It’s a small place in Brooklyn, up on the third floor. On moving day the elevator was broken, so I had to walk up all those stairs with my meager stack of boxes, grateful that Louise had taken over my lease back in L.A. and that I hadn’t needed to pack up more of my things to send to the new place.
The first floor smells like one tenant’s infinite amount of cats all decided to pee at the same time. The second floor houses a guy with several dogs who regularly engage in barking competitions (probably induced by the cat smells), and above that is my tiny cramped apartment. A small main room, just about big enough for a single bed, a lamp, and a desk, and a kitchen area along one wall just about big enough for a mini-fridge, a hot plate and a folding table (as long as you squeeze through).
By the time I’m up the many flights of stairs and walking breathlessly down the hallway toward my door, I feel too exhausted to do anything but fall onto my bed and into a deep sleep. I’ll have to get up around four in the morning if I have any chance at finishing off this ballet piece before Cassandra’s ‘progress report’ tomorrow. Since I got to New York I’ve been too tired to do anything—including think. And though it’s hardly good for my health, I’m starting to feel grateful for it. There’s only one thing I would think about anyway, even though that—or rather, he—is over.
I look down at my bag to dig for my keys, and that’s when my sleep-deprived mind conjures the smell of his cologne. Feeling half-crazy, I shake my head at myself, but just as my fingers close around the metal key ring, someone steps out of the shadows.
I jump back, drop my bag, and paw at my jacket pocket for the pepper spray that Louise insisted I keep on me at all times.
“You’re still pissed at me, I take it?” Owen jokes, gesturing at the pepper spray I’m pointing at him. “You might want to take the safety cap off first.”
Adrenaline still pumping through my system, I look down at the pepper spray and then back up at his familiar face, his broad shoulders, the slightly wilted bouquet of flowers in his hand—and whether it’s my general fatigue, the stress of the day I just had at work, or my relief at finding Owen standing there after weeks of being surrounded by disinterested strangers, I burst out laughing.
“You scared me half to death,” I tell him as I start to calm down.
Owen smiles and stoops to pick up my dropped bag.
“Sorry,” he says, holding out the flowers. “These could use some water, I think. I’ve been waiting awhile.”
“Wait…how?” I moan, bringing a hand to my head and rubbing furiously, as if half expecting him to disappear like a mirage, unsure even of what’s going on anymore. “How did you find me?”
“Your sister gave me your address, but only after I promised her I was coming here to tell you I’m sorry for being such a dick. And I am sorry, Margo. I couldn’t give you what you needed and I was a shitty friend on top of that. After you left I realized that I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing when it comes to you. All I know for sure is, I did it wrong. You deserved better.”
I look at him, confused as hell as I try to process the words, but all out of questions. His smile drops, and for the first time since the last night we spent together I catch a glimpse of something behind those eyes. A shape of his real feelings, of the side of himself he hides so constantly, so successfully.
“Come inside,” I finally manage. “I’ll put some tea on.”
We step into the tiny apartment and I gesture at the little table and folding chairs as I fill the kettle and set it on the hot plate to heat up. But Owen doesn’t sit down.
“The place is…nice,” he says, turning in a slow circle to look at the meager space.
“It’s New York,” I shrug, setting the cups and teabags on the table. While I get the flowers Owen brought me situated in an empty orange juice carton, Owen stands at the window looking out at the street, as if gathering his thoughts. When the kettle whistles I pour the water, then collapse into a chair and gesture for him to do the same.
“You didn’t have to come all the way here to apologize,” I say. “I’m sorry we didn’t part on better terms but…” I trail off, my mind suddenly flooded with memories of his naked body, our inside jokes, the lattes he’d bring me at work, the way it felt to fall asleep next to him. I shake my head, trying to banish the thoughts. “Anyway. It didn’t work out. No hard feelings. I still consider you a friend.”
“A friend,” he repeats, locking his gaze onto mine.
I nod and look away, lifting my teacup to hide the blush in my cheeks.
As I listen to the city sounds blaring outside my windows, I feel like my chest is caving in. Because what I really want is for him to climb in bed with me, tell me he wants me—not just for now but for always. I want him to fuck away my exhaustion and my job stress and this loud, cold, indifferent city. I want him to tell me we can fix this. But my rational mind knows that a clean break is the best thing for both of us.
“Before you kick me out, I brought you something,” he says, his voice low and deep with earnestness, as if it’s emanating from somewhere deep within his soul. He holds out his hand and I open my palm to take it.
When I draw my hand back I see he’s given me a tiny stud earring with a green stone set inside of it. Something about it looks familiar, enough to tug frustratingly at the edges of my mind, but I’m either too tired or too confused to figure it out.
“What is this?” I ask, looking up at him. “Is this mine?”
“Yeah,” Owen says. “You remember a few months after we met, I was going to give you a ride to some concert, but for some reason we just decided not to go?”
“Yeah, I remember. We went and got tacos instead. Drove around all night.”
“That’s right.” He nods. “Just back and forth up and down Pacific Coast Highway. Listening to music, just…you know, talking.”
I smile at him. “Yeah. I remember.”
“You dropped that in my car. I kept it. I figured it would give me a good excuse to see you again if I ever needed it.” Owen pauses, a little more seriousness in his eyes now. “Except you’ve been there for me ever since. So I never needed it before. Well…until now.”
I look down again at the earring, shaking in my trembling hand. Suddenly it feels like Owen is filling the room with his presence, and I almost break down. I open my mouth to speak, though my mind is still lost somewhere in the memory evoked.
Suddenly he sweeps close, lifting me out of the chair to clutch my body to his, crushing his lips on mine to kiss me in a way that makes everything disappear. A kiss that says more than a thousand words ever could, lips touching only as an extension of our souls, and for a second I feel closer to him than I’ve ever felt, as if we’re one.
When he pulls away I feel like a different woman, as if the kiss were some barrier crossed, never to go back from. A kiss as good as a commitment.