by Penny Reid
My stomach twisted, and a rising something burned my esophagus. “I—I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Don’t do it.”
“I’ll try not to throw up, but Jackie—”
“Tear up the letter.”
“I can’t—”
“Go out with that PhD candidate from the literature department who keeps hinting about taking you to a concert. He might not be Will or Milo hot, but he has gorgeous eyes. What’s his—”
“No. Jackie! I—I already shut the door!”
“Uh, what?”
“The door. I shut it. I shut the door.” I didn’t know what to do. Did I go back to his apartment and try to fish the key out from under the door?
“Well, open the door!”
“I can’t. I left the key inside.”
“Oh no.”
“It’s inside. And I’m outside!” I lifted my hand toward the landing above me. The distance between me and that letter might as well have been Mount Everest.
“What are you going to do?” The question was breathless.
“I’ll—I’ll ask the super to let me in.” Where is the super? I’d met her once. She was nice. She had a cat, and it liked me.
“Alice.”
My feet were already flying down the stairs. I was pretty sure she lived on the first floor. “I’m sure she’ll—”
“Let you into one of her tenants’ apartments? Sure.”
“What else can I do?” I gripped the railing to keep from slipping as I took a stair too fast.
Jackie was silent for a long time. A long, long time.
So long I asked, “Jackie? Did you hang up?”
“I’m here.”
“I can’t hack into an apartment.” I groaned.
“No. You can’t.”
“What can I do?”
“Pray.”
Part Two
*Milo*
I typically flew standby on international flights. If I was lucky—a phenomena closely correlated to the airline ticket agent’s level of flirt-susceptibility—I’d be assigned an aisle or a window. If I was really lucky, I’d be given a spot next to an empty seat. Once every five trips or so, I’d be upgraded to first or business class. In these cases, I would also end up with the ticket agent’s phone number. Always unsolicited, but a nice boost to the ego, nevertheless.
This time my ticket agent had been Tori from Bristol, or so her name tag informed me. She hadn’t looked old enough to be a ticket agent, so I hadn’t attempted to flirt with her.
Sandwiched between a husband and wife who weren’t willing to compromise on giving up his aisle seat or her window—i.e., they’d booked travel with a seat between them—the pair seemed irritated that the spot had been given to me, a tall dude of unspecified origin in dirty traveling clothes. They’d both assumed I didn’t speak English for the first hour of the trip. The woman thought I was Egyptian and the man contended that I was clearly Pakistani.
By hour two, tired of their debate, I announced with a smile, “Hi. I’m Milo, first-generation Italian American. My parents are from Italy, but I was born in Iowa. I teach physics at a university in New York. What’s your name?”
Mercifully, after quick introductions, they were quiet, if not a little put out that I’d neglected to announce my ancestry while we were taxiing at Heathrow. The flight wasn’t the worst I’d ever experienced, nor the best.
But it will all be worth it.
Thoughts of Alice, of seeing her after so many weeks away, kept me up on the plane instead of sleeping. She wouldn’t come by tonight; she rarely did on my first day back, insisting I rest. But I could count on seeing her tomorrow, most likely in the morning for breakfast and coffee. Every once in a while, she’d wait until lunch, but I’d definitely see her for dinner at the very, very latest. She would want to give me a tour of the houseplants, tell me about their progress as though they were pets or employees instead of greenery.
I loved it, and I couldn’t wait. She’d always end up laughing, enduring my teasing with a good-natured acceptance, and Alice’s laugh was contagious. Then we’d make plans for the weekend and we’d settle into our normal rhythm: breakfast on campus every day, lunch when she had time, and dinner Thursday through Sunday.
Finally, the plane landed, and I immediately checked my phone, smiling when I spotted her text.
Alice: Did you land yet?
I quickly typed a response.
Milo: Just landed. Will I see you for breakfast tomorrow?
Alice: Hopefully before that.
My grin widened at her reply, hoping that meant she’d be coming over tonight after my nap. Before I could respond, I became aware that both the husband and wife on either side of me were reading over my shoulder.
“Wife?” the woman asked.
I forced a polite smile, a non-answer. People on planes were always trying to set me up with their sister or daughter or niece’s roommate’s yoga instructor. This was the excuse I used for keeping a picture of Alice as my lock screen and another of the two of us as my background. Turning my phone slightly, I showed Alice’s picture to the woman.
“Oh, she’s stunning.” As we taxied to the gate, the woman patted my arm. “Is she a model? Actress?”
I wasn’t surprised by her guesses. People always thought she was an actress when I showed them this picture. “No. Professor of computer science.”
“Really?” She flinched back, clearly surprised. “How long have you two been together?”
“A long time.” As far as I was concerned, we had been together a long time, just not in the way the woman meant.
“Any kids?”
I shook my head, turning the phone back to me, admiring the picture of Alice, the honest openness of her gaze, the symmetry of her gorgeous face, the curve of her slightly parted lips, the glow of her skin.
I swallowed the dizzy longing, turning the phone off and rubbing my eyes.
Alice didn’t let me take photos of her often and typically made a silly face when I tried. The one on my lock screen was one of the very few I had where her eyes weren’t crossed. This photo was my favorite.
I’d snapped the photo last summer. We’d just returned from the city pool and she’d taken a shower.
Her hair was down around her shoulders, almost dry, and her cheeks were still flushed, pink from the sun. She wore a white tank top and yoga pants and was making tea. Alice was always making tea, even when it was hot outside. I pretended to clean my camera as I watched her from the kitchen table.
Alice blew the steam off the surface of the teacup, her lips forming a plush little ‘O’ and my stomach tightened. I’d had trouble breathing. Automatically, I lifted the camera, waiting for the right moment, framing her. She took a sip, licked her lips, and lowered the cup. Her eyes lifted. She looked at me.
And I took my shot.
She immediately made a face and turned away. But it didn’t matter, I had what I wanted.
Presently, the woman next to me clicked her tongue. “No children? You don’t want to have children with her?”
“I would love to have children with her,” I responded easily and laughed inwardly at myself. I had an easier time telling a strange woman on a plane how I felt than I did talking to my best friend. How’s that for irony?
Now the lady tsked mournfully, giving me a once-over and frowning. “But she doesn’t? Focused on her career?”
I glanced at the woman, finding her eyebrows raised expectantly, judgment written in her features.
She twirled a finger in the direction of my torso and face as she said, “You two would have beautiful children.”
“Leave him alone, Poppy,” the husband grumbled, leaning forward to talk over me. “And get your carry-on out. We have a connecting flight.”
Thankfully, before she could make another comment, the captain came on with an announcement and then we were all standing, grabbing our carry-ons and departing the plane.
An hour later, I was stumbling into
my building’s elevator, not quite able to remember the ride home. I should’ve slept on the plane. I leaned my head against the side of the wall and sighed, waiting for the old pulley system to engage. Usually, I would take the stairs, but not with all the bags and the lack of sleep.
Finally reaching my floor, I kicked my duffel bag into the hallway. I wanted a shower and water and—
“Milo.”
Startled, my head whipped up, and I had to blink several times before I could believe my eyes. “What—” I grinned automatically as I looked her up and down, heat warming and tightening my chest as I pushed the remainder of my bags off the elevator with my foot. “Alice. What are you doing here?”
“Waiting,” she said, shifting her weight from one sneaker-clad foot to the other as though she were nervous or about to run away.
I closed the elevator cage behind me, unable to tear my eyes from the sight of her, my heart in my throat beating double time. God, it was so good to see her. She looked— “Amazing.”
“No, waiting. I’m waiting. For you.” She hurried forward, grabbing my duffel bag and carrying it to the door. “Did you have a nice flight? You look good. And tired. Good and tired.”
“I am tired,” I mumbled, picking up the rest of my stuff and following her down the hall, my eyes on her legs and backside as she strolled away and then bent to drop my duffel. If I’d been less exhausted, I would’ve had the presence of mind to avert my eyes. But she was wearing running shorts and her smooth, tan legs hijacked my attention. Abruptly, I was out of breath.
“Is it okay that I’m here?”
“What?” I croaked, blinking several more times as I forced my eyes to hers.
She looked worried. “I’m sorry, I know you’re tired. Is this a problem?”
“What? No.” I shook my head. “But why aren’t you waiting inside my apartment?”
“I slipped the key under the door.” She twisted her fingers in front of her, the smile she wore appeared agitated.
My attention flicked to the door, then back to her. “What’s wrong? Why would you do that?”
She chewed on her bottom lip, and I almost groaned. What I wouldn’t give to—
No.
No, no, no. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—think about that. I only allowed myself to indulge in these thoughts when I was alone, never with her. Never with her.
Her obvious and adorable consternation helped me refocus my attention. “I slipped it under your door because I didn’t want to go back inside until you were home.”
I breathed a short laugh. “What? Why?”
“I . . . think I . . . I don’t want to say.” She snapped her mouth shut as soon as the words were out.
I nodded and spoke around a yawn, “Fine. You don’t want to say. When did you do this?” Alice often did things that made no sense to me, like hacking into my social media accounts and deleting messages she’d sent or storing life-size cutouts of Lord Byron and Ada Lovelace in my guest bedroom closet, and I’d learned to just roll with it. Life with Alice was never boring. “When did you slip the key under the door?”
“Yesterday.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, come on in.” I took a step closer, pulling my keys from my pants pocket, and Alice moved in front of me, her back pressed against the door, her arms slightly out from her sides as though barring the way.
“Don’t you want me to unlock the door?” she asked, eyes wide. “You’ve been traveling for days. You’re probably tired.”
I took two steps back, my brain sluggish. I had been traveling all day, I hadn’t showered since Nepal, and I probably stank, which meant I wasn’t moving any closer to her. “I’m not too tired to unlock my door.”
“But if I unlock it, then I can grab the key I left. I don’t want you to—to accidentally slip on the key, since you’re so tired.”
“Fine.” I shrugged, too tired to argue or question her motives. “If you want to unlock the door, go for it.” I held up my keys.
She snatched them, and in the very next second, she’d turned to unlock the dead bolt, then the door, and then pushed inside. She also shut the door before I had a chance to follow.
What the—?
I waited for a minute, staring at the barricaded entrance, completely confused. I waited, figuring she’d open it once she realized she still had my keys and I couldn’t get in. But after several moments, just when I’d lifted my hand to knock, she yanked the door open, a big smile on her face.
“There you are!” she said, like we’d been playing hide-and-seek.
I narrowed my eyes. Even for Alice, this was odd behavior.
“Why are you standing out there? Come in.” She reached for my camera case and pulled the strap over my head. “Come in and relax.” She set the case down just inside the apartment.
Expecting her to back up and allow me to pass, I was surprised when she instead shoved my keys at my chest, stepped into the hall and walked around me, heading for the stairwell.
“Wait—wait, Alice. Where are you going?” I turned, frowning at her retreat. “Aren’t you staying?”
She also turned and faced me but continued to increase the distance between us, walking backward. “Oh, no. You’re tired. I should go. I have things.”
“Things?”
“Laundry. Mostly. A lot of laundry.” She tilted her head back and forth. “Today is underwear day, so I can’t miss that.”
“No. Don’t want to miss that.” I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing. I was exhausted, but Alice could always make me laugh. I loved how honest she was, and I loved how it just spilled out of her. She’d always been this way. “What time tomorrow?”
“Oh, gosh.” She glanced at her wrist, and I lifted an eyebrow because she had no watch on. She used to wear a watch but hadn’t in years. “I think I have to work late tomorrow to make up for today, but I’m sure once you’re settled, we will—well, I’ll call.”
“Okay.” I nodded, bewildered. Maybe this whole interaction would make more sense after I slept.
“Okay! Bye!” With that, she turned and pushed through the stairwell door, disappearing.
I stared after her for a while hoping she’d come back. Maybe seconds, maybe minutes? I had no idea. When I caught myself, I zombie-walked into my apartment and shut the door. Shoving my luggage to one side, I set my keys on top of the hall table and shuffled to the kitchen, wanting some water. After that, a shower and nap.
On my way to the fridge, a new plant caught my attention, sitting on the kitchen table all by itself. The side of my mouth tugged upward at the sight of it in a little red ceramic pot. The leaves looked like big hearts and were green toward the bottom but pink and red near the top.
I sighed, making a mental note to look up how to take care of it. This one I wouldn’t let die. I’d treat it right even if I had to take gardening lessons.
I was terrible at taking care of plants. I killed them, frequently, overwatering or underwatering or putting them in the wrong spot with too much or too little sun. But Alice had a green thumb. And keeping plants at my place gave me an excuse to give her a key, to ask her to check on the apartment and water the plants, to have her over after I returned.
I didn’t care if that was sneaky and dishonest. Hey, whatever it took. I needed her in my life, and not to take care of houseplants.
Leaving the new heart plant where she’d left it, I scanned the potted greenery by the balcony door, the ones in the living room, and the orchid—another gift from Alice—on the entryway table. As always, everything looked great. Even more alive than when I’d left.
But then I spotted something on the floor by the front door. Crossing to it, I bent and picked it up.
It was a key.
The one I’d given to Alice.
Part Three
*Milo*
Two days after I’d returned, she still hadn’t called me. I’d texted her as soon as I’d woken up from my nap. She didn’t respond. I’d texted again that night. Nothing.
/> I didn’t want to bother her, and I figured she’d see the texts eventually. Anxious to see her and spend time together, I had to force myself not to text anything for three days. Besides, we’d likely run into each other on campus. She was a creature of habit, and I knew all her habits.
But at the end of the three days, when I hadn’t seen her and she hadn’t texted me, I sent her another message.
Milo: Can we meet at Palmer Hall for breakfast?
Alice: I can’t! I’m working from home today.
Milo: Come over tonight or tomorrow or this weekend. I’ll make you dinner.
She’d responded immediately.
Alice: I can’t this week or weekend. Grant deadlines and dinner dates. But how about breakfast one day next week?
And that’s it. One day next week. One day.
No asking how the trip had been, no random tidbit of information about this day in history. Nothing.
My mouth suddenly dry, I read the message maybe ten times, looking for a hidden meaning, but then I rolled my eyes at myself. That wasn’t Alice. Alice didn’t do hidden meanings; she didn’t play games because she didn’t know any. Alice said exactly what she meant all the time. It was one of the reasons I loved her so much.
Yet something felt off. I rubbed my fingers against a tight, uncomfortable sensation in my chest, trying to ignore it, and I texted her back,
Milo: I have work to do as well. Maybe we could work together? I can come to your place. Or when do you think you’ll be free? I’ll take you out if you don’t want to eat my cooking. I miss you. I haven’t seen you in months.
My thumb hovered over the send button for longer than I’d like to admit before I pressed it, reminding myself that, with Alice, I never had to pretend to be anything other than myself.
Well, except when you pretend you’re not in love with her.
Gritting my teeth, I shoved that thought away.
