“What are you—” she started.
“I love those Rocky movies, but I’ve never run the steps. I tell people I have, but I haven’t,” Shawn whispered into her ear. The tension in Leila’s body faded a little as Shawn spoke and softly laughed during his confession. “The first one is amazing, and the next few get worse and worse, until you get to the masterpiece that is Creed, that is. But I love them. Even the part with the robot in Rocky IV.”
“There’s a robot?” Leila whispered back. She thought about pushing him away but stayed close, listening to his whisper, feeling a rush of warmth to her cheeks at the smell of his shaving gel, like cinnamon and vanilla.
“There is, and it’s terrible.” He backed away, smiling, and Leila exhaled with a sigh, a rush of warmth all over.
Shawn took her hand.
“Now come on,” he said. “Take a little run. I’ve always wanted someone to do this with me.”
He squeezed Leila’s hand encouragingly and put one foot on the first step leading up to the Philadelphia Museum of Art.
“Can we go see the art another day?” Leila asked, pulling back a little.
“We can do whatever you want,” Shawn beamed.
Leila looked back to the Benjamin Franklin Parkway, the long strip of road leading towards Philadelphia’s City Hall. Museums were off to the right and the left, and the street was lined with flags of every country, high and waving in the chill breeze. She stared at them, and for a moment, wondered if her flag was in there someplace, representing wherever it was she had come from. It was a mystery to her, though she’d made assumptions and lied about it before, to the endless wave of too-curious people who tended to ask the annoying “but where you are from?” questions. One of the joys of being adopted. So many questions, so few real answers.
She turned back to Shawn, who still smiled warmly.
“Race you to the top!” she shouted, letting go of his hand and darting madly up the stairs.
Leila stumbled almost immediately as she took off up the stone steps. Shawn hurried behind her, yelling shouts of concern as she regained her footing and kept going. She didn’t turn around, instead, focused on the surprisingly small and narrow steps leading to the museum. They looked a lot wider when you weren’t running madly up them, but now that her feet were hitting the hard surface, she realized how thin they were, barely able to hold an entire foot, mostly just the tips of your toes as you moved up quickly. No wonder people exercised on this.
When she reached the top, she caught the view of the city and gasped. She could practically see the tops of the flagpoles now, and the surface of the multicolored pavement that led away from the museum looked far more stunning when you stood above it instead of on it. Shawn reached her side, huffing, puffing, and coughing. He dry heaved and sat down on the top step. Leila struggled not to laugh.
“Are you okay?” she asked, sitting down with him.
“Yeah, it’s just . . . I don’t really . . . run that often,” he stammered in-between deep breaths and coughs. “Or . . . um . . . at all. You really . . . really know what you’re doing there.” He looked up at her, his face bright red and eyes watering. “I’m, uh, I’m a little . . . embarrassed . . . right now.”
“You’re fine, it’s fine,” Leila said, nudging him with her shoulder as they sat on the top of the steps. A young couple ran up by them, and instead of sitting down, stood up and pumped their arms in the air. They kissed, and Leila felt that rush of warmth go through her again. Was this what was supposed to happen after the run? Was this some kind of cute setup? Leila steeled herself, adrenaline still pumping, the anxiety washed away with a fierce, almost rebellious feeling after running up the stairs. She breathed in, leaning towards Shawn, her lips parted.
“Shawn,” Leila started, thinking of what felt like an almost-kiss at the bottom of the stairs, a rush of heat in her chest.
Shawn dry heaved, louder this time, and coughed heavily. He spit a large glob of saliva onto the sand-colored steps and looked back up at her, wiping at his face.
Okay, yeah, no kissing.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he muttered. “This was a bad idea. I ruined the moment.”
“No, no,” Leila said, feeling bad for the guy. He had seemed so confident. “This was great. I feel great. I think I needed this.” She leaned against his shoulder, staring out at the cityscape, and he took her hand. “Are you, um, going to be okay for the bike ride after this?”
“Oh, God,” Shawn muttered, coughing again.
“I’ll give you a few minutes,” Leila said, patting his hand and leaning against him. She could feel him holding back his coughs, his body shaking as he held his mouth shut. She saw his eyes water as he stared forward with determination.
“You can, like, cough and stuff, you know,” Leila said as he held in another cough. His body quivered, and his throat made a weird sound as he held it back.
“What? No. I’m fine.”
Leila patted him on the back.
“I’m—”
And then Shawn threw up all over the Philadelphia Museum of Art’s steps.
_____
“You know, I have to hand it to you, this is a nice spread,” Leila said, smiling at the array of nibbles Shawn had placed on the picnic table. Just a few feet away from the end of the Reading Terminal Bridge, all the way up Kelly Drive, were a number of small picnic tables and benches, a perfect place for taking a breather and having a bite. The wood on the table was old and splintering, with cracks and holes from decades of rain on the untreated wood.
“I do make a mean picnic,” Shawn said, grinning. “And you know what I really love about this spot?”
“Oh? What’s that?” Leila asked. She could guess. It seemed like a cliché spot for making out, though that was absolutely out of the question after the incident on the museum steps. This, though, this was beautiful. The historic stone bridge in the background, the overlook above the water, the handful of people nearby and cyclists on the bridge pedaling off to places unknown. There was so much life here.
“These picnic tables,” Shawn said, proudly. “All natural, these guys. Old. They might be falling apart, but they’re real. Did you know that some picnic tables, the ones that are made of processed, treated wood, have deadly chemicals mixed in with the lumber? That stuff leaks out in bad weather, hits the aquifer, and gets into the water. It poisons children and animals. Oh, I could go on.”
“I’m sure you can,” Leila said, smirking.
“But enough of all that,” Shawn said, waving his hand dismissively at the table and grabbing a slice of apple from his snack spread. “Back at the stairs, before I got all, well, you know,” he grimaced. “You brought up something about being adopted? Living around the city?”
“Uh, yeah,” Leila said as she finished chewing a bit of cheese. “I basically grew up in a group home. I had a few near misses with foster families, but, you know. Sometimes things just don’t work out.”
“How so?” Shawn asked, leaning on the table, looking at her intently. Leila flushed a little. He looked at her with such interest, like she was the only person in the world, his hazel eyes so focused.
“It’s just—” Leila stammered.
“I’m sorry if I’m prying. It’s just, you know, not my world,” Shawn said in an almost-question. “I want to know you, you know?”
“Sure, yeah, but I’m not quite sure we’re there yet, Shawn. I, um, it’s hard, some of that stuff. Things I left behind that I’d rather leave back there. I’m happy now, though, that’s what matters. I have a family, a home. And this is nice.”
“Sure, sure,” Shawn said, lifting his hands up. “I won’t push.”
He grabbed another slice of apple and chewed it, looking off to the side thoughtfully. He swallowed and turned back to her, his eyes once again intense, this time bright with curiosity.
“Okay, I have to ask, though, do you ever think about, you know, them?” he asked. “I feel like I would.”
Oh hell no.
That question.