I do hate fast. Fast is scary. Fast is stupid.
“When you know, you know, right?” Ugh. I hate clichés more than I hate fast, I take a long swig of the beer and let the cold bubbles fill my throat and stop me from saying anymore sappy, overused phrases.
“Exactly! I’ve gotta go though, Dev. They’re about to pop the Champ—” There’s a loud pop and a cheer. “Facetime in the morning ok? Love you, Devon.”
“Love you more.”
The call is ended and I’m staring at Jeff who’s got his hands sunk deeply in his jean pockets, the full weight of his concern bearing down on me and making me feel guilty for the fact that the announcement of my only sister’s engagement requires concern. I try to smile, but I can tell he doesn’t buy it because his lips press together and the muscles in his neck tenses. Who has muscles like that in their neck?
“What are you congratulating Tara for?” he asks while I take another long sip of my beer.
“Her engagement,” I reply, and he actually winces.
Meredith lets out a low whistle. “Shit. Should I get the tequila? We’ve got an hour ‘til midnight.”
“I’m gonna get some air,” I say and pull open the sliding door that leads out onto Jeff’s tiny balcony.
“That was fast,” Jeff says to himself as I pass.
Thank goodness someone gets it. I step out onto the iron grates that hang precariously from the back-brick façade of Jeff’s apartment building. The building, much like the knickknacksfilling up his interior, is colonial and historic. Jeff steps out behind me and the metal creaks under our weight.
If he’s scared that we’ll topple the twenty feet onto the green dumpsters below, he doesn’t show it. His hand lands on my shoulder and the warmth of it makes me want to lean back against him. I rationalize that desire with the heaviness I’m feeling from the idea of missing my sister. I’m just starved for comfort.
“It was one thing when she was moving there—I mean Tara has moved before—Tara likes adventure. And change?—”
“The exact opposite of you,” he murmurs, and I feel a small pang of defensiveness. But it fades with recognition. He’s right. I hate change. The mere thought of moving sends me into fetal position. Teaching and tenure have tethered me here in South Jersey, like a safety line holding down a hot air balloon. Made my world safe. And there’s my mom, of course.
“Yes. But an engagement? I mean, come on. After what we—my mother went through—how could she even consider taking that step so soon? She doesn’t know him. He could crush her.” My voice cracks. I’m talking to the sky. But Jeff’s hand is still on my shoulder, his fingers squeezing me in a way that reminds me I’m not out here alone. I turn myself a little, lift my eyes to his and my breath gets stuck in my throat from the way he’s watching me, the way his eyes are soft and serious in the light that finds us from the apartment windows across the back alley. His gaze falls to my mouth and I have to steady myself on the iron railing beside us.
“I get it,” he says, his voice low and soft. And I know he does. That he gets me—feels for me. I rock onto the balls of my feet, closing a little of the space between us and I’ve forgotten what it was we were talking about. My fingers itch to touch his chest—to trace the tight line of his neck and the dark stubble on his chin and?—
“Boooooty calll!” Meredith yells from inside and I jump back, knocking one of the potted mums off of its perch.
It seems to fall too fast—like whatever forces at work on the balcony are working in tandem with gravity. I watch it crash onto the dumpster below, pieces of terra cotta clattering over the black lid and onto the cement.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. But I’m not sure if I’m apologizing for the flowers or for whatever the hell just happened.
I still can’t seem to move. Every nerve in my body is standing at alert—live wires severed and set loose in a storm. I look back up at Jeff and shake my head—answering a question that he hasn’t even asked. His eyes are still liquid—like the absinthe I tried in high school. He runs a hand through his hair and opens his mouth to speak, but I turn away. I step back into his apartment, out of the rippling magnetic field. I focus all of my energy on Meredith doing her booty call dance while she holds up her ringing phone for me to see the picture of the hot guy calling her.
“Is that butt-chin?” I ask, hoping she doesn’t see how flushed I am. Meredith sees all. The Eye of Sauron. She lifts a brow at me.
“Yup. You ok? You look a bit piqued.”
“I’m fine,” I lie. Between Tara’s news and Jeff’s Jeffness I’m anything but fine. “Looks like we can share an Uber,” I tell her and head straight for the stairs.
Jeff’s voice finds me just before I hit the steps.
“Devon, your money?—”
I wave him away without meeting his gaze. “It was just for fun. Thanks for having us.”
And I’m down the steps and out into Washington Square faster than I moved before my surgery.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jeff
Lesson 25: Always bring cupcakes.
