To Have and to Hate

“I still don’t see her.”

“That’s because you’re drunk.” Matthew laughs.

“Yes, yes. Well help me out then.”

Walt takes my hand and leads it to the left, pressing my finger to the window. “There. Do you see her?”

I follow the line of my finger and sure enough, there’s the woman watering her orchids.

I laugh in delight.

“My turn,” I declare, shaking off Walt’s grip and then immediately regretting it.

Too late. I can’t ask him to take my hand again. What on earth would my excuse be? Uh…I like how it feels when you touch me?

I’d rather die than admit that, so instead, I turn my focus to my search.

I start with the building to our right, a gleaming high-rise just as luxurious as the one we’re standing in. Most of the apartments glow with light, but the majority of them are concealed by window treatments. I scan the few that aren’t. Empty. Empty. Empty.

Then…

“There!” I say, tapping my finger on the glass. “Oh my god.”

Maybe if I’d had less to drink, I would have skipped over the couple in the apartment across from ours clearly having sex, but now it’s too late. Both Walt and Matthew are looking at where I’m pointing.

“What’s the person doing?” Matthew asks.

“It’s two people,” I clarify, my voice barely above a whisper.

We’re too far away for me to make out specific body parts, but wow, they’re really going at it.

Oh god. Quick—find someone else to point out.

But when that proves fruitless, I lie.

“Oh, never mind. They’re gone. Yeah. Oh well.”

“What were they doing?” Walt asks, following me with his gaze as I walk away from the window.

I pretend to busy myself by adjusting a pillow on the couch.

“Just washing dishes, I think.” I scrunch my nose. “I couldn’t really tell.”

“Then why are you blushing so much?” Matthew goads.

“Am I?” I press the backs of my hands against my cheeks, trying to cool them down.

More curious than ever, the two of them immediately look back outside, scanning the area where I pointed.

Walt finds them first. I know, because he slowly turns to look over his shoulder, a devious grin in place. He doesn’t say a word.

“What?” I say, poking him with my tone.

“Elizabeth.”

“Don’t say my name like that!”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re chiding me.”

“I’m not chiding you. If I were, you’d know it,” he says, and there’s this immediate recognition between us, like a line pulled taut. Flutters fill my belly and I look quickly to Matthew, hoping he’ll save me.

“I still don’t see anything,” he says, scanning the window. Then finally, “Oh. Ha. Yup, those two people are totally having sex in that window.” He shoots me a comedic grin and a thumbs-up. “I think you win the game.”

“On that note, let’s call it a night,” Walt says.

“Great idea. C’mon, Matthew, I’ll walk you out,” I say, waving toward the front hallway.

“You don’t have to be so eager for me to leave. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. So you like watching—so what? It’s a perfectly normal fetish.”

I’m behind him now, prodding him along, pushing with my hands on his shoulder blades.

“Oh just please leave, will you?”

“Fine, fine. I’ll get your number from Walt and we can meet up soon to finish the conversation we started earlier. About your art.”

“Good. Yes. Art—let’s focus on that.”

Walt claps his brother on the shoulder and all but pushes him into the elevator. “Good night, Matthew. Get home safe.”

Matthew salutes the two of us with a cheeky grin before the elevator doors close.

Then, Walt turns to me and props his hands on his hips with a look of fierce authority. “Let’s get you to bed.”

I laugh and roll my eyes. “You sound like you’re going to help get me there.”

“I am. You’ve had too much champagne.”

“Pfft. I’m not drunk.”

“Walk in a straight line,” he demands with a tone that’s slightly teasing but mostly haughty.

“Sure thing. I will. All the way to my room,” I say indignantly as I start to stomp down the hall, accidentally colliding with an umbrella holder so that it tips over and crashes to the ground. “Right, well…that thing came out of nowhere, I assure you. Did you put it there just now?”

Twelve

“Maybe I should be putting you to bed,” I quip with my hands on my hips.

He stays quiet as he assesses me.

“Didn’t you hear me?”

He lets his head fall as he shakes it back and forth before looking back up at me. “I was just trying to imagine it.”

“Oh you want specifics? Okay, well, first I’d get your favorite pair of footie pajamas and zip you right up into them. Then I’d tuck you in nicely, get you a glass of warm milk, read you a book, and then it’s lights out, mister.”

I clap my hands together like I’m trying to activate a clap-on, clap-off lamp.

“Sounds great, apart from the warm milk,” he says, walking over to me so he can touch my shoulder and gently push me in the direction of my bedroom.