Still unsure about this whole thing, it takes a little bit for me to get on the swing and not feel like I’m going to tumble off the edge. There’s no sense of urgency or rushing. He’s patient and seems to have no issue with me being almost laughably slow. I go from crouching awkwardly to my knees and then sitting with my legs out.
“Are you good?” Holland asks once I’ve gotten myself comfortable.
I don’t know if he’s asking about my swing position or the whole thing that happened with Royce.
I nod.
He gives me the “one minute” gesture and walks away. He comes back with a blanket from the crates strategically placed around the space.
Before he gets on the swing, he looks at me, like he’s looking for the green light. I give a small smile. He wraps the blanket around my shoulders. The gesture is sweet and brings a smile to my face. He slowly arranges himself on the swing, sitting next to me, careful not to jostle or move me around too much.
The swing is much bigger than I realized, with enough room for probably two others to sit with us or for both of us to lie across it. Holland’s feet would probably hang off the edge, or he’d have to bend his knees but it’s definitely meant for more than one person.
“I have a confession… I love these things,” he says. “I’m glad we have people who ask for them. We usually take them down right away. The employees never get a chance to enjoy them. Plus, it’s hard to be bummedon a swing.”
“To be honest, I haven’t thought much about swings. It’s not really a common occurrence in the city.”
Hollands kicks his leg off the ledge of the swing, giving us a little momentum.
“You probably aren’t able to see these in the city much either.” He glances up at the sky, black and damn-near glittering. It’s as surprising as it is stunning.
“No. We don’t.” I carefully lay back so I can take in the sky. Holland does the same. I’m surprised our shoulders don’t touch. It looks like silver flecks are dancing on the richest black.
My heart has always belonged to the city. The buzz. The rush. I weirdly love the sound of traffic.
We’re quiet. I don’t know if it’s been thirty seconds or minutes. I can’t peel my eyes away from the sky.
“If you don’t have views like this, what’s your favorite part about the city?” Holland breaks the silence with a question.
That’s easy.
“The sound. The feeling like there’s always something happening or about to happen. And the potential of that something.” I rub my hands on my arms because it’s a little cold, but it feels good. “I’m not sure if that makes sense.”
“It does. Just an interesting take. People are typically selling me on the food, abundance of cabs, and their tiny apartment. The usual.”
“Not a fan of the city?”
“It’s complicated. I grew up here, so I kind of stuck around for the most part,” Holland says.
“Complicated?” I press for more details. I’m a bit surprised by my bold reaction to the vague statement. Holland’s voice speaks in a way that feels final but I push my luck.
He pauses and takes a breath. “A few years ago, I lived in the city. Did the whole thing. It just… didn’t work out,” he answers with finality.
We stay like this, lightly moving the swing, not saying much. Did I seriously meet this guy yesterday?
I’m a bit surprised at how calm I feel. Anxiety thrums under my skin, it’s always there, but I almost have to look for it now. I’m aware of how quiet it is out here, but it’s fine. The silence is… okay. There’s a breeze and it brings the smell of things green and fresh.
“Can I ask a question? If I’m overstepping, you don’t have to answer.” Holland turns his head to face me, almost stumbling over his words. I nod, especially because this feels like a compromise. He continues, “Who’s Jack? I saw your face when the drunk-trust-fund-bro brought him up.”
“One, that’s what I’ll be calling Royce, behind his back, for the rest of time. Two, Jack is my ex. We were together for about two years. We still work together. I’m aware that I’m a total cliché.” Avoiding eye contact, I look back to the stars.
I try to not sound bitter and annoyed but I’m not sure if it’s coming through as I fill him in on the details. “I’d rather do the workload of two people than spend any additional time with him.”
When Holland doesn’t interrupt me or my cliff notes version, I look at him for any sense he’s heard enough. All I see are his coffee-dark eyes, almost blending into the night, and feel him waiting for me to continue. I keep going, sharing all the unseemly facts of how it ended.
“And apparently, he and Royce arebest bros.” I put a gross enunciation on the best bros. A small wave of shame and embarrassment floods my cheeks. “It’s partly my fault. I shouldn’t have dated someone I worked with. It’s like corporate etiquette 101.”
My brain and mouth have ganged up on me and I’m sputtering words at this point.
