Tonight the Streets Are Ours

Arden picks up her purse, and they head out together.

“By the way,” her mother says as she locks the door behind her, “what are all these marks on your arms?”

Arden glances again at the words on her arms. I miss you I miss you I miss you and the only one. “They’re lies,” she says simply. “But don’t worry. They’ll wash off.”

They walk down the four flights of stairs and out into the late afternoon sun. And there, standing on the sidewalk right outside her mother’s apartment building, is a person Arden recognizes.

“Hey,” says Peter. “I’ve been looking for you.”





A garden of gardeners and flowers

“Where did you go this morning?” Arden asks Peter.

They have left behind her very surprised mother. “Who is this?” she asked when they emerged from her apartment building, looking back and forth between Arden and Peter with confusion, maybe suspicion, and a hint of amusement.

“No one,” said Arden.

“Peter,” said Peter, and he shook Arden’s mother’s hand firmly. He gave her a broad smile while simultaneously adjusting his glasses, a move clearly designed to set a mother at ease, communicating I’m charming and I’m a studious boy who would never take your daughter to bed with me all at the same time. Arden wasn’t having it for a second. Maybe her mother was, though. Today Peter is wearing fitted jeans and a black-and-white checked button-down. He looks just like someone you would trust with your daughter. He’s a good-looking guy. Arden doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to unsee that, no matter how much she learns about him.

“Peter and I need to talk,” she told her mother. “Just wait here for a few minutes. I’ll be back in a little bit.”

Her mother didn’t ask questions. She just sat down on her stoop, pulled out her phone, and reminded Arden, “Not too long. We have to figure out how to get you home.”

Peter and Arden walked in silence for a number of blocks. She had thought it likely that she was never going to see him again. She hadn’t really wanted to see him again. Funny that she could spend so long searching for him, and it’s only once she’s not looking anymore that he turns right up.

Now that he’s here, though, she wants an explanation. She wants him to explain everything. And when he doesn’t answer her question right away, she repeats, louder, “Where did you go this morning?”

“To the library,” he says.

“Why?”

“I needed to return a couple books. And I really like it there. Have you ever been to the main branch of the New York Public Library? It’s massive. If you have time today, we should totally go.”

“That’s not what I’m asking. I meant, why did you leave me?”

He adjusts his glasses again and doesn’t reply for a moment. Then he says, “Let’s go in here.”

She follows him into a little garden crammed between buildings. The sign on the gate identifies it as the Elizabeth Street Garden. She realizes that it’s the first time her feet have touched the grass since she arrived in this city. The space is filled with marble statues, human busts and cherubs and Grecian columns, that sort of thing. It’s not big, but it’s substantial enough for the city sounds to fade to a low rumble in the background.

They find a gray stone bench and sit down.

“How did you find me?” Arden asks when she realizes that he’s not about to tell her why he left her earlier. The thought that Peter would track her down, as she did to him, is flattering. But confusing. What does he want from her? Why abandon her, only to come back?

“You said your mom’s address last night,” he reminds her.

“You have a good memory for details.”

He shrugs. “I’m a writer.”

“But how did you even know I’d be there?”

“I didn’t know for sure. I just figured you’d wind up there eventually.”

“Why?”

He blinks at her. “Because she’s your mother?”