“Hey! Are you going to head up to Eli’s little neighbor roof shindig?”
Oh shit.I’d forgotten about that. Was that tonight?
I suppose I could beg off. After all, I’m not in the mood to spar with Eli. And I hear my phone ding, the little WhatsApp notification sounding.
“I’m probably just going to call it a night,” I say, my mind now unable to think of anything other than the phone in my pocket.
“Ah, come on. You said you’d go,” he reminds me. “Just come up with me now for one drink. You’ll be glad you did!” he nudges.
The elevator stops on my floor, and we both get out. Right, everyone is going to be directly on top of me anyway. I can actually hear the soft tones of some music coming from above.
Andthisis why I need to make sure I’m represented there. I sigh, and Kwan lights up when he sees he’s won.
I open my door and let George back in. He turns around and stares at me when he realizes I’m not coming in with him.
“I’ll just be gone a couple minutes, Georgie,” I say, kneeling down to give him a pet that he begrudgingly accepts, like I’m wasting his time. I leave my phone on the counter without looking at it so I don’t fixate while I’m upstairs.
Kwan and I walk up the steps and push open the heavy metal door that leads onto the roof.
The scene is unexpected—I’m not sure I’ve ever even been up here, but it’s actually an enchanting view. The buildings in this area are pretty low compared to the rest of the city, so it’s a straight shot above Union Square, and far behind it are the bright lights of the Empire State Building. Water tanks dot the sky around us, and I take in the view of all our neighboring buildings’ roofs from above.
Ours isn’t anything really to write home about at the moment. It’s just paved, with our own water tower looming over us in the middle of the building. But Eli has gone all out with his attempts to showcase what it could be like up here. Classic British rock tunes blare from a little speaker, creating an air of revelry. He’s dragged up a bunch of chairs and placed out a long folding table, which he’s covered with a red-and-white checkered tablecloth and lined with various drinks and snacks. He’s laid out what looks like a large swath of fake grass. He has a small grill sizzling with hot dogs, with a cooler stuffed full of beer and seltzer next to it. I’m not thrilled to see Gladys laughing with our board president, Hearn, over a game that appears to be cornhole.
It’s convivial, despite the slapdash impermanence of the decorations. And with this hazy summer day, even the weather seems to be screaming out for a casual rooftop party.
I see Eli in a small crowd of neighbors. It’s strange watching him before he’s clocked me. In our few interactions, he’s always been combative and on edge. But with everyone else, all that expressive energy is attuned in a different direction, the way it was with Kwan the other day playing poker. He’s animated, gesticulating at every point made as though he’s the conductor of the orchestra.
I don’t want to admit it, but I’m jealous of his effortless cool. He’s always carrying it with him, whether he’s antagonizing or entertaining. It’s like he was born with a chip on his shoulder that makes him both assertive yet charming. He’s got Tom and Meryl, along with two other neighbors from the third floor, debating something until they’re all doubled over laughing.
When they stop and Tom has wandered off to look for a drink, Eli absentmindedly pulls out his phone and looks at it, displeased, and then—of course, because it’s my luck—he clocks my arrival.
He saunters over, looking like a cat on his way to get the cream, eyes narrowing in on me with amusement.
“Well, well, well,” he says. “Come to break the party up? Find any loopholes about permanent imprisonment if someone drinks a lager on the building roof?”
I scowl. “Your exaggerations aren’t helping anything.”
His laugh is full throated, and I can’t help but once againnoticehim. I brushed it off more easily when he was sitting down playing poker with Kwan, but as he stands across from me, that potency is revived. I keep forgetting about it—it’s as though when I imagine him, he’s a regular (very annoying) guy, but when he’s in front of me, he’s this live wire of tangibility.
If I’m being honest, maybe “forgetting” isn’t the right word—I’ve tried toactivelynot think about him, since otherwise our previous towel-clad encounter would, inexplicably, live on in a loop in my head. After seeing him like that, I find it frustratingly hard not to notice the way his T-shirt sits across his chest. It’s baffling why I can’t shake whatever it is that sits between us.
But luckily whenever he opens his mouth, the strangeness of our proximity dissipates. “Do you want to take a megaphone out and tell everyone to stop?” he teases, clearly enjoying berating me. “I bet that’d endear you to them. Maybe you could suggest everyone goes back downstairs quietly in a single-file queue?”
“You’ve made your point,” I grumble. “Besides, Kwan dragged me up here.”
“Sinister, isn’t it?” he says, sweeping his arm across the scene. “Look at all thisfun. Hearn brought up adelightfulAmerican game I’d never heard of called ‘cornhole,’ and I imagine it’s probably puncturing the roof as we speak.”
I roll my eyes. “Cornhole isn’t the problem.”
“I’m the problem?” he says, baiting me.
“You certainly areaproblem,” I retort, and he laughs again. Maybe it’s the fuzziness of a few beers, but he’s watching me more intently than I’ve ever noticed before. It’s like he’s cataloging me and taking mental notes. Now I’m the one who feels exposed.
“Are you going to try for another pretend truce?” he pushes.
“It wasn’tpretend,” I say, folding my arms and wishing I could somehow extricate myself from this situation. “I genuinely don’t want to fight with you. But I also think it’s fair to say I could hear the music from my apartment. It doesn’t mean youcan’tplay music up here, but it just means I wish you would take note of what things will affect the apartments below and take that into consideration.”
“You’re the only person who assumed I wasn’t,” he lobs back.
