Chapter Nineteen
I meet Henry outside Penn Station. He has a big black bag slung over his shoulder and is carrying a smaller one in his fist, dangling near his thigh. The sun is hiding behind a thick haze of clouds, so he’s more bundled than usual in a crewneck and jeans, and his long body is leaning to one side, sinking into his slim hip. When I’m close enough to see his eyes he winks, and it’s a straight shot to my nervous system.
Ugh. Why does he have to look like that?
“What are we doing this time?” I ask, eyeing the bags.
“I have a shoot,” he says, smiling down at me. His dimple makes my stomach drop. “Figured you could be my assistant.”
“Not outside, I hope.” I point to the sky, which is as deep as a bruise. It looks like it could turn into a thunderstorm any minute.
“Not outside.” He hands me one of the bags. It’s so heavy I nearly drop it.
“Oh my god.” I heave it off the sidewalk, but it takes a great effort.
“Fine, you can take this one.” He trades bags with me. This one is lighter by ten pounds at least.
“I see, you were trying to pawn the heavy one off on me.”
He smirks and glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “Something like that.”
We head into the station, buy our New Jersey Transit tickets, and maneuver through sweaty bodies to board the packed train. We find two seats across the aisle from each other in different rows. Instead of being next to Henry, I’m seated next to a woman with fluffy white hair whose perfume assaults the membranes of my lung tissue with every breath.
I sneak glances at Henry three rows ahead of me. From here, I can see the outline of his left arm on the armrest, flexing every time he checks his phone. He turns around to look at me, as if he can feel the weight of my eyes on him. I snap my eyes shut and pretend to be asleep. I hear his laugh from across the train.
After a couple of stops, Henry gets up and gestures for me to follow.
“Maplewood, New Jersey.” I eye the sign on the platform as we step off the train. “Are you going to tell me what we’re doing here?” I say through a yawn.
“Told you. I have a shoot.” He scratches his jaw and glances at the parking lot.
“Maybe I’ll discover my passion is being a photographer and I’ll take all your clients.”
“Yeah, right. You could never steal my clients.”
“What?” I cross my arms. “Are you underestimating me?”
“No. I think you’d like me to think you’d do something like that, but I think you like me too much to take my clients.”
My stomach twists and I freeze. I open my mouth to respond, to quip back about how I don’t like him that much, but the words turn to mist in my mouth.
His eyes bear into mine, his smirk dangerously taunting me. “You’re blushing,” he says.
“Stop looking at me,” I say, feeling my cheeks with my hands. They’re warm.
“Where am I supposed to look?”
“I don’t know,” I say, glancing at the tracks, spotting a large, fuzzy mass scurrying across the metal. “There’s a rat. Look at that.”
“You’re so weird,” he says.
A car honk breaks the moment. “Sweetheart!”
A man is standing in the open driver’s-side door of a beat-up blue sedan, waving at me like a maniac. I squint my eyes to get a better look.
“Sal?”
Henry nudges me in the ribs with his elbow. “Told you you’d like it.”
“Oh my god,” I screech as I run down the stairs toward his car. I throw my arms around him, without thinking about how weird it is to be hugging Sal, my work friend who I didn’t realize had become a real friend. “I was so worried.”
He pats my back. “Marjorie gave us a little scare, but she and the baby are doing great.”
Henry gives Sal a chummy handshake. “Thanks for picking us up.”
Sal’s purple face lights up. “This guy.” He buries Henry in a bear hug. Henry makes eye contact with me as if to say, He’s crushing my lungs .
“We should get to the house before it starts to rain,” Sal says, releasing Henry from the death grip. “Here, put your stuff in the car.” He pops the trunk, and I am shocked at the display. There are boxes of diapers and wet wipes, a mobile, and a baby doll that looks like it was made in the 1920s and is haunted by ghosts. There is absolutely no room for the photography equipment. We have to pile it in the backseat. Henry insists that I ride shotgun, so he sits in the back with all the crap. His tall body scrunched into a C position.
“I’m so glad everyone’s okay,” I say to Sal, who’s behind the wheel. “What happened?”
Sal lets out a grumbly laugh. “Marjorie was diagnosed with preeclampsia, which basically means her blood pressure was too high. It got a lot worse pretty quickly. Right after the last time I saw you, her husband called me and told me they had to induce her labor early. Mary and I dropped everything and left the city to take care of her.”
His voice is coarse and tight. “Anyway, while the baby was in the NICU, Mary and I were doing all the cooking and the cleaning and taking care of stuff, so I didn’t have time to let anyone know everything was okay. To be honest, I wasn’t even checking Facebook at all, so I didn’t read any of your messages. Wasn’t till this guy tracked down Marjorie’s home phone number that I realized I’d left you hanging.”
I whip my head to the backseat to look at Henry, who’s dodging my gaze. “How did you do that?”
He keeps his eyes trained out the window and shrugs. “He wasn’t that hard to find once I got my hands on an old football article, which led me to Marjorie’s LinkedIn and an old office she used to work at, and…I got there eventually.”
My jaw hangs open as he casually taps his fingers on his knee. “Henry, that’s…you’re…that was so nice of you.”
“I thought they might want a newborn photo shoot.” He modestly smiles and finally looks at me. “Pro bono, of course.”
A wave of affection cracks open in me like a can of fizzy soda that’s been shaking ever since we met. I look back at him, crumpled into a ball in the backseat so that I could take the front. This is the essence of Henry, the thing I’ve been trying so hard not to trust. I don’t know if I have the strength to suppress it anymore. Don’t know if I even want to.
···
We pull up to a small white house in a cul-de-sac. A couple of wilted balloons hang in the air attached to the mailbox. Henry hauls the bags out of the backseat and hands me the lighter one while Sal unlocks the front door.
“Why do you have to be such a good person all the time?” I sling the bag over my shoulder. “You’re making the rest of us look bad.”
“Maybe I’m actually a terrible person.” He slams the car door shut. “And I just have a soft spot for you.”
Oh god. Also, when did he get so tall? Was he always this tall? My fingertips buzz with the urge to reach up and touch his face.
“Ready to meet the little guy?” Sal shouts from the stoop.
“Ready,” Henry and I say in unison.
Sal takes us through the house and out to the back porch, where Marjorie and her husband, who introduces himself as Pete, are sitting, glued to a baby monitor. Pete is a huge dude, nearly seven feet tall with a shaved head. He looks like Vin Diesel on steroids.
Marjorie, on the other hand, is tiny. She’s got chocolate-brown eyes and pin-straight hair that stops halfway down her back. She hugs me with the same vigor as her dad.
“It’s so nice to meet you two!” Marjorie moves on to hugging Henry, who gives me the same look of pain as when Sal hugged him earlier. “Thank you sooooooo much for doing this for us.” She must be used to speaking to the baby, because she’s talking to us adults in baby-voice. She releases Henry from the death grip and turns to me. “Did you know Dad calls you his work daughter?”
Pete sets the baby monitor down on the arm of his Adirondack chair and takes a hefty gulp of lemonade. “We appreciate you coming. It’s been a rough month,” he grumbles. He looks exhausted.
“It was Henry’s idea,” I say.
“How long have you been together?” Pete grunts.
“Oh no—it’s not like that,” I stammer. “We’re just friends. He’s helping me with something.”
“We’re working on a Passion Project together,” Henry says, awkwardly scratching his chin.
“A Passion Project. I get it,” Marjorie says, trying and failing to wink.
Henry laughs.
“Not that kind of passion,” I add sheepishly.
Sal’s wife, Mary, interrupts the moment with two lemonades for Henry and me, and we settle into our own Adirondack chairs facing the others in a circle. Even though the temperature has dropped significantly and it seems like rain is inevitable, the fresh air still feels nice.
I watch, tight-lipped, as Henry charms the pants off these people. He’s magical to observe, and seeing him through this family’s eyes is like seeing him for the first time. The more they love him, the more I feel a pull toward him. Sam was nothing like Henry. Sam was bookish, shy, understated. Henry is none of those things. He’s charming, adventurous, dynamic.
I don’t know why I’m comparing them to each other.
Somehow, we’ve moved on in topics from the baby to the grim weather forecast and then to whatever politician got caught sending dick pics this time. I never find the perfect time to chime in with a witty response or fun fact. The sky gets thicker and thicker, tucking the sun behind a curtain of gray.
Sal enters with the baby swaddled in a powder-blue blanket. All I can see from where I’m sitting are tiny little hands stretching out and reaching for Sal’s nose.
“Meet baby Michael Paul Alexander,” he says, beaming.
Henry eyes me from across the deck and holds up three fingers. He mouths the words three first names with a glint of glee on his face. I bite my lip, hiding my smile.
“You want to hold him?” Sal asks, approaching me with the child.
I’ve never held a baby before. “What if I break it?”
“Come on.” Sal presents the bundle of joy to me, dangling him over my lap. I panic. Henry must sense it, because he springs to his feet and swoops in.
“I’ll hold him!” He taps Sal on the shoulder and peers down at the little bundle. “We’re gonna have to get to know each other if I’m gonna photograph you, aren’t we?” Sal gently hands the baby to Henry, who cradles his neck perfectly and lovingly and oh god I hate what this is doing to me right now. Fuck.
“Normally I’d say we should shoot outside for the natural light, but…” Henry squints at the sky right as a couple of drops start to fall. “I think we better stay inside. No worries, though, I’m prepared for an indoor shoot. I brought some props in case you were interested.” He gestures to me to open the lighter of the two bags. I unzip it to an explosion of plush. I pull out a furry onesie and a tiny gold felt crown. A Max from Where the Wild Things Are costume.
“Henry?” I raise an eyebrow. “Why do you have all this?”
“I asked my cousin to send some baby stuff.” He looks up at me through his rain-splattered glasses and shrugs. “Is it weird?”
“Not at all.” I hold up the Max costume. “We have to do this one.”
He smiles, satisfied. “Absolutely.”
The air cracks around us and the sky finally opens up, pouring down a barrage of raindrops. Sal opens the sliding door and ushers us in.
Once Pete gets Michael dressed in his costume, Henry is more or less set up in their living room to take the pictures. Pete sets baby eggplant Michael on a blanket, and Henry stands over him, clicking away on the camera.
“Hey.” Henry waves me over. “I have a job for you.” He hands me a colorful ring of keys. “Dangle these up here so Michael looks up at the lens. Try to get him to laugh if you can.”
The keys are wet and sticky with what I hope is just water from the rain, but I know deep down is some form of unidentifiable baby liquid. I try not to visibly cringe.
“Hey, Michael.” I do my best baby-voice. It’s totally unnatural. “Look what I got!” I shake the keys. I stick out my tongue, but the baby is unamused.
A clap of thunder pierces the air, stunning the baby. He looks like he could cry any moment.
“Quick, try singing,” Henry says with his eye pressed to the camera.
Singing? Michael looks like he’s on the verge of exploding. I spit out the first words I can think of to the tune of “Daisy Bell,” a song my mom used to sing to me as a kid, all the way up through elementary school.
Eggplant baby, give me your answer, do.
I’m half crazy, all for the love of you.
A bubble of laughter comes from Michael’s little mouth. I continue while shaking the keys like maracas.
You look so sweet, good enough to eat,
In the grocery aisle for two.
Michael’s face lights up and beams with joy. Henry pounces on the opportunity, taking picture after picture. It’s cute, I have to admit.
Marjorie sidles up next to me, clapping her hands together with glee. “You have to write down those words for us. I haven’t seen Michael laugh before!”
“Here,” I say, handing her the keys. “I’ll go write it down.” As I exit the living room into the kitchen to find a pad of paper and pen, I can’t keep my eyes off Henry at work. So serious, so grounded. It’s a side of him I haven’t seen before, a side I want to see more of.
The rest of the evening is spent changing costumes and backdrops. All the while, I hand Henry various lenses, help him adjust the lights and frame the shots. I like being his partner for the day, working as a team. It feels nice.
When the baby is sufficiently tired out and the rain is hammering on the roof, Mary pours us all a glass of wine and makes a cheese board. I feel toasty from the inside out, like I spent the day with my own family. Or even with the Chases. There’s something magical about being in a warm house during a storm. Something safe.
I duck away to the bathroom, taking my phone with me. I sit on the closed toilet, opening up my mom’s contact.
Hi.
It takes her all of half a second to respond.
Everything okay?
It breaks my heart that in my desire to keep my family from worrying about me, I’ve cut them off enough that they think the only reason I’d reach out would be because I was in trouble.
Just miss you, that’s all.
Miss you more.
Can we catch up tomorrow?
Of course. Love you to the moon and back, Benny.
Love you too.
I smile at myself in the mirror, feeling a zing of something almost resembling contentment in my body. I tuck my phone back into my pocket and return to the kitchen, where the rest of the crew is hanging out.
I feel the kind of soupy tipsy that starts at your toes and creeps up the rest of your body after I polish off my second glass of red, leaning on the kitchen counter under a sign that says Home Is Where the Wine Is .
“The big man’s out like a light,” Mary says, pointing to the living room.
Sal’s chin droops down to his chest, and he is snoring in front of a Family Feud rerun.
“We should go,” Henry whispers to me, glancing at the clock. It’s ten thirty. Way later than we planned on staying.
“Do we have to?” I pout.
“Yes. You’re tipsy, and while it’s very cute, something tells me you’ll want to get home and sleep.” He leans down to my level. “And you’re taking the heavy bag this time.”
“No way, I’m so dainty.” I bat my eyelashes. “I can barely hold a pencil, I’m so weak.”
“Uh-huh.” He rolls his eyes. “We’re going to head out,” he says to everyone.
“Oh no you don’t,” Marjorie interrupts. “We’ve all been drinking. None of us can drive you to the train station. You’ll stay here.”
Henry and I lock eyes.
“Oh no, we’ll get a cab. It’s no big deal,” I say, a little too forcefully.
“Yeah, it’s really not….” Henry trips over his words. “We can get an Uber.”
“No need for that when we have a spare room with a double bed.”
“Oh…” I search for an excuse. Any excuse. “Um…it’s okay. We wouldn’t want you to have to change the sheets or anything.”
Pete’s been awfully quiet this whole time, and I suspect that’s how he survives in this house. I look to him to save me, pleading with my eyes. But he nods and says, “It’s no problem. We did the sheets last night.”