“Not anymore. This old guy used to live below us who snored so loudly I could hear him through the floor.”
“You heard him snoring? That’s insane.”
“Insane doesn’t even begin to describe it. Then there was my former next-door neighbor, who thumped every time he came home from work. Not like he was throwing down his shoes or something. It sounded like he dropped two concrete blocks right after he closed the door. I ran into him one time in the hall and asked him about the thumps. He had no idea what I was talking about. To this day I’m still dying to know what those thumps were.”
“What happened with your downstairs neighbor who snored?”
“He died a few months ago.”
Whoa. New York neighbor noise is hardcore. It’s like you have to put up with the noise until your neighbor either moves out or dies.
“That’s intense,” I say.
“Heavy walkers are the worst. They shake your whole apartment.”
“I know! What are they doing up there? Why can’t they ever sit down?” I love how Mica and I understand each other. We think the same way. Usually I have to explain myself to people who never really seem like they’re entirely with me. But with Mica, there’s a sensation of her understanding what I mean before I even finish what I’m saying. I’ve never felt that kind of connection to a friend before. “Hey, I have to get out of here. Do you want to do something?”
“I have plans with some friends, but you’re welcome to join us. We’re meeting up at Tick Tock.”
“What’s that?”
“Only the best diner on the Lower East.”
“No thanks, I’m okay.” Tagging along with Mica’s friends would feel like I’m intruding. Her friends don’t want a random person showing up. “I’ll probably go read at a café.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Have fun. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
After we hang up, I consider my options. Sadie and Darcy are still out. It’s just me and the herd of elephants. I could go read at a café. But D is making it impossible to concentrate on anything. I can barely read a paragraph before he infiltrates my brain. Next thing I know, I’ve been staring at the same page for half an hour. Or staring into space. D and I are going out tomorrow. Just thinking about the date turns me into a hot mess. I could walk around, but it’s still broiling out. The heat wave is supposed to break tomorrow, taking the city down from over 100 to the low 80s.
I decide to go to bed early. I’m exhausted, anyway. The elephants are emotionally draining. My earbuds block them out when I turn my music up loud. Then I lie back on the cool sheet, close my eyes, and play fantasies of D like favorite movie scenes that always make me feel better.
TWENTY-TWO
SADIE
WHEN AUSTIN SHOWS UP AT my door with a dozen long-stemmed pink roses, I’m overcome with emotion. Not just because he brought me flowers. Or because he brought me my favorite flowers. I’m amazed that a boy I met one week ago already knows me so well.
We were obviously meant to be.
“It’s like you know me better than anyone,” I say. “How is that even possible?”
Austin comes in, handing me the flowers. They look fresh, their petals soft and flawless. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too.”
“Not seeing you yesterday was torture.” He slides his hand through my hair. Then he kisses me like he hasn’t seen me for two years instead of two days.
I float to the kitchen on a cloud, breathing in the sweet fragrance of the roses. Digging around for a vase under the sink, I uncover a rusty cooling rack and some ancient silverware way in the back. The cracked rubber band around the silverware is so old it’s sticking to a knife. We really need to clean everything out if we’re staying here after this summer. The thought of what other progressively disgusting treasures have yet to be unearthed is a scary one. Miraculously a chipped clear vase was stashed behind the cooling rack. I grab it without looking too hard at what else is back there.
My mom said you should trim two inches off the bottom of flower stems under running water before you put them in a vase. The flowers are supposed to last longer that way. While I’m at the sink trimming the stems, Austin comes up behind me. He rubs my shoulders in slow circles.
“You’re so delicate,” he whispers. “I love how fragile you are.”
“Don’t break me.”
He leans against the counter next to me. “And I love how well I know you. Which is why I know you’re going to love this old-school board gaming group.”
We were talking about how no one appreciates old-school board games anymore. When Austin was younger, he used to sit for hours with his best friend playing all the classics: Sorry!, Clue, Monopoly, Parcheesi, Life. They would have gaming marathons that lasted all afternoon. A sleepover usually followed, featuring scary movies and popcorn with extra butter. Austin misses the pure joy of simple fun. So he found a board gaming group. Tonight will be his first time going. They meet at the upstairs café of the Tribeca Whole Foods. I wanted to go as soon as Austin told me about it. Their dorktastic meeting location was just icing on the cake.
I don’t really know what I was prepared for. Something like a few people with board games spread out in front of them mixed together with Whole Foods shoppers eating dinner from the hot food bar. Nothing like the scene we’re greeted with. The board gaming group has appropriated entire tables. We’re talking long tables. They’re sitting in groups of four or six or eight playing games I’ve never seen before. These games are beyond intricate. As Austin and I tour the tables, I notice games with so many pieces and cards it’s hard to believe they all go to one game.
“How long have you been playing this game?” I ask a guy with a half sleeve of ink and horn-rims.
“Four hours,” he says.
“How much longer do you have?”
“Probably another four.”
This isn’t just a board gaming group. This is the most hardcore board gaming group ever.
“Do you recognize any of these games?” Austin asks me after we’ve seen them all.
“None. Are they from a different planet?”
“The games or the gamers? Eight hours for one game? Do we have to do that?”
“I hope not. But at least it’ll be easy to take a snack break if we do.”
“Let’s try to find the activity director and see what we can play. I think his name is Michael.”
We track down Michael playing a game so elaborate it has two huge main boards, plus individual smaller boards. I’m surprised to see that Michael is a relatively normal-looking dude. Almost everyone else here is rocking some eccentric look. I’ve only seen one other girl. I don’t think I’ve seen any other college kids. Most of these guys are probably in their late twenties/early thirties.
“We’re new,” Austin explains to Michael.
“It’s your first day with us?” Michael asks.
“Yeah.”
“Welcome. Let’s see what’s starting up. There should be a Settlers group starting in about fifteen minutes.”
“What if we . . . haven’t played that before?” I ask.
“You’ve never played Settlers of Catan?” Michael is incredulous.
We shake our heads.
“How about Puerto Rico?”
We shake our heads some more.
“Asara?”
“We’re not familiar with any of the games we’ve seen,” Austin says, “but we’re excited to learn.”
“That’s the right attitude!” Michael looks around. “Let’s start you on Asara. It’s a cool fantasy game where you build castles. Does that sound good?”
“That sounds awesome,” Austin says. The adorable thing is, he totally means it. I can sense younger Austin whirring with excitement under this older exterior.
Michael hooks us up with four other guys who are on board with Asara. We find a free end of a table and settle in.
“I’m Austin.” He extends his hand to each
of the guys. “This is my girlfriend, Sadie.”
Austin just called me his girlfriend. That’s the first time he’s introduced me to a group of people as his girlfriend. Or to anyone as his girlfriend.
This. Is. Happening.
The guys shake my hand. The whole thing is so adult, what with the handshaking and the girlfriend calling and the chilling with fully grown men.
“A pleasure to have you, Sadie,” the guy across from me says. I’ve already forgotten his name in my deliriously psyched state. But I’m too embarrassed to ask him what it is again.
“For reals,” the guy crammed against me on the bench says. “We hardly ever get girls!”
I wonder if he means at the gaming group or in general.
Asara is super fun. You have to build castles in different colors. There are a few different ways to win points. You can win points for the highest castle. You can win points for the greatest number of castles. You can also earn points for having bling on your castles. The castle pieces are cardboard cutouts that lie flat on the board in front of you. Some pieces have gold embellishments. Others have rays of light shining from the windows. Every castle has to have a standard base and top. How many pieces and what kinds of pieces you build in between are up to you.
But the best part of playing Asara? Is pressing up against Austin on the bench. He rests his hand on my thigh. I give him a shy smile.
“Someone’s winning for highest castle,” the guy on the other side of me announces.
It takes me a second to realize he means me. “What can I say? White castles are my jam.”
“I thought counting colored doors was your jam,” Austin interjects.
“A person can have more than one jam,” I clarify. “Just so everyone knows. Look how tall this white castle is. There’s one, two, like thirteen pieces.”
“You were clearly meant to play Asara.”
And win Asara. I end up winning the first game I’ve ever played. Against hardcore gamers who have been beasting on Asara for years.
“Damn, Sadie,” the guy across from me says. “Killing it on your first try! You are good.”
“She’s a natural,” the guy crammed against me says. He really doesn’t need to be this close. Which maybe I should have told him from the start. But I didn’t want to be rude on our first day. “I should show you my castle tower adaptation.”
“Sorry?”
“Game adaptations,” the guy across from me jumps in. “When we think we can improve an aspect of a game that isn’t working as well as it could, we invent a change. Some of us have invented entirely new games. See that guy in the gray shirt over there? He invented Climbers.”
“What’s that?”
“Only the coolest blocks game ever. Most of these guys would say it’s not complex enough to bring. But I’ll bring it next time if you want. I think you’d dig it.”
“Blocks are hot.”
“Right?”
When we leave three hours later, I’m floating in a happy pink bubble of Official Girlfriend Status. I can’t wait to go back and be around people who know me as Austin’s girlfriend. It felt so good sitting next to him the whole time. Our thighs touching as we slid closer to each other. Our arms brushing together as we played. Smiling at the inside jokes he whispered in my ear. We’re a real couple now. Austin put the Official Girlfriend Status out there. No one can dispute what we are.
The heat wave broke this morning. It’s such a relief to not only breathe normally outside but to have a cooler summer breeze on our skin. We take a minute outside the main doors of Whole Foods to just breathe. The air is so refreshing that we decide to walk home along the river. This is the way I’ve been dreaming the perfect summer night with the perfect boy would be: walking along the water in no rush to get anywhere, holding hands, laughing, talking about everything we have in common. Stopping every now and then to kiss.
Walking with Austin is exactly like that. We have to keep stopping to make out. It’s not only that we want to make out—we have to make out. I’ve always wanted to feel this kind of passion. Sometimes I see couples who are so into each other they can’t contain their attraction. They do things like kiss each other the second they get up after dinner at a restaurant. I saw a couple like that when my parents took me to Mr. Chow’s for my graduation dinner. They were so cute. I remember noticing them when the hostess sat us at our table. They were sitting on stools at one of the high tables, two lovers so enraptured by each other it was like the rest of us didn’t even exist. They smiled at each other the whole time. They were the opposite of most couples you see at restaurants who are barely looking at each other with nothing to say. When they got up to leave, he pulled her close to him and kissed her deeply. The group of girls at the table next to ours actually sighed. Theirs was the kind of love you rarely see, but when you do it reminds you of what you’re looking for. It gives you hope that what you want to find actually exists.
The same thing happens when I see couples kissing on the street. They kiss on stoops or leaning up against buildings or intertwined in the middle of the sidewalk, oblivious to the swift stream of people bending around them. I’ve always wanted to be those people kissing on the street. The ones you see where you want to be them so badly the longing rips into your chest and takes your breath away.
I’ve always wanted to be them. And now we are.
People circle around us as we kiss on the path. Runners fly by. Moms power walk, pushing babies in strollers. An old couple picks their way by slowly, the man leaning on his cane, the woman with her arm linked through his. But the people around us hardly register. When Austin kisses me, it blocks out everything else. This is how it must have felt to be the girl whose boyfriend kissed her at Mr. Chow’s. That kiss was an image I’ll never forget. Maybe someone is passing by us right now thinking the same thing about us.
We start walking again. I laugh when Austin wobbles a little.
“Can’t even walk straight,” he says.
“How am I still standing?”
“Did I take your breath away?”
“Oh my god.” I stop walking. “I was just thinking that. Sometimes I see people kissing on the street or at dinner or whatever and they’re so in love it’s almost painful to watch. Not painful in a bad way. Painful because I want to be them so much it hurts, you know? And now I realized that we’re those people I’d always wanted to be.” I wrap my arms around Austin. “We’re them.”
He looks at me with so much tenderness tears spring to my eyes.
“You had me at holistic wellness,” I say.
“What?”
“Just kiss me.”
Austin kisses me even more intensely than before. If it’s possible for your brain to short-circuit from an overload of emotion, I’m pretty sure that’s happening.
We walk some more until we get to the Zen garden. That’s what Brooke calls it. The Zen garden is this area on the opposite side of the path from the river. It’s all willowy grasses and tall sunflowers, with simple wooden benches dotted over a winding path. A series of stepping stones lines the border between the main walking path of the park and the narrow garden path. As if he’s reading my mind, Austin takes my hand, angling me near the stepping stones so I can climb up. I climb the stones with him walking beside me, holding my hand the whole time. Austin would never let me fall.
Walking north again along the water, I turn around to look behind us. One World Trade shines against the purple sky. The way its colors change throughout the day is astonishing. I love how its glass reflects the clouds when you catch it midday at the right time. The glass is rose gold before sunset. Then metallic silver before twilight. You can trace the moods of the building almost as if it has a life of its own.
“What are you looking at?” Austin asks.
“One World Trade. I think its angles are really beautiful.”
“And I know you dig the spire.”
“The spire is awesome on its own, but I also love how it complements the
Empire State Building’s spire. Did you know the ESB’s LED lighting system can create sixteen million colors?”
“See, this is why I love being with you. How could I have come this far and not known that?”
“Are you making fun of me?”
“Maybe a little.”
“Fine, but just know that making fun goes both ways.”
The Perry Street towers suddenly appear across the street. Austin’s car is parked a few blocks over. This is where we’re supposed to leave the park. Except I don’t want to leave. I can’t stand the thought of having our perfect day come to an end. We go up to the railing that traces the river’s edge. Austin leans against its smooth curved wood. I lean against Austin, my cheek pressed against his chest.
“I love how you knew I would love the board gaming group,” I say.
“Of course I did. You appreciate those kinds of simple things.”
“How do you know everything?”
“It’s like we were made for one another,” he says. “That’s the only way I can explain it.”
We tighten our arms around each other. Austin is right. We were totally made for one another. People would probably say it’s too early to know something like that. But it doesn’t matter that it’s only been a week. What I feel is real. And I know that Austin feels the same way.
We lean against each other, watching the New Jersey skyline. A peaceful sensation, serene and tingly, washes over me.
“I can’t wait to watch the fireworks,” I say.
“Fourth of July rules.”
“Where do you usually watch them?”
“Hmm. My friend’s roof has a decent view. Or I’ll just go down to the waterfront.”
“What’s your view like from the other side?”
“Other side of the river?”
“Yeah.”
“You can see the entire Manhattan skyline from the waterfront. It’s one of the most amazing views in the world.”
“Take me there.”
“To Jersey?”