She shrugs.
In the kitchen, the coffee machine hisses.
“Coffee’s ready,” she announces with a grin.
Leaning forward, she brushes her nose against his.
“How much time did you say you had before your flight, again?”
“Like, honestly—I know what a fucking downward dog is? I don’t need a kid fresh out of teacher training telling me my chaturanga
lacks sufficient depth?”
“You tell them, Ami,” Jackie says, taking a swig of water.
“And Jesus Christ, I’m not paying thirty dollars for a yoga class to be packed in like sardines,” Amina continues, wrestling with her tote. “I didn’t sign up to eat
the ass of some Instagram model, I came to fucking clear my chakras or whatever shit.”
“Amina,” Jackie warns. “I’m not the authority here, but I’m sure that’s offensive.”
“Oh, so sorry—yes, Instagram models, the discriminated underclass of our society—”
“No, you idiot, the chakra comment—”
“This isn’t going to let up,” Lili says, looking outside the studio. Torrential summer rain is coming down. The air is humid,
filled with the rush of cars, blare of horns, pedestrians racing to find cover. Pavement is slippery underfoot, trash swirling
in the gutters.
“I’m fine to swallow surge pricing,” Amina says, glancing at Uber on her phone. “I just need to get out of here before some
Connecticut expat drags me to Matchaful.”
Lili chews her lip. They’re right around the corner from the loft. He’s been gone for a few days now.
“Come on, just . . . follow me,” she says, ducking out into the rain and running under the scaffolding on Walker Street. She
doesn’t look back, but after a second, she hears the other two follow her, muffled shrieks as Jackie tries to shield her hair
from the rain.
It’s a few minutes to his apartment.
“Got caught in the storm?” Louis greets them, smiling when they run into the foyer.
Lili nods, sheepish. She resolutely ignores whatever reaction her friends are processing.
“This is his place?” Jackie asks in the elevator.
“Yeah,” Lili says. The door slides open. “We can wait it out here.” She shrugs off her bag, dropping it by the elevator. “I’ve got spare clothes and stuff. Give me a second, I’ll grab us towels. Have water, or whatever you’d like—glasses are in that cupboard.”
Ducking into the hall, she gets fresh white towels—fluffy, folded—from the master bathroom. Before padding back into the kitchen,
she stops in his study; she left her spare phone charger in here, and her battery is low. The room is quiet, and softly dark.
Plopping down into his leather desk chair, balancing the stack of towels in her lap, she rummages for her charger, then plugs
her phone in. Setting it down on a neat, thin stack of papers on his desk, Lili skims her notifications briefly: a few texts
from Jamie about concert tickets he’s grabbing for them, some routine school emails. As her phone starts to charge, she responds
to Jamie—(11:43 a.m.) thank you!!!—deletes a few of the unnecessary department-wide Columbia emails. Hoisting the towels back into her arms, she stands, ready
to leave, when the bold text, dates and times, of the papers on his desk grabs her glance: email printouts.
Resisting the serious, near-uncontrollable urge to roll her eyes at the thought of literally, physically printing out emails,
she’s about to look away—it’s his business, not hers—before she catches a few words: climate-obstructing corporate boards, activist shareholder resolutions, phased divestment plans.
Lili frowns. She tugs the papers free.
From: Aleksandr Petrov
Sent: Friday, July 15, 2022, 5:43 AM
To: Andrew Vasiliev
Subject: Draft Plan
Andrew.
Can you get me a phased fossil fuel divestment strategy.
Clear exit strategy. Well structured.