Where We Left Off (Middle of Somewhere #3)

“OH JESUS, no. No. No fucking way,” Milton said. “Hard limit. Just no.”

We were standing in the kitchen of an apartment where Melissa, one of the seniors in Milton’s acting class, lived. She was leaving for the summer, going on tour with some Disney cruise or something, and was offering to let us rent it cheap. We’d dragged our asses out of bed at seven in the morning on the day after finals to look at the place because she had to go to a 9:00 a.m. training on the particulars of how to comport oneself while in Disney costume on the ship or something.

“It’s not a big deal,” Melissa said. “You just stomp when you come into the kitchen and they totally scatter. Little fuckers.” She kicked at a roach that was skittering down the side of the cabinet. “They mostly stay in the kitchen, anyway. And the bathroom,” she said upon consideration. “Well, and sometimes—”

“Dude,” Thomas said to Milton. “I know you don’t want to, like, be dependent on your folks anymore or whatever, but….”

Milton sighed.

“Roaches are fascinating,” Charles said, peering at one that was poised at the corner of the doorframe. “Did you know some of the largest ones fly? Strange. They seem so grounded. Armored. But I suppose so are planes.”

Andy and Thomas conversed in glances, Andy’s saying, “Yo, your friend is weird as hell,” and Thomas’ answering, “Yeah, but he’s not so bad once you get used to it.”

“Maybe we should just check Craigslist,” I offered.

We had really left looking for a place until it was too late, none of us quite making it from thought to action, even though we’d been talking about living together for the better part of a month.

We trudged back to the dorms in low spirits, deciding we needed sustenance in order to sort out the whole mess. We only had two more days before we needed to vacate our rooms, so whatever we were going to find, it had to be quick.

“Hey, how was it?” Gretchen asked, finishing her oatmeal as we dropped down at our usual table in the corner of the dining hall.

“Remember the Felicity where she and Ben move in together and she rents the place with all the roaches?”

Gretchen nodded, wrinkling her nose.

“Well it was like that,” Milton said. “Only worse because no Ben.”

“Yikes. Well, good luck, guys. I’m going to meet Layne. She’s taking me on a picnic in Central Park.” Gretchen grinned and scuffed her toe.

“Aww,” Thomas and Milton chorused.

“But we’re on for tomorrow night, right?”

We were going to smuggle all the food out of the dining hall that we could and then hole up in our room (Charles had returned the filing cabinet to the hallway and largely deconstructed the FBI profiler wall above his desk since finals had ended). We had the second half of the final season of Felicity to watch, and we were going to marathon it as our farewell to the year. Milton had seen it before, of course, but the rest of us had all laid bets on how things would end.

“You guys,” Milton had said repeatedly. “You guys, you have no idea how intense shit’s about to get.”

“I Wikipediaed it,” Charles said, shrugging, “and I don’t understand why—” Milton practically flew across the table to clap his hand over Charles’ mouth.

“Say not one single word,” Milton hissed.

“We are absolutely on,” I said to Gretchen, and she gathered her dishes and walked off toward the door, hair almost white in the bright sun that streamed through the windows.

We spent the next hour combing through Craigslist properties. It was becoming increasingly clear that the things Milton had told us about our real estate options were inaccurate and likely gleaned from overhearing conversations among people with a lot more money than us.

A few hours later, I was officially exhausted and completely demoralized. We’d traipsed to four apartments, each one more horrible than the last. There was one place we all loved, but when we tried to sign the lease, it turned out that the Craigslist poster had transposed the first two numbers of the rent on the announcement. He apologized profusely and said that explained why he’d gotten so many calls about the place, but the fact remained that it was now about a thousand dollars out of our price range.

As I walked past Washington Square Park, the white arch against blue sky funneled me in. My phone rang as I dropped down under a tree and when I swiped to answer, Daniel’s face was looking at me, shocked.

“Holy… what did you… how are you on my phone?” he said, shaking it.

“Dude, you FaceTimed me.”

“What the shit is a face time?”

“You video called me instead of regular calling me. Like Skype.”

“Shit, that’s a thing?”

I nodded as he paced around the room. “Um, you’re kind of giving me vertigo. Can you either sit still or just regular call me.”

“Oh, sorry.” He threw himself down on the couch. “Where are you?” He cocked his head, squinting at the phone.

“Washington Square Park.” I tilted the phone so he could see the arch and then the fountain.

“Oh, nice.”

We chatted for a bit and swapped finals horror stories. One of his students had asked for an extension on a paper because his roommate accidentally took mushrooms and then dropped his computer out their window on the tenth floor.

“How do you accidentally take mushrooms?”

“I don’t think he took them accidentally,” Daniel said. “I think he probably just misestimated their efficacy.”

“Did you give him the extension?”

“Yeah. I mean, Jesus. Living with people sounds like utter hell.”

Since Daniel had never lived in the dorms while he was in college, he had been fascinated all year to hear my stories of the bizarre goings-on there.

“Well you do live with someone, you know.”

“Oh, well, but Rex isn’t someone.” I could see the softness that always crept into Daniel’s voice when he mentioned Rex in his eyes too. “He redid all the cabinets this weekend.” He pointed the phone into the kitchen where I could see exactly nothing because he wasn’t holding his hand still or angling the screen right.

“You’ll have to give me the grand tour in person.”

“Oh, right, right, that’s why I called. So, do you want to come next weekend or the weekend after? Either is fine, but Rex is doing this workshop at the queer youth group where Colin volunteers next Saturday, so he just wouldn’t be around for some of it.”

“Oh man, how’s stuff going with you and Colin?”

“The same, really. It’s good, but kinda awkward. He never comes here because he says he can tell that Rex still hates him. Basically true. But Rafe and Rex actually get along really well—they’re ridiculous together. Like, Rafe will talk super seriously about something and explain the whole thing and then ask Rex what he thinks, and Rex will say like five words, but of course they’re so perfectly true, and Rafe actually gets him, so he’ll just sit there and be like, ‘Huh. Yes. That’s true.’ And then they’ll both sit there and think about shit together.”

“Can I meet them when I visit?”

“Yeah, sure. You’ll think they’re weird. Rafe has like zero sense of humor, and Colin will probably do magic tricks for you.”

“Um. Yeah, that is weird. Okay, so weekend after next sounds good. Hopefully I won’t be homeless by then.”

I filled Daniel in on our fruitless search for an apartment.

“Ugh, what a shit show. You should go to res life. They usually have a list of buildings around campus that do deals with students who are staying in the summer.”

“Seriously? Oh god, thank you, you’re a life saver.”

At the far end of the park a camera crew was setting up, clearing an area for a group of women in colorful saris who began to dance, their movements made magical by the spray of the fountain.

“Hey, so, listen,” I said just before we hung up. “Um. What if I could convince Will to come to Philly with me? Would that be cool? I mean, I don’t know if I’ll be able to, but. Just in case.”

“So… does that mean you guys are like…. What does that mean?”

“We’re gonna try being… a thing or whatever.” My grin was so huge it was kind of hurting my face.

Daniel got this almost sappy expression on his face.

“Aw, man. That’s great. I know it’s what you wanted. Also, PS, if that fucker does anything to you, I’ll—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Thanks. Really, thanks.”

He nodded, but then his expression soured.

“Ugh, so I guess that means we’ll have to try and get along better.” His mouth was in a resentful pout. “So, okay, yeah, sure, bring Mini-Skarsgård, whatever.”

“You know he calls you the Prince of Poetry.”

Daniel scowled and muttered something that sounded like “pretty boy model asshole bullshit,” but I couldn’t be sure.

HAVING DONE all the laundry I’d been hoarding during the last month, I was idly packing my clothes while Charles and I listened to Serial, pausing it every few minutes to argue about what was going on.

I’d texted Milton to go to res life since he had already packed, and he’d gotten leads on three really good options for apartments. We were going to go see them the next morning.

I couldn’t believe the year was over. It was kind of how I felt when I sank into watching a really immersive TV show—like I couldn’t imagine the characters and settings not being parts of my life—and then it was over. Only, unlike a show, there was no real climax.

I was glad we had a concrete activity tonight to celebrate the end of the year. Besides, I was actually dying to see how Felicity turned out. Will could say whatever he wanted about how it was unrealistic to expect life to be like fiction, but I was pretty sure most people would agree it feels better to have some kind of closure. Some way of marking a momentous occasion.

WILL TEXTED while I was in the middle of packing, a strangely elliptical text asking me to meet him at the planetarium at five. When I wrote back to ask why, he just said, Duh, what do you think you do at a planetarium.

When I got there, he took my arm and led me inside. He seemed tense and kind of irritable, which wasn’t that unusual, but he didn’t generally invite me to do stuff when he was irritable.

“I watched that scene in Rebel Without a Cause,” I told him as the lights dimmed.

“Just the scene? Oy vey, the younger generation.” But he slid his hand onto my thigh and settled into his seat as the show started. I leaned my head against Will’s shoulder and breathed in his smell, and his hand tightened on my thigh. The stars were as interesting as ever, but Will was clearly distracted, which made me unsure why he’d invited me.

After the show let out, we lingered in the park, Will still seeming fidgety even though we were outside. He kept fiddling with his phone and didn’t seem to hear me when I asked if he wanted to get food.

Finally, assuming he was just in a mood, I said, “Okay, well thanks for taking me to the show,” and leaned in to kiss his cheek, ready to go back to the dorms and leave him to his brooding. When I went for a peck, though, he grabbed my hand almost painfully. I raised my eyebrows at him as if to say What is your problem today? Finally, he jerked a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket and thrust it at me.

“Here,” he said, holding on for a second after I’d taken it so I had to tug it from his fingers. He made a sound like Ugh and a waving me off gesture, then stuck his hands in his pockets and half turned away.

I opened the paper, feeling the residual heat from Will’s body. It was a color print-off from a website. At first glance it looked like a star chart and I thought it had something to do with the show we’d just seen, but when I looked closer….

“Oh. My. God.”

“Oh, just shut up about it, okay? I just thought you’d like it.”

“Oh my god, you bought me a star?”

The paper was a certificate printed out from a website called StarRegistry, declaring me to be the proud owner of a star called The Shire.

“Wiiiiiiill,” I whined, grabbing his arm and bouncing up and down on my toes. “You made a romantic gesture!”

Will looked like he was about to vomit.

“Okay,” he said, “whatever, the point is that you should just stay with me this summer. It’s stupid to waste your money on an apartment with those guys. Besides, you’ll be so busy with two jobs that you won’t have time to do anything else, and it’s supposed to be your summer vacation, so whatever. It’s cheaper if you just stay with me.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Little bubbles of joy started to rise in my stomach and chest like champagne. I couldn’t stop bouncing, and the moment stretched out as vast as a galaxy. There was me, standing there, my arms tethering me to Will, and there was Will, holding something out to me that was as delicate as starlight and as ineffable.

Where once I would have grabbed at it, only to watch my hands slide through nothing, now I just watched it, appreciating everything it illuminated.

Will was eyeing me suspiciously, lower lip caught in his teeth. I shook my head, forcing myself to stop bouncing.

“Gonna need a little more than ‘it’s cheaper,’” I told him with a smirk, still holding on to his arm. Star or no star, I wasn’t about to impose myself on Will for three months if he was just letting me stay out of pity or because he was jealous I might live with someone who had a crush on me.

I mean, okay, I was mostly just giving him shit. Obviously, I wanted to stay with him. I just wanted him to say it nicely.

Clearly I had underestimated either Will’s level of irritation at having done anything that could be construed as romantic or Will’s level of nervousness about asking me to live with him, though, because he was not amused by my teasing at all.

“Oh my god,” he said, throwing up his arms and breaking my hold on him in the process. “Haven’t we been through this?! What do you want me to say to you? That you’re my sun, my moon, my starlit sky, and without you I dwell in darkness?”

That took a moment to register, especially since stars were kind of on topic, but then….

“Are you… are you quoting Willow to me right now?!”

Will rolled his eyes. “I mean!” And he gestured at the star, like he’d bought himself a certain amount of leeway with it. Which is probably exactly what he’d been trying to do. To, as usual, let a gesture stand in for having to say how he felt.

“Will,” I said, trying not to laugh at how upset he was. “Is it really so hard to say those things? I mean, not those things, obviously. But… is it really so hard for you to just tell me why you want me to stay with you?”

Will purposely ignored the last part of my comment. “You actually want someone to say shit to you just because it sounds like a line from some romance?”

“No! I think we’ve established that I don’t need you to be… is it Val Kilmer? Jesus, you know that movie’s from before I was even born, right? Anyway, I just… come on. Can’t you just tell me how you feel?”

Again, Will gestured wildly between himself and me and the paper I held clutched in my hand. He was angry for real now. I could tell the difference.

But this time I wasn’t backing down. It was too important. I wasn’t going to let there be one more thing between us that lingered unsaid, guessed at, talked around. So I just stood there and waited. Will glared at me, clearly expecting that I would fill the silence like I usually did, but I raised my eyebrows at him. Will’s elegant nostrils flared, and he narrowed his eyes at me.

“You know how I feel. I don’t believe for one second that you don’t!”

Now I was getting pissed too. Pissed that he would deny me a simple explanation, pissed that he thought I was still enough of a pushover to let him get away with it, and pissed that he’d clearly planned the planetarium trip as an emotional shortcut—using the romantic gestures I’d once wanted to soften me up so I wouldn’t force him to express the feelings behind them.

“Then why can’t you just say it, Will? Just tell me why, and don’t you dare say money!”

“Christ! Do you want me to arrange a fucking flash mob for you too?” Will spat. “Or—oh!—get us on the kiss cam at Madison Square Garden! How about that?”

His face was flushed as he leaned toward me, hands on his hips, and yelled.

“Exactly how much audience participation would you like there to be when I tell you that I fucking want you with me, huh? Tell me! Give me a number of exactly how many fucking people you need to witness me tell you that I want you to come live with me this summer! That I’ll miss the shit out of you if I don’t get to see you because you’re too busy working two jobs! That I want to come home from work in the evenings and get to fucking hang out with you and watch those—god damn—those stupid fucking DVD extras? Just a ballpark fucking figure of how many goddamn people you need to hear me tell you that I fucking love you, Leo!”

Will fell silent, fists clenched, as people around us stared. After a moment, he narrowed his eyes in mortification and looked up slowly, cheeks burning, at the crowd that had gathered around us. One man walking a dog started to clap. He was quickly joined by a lady jogging, and soon everyone who had overheard was clapping and whistling.

“Oh my fucking god,” Will whispered.

My heart was pounding, and my skin felt like it couldn’t contain me. My breath came fast and my head felt light, like at the very end of a long yoga class when every worry I’d carried in with me had been purged in sweat.

I looked at Will, his cheeks flushed, his hair mussed, and his expression mortified. And none of it mattered. Because there, in the twist of his mouth and the corners of his eyes, I saw it. The truth. That I was his sun and his moon and his damn starlit sky. That, without me, maybe he did dwell in a little bit more darkness than with me. He might never say it. But, goddamn, his version of it was way, way better.

Then I looked around us and started giggling.

“Um, maybe like… I’d say about fifteen would probably do it. No, definitely more like twenty.” I gave a little nod and grin at the people who had gathered around us.

One guy had a phone out and was filming us—from behind Will, thankfully, because the last thing I needed right now was for Will to go ballistic and get arrested for assaulting some tourist.

“Oh my god, just kill me please,” Will said, the applause making it hard for me to hear him.

I closed the distance between us in one step, the Vans he got me for my birthday touching the toes of his designer sneakers, our shadows overlapping on the ground as I reached for him, creating a shadow deeper than either of them on their own.

“Sometimes I want to,” I said. “And then you buy me stars and declare your love for me in public and ask me to move in with you, because you’re so romantic.”

I could see the glare start to form in Will’s eyes, the edge of the snarl on his lips as he prepared to fight. So before he could, I pulled him to me, held him at the waist, and dipped him backward so he had to grab my shoulders to keep from falling.

And then—like an iconic photograph, a movie musical, the swooniest of swoony romance novel covers—I kissed the hell out of Will Highland in front of a crowd, on a spring afternoon in Central Park, as the city came alive around us.