by Shari Arnold
I open my mouth to smooth over the awkwardness, but Meyer beats me to it.
“Your dad was kind enough to let me stay and wait.” His attention has barely left my father’s sketches. “Did you know he designed one of my favorite buildings?”
My father’s hands are pushed down in his pockets and he’s staring at the ground, but there’s a hint of a smile upon his lips. “Which one?” I ask softly. “He’s designed many buildings around here.”
My father looks up at me when he catches the trace of pride in my voice.
“That box-looking building down in Capitol Hill.” Meyer finally glances in my direction, his eyes sparkling. “You know the one that’s mostly made of glass? What is it, Mr. Cloud? Some kind of residence or something?”
My father’s face fills with a smile the moment Meyer addresses him. “It is a residence, yes. One of the first completely energy-efficient homes in the area.”
“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve stood outside that building just studying the lines,” Meyer tells him. “The people who live inside must feel like I’m watching them, like they’re some kind of reality show or something.” He laughs and my father laughs. I remain speechless.
“It was never the people inside who fascinated me though,” he tells us. He crosses his arms and leans his hip against the side of the drafting table.
“What was it then?” my father asks. He’s studying Meyer so intently, it’s as though he’s desperate for Meyer’s answer.
Meyer smiles at me and then turns and shares it with my father. He’s drawing out this moment. Keeping my father engaged for as long as he can.
“Well,” he says softly. “It’s always reminded me of a large treehouse. I used to imagine it would be the kind of place I’d like to live in. You know, when I get older.”
“Yes,” my father says, grinning. “Me too.” He’s standing up a bit straighter, leaning in toward Meyer. “My daughter, Jenna, used to beg me to build her one of her very own. She made me promise—” he stops with a jolt, his smile dropping completely. “Well, yes,” he stutters. “Anyway.” He rubs his hand against his jawline and then up toward his eyes.
“Daddy?”
My father glances over at me with surprise as though he’s just noticed I’m here. “Your friend shouldn’t stay too long, Livy,” he says. “Right?” He appears confused as though he knows he’s supposed to say something else but he’s not quite sure what.
“Of course, Mr. Cloud,” Meyer pipes in. “I’ll only visit for a moment. I wouldn’t want to keep Livy too long.”
I glance at Meyer in time for him to wink at me.
My father moves toward the doorway and waits, ushering us out of his office.
“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Cloud,” Meyer says once we’re in the hallway.
“Yes.” My father smiles at him for a minute, a hint of life still in his eyes. “It was nice to meet you too, Meyer. I hope— ” He clears his throat and starts again. “I hope one day you get your treehouse.”
Meyer grins at him and reaches out to shake his hand. “Perhaps one day you’ll build it for me, yeah?”
My father’s eyes widen as though he’s taken back by Meyer’s suggestion, but then he nods. “Perhaps I will.” His gaze falls on me and I blink up at him. If I move too quickly I might ruin this moment. I might scare his smile back into the place where it has been held captive these last few months.
“We’ll have to see, then, Livy. Won’t we?”
“Y-yes,” I stutter.
My father reaches out like he’s going to ruffle my hair but then his hand drops and falls back to his side. The next moment he’s back inside his office with the door closed and Meyer and I are left standing out in the hall.
“Well that was interesting,” I tell Meyer once we’re in the living room. I take a seat on the couch while Meyer continues to stand. My legs are so shaky they might just give out on me.
“Really? How so?”
“I mean my father and you talking? My father talking?” I shake my head, unsure how to put into words the feelings I’m feeling right now.
“He doesn’t speak normally?” Meyer’s eyebrow rises in confusion.
“No, I mean he speaks, he’s just…” I stop. “It’s just…” I shrug my shoulders. “He seemed to like you.”
“Well, who doesn’t?” Meyer chuckles. “I’m a likable guy. Right, Livy?”
I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, I guess you’re likable.”
Meyer smiles.
“Hello,” he says.
“Hi.” I’m still smiling.
“So this is where you live, huh? Nice place.” He looks around the room, taking in my mother’s perfectly selected artwork hanging on the walls.
“Um. Thanks.”
“Your father is very talented.”
“Yes.”
“Can I see your room?”
“My room?” My eyes widen at his request.
“Yes. Your room. You know, the place where you sleep and spend your time when you’re not with me.” Meyer winks again, his smile a bit mischievous.
“Oh. Right.” I stare down the hallway to where I can now hear Simon and Garfunkel spilling out from under my father’s office door.
I hesitate for a moment and then slowly rise from the couch. Showing Meyer my bedroom feels so personal, like in a small way I’m opening myself up to him. I could tell him no, but I don’t want to. He got my father to talk. To smile. I feel as though I owe him the entire world right now — or, at the very least, a tour of my room.
Meyer follows me down the hallway— past Jenna’s closed door — and waits as I open mine.
Thankfully my mother has trained me to always make my bed first thing in the morning and put my dirty clothes in the laundry. My room is generally tidy and neat, but that doesn’t mean I don’t give it a quick once over, worried that something could be out of place.
Meyer pauses in the doorway, and then moves to my dresser where there is an arrangement of photographs attached to my mirror. They’re all faces he wouldn’t recognize but he studies them as though they mean something. Directly at the top of my mirror is a photo of me and Jenna holding hands and laughing. Meyer pauses on this one the longest but he doesn’t ask me about it. My hands start to shake as I prepare myself for the dead-sister conversation but the moment never arrives. Instead he moves on to my desk, leaving the photo and my stories behind.
He picks up a book or two off my desk — two rather boring classics James has me reading — and then puts them down.
I watch him move about my room, feeling more and more insecure by the minute. There is a line people cross once they’re allowed to enter your domain. They go from a general acquaintance — someone you’ve only shared a few random encounters with — straight to someone who now knows the color of your bedspread and what you see before you close your eyes every night. These things may seem insignificant but at this moment they feel rather intimate to me. Truth is, I kind of like that Meyer knows these things about me now.
Meyer walks over to my bed and throws himself down on it, crossing his arms behind his head. “This is comfortable. I like where you sleep.”
“It’s alright.” I haven’t moved from my spot near the window. I figure it’s safer over here. One thing is for sure, I will never get the image of Meyer lounging on my bed out of my head. Not now. Not ever.
He raises an eyebrow, daring me to come closer, but I hold my place. This is completely new territory for me. Scott was never allowed in my bedroom, not that I really wanted him there.
When the silence stretches on a bit too long, I say, “I don’t really sleep a lot actually.”
“Nightmares, huh?” Meyer asks. His shirt has ridden up a bit, exposing his stomach. I try not to stare at it, but it’s right there. On my bed.
“No,” I whisper, meeting his eyes. “Worse.”
Meyer sits up, focused on me. “What is worse than a nightmare?”
I shrug my shoulders.
I’m not sure why I’ve allowed myself to head down this path. I’ve never told anyone this before. “Too many nights I dream that my sister is still alive.” I shrug again, as though it’s that easy to brush it off. “I prefer not to sleep. It’s easier that way.”
Meyer is silent for a moment, holding my gaze, and then he pats the spot next to him on the bed.
“What?” I say, pretending I don’t understand.
“Come here, Livy.”
I stare at him, not quite registering what he’s saying to me. “Why?” I ask, hating how my voice squeaks. “What do you want?” It’s difficult not to notice that Meyer hasn’t asked me about my sister. Most people would at this moment. But Meyer isn’t most people. Part of me wonders if he already knows about Jenna.
He reaches out his hand, urging me forward. “Come here.”
I hold my spot, choosing to defy him. Man, I’m such a coward.
Meyer raises an eyebrow. He must think the same thing.
“Livy, just come here.”
I obey, reluctantly.
“Which side of the bed do you sleep on?” He’s sitting up cross-legged in the middle of my bed.
“Um. I don’t know. The right side, I guess?” I’m not really sure I sleep on a side. Usually I just flail around until I’ve no choice but to sleep.
“Alright.” He scoots over, freeing up the right side of my bed, and then lies back against the mattress. “Come on,” he says when I continue to just stand here. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of me.” He waggles his eyebrows and even though I don’t want to, I laugh. But it’s a nervous sounding laugh. I notice, and I’m absolutely sure he does too. He gives me a cocky smile. He is enjoying this moment far too much, I think.
“Lie down the way you would at night,” he says once I’ve managed to get myself on the bed.
“Like this?” I ask resting on my back. My arms are straight and stiff next to my sides. I must look like a corpse.
Meyer laughs and I turn my head to look at him. He’s so close, his lips so close, I just stare at him, forgetting my question.
“What makes you think I’d know? Do you think I watch you when you sleep?”
I glare at him and he laughs.
“Turn on your side and face me, Livy.”
I follow his instructions even though it brings us closer to together.
“Is this how you sleep at night? On your side?”
“Yes,” I whisper, and he smiles. He’s lying on his side as well, one hand resting between us while the other rests under my pillow.
“Alright.” He tucks his arm under his head so that he’s hovering just slightly over me. “So now, when you’re having trouble sleeping,” he says, “just imagine I’m right here, like this, and talk to me until you fall asleep.” When I just blink at him his mouth loses his smile. “Unless there’s someone else you’d rather imagine yourself talking to?”
“No,” I say, smiling. “You’ll do.”
He laughs softly, his breath tickling my skin. “I’ll do, huh?” He reaches up, brushing back a loose strand of hair against my cheek, and I fight the urge to close my eyes.
I’m not sure how this is supposed to help me sleep. I’m pretty sure for the rest of my life I’m going to envision him lying next to me like this and sleeping is the last thing I’ll have on my mind.
My eyes drop to his mouth just in time to see his wicked grin. “Who knows,” he says. “Maybe it’ll work so well you’ll dream about me.”
I feel heat rise to my cheeks and I know the minute he notices. His eyes darken and drop to my lips. And suddenly my breathing has decreased significantly.
“Unless you do already.” His lips turn up in one corner. “Is that it, Livy? Am I what’s keeping you up at night?”
“You wish,” I say, holding back a laugh. But my face is still on fire.
I close my eyes, trying to gain some composure. When I open them again, Meyer is watching me, his dark green eyes heavy and rather intense.
Ask him! Do it now! Here’s your opportunity, Livy! But I can’t. It feels too intimate a moment to be asking him out. What if he says no and this moment is forever ruined because of it?
“Are you afraid of anything, Meyer?” I whisper instead, and the sound of my hushed voice adds a whole new level of intimacy to this moment.
His eyes narrow, studying me, and then slowly he nods his head.
“What is it?” I ask, not quite believing him, but completely intrigued nonetheless.
He hesitates, perhaps debating whether or not to tell me, and then his smile returns. “Butterflies, for one.”
“Butterflies?”
“Butterflies,” he says with an affirming nod.
I choke out a laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No. Why would I joke about that?” When I give him my most disbelieving look he says, “I’m completely serious, Livy. Everyone thinks they’re so beautiful and magical but have you ever seen one up close? Have you ever really looked into their scary little faces?”
I burst out laughing, and then realize he’s being straight with me. Or at least, trying to. You never know with Meyer. “I can’t say I’ve spent a lot of time studying butterflies.”
“Yeah, well don’t,” he says, shifting a bit closer. “Trust me.”
“Okay.” I smile at him, nuzzling deeper into my pillow.
Meyer’s eyes are bright. He has that look he gets when he’s been issued a challenge, one he’s determined to win.
“Let’s go,” he says all at once. He sits up, pulling me with him.
“What? Where are we going?” I’m immediately resentful of the distance between us. I liked lying next to him. A bit too much, actually.
“Take me somewhere special to you.” He’s already across my room, his hand reaching back for me to follow.
“Special to me?”
“Somewhere you go when you want to be alone.”
I look around my room, wondering how he knows this isn’t it.
“Um…” I stare out over Seattle. “You mean like my roof?”
“Your roof?” Meyer’s eyes light up. “Is that your special place?”
I nod once, not trusting myself to speak. The only other person I’ve allowed up there with me is Sheila.
“Let’s go,” he says, opening my bedroom door.
My father’s music is still playing. There’s a faint light slipping out from under the door. Tonight may have started off as different but it always ends up feeling the same as far as my dad is concerned. I don’t bother telling him I’m leaving. Instead I leave him to his solitude.
Meyer follows me into the elevator and watches as I push the button for the roof.
“Are there any other ways to get to the roof?” he asks me.
“The stairs,” I tell him. “But you need a special key.”
“Hmm,” he says, not looking away from me.
I clear my throat, and with a casualness I don’t feel, say, “Where are your friends tonight?”
The elevator comes to a stop and the doors open.
“My friends?” he asks after following me out of the elevator.
“Yes. The ones I met. Cecily and Will and everyone else.”
“Right. My friends.”
Meyer moves about the roof, taking in the view of Downtown Seattle.
“This is nice,” he tells me. “I can see why you like it.”
“Thanks,” I say, looking around as well. I try to see it from his perspective, but find it’s nearly impossible. Maybe if I knew more about him.
“You know, I have friends,” I say, when I realize he’s not going to give me anything more.
“You do?” His eyes follow me as I walk toward him. “And who are these friends of yours?”
“Well, there’s Sheila.” I slow my pace once I’m a few feet away. “She’s the only other person I’ve ever brought up here.”
Meyer smiles at this, his eyes speculative.
“And there’s her boyfriend, G
rant,” I hurry to add.
“Nice people, I presume?”
“Sure.” I pull my trembling hands into the sleeves of my sweater. It’s really not that cold but pretending it is gives me a way to hide the evidence of my nerves. Why is asking him to a stupid party so difficult, anyway? The worst that could happen is he says no, right? That’s not so bad, really, I tell myself, even though the possibility feels pretty horrible.
“They want to meet you,” I say eventually. I fumble with the loose thread along the sleeve of my sweater until the silence begins to feel painful. And he’s waiting for me, just waiting for me, to look up at him.
“Do they now,” he drawls, a gleam of amusement in his eyes. “So you’ve told them about me then?”
“Just Sheila. She’s my best friend,” I answer as though that explains everything, which it totally does not. But that’s all he gets.
The lights are pretty faint up on the roof and the way Meyer is facing me leaves his face in shadow.
“Are you cold, Livy?” he asks. Before I can answer he reaches behind his head and pulls off his dark green sweatshirt — the way that only boys do. The motion causes his T-shirt to ride up in the front, exposing his stomach, and that hint of skin is again all I can focus on.
Meyer slips his sweatshirt over my head, pulling me close at the same time. With my arms trapped he pauses for a moment, staring at me from under his long eyelashes.
“You were saying…” His smile lifts, displaying his amusement.
“I was?”
I step back a bit, pulling my arms through the sleeves. It hangs long on my arms — and everywhere else really — but it’s warm. I breathe in the smell of burning leaves and crisp night air, feeling as though I am bathed in Meyer.
“Your friends?” he says, with an arch of an eyebrow.
“Oh! Right. They, um. They’re getting together Friday night and well…”
“Yes?” He closes the space between us with one step.
“It’s nothing really. Just a small get-together. I mean if you’re not busy…”
