After that, there were movies, a Cubs vs. Astros game and another concert, an African fusion thing, featuring a kora player he kind of knew from San Francisco. We cycled through every single meal of the day, even the portmanteau ones, I taking him to the hidden gems I hoped the mainstream crowd never discovered, he taking me to places that proved exactly why they'd earned the adoration of the mainstream crowd.
Autumn blew in on a cool, golden breeze, painting the town red and yellow. We swapped out short sleeves for long, missing nary a beat in our exploits, some meticulously planned and others cobbled together in a capricious minute. When icicles started decorating the city's eaves, we added scarves and jackets to the mix and continued on, bumping shoulders as we forged furrows in the snow on our way to the next great thing.
They weren't always supremely exciting, these next great things; we revisited several places multiple times -- the beer garden, for example, housed a roaring fireplace inside during the cold months and still served the best burgers money could buy -- well on our way to earning regular status. What made the next great things great was simply that we were doing them together, that we were finding such ease and understanding in each other's company.
I had, by this time, succumbed to classical conditioning with my ringtone as well, involuntarily smiling to myself whenever my cell phone shrilled, involuntarily smiling even more when it lit up with Nate's picture, always happy to hear him tell me what we were going to do on any given day, even if it was just to grab a quick lunch together in the middle of the work week. I didn't ask, though I wondered if he was as behaviorally modifiable as I was, but he seemed equally happy when the shoe was on the other foot, whenever I was the one to ring him up and ask him to gallivant somewhere with me.
It could be that I was imagining it, or projecting something of my own onto him that wasn't there, but I couldn't, or didn't want to, make that explanation stick. Something in his voice, an indecipherable timbre of fondness, when he spoke with me seemed absent with anyone else; something in his face, a subtle softness in the curve of his smile, seemed reserved only for me. And I knew I wasn't imagining the way I was around him, brimming with tightly lidded affection, meticulous about never letting it spill, but never happier than when we got to spend hours doing anything or nothing together.
How dangerous exactly was this game we were playing? We flirted, madly, with each other and with the careless expectation that anything could happen again, even though we never let it.
Before, it had been something of a moot point, as there
was a professional code of ethics that wouldn't have allowed anything between us anyway. But I had discharged Abby several months ago -- her esses were smooth as silk now, not to toot my own horn -- so, really, the only thing now standing between me and Nate was, presumably, me and Nate.
We could never erase what had arisen between us in Thailand, not that I wanted to, but did that mean we were obliged forever to carefully, quietly sidestep our past every time we so much as looked at each other?
We never talked about it, so how long would it be before the elephant trampled everything in the room and knocked all four walls down?
"It's kind of like we're dating," I explained to Linn and her six-month-old, whose apple cheeks and jet-black hair were exactly like her mother's but who, unlike her mother, was deeply indifferent to my maunderings, "without getting to, you know, make out and stuff."
Linn frowned at her screen. "That's a bad place to be in," she said. "Well, what do
you
want out of it?"
"I don't know. We spend all this time together, constantly, and... and I don't know."
What I couldn't articulate was that there was always an undercurrent of something more between us, something tempting and terrifying at the same time. We were moths circling around a flame, a warm, gold flicker that kept daring us to come a little bit closer. How close could we get without getting burnt?
"I like him," I said, and paused to roll my eyes at myself for the term I was about to grudgingly employ, a term I thought I had long ago banished from my brain, along with all other memories of junior high, "and I
like
like him."
In my defense, like liking someone makes you stupid. It's not my fault.
"You could pass him a note later in Biology, asking if he likes you and to check yes, no or maybe," Linn said dryly.
"Shut up and tell me what to do."
"Honey," she sighed. "As much as I would love to be your puppet master, I can't decide these things for you."
I furrowed my brow.
"Okay, you're making a confused face at me now. What is this face?" she said, her hands gesturing an arc at the screen.
"I don't know if it's worth it. I mean, he's great, and he's a great friend."
"And you don't want to risk ruining the friendship," Linn finished.
I nodded, my shoulders sagging. "And even if we did start... something, what if it all goes horribly wrong? And then if we broke up, I wouldn't have him in my life at all. So maybe it's just better if we stuck to whatever this is now and left it as it is?"
"Maybe," Linn said. "But you're also kind of forgetting that there's an equal chance of it all going right."
"So what do I do?"
Linn let out a sympathetic chuckle. "Again, you really need to stop tempting me with absolute power over your life."
"Decide. Decide for me," I said, tired of running the same scenarios over in my head, tired of calculating my odds and coming up empty each time. "I grant you power of attorney."
"In that case, this is what you're going to do," she said. "You're going to stop sitting around and asking yourself what if while the rest of the world passes you by. You're going to do what your heart wants you to do."
"Yeah, but what if my heart is wrong?"
Linn clucked her tongue in reproval. "What did I just say about not asking what if questions anymore? Were you even listening? I just dropped a giant pearl of wisdom back there."
I made the same noise at her. "I'm serious. It's been wrong before. You do remember Michelle, right? It was hideously wrong that time."
"No," Linn said firmly. She shook her head to punctuate the point. "You weren't wrong, Em. She was."
My eyes narrowed in the suspicion that Linnea was just talking nonsense now.
"Besides," she continued blithely, "you would've never met Nate if Michelle hadn't been a raging asshole, right? At the risk of using up all the world's cliches in one conversation, sometimes things happen for a reason."
"Things happen," I agreed.
"Follow your heart," she commanded, pointing an imperious finger at me.
"Well, okay," I said reluctantly, "but if this ends badly, it's definitely going to be your fault."
"I'm a mom, Emory. I'm never wrong."
***
Following your heart is, I daresay, a lot easier when your head doesn't interfere with its endless chatter of doomsday scenarios, each one more devastating than the last, full of hearts shattered beyond repair and friendships irrevocably sundered and, once, a factory explosion.
Presumably wherever Nate and I ended up, if we moved at all, wouldn't involve plastic explosives, but the possibility of a ravaged relationship in the end still loomed large and real in my mind.
Of course, this was all only half of the equation. As hopelessly chaotic as my thoughts were, constantly scuffling for dominance in my head, at least I knew what they were.
Nate's thoughts were less transparent to me, though he did call in the early evening, a few days after Christmas, to say:
"Emory, did you know you're my favorite person in the world?"
"I did, in fact," I said, sticking a finger in between the pages of the book I'd been trying to finish while the clinic was closed for the holidays. "I'm assuming it's because I'm about to agree to help you with something I don't really want to do?"
"And so astute."
Fifteen minutes later, I stood under the black awning at the entrance of Nate's red brick apartment building, an overnight bag hanging from my hand.
It had occurred to me, earlier on the phone with him, that he could have kenneled Chicago rather than getting me to dog-sit, but -- cards on the table here -- I didn't mention the option to him because I'd never seen his apartment before. I was curious. It was one of those things we were careful about while being heedless with everything else; inviting a friend back to your apartment takes on a vastly different connotation when you've slept with that friend, no matter how long ago it was, no matter how much time you've spent together since then determinedly not sleeping with each other.
I buzzed, and the front entrance unlocked with a light snick.
Carpeted stairs drank in the melted snow from my footsteps as I walked up to the second floor and found Nate's apartment unit with the door ajar. The door swung open then, revealing Nate in its frame with his cell phone pressed to his ear. He beamed at me and motioned for me to come in.
"Yeah, no, no, it's totally okay, Jules. It's not your fault. Anyway, it's all taken care of; Chicago's in good hands," he said to his phone, and mouthed a
Sorry
to me.
I waved it off, taking in my surroundings, awash in neutral, minimalist tones. I wasn't sure if that meant Nate simply lived an uncluttered kind of life, or if he wasn't planning on putting down many roots here.
Chicago pattered over to me with a raggedy chew toy in her mouth. "Hi, dog," I said, leaning down to scratch her behind one ear.
"Yup, okay. Love you too," Nate said, and hung up the phone, slipping it into his back pocket. "Sorry. That was Julie. They're still stuck in Detroit; the weather's pretty bad out there, and I guess none of the planes are going to get out today."
"Oh, man, that's awful. The Detroit airport's the worst place to be stuck in," I said, giving Chicago one last pat before straightening up. "Hey, how come you didn't go with her and Abby to your parents' for Christmas?"
Nate's hands, which had been fiddling with a low stack of file folders on his coffee table, stilled abruptly. "Oh," he said, not quite looking in my direction, "my folks aren't exactly eager to see me."
It was the kind of statement that invited a whole host of other questions, but I wasn't sure whether it was my place to ask them.
He resumed neatening the stack and tucked them into the laptop bag at his side. "Um," he said after a moment, his mouth twisting to one side, "I told you I came out to them when I was sixteen, right?"
"Yeah," I said slowly, and already I could tell I wouldn't like where this story was going.
Nate nodded. "Yeah, well, they kinda kicked me out a little bit after that when they realized it wasn't just a phase. I haven't been back since," he said, shrugging in resignation.
"Oh. God. I'm sorry," I said.
"Well, what can you do?" Nate said, the lightness in his voice anything but genuine. He manufactured a bracing smile from thin air. "Okay, uh, dog food's in the pantry, and you're welcome to whatever's in the fridge, or anywhere else. So, make yourself at home."
"Okay."
"Thanks for doing this for me, man. Especially on such short notice."
"Yeah, of course. No problem," I said. "Just think of it as you owing me a favor."
Nate laughed, and I was glad to see his heart in it this time.
"Big time," he said, patting me on the shoulder as he passed toward the open kitchen. He stuck his head in the pantry and emerged cradling a six-pack of energy drinks. "Almost forgot these babies."
I stood watch, hands in my pockets, while he doublechecked all the photography equipment he was taking with him on this job. "I still don't understand why anyone would have a midnight wedding ceremony."
He shrugged, unperturbed by the concept. "They think it's romantic. And they said they wanted to dance till the sun came up."
"It's the middle of winter. The sunrise is going to be bright gray."
"Hey, as long as they pay me, I don't care what kind of wedding they have," Nate mused. He picked up the multitude of bags containing his equipment and lifted his car keys off a hook next to the door. "Okay, I'll see you tomorrow. Have fun. Bye, Chicago!"
"Drive safe," I called down the corridor as he left, and shut the door behind him.
The evening passed uneventfully; I made a sandwich while Chicago crunched on her dry dog food, and we watched a few sitcom reruns together. Afterward, I fell asleep on Nate's couch, the pillow and blankets he'd set out for me carrying the faint scent of his laundry detergent.
Somewhere out in the suburbs a wedding party softshoed to the sunrise, while I remained in bed -- in sofa, rather -- until the morning news was over, after which I took Chicago on a walk through the neighborhood. The sky was overcast and the winter air chilly, but she didn't seem to mind, toddling along and stopping to smell what I could only infer were thoroughly thrilling odors every few yards. A couple of joggers passed us by, bestowing adoring smiles on Chicago's irresistible little face. They glanced at me fleetingly, but my face didn't warrant similar adulation, which was patently unfair, as, between the two of us, I wasn't the one who bathed only twice a month.
When we returned to the apartment, Nate still hadn't. Expecting him soon, I unclipped Chicago from her leash, coiling it around my fist and hanging it up, and set to folding the spare blankets and repacking my overnight bag. Chicago whined at me, padded a few steps away, and then looked at me expectantly. I took a curious step toward her.
"How can I help you?" I asked.
When she rinsed and repeated, I got the feeling I was supposed to follow her.
"I swear to god, if Timmy's fallen down the well again..." I said, and followed her lead toward what I deduced was Nate's bedroom, the door to which was shut. "Uh, I don't think I'm allowed in there. Let's just leave Timmy to his fate; I mean, he has to learn sometime, right?"
She did not appear to appreciate my heavily outdated wit, pawing insistently at the door.
"Fine, you go get him. I'll stand guard out here," I said, opening the door with my back to the room to let the privacy of Nate's bedroom remain private.
I heard Chicago whuff at something, her nails scrabbling against the hardwood floors. She padded back to the door, whining at me again.
"This is a fun game," I said dryly. "Look, if no one's dying in there, you're just going to have to leave it until Nate comes back."
Chicago gave me a long, mournful look and then sneezed on my foot.
"That seems a disproportionate response."
I started to close the door, but she darted back into the room, so I decided to leave the door ajar until she came back out again. When she started barking, however, I had no choice but to at least poke my head in to see what she was kicking up such a fuss about.
Next to an unmade bed, Chicago danced around Nate's nightstand, occasionally trying to squeeze her face into the few inches of space between its underside and the floor.
Since privacy protocols were already breached, I walked into the room and got on my hands and knees to see whatever she was trying so hard to get at. Underneath the nightstand, resting casually against the wall, I could see the shadowed outline of a small rubber ball.
"Seriously? You couldn't wait another thirty minutes for this?"
She whined.
I reached under, my fingers closing around the ball. It squeaked, and Chicago, in her happy haste to get at her resurrected toy, pushed at my arm as I was pulling it back out. She jarred it hard enough that the nightstand tottered, and a precarious stack of paperbacks made a break for the floor, scattering.
"There," I said, tossing the ball back out to the living room. "If you lose interest in it within the next ten seconds after all that work, there will be words."
She bounded after it, and I was left to clean up the mess. Along with the books there were a couple of photographs on the floor that may have been used as bookmarks, and as I picked them up, I couldn't help but notice the familiar face featured in them -- mine.
There was the one of us together -- I remembered Nate asking that lady to take the picture on his camera as well as mine, and another of me in profile, one that I hadn't even been aware had been taken at the time, framed by the same expanse of sea and sky as in the first photo.
After a moment of mute staring, with only the sound of my heart to accompany me, I arranged the books and pictures carefully on the nightstand, and exited the room, pulling the door shut.
Chicago was cheerfully squeaking her ball along the plush floor rug in the living room. I sank onto the sofa and watched her gnaw at it for a while.
"Well," I said, "I guess that little excursion turned out to be quite fruitful for the both of us."
At that moment, I heard a key slide into the front lock, and turned to see Nate walk in, a bright smile on his face, despite having been working the whole night.
"Hey, guys," he said, setting his bags down. "How did it go?"
"Uh, good," I said awkwardly, as I got up from the sofa and moved toward him.
Nate glanced down at himself and then back at me, the beginnings of a perplexed frown on his face. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, why?"
"You're just looking at me really weird," he said, getting on his haunches to pet Chicago, who had been trotting around his ankles in greeting.
I thought of the photos at his bedside, could easily imagine him taking them out at night to ask himself what if. Maybe I was wrong, but maybe I wasn't. We had been dancing around each other for so long now; maybe it was time to change the steps. Maybe it was time to let my heart take the lead.
"Hey," I said, shooting for casual and landing somewhere near awkward teen. "How much would it ruin our friendship if I kissed you right now?"
Nate rose, staring at me while Chicago padded off somewhere else.
"I don't know," he said slowly, taking a step toward me. "How much do you want to find out?"
Quite a lot, as it turned out.
I surged forward, my hand curling around the back of his neck, pulling him to me. The space between us vanished in an instant, taking uncertainty along with it as we collided, lips and hands remapping long-lost territory.
There was a thrill of newness and the comfort of familiarity all at once; the tautening of his muscle cords underneath my fleeting fingers, the lush heat of his breath on my lips, the echo of our pulses as they raced each other, they were all things I remembered and learned again.
His hands skimmed a trail along my back, searing his touch into my skin, and I couldn't remember the last time I had ever wanted anybody this much.