Where We Left Off (Middle of Somewhere 3)

“It just turns so easily.”

“What does?” I said against his neck.

“Love.”

“How do you mean?”

He pushed the pillow off his face and stared into the darkness beyond the bed. In the ambient light from the window, I could see that his eyes were open.

“Love and beauty… they look good. On the surface. Perfect. So people think they are good. But sometimes they’re just… rotten.”

I was afraid if I said anything, the spell would break. But I couldn’t let it go in case I never got another chance to be sure of what he meant.

“Are you still talking about you and Rex?”

“No, I wasn’t talking about me.”

“Oh. So, who, then?”

I nuzzled into his soft hair, and he pressed against me just enough that I knew now was one of those moments when he liked me, here, with him.

“My sister. My parents. Whatever.”

“What happened with your parents? They just stopped loving each other?”

Will snorted. His voice, when he spoke again, was dark. “No. They were obsessed with each other.”

“What do you mean?”

“They met in high school. Sophomore year. And that was it. They just… didn’t see anyone else. High school sweethearts.” Every word was a dagger.

“Wow, that’s romantic,” I said automatically, but Will tensed the second it was out of my mouth, and I knew it was the wrong thing to say.

“No. Not romantic. Or sweet.” He murdered the word. “All they cared about was each other. Couldn’t be bothered with me and Claire. It’s not sweet when your parents are making out in the living room when you bring friends over and run off giggling like a couple of kids when you interrupt them. Not romantic when you have to shoplift from the grocery store if you want anything fresh because the only food in the house is canned soup and boxed mac and cheese since they never hesitated to just go out for a date night.”

“Fuck.”

“I got caught once. Shoplifting. Apples and tomatoes. When my parents came down to the store to get me, my mom smiled this calculated smile. ‘Oh, he probably just wanted to make a surprise dinner for us. Isn’t that sweet?’ And everyone fucking agreed, because in a world of ugliness and divorce and desperation people will do anything to feel like they played some small part in someone’s tale of true love. Especially if they don’t have one of their own.

“And they were fucking proud of it. Proud I played along. It was this big joke, like they were the romantic leads in some movie and everyone else was just extras. Like they didn’t matter. And forget trying to tell anyone that they weren’t perfect. That’s all anyone saw.”

Pieces fell into place as he spoke, and I wanted to ask him a thousand questions, but before I could say anything, Will was on top of me, kissing me fiercely. I opened my mouth to ask if he was okay, but he just slid his tongue against mine, grinding us together hotly. I groaned into his mouth, caught up in his whirlwind, and we moved against each other in the stillness of the night.

Chapter 9

January

SOMETHING HAD shifted. We teased each other more. We talked more. Touched more.

Will was still Will—he’d tell me that some innocuous thing I did was annoying him, I’d tell him that sometimes you just had to deal with people doing things like eating, brushing their teeth, and breathing in your space, and he’d say, “Not if you live alone, you don’t.” I’d say, “Well, I’m here too, now, and you’re being a dick,” and he’d snap, “Yes, I’m an asshole. True facts.” And he’d grumble about it and then wander away if he couldn’t deal with the sound of me eating, brushing my teeth, or breathing. But I wouldn’t become immediately convinced that he hated me and wanted me to leave. Mostly.

We even wandered slowly through MoMA, like we were on a real date (though I made sure not to use the d-word around Will because I knew he’d cancel our plans). I was fascinated by a special exhibit on the fonts and design of the subway maps, and Will kept sneaking away to go stand in front of his favorite piece in the museum, Christina’s World by Wyeth, hung, strangely, I thought, just outside the elevator.

“What do you think?” he asked. It felt like some kind of test, since he’d said it was his favorite.

“I don’t really know much about art,” I hedged.

Because I didn’t really get it. The colors were ugly and it was kind of boring. But I wanted so badly to see what he saw in it.

“Um, well, it seems peaceful, I guess? Calm. Like she’s just hanging out in that field relaxing and looking at her house, but she doesn’t have to go there….” I trailed off because Will was looking at me strangely.