We walked toward M Street. Holiday wreaths with red velvet ribbons hung on black lanterns like festive lollipops even though it was almost February. Everything was closed. Tristan said, “DC, the city that loves to sleep.”
After roaming the cobblestoned streets, we stumbled upon a deserted corner café. It was lamplit and sleepy, gold garland taped along the marble counter, round tables too small to comfortably eat or drink from, inoffensive jazz humming for no one.
Even though it was past ten, Tristan ordered a coffee. He took his black, which mystified me, watching with amusement as I drowned mine in creamer, turning it a milky brown. We stared through the window at the deep-blue street.
“How’d your meeting with Janine go?” he asked.
I was a little surprised he remembered. “She has this cat that jumps down from furniture when you least expect it.”
He said, unhappily, “Yeah, I’ve met that cat.” He raised his mug to his mouth but then set it down without taking a sip. “It’s funny. When I told my friend I was meeting up with somebody, he assumed it was Nia. When I said it wasn’t he was so confused. He couldn’t recover from it, just kept harping on the logistics.”
“Like inThe Simswhen there’s a glitch and they keep walking into the wall. Also why would you tell your friend?”
“It just kind of slipped out. He doesn’t know the details.”
I feigned innocence. “What details?”
He playfully knocked his knee into mine, then hooked a hand under my thigh, squeezing it. The small gesture set my skin on fire.
We floated toward the Potomac after finishing our coffees. The edges of my real life blurred, leaving in its place a dreamlike approximation. It was only in this state that I could forget about Jay’s proposition, offering myself entirely to the present. It started snowing as we crossed the canal bridge. My and Tristan’s coat sleeves brushed each other with rote familiarity. By the time we reached the waterfront, flurries whirled above us like Dorothy’s house in the tornado. As we stood at the edge of the satiny black river, everything seemed possible: that I could be here with Tristan without undermining my relationship with Jay, that I could write the story I needed.
Tristan’s breath made a cloud in front of him when he spoke. “Do you like not living in a state?”
“What?”
“DC. It’s not a state.” He said it like I didn’t learn this in first grade. “I didn’t realize how big of an issue it was until I moved here. California is huge and politically powerful. DC is the seat of power but basically has none of its own. It’s weird.”
“Yeah. That part of living here is trash.”
“The license plates confused me at first too. I was like, why the fuck are they still hung up on the Boston Tea Party?”
I laughed. “I don’t think people know we literally don’t have a senator; our House representative can’t even vote on anything.”
“That’s so fucked. Why not just become a state?”
“What the fuck you think we’ve been trying to do! One thing that is cool is the history here. There was a real-life slave escape on this river. We did a play about it in elementary school. I played one of the slaves, obviously.”
Tristan said, “We did a play about Wounded Knee in fifth grade. Jay and I played Lakotas. We had to fall over and pretend to die when we were shot, but we’d always start giggling.”
After an uncertain pause we both broke out laughing.
“I wonder what the plays kids will have to act out about this moment will be like.”
Tristan toyed with his coat zipper. “I’m sure those’ll be fucked-up too.”
I hesitated. “Do you want kids?”
“Yeah. You?”
“I don’t know.”
He cocked his head. “Marriage?”
“Definitely not. You?”
“Definitely yes.” We smiled at each other as though every discovery about our incompatibility was somehow amusing, a game. The more of a fling this was, the fewer hard decisions we’d have to make about the future.
Snow had fallen in his hair, and he looked like an angel. Shoulders hunched up to his ears, he said, “It’s cold as shit. Let’s go inside.”
