She set the tray back down, and I slid my hand around the back of her neck and pulled her in, kissing her with everything I wasn’t going to say, until the small sound she made meant she’d gone somewhere else. Then I kissed her once more, and pulled back.
She didn’t open her eyes right away. When she did she looked at me with a soft, unfocused look. “Where did that come from?”
I almost told her. It was right there, three words and the floor of my whole life behind them. But I didn’t. I smiled instead. “Just thanking you.”
35/
city lights at night
alyssa
I'd barely heardfrom Julian in a week. He'd been traveling for business. Atlanta, then L.A., then somewhere I lost track of, and the version of him that came back, didn’t come up for air. Back-to-back sixteen-hour days at a stretch, running on coffee and protein bars.
I texted him a little after six.
Haven’t heard from you all week. You alive over there?
JULIAN
Barely. Long week.
Have you eaten anything that didn’t come out of a wrapper?
JULIAN
Protein bars.
Julian. You need to eat.
JULIAN
I’ll eat later, when I’m done
It’s almost nine, Julian. Soon later will be tomorrow
There was no “done” with him. I’d watched this man work at home on a Saturday and stay in the same chair from sunup to dark. “Later” was what he said to get people off his back.
Around nine I tried again.
You home yet?
Still at the office.
I didn’t write back. I just got up off the couch.
Micah was gone for the night, a sleepover at Simone and Raschad’s,a tent full of eight-year-olds in the living room, God help Simone. I’d already eaten, already cleaned up, already packed the leftovers into containers. I pulled them back out of the fridge: baked chicken, yellow rice, and smothered green beans. I warmed it up, tucked a fork and napkin into a bag, and grabbed my coat.
It was a short walk. That was the thing about living downtown: WadeHouse was maybe four blocks away, lit up against the dark, keeping its own hours.
The lobby was quiet and the guard at the desk knew my face; he buzzed me through with a nod and a “he’s still up there” that told me I wasn’t the only one who’d clocked it. Most of the building sat dark, but the bass from the studio level vibrated up through the floor. The executive floors weren’t locked. They were just empty.
I rode up to Julian’s floor alone. His assistant’s desk sat dark outside his office, and the door was open a few inches, throwing a wedge of light into the hall, letting his voice out with it.
“That’s not the structure we agreed to,” he was saying. “You don’t get to renegotiate the split because you think we’re under the gun.”
I knocked and pushed the door the rest of the way open. He looked up mid-sentence, and something flickered, surprised, then a smile. A second later it smoothed back over and he lifted a hand.Five minutes. He tipped his head toward the couch.Sit.
I didn’t sit.
