In the end, Idobuy the chocolate cosmos, but not for me—for Alex. I promised him I would, and his apartment is close enough to our brunch spot that we can drop it right off afterward.
We’ve been textingallweekend.
It started when Alex asked for an itemized list of my shellfish allergies, which led to a shirtless photo of him and Freddy on the beach shucking clams. After that, there was some argumentative back-and-forth about whether it’s recommended to remove your shirt in the northeastern October weather (I argued no, Alex argued that he would not be body-shamed under any circumstance). But then he sent me another photo, this time wearing a shirt and a curmudgeonly frown, a trail of sand stuck to one cheek, and it did precisely nothing to improve the fluttering in my belly, so really, I played myself.
The kicker, though, was when hecalledme last night. I picked up the phone halfway convinced something horrible had happened—like an internet troll photoshopping our talking heads onto naked bodies, or Alex telling me he found out I applied for his job—but instead, he said, “Hey, so I’m at the Cape Cod Target—”
“With your credit or debit card? It’s an important distinction.”
“And I was hoping you could tell me your favorite brand of laundry detergent?”
I was alone in Prospect Park, reading a paperback from Books Are Magic like I always do when I want to romanticize my life. (In London, I plan on frequenting the Spitalfields Libreria and takingmy book to Kensington Gardens, where I will sit against a tree and look enigmatic while I read about magical teenagers.) “Um. I use Tide Free & Gentle?”
“Perfect.”
“Is this a hostess gift for Freddy’s mom?”
He laughed at that. “No, I got her a bottle of wine.”
“Did you… Alex, did you take your dirty laundry to Cape Cod with you?”
There was a pause, and then he said, “They’re like family, okay?”
“Were they out of detergent or something?”
“No, I just wanted—” He stopped talking then, and I froze, and across two hundred miles of rocky American coastline, past Providence, past New Haven, all the way to Brooklyn, whatever it was thatAlex just wantedleft him in an exorcism and slammed into me like a freight train. “To keep you in mind,” he finished lamely.
“Thanks,” I whispered.
He gulped. “Thanks for the recommendation.”
“You’re welcome.” After a stiff silence I added, “Okay, bye.”
“Okay. Bye.”
And then I went back to reading, absorbing precisely zero words, thinking about Alex thinking about me in the Cape Cod Target.
After a vibey, old-school French brunch where the pot of cosmos sits in the third chair at our outdoor table, Miriam and I head to the alley behind Alex’s place.
“Are youfinallygoing to tell me about last weekend?” she asks as I climb up the fire escape to the second-story balconies. “You know, especially considering you guys now co-own a plant?”
I grunt as I heave myself over the flimsy rail. “Toss it up.”
Miriam grabs the ruby-red flowers by the base of the plastic pot. She lowers the planter between her thighs, then granny-shots them up to me. A light dusting of soil rains down on her, and she squeaks and dodges out of the way. I set the flowers against one corner of the balcony.
Miriam holds up a hand as I make to lift myself back over the edge. “You can’t come back down until you spill.” Her voice echoes in the empty alley.
My elbows push against the rail as I glare down at her. Being this close to the mattress where I stayed safe and warm in his arms all night is certainly making me feel warm again, but no longersafe.“There’s nothing to tell. It was late, I didn’t want to chance the subway, and Alex’s place was close. All we did was—”
“Snuggle all night like a pair of lovesick teenagers?” Miriam shifts her weight to her other hip. “Yeah, got that part. I want to know what itmeansto you, buttercup.”
What itmeansto me? What the eleven-dollar bar tab at Sleight of Hand and the Tide Free & Gentle in a Cape Cod Target and the BYO pizza at Eataly means to me? What it means when Alex calls me pretty, says he’d be lost without me? What it means to me that he could have—he really could have—lordedI told you soover my head when I discovered how wrong I was about him, and instead he gave me the comforter to his bed and an old T-shirt?
It meanseverything,I finally admit, the truth breaking free from a cage in my mind. But I don’t know if it means everything tohim,and if it means even a single drop less than everything to him, the all-or-nothing heart on my sleeve won’t be able to take it.
I breathe out a sigh, shaking my head. “Nothing.”
“Liar.”
