Middle Ground (26 page)

“True,” I said. “She’d fire you.”

He grabbed the phone out of my hand and threw it on the couch. “You need to let me savor this,” he said.

He rolled toward me and leaned up on one elbow and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and stared at me. I knew how battered I looked after six months at the DC. I could probably model for a brochure on malnutrition, bad hair, sleep deprivation, or all of the above. But Justin looked at me like he was enamored, which made no sense at all. Meanwhile, I felt like I’d woken up next to some Hollywood supermodel.

He kept watching me and his brown eyes were golden in the sun. I finally nudged him out of his daze. He was freaking me out.

“You should return those calls,” I said, trying to take the focus off me.

“I’ll get to it,” he said. His eyes didn’t budge.

I covered my face with the sheet and mumbled he couldn’t look at me until after I showered.

Justin rolled out of bed, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxers. I couldn’t help but stare at him as he walked over to the corner of the room and dug through a pile of clothes until he came up with a pair of jeans. He told me where the towels were and said we could get coffee down the street and rattled on about the breakfast specials, like talking in our underwear was our typical morning routine. I stood up and the floor was warm on my bare toes and I stretched my feet to soak up the heat. I was used to the ice-cold floors in the center. I was used to curling in on myself. Anything that touched my skin was a threat.

He pointed out a duffle bag on the floor with a few changes of clothes inside.

“Not that you don’t look hot in my T-shirt,” he remarked of my nightgown. I looked down at my skinny bare legs and felt myself blush. I picked at the hem of the shirt and nodded at his mound of clothes on the floor.

“So this is your idea of moving in?” I asked, to change the subject. “It looks more like you’re leaving.”

He nodded and pulled a gray hoodie over his head. “My life’s one long trip.”

I looked around the room at the simplicity. I had a feeling my own life would mirror this existence for a while.

“What’s your advice?” I asked. “How do you live your life without settling?”

“Own as little as you can. Travel light.” He smiled at me. “I’m not going to completely drop anchor anytime soon,” he said. “You’ve got to know that by now.”

I felt a twinge of disappointment at his words. He would never give up. He would never back down. He was right; his life was always on the road. And he didn’t say anything about a traveling companion.

“We need to get out of here,” Justin announced, and turned my shoulders toward the bathroom. “And you need to eat something.”

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Eden,” he said. “I think you could use a little one-on-one time with reality.”

***

I showered and took my time shaving and washing every crevice of my body, as if the last six months of memories could be rinsed off if I scrubbed hard enough. The steaming mist of water was a luxury; so was a washcloth, and so were shampoo and conditioner that didn’t smell like kitchen-cleaning products. They gave us dull plastic razors at the DC so we wouldn’t hurt ourselves, so my legs were red and always prickly with short stubble. My skin was dry, chapped, and flaking from the hard water. I helped myself to Justin’s lotion and it smelled like aloe and rosemary.

It was my first time back in jeans in six months, and I slipped them on slowly. I finally wore a T-shirt that was soft and fitting, not a scrub top that hung on me like a bed sheet. I looked at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, at my long hair that needed a cut, at my wispy frame, and at my face that was still too thin. But my cheeks had a hint of pinkness from the heat of the shower, and my eyes were glowing. For the first morning I could remember I was excited to start the day. Usually I dreaded time; now I craved it and clung to it and wanted it to slow down. The day was something to celebrate, not just something to get through. So much of my life up to then had been something to endure, not experience.

I met Justin in the living room and we walked outside into crisp morning air. The sky was light blue, still sleepy, with the sun low in the sky. We walked down the street to a café called Firefly, a few blocks from his apartment.

I noticed people were out. I noticed because I jumped whenever someone passed us. Two women jogged by with their dogs, and when they said hello I was so startled I tripped over the curb. Justin grabbed my hand and held it to keep me steady. A young mother passed us with a stroller. A pack of guys rode by on skateboards, and the whirring sound of their wheels made me panic and I let go of Justin’s hand so I could latch on to his entire arm.

“Do you want to turn around?” he asked me, his face worried. “Maybe you’re not ready for this.”

“No,” I said. “I’m not scared, just jumpy. I’m not used to so much—life.”

“Sensory overload?”

“Yeah, but in a good way,” I assured him.

Justin talked to keep me distracted. He told me this was the only neighborhood in L.A. that was unplugged. People referred to it as Freak Street. The road was lined with boutiques and cafés and tattoo parlors, art galleries and old cinemas. He told me they even had an antique bookstore.

“People actually walk around here,” he said. “They come outside during the day.”

“That debunks my theory,” I told him.

“What’s that?”

“That people have all mutated into vampires and that’s why we stay inside all day. It’s a lot more glamorous than the idea that we’re all sitting around staring at screens.”

He smiled at me. We passed restaurants with outdoor seating and old-fashioned handwritten menus hung in their windows.

“At least these neighborhoods still exist,” I said.

“Barely,” Justin said. “Most of these places are going out of business. Even Eden is struggling. Its population is shrinking every year.”

He stepped under a yellow awning and opened the entrance for me and a bell chimed when it banged against the door. It made me jump, of course. I sucked in a breath and reminded myself to relax. I had to clasp my hands together to keep myself from grabbing Justin’s arm again.
Contain your inner freak show, Maddie,
I told myself.

The floor inside was covered in black and white checkered tiles. A few people sat at tables, mostly staring into their flipscreens. We walked up to the counter and Justin ordered us coffee and sandwiches to go. The barista, a young girl with auburn hair tied back in a low ponytail, turned his money card away when he took it out.

“You know your money is no good here.” She flashed him a smile and I raised my eyebrows. “Think of it as a donation to fighting DS.” He thanked her and offered her a smile, which made her gush over the counter like he’d handed her a bouquet of flowers.

She looked over at me. “Looks like you had a rough night,” she said, and glanced at Justin. “Is this your latest interception?”

“Actually, this is my girlfriend. Maddie Freeman. You might have heard of her.”

The barista’s mouth dropped open. “As in Kevin Freeman’s daughter?” she asked.

I smiled. “That’s right.” I couldn’t tell what surprised her the most: my scruffy appearance, my bloodline, or Justin’s she’s-my-girlfriend announcement, which had shocked me as well.

“Are you two insane?” she asked. “Warring families? Haven’t you ever heard of Romeo and Juliet?” Another worker handed us our coffee and sandwiches.

“Yeah, but there’s one big difference,” Justin said.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Romeo was a pussy. Thanks for the coffee,” he said, and we turned to leave. I followed Justin out the front door and we sat down on a bench tucked between pots blooming with yellow tulips. He handed me my coffee.

“Sorry,” he said. “I should have warned you Chrissy’s a little outspoken.”

“I can’t believe you disrespected the Bard,” I told him. “Did you see her face when you told her I was your girlfriend? I think you filled her gossip quota for the next century.”

He smiled and leaned in and kissed me. I leaned in and kissed him back, and then we forgot about our coffee for about ten minutes.

We took our time heading back up the hill, sipping our drinks. I pointed out everything we passed, like we were walking through an art museum. It was the intimate details of life I’d missed the last six months. I savored the sun warming the back of my neck, this rare morning alone with Justin, the good coffee, the worn-in jeans and flip-flops, and a world around me with no walls, spread out like life was intended to be. I absorbed the sounds of the city—the sighs and breaths of trains. I noticed the leaves hanging from trees like mobiles, the smell of dust and concrete in the air, the way grass grew up through sidewalk cracks like it was trying to win back its territory. I watched an older couple walking in front of us. The man rested his hand on the woman’s shoulder and then leaned down close to listen to what she was saying. That small gesture said so much.

I pointed out another man, walking slow with his shoulders hunched, as if his thoughts were heavy. He took his phone out of his pocket, hesitated, and put it back. Then he took it out again. He dragged his feet. I wondered why he was hesitating and who he wanted to call. I wanted to tell him to make the call. Life’s short, don’t hesitate. Just make the call.

We stopped at Justin’s apartment to grab our bags and then walked around the side of the house to the garage. He opened the door and a red sports car was waiting inside.

“Of course you don’t want to use the train,” I noted.

“Of course you are currently a fugitive, so that’s not possible,” he said.

I groaned at the reminder. It seemed my destiny. “Do you think I’ll ever have a normal life?” I wondered out loud.

“No,” he answered easily and opened the passenger door for me. “That would mean you’d suddenly become obedient. Again, not possible. And boring.”

He got in the car next to me, and he smiled and I smiled and our eyes caught and he was kissing me again. He broke away after a couple minutes.

“Guess when the first time I almost kissed you was,” he said.

I thought about it. “During my dance of seduction?” I asked.

“No—well, yeah, but it was before that.”

“Before that?”

“It was the night we drove out to the coast, when I showed you an interception.”

“That was a good night,” I said.

He nodded. “I almost kissed you that night, on the bed in that house, in the car when I dropped you off . . .”

“So that’s when you started liking me?” I asked.

“More like loathing you,” he corrected.

We backed down a steep driveway onto the winding road and he flipped on a dashboard screen to see a list of calls waiting for him. I was a little resentful. So many people needed pieces of him, all the time; I wondered how he could handle always stretching himself so thin. I pulled the seat belt across my chest and looked at the screen.

“Shouldn’t we stay here while we figure out plans for next week?” I asked.

“I need to talk to my dad,” he said, “and I’d feel better putting some distance between you and the DC right now.” He looked at me. “Do you really want to stay here?”

“No. I just don’t want to be a burden anymore,” I said, and rested my head back against the seat.

“I need you to understand something, Maddie,” he said as we got on a freeway ramp. “You will never, ever be a burden to me. You’re the most important thing in my life. That’s why I’m here. It’s an honor to be with you, not a burden. Never think that again. Got it?”

My mind lingered on the word
honor
and I sipped my coffee and nodded casually to try to downplay the best compliment he’d ever given me.

***

We followed the coastline back to Eden, the same highway I drove six months ago in the opposite direction. Sometimes your life comes full circle. Sometimes you set off only to end up where you started because the places you belong always pull you back. That’s when you know you’re home.

We pulled into Elaine and Thomas’s driveway just before dusk. Justin’s parents dedicated their careers to fighting for human rights, and after their last protest nearly cost them their lives, they’d retired on the coast with a community that preferred to live unplugged.

People were sitting outside on the porch. A group of kids played in the front yard. Bikes and soccer balls and Frisbees littered the lawn. It looked like a family reunion but it was just the normal chaos of their house. I realized why Justin wanted me here. He wanted to pump life back into me, to remind me of the life I was fighting for before we tried to take on the world.

For months I’ve been slowly dying. So today I made it my mission to walk around and focus on things that are living. I want to learn their secrets, not think about how to change them or multiply them or use them for myself, just study them as they are and appreciate the fact that they exist. Maybe that’s how I want people to see me.

Thomas and Elaine have a chicken coop in their backyard. I’ve seen the coop before, but I never stopped to study it until now. I’ve never been so enamored with life. I took it for granted before.

I watched a dozen chickens, white and tan and chocolate brown, plump and feathery. Their curious beady eyes stared up at me. They walked with brash steps, jabbing their heads and clucking to no one in particular. Their life is simple—the way they build small coves inside the hay, the way they huddle close together, chatting in the shade or pecking in the sun. They don’t look stressed or anxious or displeased with anything. They look more content than almost any human I have ever seen.

It made me want more of nothing. Less of things, more of air and freedom and space and quiet and sunshine.

But how do you ask for nothing? How do you empty yourself so you can make room for what’s most important? People aren’t trained to want less. We own until we overflow. We’re the only animals that willingly drown ourselves with things.

I stared into the coop and couldn’t believe I was jealous of a dozen chickens. Their tiny brains understood how to live life better than our complex ones.