“Hazel, wait,” Logan says, following me a few steps. “Please don’t leave.”
For some reason, I listen, pausing halfway down the stairs in front of the stage. I wait for a scolding. I almost want it. I want Logan to shout back. To be mad at me for doing this. For trying to come on to him here of all places.
But he doesn’t. Logan stands right where he is. He doesn’t look at me any differently than he always has. He doesn’t seem to be disgusted or mad. I don’t get the smile reserved just for me, but I do get a look of consideration I’ve never seen him give anyone else.
Then he steps closer, meeting me on the middle step. He cups my cheeks in his hands, the cast rough against my skin. When he looks into my eyes and says, “I’m here,” the tight knot of anger inside me loosens, just a bit.
I’m a mess. I’m out of control.
And he doesn’tnotwant me.
I wonder if he can sense all the pain I feel. Can he see me for who I really am?
Logan holds my gaze for a second longer. “Come with me,” he says.
“Don’t you have work?” I say, gentler this time, as he leads me outside through the back door.
“I’ll let my team know I’m taking my dinner break now.”
We walk a few blocks, the silence hanging between us. I let him guide me wherever we’re going. He’ll probably drop me off at the subway station where I can take myself home. Shower. Eat. Sleep off whatever he thinks is happening here.
It’s only when we’re in an elevator that I snap out of my daze. He’s not sending me home. He’s taking me somewhere.
The elevator doors open. We’re on some sort of observation deck. Logan gives a knowing nod to a guard keeping watch.
“You’re someone who knows everybody, aren’t you?” I ask.
Logan smirks. “Once I meet that guy,” he says, tilting his chin toward a person painted a deep turquoise and dressed like the Statue of Liberty taking selfies with the city backdrop, “then yes. I’ll officially know everybody.”
Despite my bad mood, a soft laugh slips out.
“You ever been to Top of the Rock before?” Logan asks. He’s still holding my hand.
I shake my head.
“We’re above Rockefeller Center,” he explains as he leads me to a corner where we can see the entire city laid out before us. It looks like a miniature town, gathered up in the palms of someone’s hands. The skyscrapers are gray and orange against a smear of purple and yellow sky. From this angle, the Empire State Building is smack dab in the middle of the city, the Upper New York Bay just beyond it.
It’s dusk. The transition hours. It’s a time of day that’s always made me sad. At the lake house, it’s when I had to turn back into a human after being a fish all day long.
Now I realize that there’s something beautiful to it. Most of the day is behind you, but there’s still a whole night ahead of you. It’s like the ending and the beginning of something at once.
“This is where I come to think sometimes,” Logan says. “Duringbreaks, after work. Sometimes before. I know it’s touristy, but the view gets me every time. It’s a city of stone and glass, but it was once mostly wood and brick. It reminds me how much something can change, and how beautiful it can stay.”
“Except for that really tall skyscraper in midtown,” I mumble.
Logan half laughs. “True. That one ruined the skyline.”
I gulp in a lungful of air seventy stories above the ground. It takes the edge off my anxiety. The churning in my stomach that’s been there since my conversation with Dad slows.
“I like that you can see the water,” I observe, taking in the glow from the structures downtown.
“Sometimes when people ask where I live, I tell them I live on an island,” Logan says. “Partly to mess with them, but also, I’m curious what the first place is that pops into their minds. I get a lot of Hawaii, Nantucket, or San Juan Islands.”
“Huh. You struck me as a Martha’s Vineyard man,” I say playfully.
Logan doesn’t sound like he’s joking when he says, “My mom does spend her summers there.” He slides his hands into his pockets. “Mostly, I’m fascinated by how differently we all think. What’s an island to one person varies from someone else’s definition of one. What’s lucky to me may not be lucky to you. We all have our own mental models. None of us is wrong.”
I sit with this as I soak in the view. “Sometimes I forget I live here,” I finally say when the overwhelming beauty of the city becomes too much. It’s a loaded statement, if I’ve ever said one. “Like in the city.” I shake my head. “I haven’t had a chance to enjoy it.” I swallow down the tightness in my throat.
