Where We Left Off

  The kind of friends you told everything to because they were the fixed points in your ever-changing universe and who told you everything because you were the fixed point in theirs.

  Milton had a seemingly endless supply of stories about adventures he’d had with his theater friends from high school. Nights they had to stay at school until two in the morning to finish painting the scenery for opening night the next day. Nights they told their parents they were at the theater but actually went out to bars and clubs. Times he snuck away to mess around with guys in the lighting booth or the sound booth or the catwalks (Milton had a bit of a thing for techies).

  Milton’s roommate, Robbie, seemed to be the one person immune to Milton’s charms. He was quiet and kept to himself, leaving the room whenever we were hanging out in there even though Milton always made an effort to include him in the conversation. Milton said at first he’d worried that Robbie was freaked out by having a gay roommate, but he’d realized he was just pretty solitary.

  Gretchen’s roommate, on the other hand, was the opposite. She was aggressively cheerful and always wanted to talk to anyone that Gretchen brought to their room. She had frizzy red hair that she straightened religiously, but she always missed a spot in the back, like she was waging an epic, unwinnable battle against a part of herself.

  Within the first month of school, she had already joined something like ten clubs and was always encouraging Gretchen to come to this meeting or that event with her. Gretchen was basically a saint, but even she couldn’t keep her cool with Megan all the time. Thomas started calling her Megan-with-no-H because he said she was like the inverse of Meghan from Felicity. Then, so she wouldn’t know we were talking about her, we shortened it to No-H.

  Sometimes, No-H would launch into cheery, interminable monologues and Gretchen would silently gather up her study materials and slink into the common room. If it was occupied, she’d come to my room, sink to the floor next to my bed—Gretchen loved sitting on the floor and had the kind of excellent posture that made it look like she sat on a throne even when wearing sweats on our dorm carpet—take deep, centering breaths in an attempt to cleanse herself of the static of No-H, and then work in total silence for hours, seemingly undistracted by either my sighs at my work or Charles’ clumsy entrances, exits, and muttering at his computer.

  After I’d gotten the job at Mug Shots, Gretchen had started coming and doing her work there when No-H was driving her particularly up the wall, and I’d slip her coffees that people sent back or that went unclaimed at the counter.

  Gretchen was from just outside Ithaca and was really close with her huge extended family, so she’d had a lot of experience blocking out noise and chaos. That No-H was able to get to her even though that was a true testament to her level of irritation. Gretchen had tons of stories featuring a zillion different cousins, aunts, uncles, and second-somethings-twice-removed that sounded idyllic and chaotic, like scenes from a movie.

  Family reunions in parks where picnic tables full of food got eaten by dogs or doused in flash floods. Christmas Eves when all of the siblings and cousins slept jumbled together in living rooms, attics, and basements of various houses and opened metric tons of presents all at once. Birthday parties shared with three other people that sprawled over backyard fields and lasted late into the night.

  Thomas’ stories were rambling and often featured his twin brother, Andy. They sounded inseparable. Thomas even narrated in the first person plural. They had only gone to different colleges because, after a guidance counselor told their parents she thought they were overly dependent on one another, their parents had said they’d only pay for school if they went along with it. Neither Thomas nor Andy had really spoken to their parents since then. They chatted and texted constantly throughout the day and played video games online together at night with a group of friends they’d been playing with for years.

  Charles didn’t really tell stories so much as give disquisitions on various topics that sometimes included how he’d learned about them. So, I found out that he knew so much about computers because he built one as part of a school project, taken under the wing of a particularly zealous teacher, scavenging the parts from a computer lab graveyard of tech going back to the seventies in the basement of the school. (This was also the moment when I started to think that maybe when Charles said he went to “a good high school” that he actually meant some kind of super-genius school for science and technology.)

  Thomas was irritated by Charles, I knew. He took things Charles said personally and got offended when Charles corrected him. But since Charles was also the only one who No-H seemed flummoxed by talking to, and since Thomas had hated No-H with a passion ever since she’d yammered at him about some study she’d read about how codependent most twin relationships were, Thomas usually suffered him without complaint.

  I saw Will a lot, too, and though our hangouts had begun grudgingly, he clearly wasn’t just humoring me anymore. We got along in this way that shouldn’t have worked but did, like the first time someone tells you that Brie and pear go well together and it seems impossible until the tastes are lingering on your tongue.

  Sometimes we just watched Netflix and Will got takeout, never accepting the money I tried to press on him, which was lucky for me since I didn’t really have any to spare. With anyone else I would’ve tried to argue over the bill, but Will rolled his eyes when I tried and made it clear my protests irritated him, so I stopped. Other times we’d talk for hours—meandering conversations that spiked in heated disagreements and equally heated laughter.

  Will was the only person who had ever made arguing with him feel safe. He wasn’t angry or threatened if I disagreed with him, so I found myself licensed to be more forceful with my opinions than I ever had been. One night, disagreeing over I don’t even remember what, I rose onto my knees on the couch and yelled, “That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said!” It had sounded ridiculous the moment it was out of my mouth, but Will, after a beat, had grinned and ruffled my hair, pulling me down on top of him as he laughed, clearly pleased with me.

  ON HALLOWEEN, Milton, Gretchen, Charles, Thomas, and I went to the Village Parade with a whole group of people from our dorms. In the dining hall before we went, we each came up with lists of things we thought we’d see and then made bingo boards of them, agreeing that the first person to get bingo got to pick the next thing we watched at movie night. Of course, Milton turned out to have a huge advantage because, being from New York, he’d been to the parade before.

  The rest of us had no reason to imagine that we should put down things like “a person dropping a puppet head,” “someone’s hair catching on fire,” “a child being terrified of an overly zealous adult in costume and screaming,” or “drunk dude running out of the bar and dropping trou to moon the parade.” (Although, I did randomly get lucky because I wrote down “a dragon,” mostly as a joke, but then there was a sister and brother dressed as Puff the Magic Dragon and Puff’s little brother.)

  I called Will when I got home, exhilarated and a little tipsy.

  “You know we met two years ago, today,” I told him.

  “I remember,” Will said. I could hear the smile in his voice. “You looked hilarious falling off that skateboard.”

  I got flustered all over again at the memory.

  He’d been coordinated and sophisticated, and I—well, I’d fallen off my skateboard, half in actual clumsiness and half to disguise the fact that I got hard under Will’s stare, as if his hands were touching me everywhere his gaze landed while he looked me up and down for the first time.

  He had been abrupt and aggressive and a little bit rude. He’d pissed off Daniel, made me feel like a loser for having no one to hang out with on Halloween, and had even managed to make Rex roll his eyes. Despite all of it, he had been the most dynamic person I’d ever met. He was honest and uncompromising and didn’t seem to second-guess himself. He wasn’t awkward or nervous or uncertain about anything, and for some reason that made him
seem invincible, superhuman.

  He’d driven me home after we’d played Pictionary, and he’d complained about Daniel and what he called his “helpless act.” “Of course Rex would go for that,” he’d said, shaking his head and muttering something about a hero complex.

  “Why do think it’s an act?” I asked, since to me Daniel mostly seemed like he tried to cover up the fact that he was sometimes bad at doing things that even I knew were common sense.

  Will turned to look at me for the first time since he started driving, as if he’d forgotten I was there, actually listening to his vitriolic monologue. He pursed his lips and let out a long breath. “Ugh, it’s probably not even an act,” he said finally. And then he sulked.

  “I don’t get it. What’s your problem with Daniel? Are you still in love with Rex or something?”

  “No,” he said, with finality but without force. At first I thought it was because he didn’t mean it, but after I knew his habits a little better, I realized it was because Will said what he meant and didn’t care if people believed him or not. When he dropped me off at home, just before he drove away, he rolled down the window and said, “Happy Halloween.” His voice bordered on mocking, but he had chosen to prolong our conversation, and I decided that had to count for something.

  “Watch out for the tricks,” I said, trying to wink at him and succeeding only in kind of squeezing my eyes shut emphatically.

  “It’s the treats you really have to watch out for,” he said, and drove away with the window down, like maybe he was hoping to hear more from me. Or maybe he’d just liked the fresh air.

  After that, all I’d wanted was for Will to like me. Well, and to be around him all the time. I had always second-guessed myself, always been a little uncertain. I’d been raised to be polite to people and not to make waves. So Will’s straightforwardness, even if it was a bit abrasive, was intoxicating. The notion that you didn’t actually have to say what people wanted to hear just to make them feel comfortable—that it was a choice—felt thrilling and transgressive, and I’d become fascinated by watching Will move through the world and interact with people in that way. He wasn’t unkind exactly. He just refused to follow what I’d always thought were ironclad rules of social engagement but which, it turned out, were as easily brushed aside as cobweb.

  I couldn’t believe it had been two years. By comparison, last Halloween didn’t even bear thinking about. I’d wandered around Holiday after getting home from a long day of classes, wishing that Daniel and Rex still lived there, wishing that Will were with me, wishing… wishing for there to be something that made the day stand out from any of the others.

  Now I asked Will, “What did you end up doing tonight?” He’d declined my invitation to come to the parade with us.

  “Oh, you know, not much,” he said casually, which I was learning was Will code for “I hooked up with someone.” Which, of course, I knew he did. But somehow knowing it happened, and knowing it had just happened, weren’t quite the same, and pain lanced through me at the thought of Will with someone else.

  I didn’t press him about it, though. I’d made that mistake a few weeks before when I’d shown up to hang out one night, and he was clearly in a bad mood. Even though I took some small pleasure in hearing him complain about what an idiot the guy he’d hooked up with had been, it hadn’t outweighed the knowledge that Will would rather mess around with some random guy than try being in a relationship with me. When I’d said as much, Will had fixed me with a pained expression and said, “You’re not like those fuckheads.”

  A million questions had buzzed to the surface with that comment. Like, if they were fuckheads, why did he sleep with them? (Well, fine, that one I could figure out on my own.) Or, if I weren’t like them, then wasn’t that a good thing? Didn’t it bode well for our chances?

  But before I could start reeling off my questions, Will had patted the couch next to him and rolled his eyes. “I’d rather hang out with you, anyway,” he’d said, flicking the TV on. And my breath had caught in my throat so I couldn’t have said anything if I’d wanted to.

  “So, did you dress up for the parade?” Will asked.

  “Yeah, I went as Dream from The Sandman. It was pretty awesome.” I had borrowed Charles’ long black coat and moussed my hair into a gravity-defying mop. No one had known who I was, though, or they’d asked “Are you that dude from The Cure?” To be fair, the hair was rather Robert Smith-esque.

  “Ah. Feeling tragic, are we?”

  I was, now, kind of.

  “What would you do if I was?” I had been going for a flirtatious tone, but it ended up sounding like a genuine question.

  “Well, I suppose I’d have to distract you from the utter tragedy of your young life.”

  That was totally an opening for some kind of racy comment about precisely how he might distract me, but I flubbed it by thinking too hard for something sexy to say, and gave up.

  “Midterms are getting so stressful,” I said, allowing the legitimate exhaustion I’d been fighting to infuse my voice. “Everyone’s totally crazed and everything’s loud and I can’t concentrate. I have a gazillion things to do, especially this project for my physics class that I really want to do well on.” Will was basically a workaholic, so I figured he’d respond well to that.

  “I have it on good authority there’s a perfectly functional library you could throw yourself out of,” he teased.

  “Yeah, but everyone’s at the library this time of year, so it’s not even that quiet. Besides, I’m guaranteed to run into someone I know there.”

  “Aren’t you quite the social butterfly.”

  “And then they’ll want to talk, and I don’t wanna be rude….”

  “Ugh, the horror.” Will sighed. Getting caught in small talk was basically his worst nightmare, so I figured that one would get him. I waited, tapping my foot and biting my lip.

  “Was there something you wanted to ask me?”

  Damn it, I should’ve known better than to try and float any kind of passive-aggressive shit with Will. He always dismantled it, and then I felt like an idiot for trying.

  “Um, maybe I could… come over and do work at your place?”

  Will snorted. Clearly he’d known what I was angling for all along.

  “Yeah, sure, come over.”

  “Omigod, thank you so much. That’s awesome.”

  THE NEXT evening after I got done with my shift at Mug Shots, I went right to Will’s. He was just getting home from work as I turned the corner to his building and we rode the elevator up to his apartment together.

  I found myself imagining what it’d be like if we lived together. We’d get home around the same time, both eager to see each other. Maybe some days we’d meet like this on the street, the pleasant surprise of seeing your boyfriend washing over us both. We’d fall into step and hold hands in the elevator. Or maybe we’d get home within a few minutes of each other and chat about our days while Will changed out of his work clothes for the evening. Maybe we’d take a shower together (which would lead to messing around in the shower), or cook dinner together (which would lead to messing around in the kitchen), or order takeout and watch TV together (which would lead to messing around on the couch).

  In reality, Will bitched about one of his coworkers in the elevator and shut himself in his room the second we were in his front door. He did not invite me to shower with him or participate in changing his clothes. And he didn’t seem to have any plans whatsoever for making dinner, as evidenced by the fact that he grabbed a beer and a box of dry cereal and flopped onto the couch to consume them without speaking to me.

  I put my backpack down on the floor next to the desk that sat beside the drafting table I’d helped Will bring up from his storage unit last month. Now it was covered with sketches, graphics, and samples of typography.

  I started in on my work, hoping he’d get hungry for real food eventually, because I hadn’t eaten since before work and I was starving.

  After a
n hour or so, Will came over and sat at the drafting table, our chairs side by side. He didn’t say anything, but he sharpened a pencil and started to work on one of the sketches. I could practically feel his whole vibe change from the moment he came over to when he settled into his work. He relaxed into his chair, and his pencil moved effortlessly over the paper. Even his breathing changed. He seemed the way I feel when I leave yoga.

  I’d been going with Gretchen three times a week ever since that first class, and I would never joke about it being just for hippies again. I loved it. I could walk into the room feeling stressed as hell—scattered and anxious, or tired and grouchy—and walk out feeling calmer, more relaxed, and more energized.

  I snuck a look at Will while he was concentrating. His full lips were parted, and he was hunched over his drawing, shoulders slumped forward, neck bent. His hair fell in his eyes and his ankles were kind of hooked around the front legs of his chair. It all looked very uncomfortable, but his expression was one of total absorption. His eyes were locked on the pencil lines before him even as he blew the hair out of his face.

  I took a chance and rose, moving behind him. In a moment when he’d lifted his pencil from the page, I slid my hands onto his shoulders, pulling gently to straighten his posture the way my yoga teacher moved our shoulder blades together to counteract the posture of living hunched over our computers. I squeezed gently at first, not sure if he’d whirl around in a fury at being interrupted or shrug me off.

  Instead, when I began to press into the knots in his muscles with my thumbs, Will softened under my hands and took a deep breath. I let my hands follow the lines of his body, rubbing up his neck and through his hair. I massaged along his spine, feeling his back press closer to me with each breath. When I leaned in and put my weight behind it, Will groaned and the sound sent a bolt of arousal through me. I leaned a little closer and smelled his hair and the scent that was just him.