“Alright,” Aleksandr replies. Drawing her closer, he cradles her face, thumb running over her jaw.
The storefronts around them are still closed. It’s early morning, downtown before the weekend crowds descend. Locals walk dogs, and restaurantstaff unload deliveries into cellars, laughs, different languages, rolled-up sleeves. The stark scent of watered-down disinfectant washes the streets.
We can make perfectly good coffee at home,he’d commented as she dragged him to her favorite coffee shop.Sometimes I want someone else to make the coffee,she’d joked,not me.Aleksandr had raised an eyebrow, holding the shop door open for her.When’s the last time you made coffee?he’d asked. Making a dismissive noise, Lili waved him away, greeted by the welcome sounds of the café, already excited for her oat milk latte.
She knows—is vividly aware—how mismatched they are: Aleksandr in his linen suit, a concession to summer; her in a miniskirt, comfy oversized sweater—a provision against the coming chill of upstate mornings—and combat boots, hair in a messy bun, tote over her shoulder, holding his hand.
Inexplicably, though, she finds she likes it—the contrast of them, the growing comfort in the difference.
“What are you doing for the rest of the day?” Lili asks, looking up at him.
Aleksandr brushes his thumb over her mouth. “Some work.”
“It’s Sunday.”
“Capitalism waits for no man,” he replies. At his sudden burst of laughter, Lili realizes she’d immediately frowned. The sound of his laugh softens her scowl. “Then dinner at Michael and Andrew’s place,” he adds.
“Where do they live? Let me guess, Greenwich?” she teases. Sneaking her hands under his suit jacket, she wraps her arms around his waist, leaning into him.
“Hardly. They’re in Chelsea.”
“Ah, yes, of course—so sorry,” she says. “My apologies—to think they’dcommuteinto the city? The horror, genuinely.”
“So mouthy,” Aleksandr comments, pulling her closer to him before she can protest. Lili feels his grin before he kisses her. This warm kiss is long and gentle, calm and kind; a kiss likegood morningandI’ll miss you, the feeling of waking up beside him again, and she feels—shefeels—she feels like herself.
When he pulls away, Lili strains forward on her tiptoes, trying to prolong the kiss.
“Thursday, then,” Aleksandr says. That sly smile: like a secret, like knowledge, like comfort, like power.
“Thursday,” she repeats, a little breathless.
He grins and presses another kiss to her mouth. “Go,” he says, “you’ll miss your train.”
“Fine, fine,” Lili says, adjusting her bags on her shoulder as she balances her takeaway cup. She’s meeting Amina at her apartment a block away before heading to Grand Central together. “Bye!”
Once she crosses the road, Lili glances back over her shoulder.
Across the street, Aleksandr is still watching her.
Seeing Lili turn, he smiles, and she feels a smile break across her own face—and why does it feel like she’s constantly fucking smiling, now?—because he’s not supposed to look at her like that, so brazen, so open,proud—like she’s sunshine, and it’s not—it’s not supposed to feel like this. Like her life is gleaming, hidden pockets of joy finding daylight.
She tries to swallow it back, but there’s this balloon of hope in her chest, and it’s getting harder to smother.
Questions—Could I have this?—cohering into assertions.
Yes, I can.
A few cars pass, interrupting her view of him.
Looking away—feeling like she’s pocketing a secret—Lili keeps walking, rounding the corner onto Broome.
Amina lives in an old industrial building: big windows, open floor plan, fire escape they’ve had dinner on countless times. It’s perfect for painting—lots of light—although Amina also keeps a studio in Greenpoint; an expenditure that’s honestly absurd, but Lili picks her battles. Some of her neighbors here are still artists, holding onto legendary under-market leases from the seventies, albeit alongside edgier tech bros and young, rich families. The front door is nondescript, blending in like a service door, and not clearly residential. No one keeps their names updated in the buzzer system.
Lili stabs the old intercom. “Hey!” she greets. “It’s me, I’m downstairs.”
A loud burst of static—the system doesn’t work half the time—before: “Come on up!” Her friend’s voice squawks through, distorted by crackling white noise. “I’m just finishing painting, then I’ll start packing.”
Lili’s mouth drops open. “Ami,what? Are you jok—”
