She feels close to bursting with pain.
If she just holds on tighter—if she just tries harder—they’ll stay with her—the loss won’t be complete—
Then, fast, desperate anger rears:You couldn’t have texted me sooner?she thinks. The collapse of hope feels worse—sickening, now—after having teetered on edge for days, waiting for Jane’s response; in its place, violence snaps sudden and heated. She wants it all gone: the harsh overwhelm of shame—how her eagerness pushes them away, her insufficiencynot enough to merit real attention—the burning stupidity of having yearned for this, for having evenhoped—
“Alright, birthday girl?” Amina affectionately knocks her shoulder.
Lili looks up, startled. She catches Jackie’s glance in the mirror, watching her.
She has outrun this grief before; she will do it again. She’ll swallow it whole, before it can swallow her.
Lili flashes a bright, hard grin. “Yes, all good.” She throws back the rest of her drink. The rush of alcohol feels strong, and possible. “Come on, let’s dance!”
Back in the bar, she keeps drinking, until she feels buoyant, until it’s difficult to think.
Heavier music, more dancing, unfamiliar cocktails—James hands her something with whiskey; Lili makes a face but drinks—salt still sore on her lips from more shots, licking a streak of salt shaken along Amina’s collarbone, giggling when Amina kisses her full on the mouth, the burn of alcohol and acid hit of lime. “Not again,” James mutters, “I’m never allowed to kiss other people.” “Jesus Christ,I’llkiss you, you sad idiot!” slurs one of his best friends Hassan, making his boyfriend Tommy burst out laughing, his drink spraying, and Jackie shrieks as it hits her—then Amina has a Negroni that Lili wants some of, cold press of glass, laughter in her ear—and Hassan sees friends of friends, an uproar of welcome, blurred introductions, new faces. She keeps drinking until there is only the ground under her feet, the bodies of her friends around her, the night unspooling full and desirable, the exhilarating focus of breathing, one breath after the other, the immediacy of only what’s in front of her.
Spilling out onto the street hours later, heat and cigarette smoke are thick in the noisy air. The pavement is packed with people, alive and dark and gleaming: red stream of traffic lights, clatter of heels over sidewalk cellar doors, angry entreatment of car horns in traffic, the acrid rasp of spliff from smokers on the curb.
As her friends discuss where to head next, Lili sways, humming along to music; an arm steadies her, James laughing. She grins; she feels warm and glowing, after-hours brightness. Caught in it, wanting more, she spins, whirling out into the street.
Thoughts cluster in the back of her mind, an insistent heavy presence,anxiety that feels temporarily sourceless, but she doesn’t want to listen, not now—horns honk, and someone pulls her back; Jamie scolds her through laughter, telling her to stop being stupid. “Jesus, don’t call herstupid,” admonishes Jackie, “it’s her birthday!” Giggling, Lili wraps her arms around Jamie, spinning them together in circles.
It’s late. There are enough of them that Ubers are a headache, but no one wants to take the train back to Brooklyn or uptown. West Village, crash at Jamie’s place? Amina’s apartment on Broome is closer, but too small, and Jamie’s fridge is always stocked with LaCroix and neat boxes of prepared food from Citarella, and Jackie’s saying something about breakfast in the Village tomorrow.
Lili doesn’t realize she’s ended up in Tribeca instead, until she’s stumbling into the foyer of his building. The shine of One World Trade looms above the cast-iron lofts. She giggles as she ducks past his doorman. The elevator dings. “You can go on up, Miss Marwan.” Damn it, she thinks, he saw her; she whispers a thank you, vision spinning dangerously.
It’s dark in the loft.
Quiet, she should be quiet—take her shoes off, minimize the noise. Lili starts trying to undo the laces of her boots while still walking. The walls spin dangerously.
A lamp flicks on, low light spreading over the floor. “Lili?”
Perfect, what she was after. Abandoning her struggle with her shoes, she rushes over, throwing her arms around him. The black cotton of his shirt is thin, warm with sleep. Of course, even his pajamas are black; imagine if he wore, like, a university shirt. She starts to giggle.
“Lili, what are you—”
“Shhh,” she hushes him aggressively. “You’ll wake everyone up!”
Aleksandr sighs, his hands coming to rest on the back of her head.
“I don’t have neighbors,” he says.
But she’s not interested in that anymore, looking up at him, because he’s handsome, insultingly so—his expression is vaguely disarmed, like he’s just woken up: half-mussed hair, the slight part in his lips. Lili can’t remember what she doesn’t like about him because, suddenly, she’s seized by the sense ofhow muchshe likes him: likes how he looks, likes how tall he is, likes his body against hers, likes the reassuring weight of his hands on her—and that’s why she came here, she recalls clear and sharp, anddidn’t follow her friends to the West Village. Lili runs her hands up his chest—if she’s quick about it, he won’t even know she was here: it’s dark, late night, sex, and she can leave fast—she reaches up, trying to pull him down to kiss her, she really wants him to kiss her—
Heaviness—gravity?—no, hands on her waist hold her down.
“Are you drunk?”
She shrugs, swaying to music from the bar still playing in her head. “Maybe a little?”
He frowns. Oh, she didn’t want todisappointhim. “How much have you had?”
She grins, running her hands over his chest. “Who’s to say?”
The material of his shirt really is thin; she could just slip her hands—
“Lili.”
