When she was almost to the Eighth Avenue stop on the L, and the adrenaline that had been coursing through her veins had started to ebb, she felt…yes, those were tears. “Fuck,” she said under her breath, and she wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her leather jacket. She squeezed her eyes shut for another moment. What the hell was she supposed to do now? She didn’t want to go home—Janelle would probably be there, making one of her beauty-tutorial videos. Lately she’d started just leaving all her makeup and equipment on the kitchen table, which was technically in the living room—“It’s not like you use it, and it would just make things easier if I didn’t have to set up each time,” Janelle said, and Katya couldn’t exactly argue because she had sat at the table maybe once in the entire time the two of them had been living together. But still, there was something about the presumption that rankled Katya. Like it was something she should be annoyed about, even if she actually wasn’t. Except right now, when all she wanted to do was go home and lie on the couch and stare at the ceiling, and she knew Janelle would be teaching the world how to put on fake lashes.
She felt her phone vibrate. It was probably Victor, texting her to apologize. She took it out of her back pocket. It was, instead, a text from Dan: hey k, hope you’re having a lovely evening. this came on my spotify on my way home & it made me think of you. if you don’t know neutral milk hotel…well, you need to know neutral milk hotel. totally formative. Katya did not know “Neutral Milk Hotel.” She clicked the link, which opened an album called In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, and started listening. She didn’t listen to a ton of music, but when she did, it was usually whatever new hip-hop Victor was into at the moment. This was something else altogether. She listened to a minute or so of one song and texted Dan back: thx. pretty good! She hit send, put away her phone, and then took out her phone again. Before she could think about it too much, she sent him another text: i know you’re already home but…any chance you feel like a drink? As soon as she hit send, she regretted it. What was she doing turning to Dan for consolation, especially about something like this? But he was the only one who would really be able to understand what had happened at the bar—Victor didn’t get how hard it was to be a reporter, that everyone around you could just go on about their business but you always had to be worrying about, like, offending your boyfriend. She had barely finished rationalizing sending the text when he responded: always. name the place, i’ll grab an uber.
Old Town? she wrote back. That way, she could just jump on the L at Union Square and go home afterward.
Sure, he wrote.
Half an hour later, they were sitting side by side at the bar. She had a vodka soda in front of her.
“Thanks for meeting me,” she said.
“Of course,” Dan said. “You’re not really one to, like…cry wolf. So I knew it was serious.”
She felt tears coming to her eyes again and used a cocktail napkin to dab at them before any real waterworks could start. “It just suddenly feels like nothing is going right, you know?”
“Want to talk about it?” Dan’s voice was gentle. Somehow this made the tears come quicker. She rubbed her eyes with the napkin, which was getting grubby. Ugh. This was not what was supposed to happen. She hated tears. “Or you can cry too,” Dan said. “That’s fine.”
“I don’t wanna cry,” she said.
“You and Mariah,” he said.
“Who’s Mariah?”
“Carey. You know, like the song.” She didn’t, actually, know the song; she was aware of Mariah Carey’s existence, but she was slightly embarrassed by the huge gaps in her pop-culture knowledge, gaps that included music and movies that people her age were familiar with. She blamed growing up with Russian parents but also the fact that she had trouble caring.
“Right.” She took a sip of her drink. “Anyway. I dunno. I went up to Isabel at this party I was just at, and she kind of flipped out on me and then her boyfriend got involved and basically told Victor to tell me to fuck off, and then Victor got pissed, and we maybe broke up? I actually don’t even know.”
“Whoa,” Dan said. “That’s a lot. No wonder you needed a drink.”
“See? And it’s just like, I need to get this story. I feel like I’m so close.”
“You’ll get it,” Dan said. “I know you will. You…have a way of getting what you want.” That sentence hung in the air between them. She traced the edge of her glass with her finger and stared at it; she didn’t want to, couldn’t, make eye contact with Dan. Why had she texted him tonight? There was more hanging in the air that she didn’t want to confront. Or did she? She was feeling buzzed, warm. “Do I?” she said. She still wasn’t looking at Dan, but she smiled.
When she finally looked up, he was staring at her. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “Take a walk. It’ll clear your head.” A walk would be a good idea, but when she opened her mouth to respond, Dan pulled her to him and kissed her, fully and unapologetically. She didn’t resist, exactly, but she also wasn’t a completely willing participant. “Sorry,” he said when he finally pulled away. “I just…I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”
“It’s okay,” she said. Did she mean that? She wasn’t sure.
“Do you want to get out of here?” Dan said softly. He put his hand on her knee. “We could go for a walk or something.”
“I should get home,” she said. “I’m going to get in an Uber, okay?”
“It’s so early!” Dan said, almost whining. He picked up his phone and showed her. “See? Only ten thirty. You probably don’t even go to bed until what, like, one?”
“It’s been a long day,” she said. She wriggled away from him, so his hand had to drop off her knee. “I really should go.”
“I came all the way back into the city to meet you,” he said quietly.
“What’s that supposed to mean, exactly?” she said. She was daring him to say what she knew he was close to saying. What he wanted to say. What he thought he deserved from her.
“Oh—nothing,” he said. “Nothing. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
18
Age of Innocence
SABRINA HAD SEEN the subject line of the email pop up on her phone when she emerged from the subway, but she couldn’t bring herself to open it until she was safely sitting down at her desk because what it said was: Pole-dancing workshop **tomorrow** at 7 p.m.!
It was from Mackenzie Alvarez in sales. The rest of the email said:
Heyyyy, everyone! Just a reminder that we’re having a pole dancing workshop tomorrow at 7 p.m. down the street at Pole Position NYC. All are welcome but especially Oliver Brandt. ;) Wear comfortable but fitted clothes—leggings are recommended!