Chapter 11 Above
Above
Dev and I meet at the only vaguely high--end restaurant in town. He’s wearing a blazer over jeans; I’ve gone with a drapey purple top and my hair in messy curls, and next to him I feel underdressed.
We greet each other awkwardly on the sidewalk, not sure whether to hug or wave or something else entirely, and finally Dev laughs and gives me a polite one--armed hug. “You look great,” he tells me.
“You always look great,” I reply. “I had to step up my game. Usually the only thing on my face is mud.”
Inside, the hostess asks us if we’ve made a reservation. We glance at each other, chuckle nervously. It hadn’t occurred to me that we might need one, but she makes a face.
“You really should make a reservation,” she says, and sighs heavily as she picks up two menus. “This way.”
She leads us to a nearly empty side of the restaurant and seats us, and we look at each other in amused bafflement. We order a pair of cocktails off the menu—-Dev’s fruity, mine boozy—-and then, abandoned, topple into jittery silence.
“So,” Dev says at last. “Can I ask what changed your mind?”
I fold my hands on the tabletop loosely. “A friend forcefully reminded me that I have a tendency to isolate myself for no good reason.”
“I see. And I’m better than nothing?” he asks, eyebrow raised. It’s half a joke, half cautious inquiry.
“A lot better,” I assure him. I fiddle with the edge of my napkin. “It’s just—-not easy for me to get close to people.”
“Oh? How so?” he asks.
I grope for an explanation. “Friendly is great. Acquaintances, work buddies, all of that. And I have a few friends—-Len, mostly—-I’ve known forever. In between, though, that’s hard. I have a history of panicking. Disappearing.”
“I think I know what you mean,” Dev says. “That point where you have to be vulnerable and show the parts of yourself you haven’t carefully curated. It’s terrifying.”
“Exactly,” I say.
“And that’s why I prefer to just dive right in on a first date and start interrogating a woman about her attachment style and psychological foibles,” Dev says, and I laugh.
“I don’t mind,” I promise.
“Let’s try a lighter subject. At least before we get a drink in us,” Dev says.
“All right,” I say. “What brings you to Franklin? I don’t think I’ve ever asked.”
He winces. “Ah. Well, see, I was engaged.”
“Oh, no,” I say, eyes widening as I realize I’ve clearly stumbled on a subject that’s not light at all.
“Long story short, she broke my heart. Or more like ripped it out of my chest, stomped on it a bit, and then squished it back into my shattered rib cage,” Dev says with mordant humor.
“We worked together, which made things especially painful. I decided I wanted a change of scenery, and Franklin was the only place hiring in a hurry midyear.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
“It’s fine,” he says, waving off my apology.
“Actually, once I got done feeling like I’d been shanked with a sharpened toothbrush, I suddenly felt .
. . really okay. We were together because of inertia.
Got together in college, never had a definitive reason to split.
It took getting betrayed for me to realize just how unhappy I’d been for a long time. ”
“So you’re, what, looking for a rebound?” I say. “A bit of fun?” My tone is lightly teasing. He smiles, shakes his head.
“I wasted most of my adult life in a bad relationship. I’m looking to get it right this time,” he says. Then, overly serious, “Again, no pressure.”
I laugh. The drinks arrive. It gives me something to do with my hands, at least. It’s easy to talk to Dev.
It helps, of course, that we’ve been friendly for months.
Not my usual pattern. People who actually know you are dangerous, after all.
Harder to fool. Not that I can ever quite say what I’m trying to conceal—-only that I have a bone--deep certainty that if someone sees into the deeper parts of me, they won’t stay.
“And how about you?” Dev asks. “You grew up here. Did you ever think about leaving?”
I shrug. “Like you said. Inertia. I left for college, but I bounced back when I couldn’t find a job right away. And then my best friend was here, my family was here, I found a job here . . . There wasn’t a reason to leave.”
“Not the same as a reason to stay,” Dev says.
“No. It’s not,” I agree. I take a sip of my drink. It’s rich and bitter. There’s a joke in there somewhere, I think, but I can’t quite get a hold of it.
“To inertia, then,” Dev says, lifting his drink. “Since it’s the reason we met.”
“To inertia.” I clink my glass against his, and for once, my mind isn’t somewhere else, wandering down forest trails or city streets. I’m simply here, and there’s nowhere I’d rather be.
The conversation strays and wanders down safe paths.
We don’t talk about vanished girls or heartbreak.
The food is good, made better by the company, and we linger over a dessert neither of us particularly needs.
At the end of the night, we put on our coats at the door, and Dev offers to accompany me to my car.
“I walked, actually,” I tell him. “I live about half a mile from here.”
“Then let me walk you home,” he says, and I know him well enough to be sure there’s no expectation hidden under that. He offers me his arm. I take it, and we don’t hurry as we make our way out of the short strip of downtown into the surrounding tree--lined neighborhoods.
“Thank you for the escort,” I say.
“Well, you don’t have Cerberus here to defend you, so I’ll have to do,” Dev says.
I snort. “His name’s Barry, actually. What’s your cat’s name?”
“What makes you think I have a cat?” he asks.
I reach out and pluck an orange hair from his lapel, and he chuckles.
“Ah. A keen deductive mind. I really need to get a lint lifter. His name’s Skipper.
Well, legally speaking, it’s Norman, but my ex named him and I never thought it suited him. Your dog doesn’t eat cats, does he?”
“He treats them with a mix of worship and terror.”
“Perfect,” Dev says, and clears his throat like he’s realized we’re jumping forward a bit, talking about pet compatibility. We’ve reached my driveway. I stop, stepping free of him. The air has just an edge of chill, enough to make you want to be near someone.
“This was wonderful,” I say.
“I’m glad. I had a very good time,” Dev says.
The drinks are still twining through me.
I feel soft at the edges, and safe, and the streetlights on Dev’s warm skin give it a glow I can’t quite describe.
I wonder if Emily would be able to paint that color, and the way the deep shadows make every plane of his face more beautiful. “Would you like to come in?” I ask.
I’m afraid he’ll draw back. I’m afraid he’ll say yes too quickly, too hungrily.
Instead, he smiles. “I would very much like to come in. But I’m going to say no,” he tells me.
“Because I had a wonderful time tonight, and I’ve also had three drinks and so have you, and I don’t want either of us wondering if this was a good idea in the morning. ”
“You’re a true gentleman,” I tell him, disappointed and relieved in equal measure.
“A self--interested gentleman. I told you, I’m not looking for something quick and fun,” Dev says. He tucks his hands in his coat pockets. “I’d like to go out with you again.”
“You know where to find me. If it still seems like a good idea in the morning,” I say. “I’ll see you at work?”
“I’ll see you then.” He leans in. His lips brush my cheek, and it is impossible, I think, that a kiss can be so chaste and still send this flood of warmth through me.
He draws back, his dark eyes reflecting silvered light, and I want to draw him to me.
To taste his lips and feel his touch, because I cannot remember the last time I felt like this—-whole, and here, and wanted.
Then Barry woofs, the sound muffled through the window. I twist and find him with paws draped over the back of the couch, watching us with a chaperone’s disapproving skepticism. I laugh and Dev echoes the sound.
“All yours, buddy,” he calls. He’s stepping back from me, hands in his pockets. “Good night, Audrey.” There’s enough reluctance in his voice that I can’t even fool myself into thinking that he’s just being polite, that he doesn’t actually want to come in.
“Good night, Dev,” I say. I walk up the drive to the door. He waits there, watching, until the door is shut and locked and I wave to him from the window. He raises his hand in a final farewell and then turns to walk back the way we came. Barry snuffles at me inquisitively.
“I think that went well,” I say. “I think that went very, very well.”
I’m smiling, I realize. I’m still smiling when I finally slip into bed, Barry settling with a sigh on the floor beside me.
For a few hours, the wilderness has been at bay, and for the first time in a long time, I wonder if I should keep it that way.
Let go of Meghan Vale and of Janie and of all the others, and live in this present moment.
Be among the found, the never--lost, and not dwell in borrowed grief and fear and wondering.
But I can still hear it. The hum in the air, ever present.
I slip into dreams of the woods, of a figure running through them as I follow. Her hands are red and her hair is the color of blood, and the sound of her steps is the soft clicking of beads in the branches.