Stay a Little Longer Page 9

“Yeah.”

  Caty sighed, “So, this is our thing? We only see each other for a day?”

  “We didn’t even make it a full day.” He put her foot aside and crawled into the space next to her.

  “Do you think if we spend more than a day together, one of us might turn up dead?” she asked.

  “Are we talking homicide or freak accident?”

  She laughed. “I don’t know; were you planning to kill me all this time?”

  “That’s actually a question for you. You’re the one who ran over someone.”

  She closed her mouth and stared at him.

  “Too soon?” He glanced at her.

  Caty poked him on the chest, and he caught her hand.

  Elan continued, “I don’t think so. You occasionally drive me insane, but I don’t get the urge to strangle you.”

  “Yet,” Caty snickered. “And some people like to be choked.”

  “Some people or you people?”

  She side-eyed him again but didn’t answer.

  He shook his head and laughed. “See, when you do something like that, it makes me—”

  “Want to strangle me? Already?”

  “Kiss you,” he interrupted, and it sounded almost like a sigh.

  Caty held her breath.

  “But it’s not as frequent anymore. I’ve realized something tonight.”

  She held her breath, trying to understand what he meant. Kiss you. But not as frequent anymore. She felt her breath escape as she said, “What?”

  “As much as I want you to shut up, I also want to keep listening to you talk.”

  He looked at her when he said this, and it made her drop her head back on the pillow. The words hung in the air, and her mind was still trying to catch up with what it all meant. “You must be confused.”

  “A little, but I like it.”

  Caty’s eyes shifted to the ceiling, waiting for words to just fall out of the sky and into her mouth. She had to settle for a laugh, even if it sounded nervous. She felt him turn to face her.

  “You’ve never heard me sing,” Caty blurted out.

  “No. Am I missing something?”

  “Yeah,” she nodded. “Might push you over to the wanting-me-to-shut-up edge.”

  Caty finally shifted, twisting on her side to face him. They looked at each other, neither one sure of what to say next. Elan closed his eyes, tilted his head, and started singing, “You’re looking kinda lonely, girl . . .”

  Caty’s brows met in the middle, but her mouth turned upward. He was close to whispering, but she recognized the tone in his voice.

  “Would you like someone new to talk to? Ah yeah, all right . . .”

  He was singing. In bed, next to her. She couldn’t remember who sang the song, but she knew it. Caty started laughing as he hummed the next part, pretty sure he’d forgotten the lyrics. She remembered the song and joined the humming. They made up lyrics until they reached the chorus.

  Caty clapped her hands, finally remembering the lyrics. They both sang, “Sharing the night together, oh yeah, sharing the night!”

  “Oh my God, who sang that song?”

  Elan shrugged.

  “This isn’t on your special skills set,” she decided.

  “Neither is it on yours,” he agreed, the smile still on his face. “I can hold a better tune than you.”

  “That’s an exception to wanting to listen to me.”

  He pressed his lips together and just smiled.

  Caty propped herself up and scooted closer to him. “But I think it’s safe to say that I’ve grown on you.”

  Elan opened his eyes, rolled on his back, and faced the ceiling.

  “Come on,” she urged, her face nearing his.

  He glanced at her. “I guess.”

  She hit his arm playfully before dropping her head back down on his shoulder. She couldn’t stop smiling.

  “What do you think’s going on at the party?”

  She felt his shoulders move up, and she lifted her hand to stop him.

  Elan shifted his hand up to softly touch her hair. “I don’t think we’re missing out on anything there.”

  She nodded. She felt his hand move away from her head and back to his stomach. A warm heaviness came over her, and she appreciated how nice it was to be with someone in comfortable silence. She figured they needed this, even for a minute, before going back down to the chaos of the party.

  “We could still sneak out,” she yawned.

  “Maybe later.” He started humming again, a different song this time, and she told herself she could close her eyes to enjoy this moment. He didn’t sound bad either; she found his voice sweet and soothing.

  They could sneak out later. The night was still young.

  Caty turned to her side, her forehead now leaning on his shoulder, her hand gripping his arm. She felt Elan shift, his quiet breath on top of her head.

  She found it quick to forget about the rest.

  There was a whirring. Something. His fingers moved, then his hands, until he slowly opened his eyes. It was morning. He could tell by the light trying to peek through the curtains. Elan squeezed his eyes shut and breathed. An inexplicable calm covered him like a blanket. He turned to his side, and his heart leaped when he found the bed empty.

  The sheets were undone, unsmoothed, like someone jumped out and ran. He sat up too quickly and blinked, the heaviness of sleep still dragging his body down. He leaned back on the headboard, running his hands over his face.

  He looked back to his right side and confirmed it. He was alone. When he went to sleep, he hadn’t been. He had slept blissfully last night, holding the woman he’d waited a long time to see.

  He shifted his position and felt something underneath him. He grabbed the piece of paper under his torso and saw the hotel logo and a scribble. It read:

  I didn’t want to wake you. You looked nice. You sort of reminded me of a poem. That sounds like a line, but it’s real. I’d quote Rimbaud if I could. “Le Dormeur du Val.” Google it. Or maybe not.

  He turned the paper over and read the words and numbers scribbled on the back. In case you ever find yourself on my side of town. He turned the paper again, then back, and laughed.

  She had given him her number.

  part

  But isn’t desire always the same,

  whether the object is present or absent?

  roland barthes

  eight

  She usually drew the line at poetry. Caty read for leisure, to take her mind off certain things—like Elan coming to New York tomorrow. It’s not a big deal. Except it’s been six months since they last saw each other. Since they . . . slept together. Literally.

  She was reading Neruda and trying not to think about that night. But sometimes, she came across things that brought her back. Certain conversations, songs, poems.

  She finished the piece she was reading and had to close the book because she remembered so vividly. It was hell living on the memory of that one night.

  Did she try to compare it to nights with other guys? She did. Did she stop going out with other guys and kissing them? Sure. She remembered the feeling she’d had when she woke up the next morning, finding that somehow she was still wrapped up in his arms. It was one of the most peaceful nights she’d had in a long time. Their limbs had found a way to stay tangled, as if they didn’t want to separate themselves from each other.

  The funniest thing was that nothing had even happened. She slept with someone. Maybe a real sleep, for the first time.

  She remembered nights with other boys she’d been with before—they’d held her after, sure. But somehow, in the morning they would end up with their backs turned, almost at the edge of the bed.

  Okay, Caty breathed. She was reading too much into that one night. She was being dramatic. It w
as fine. It was a good night. Nothing mind-blowing. The memory had more of a subtle feeling, like a tender rhythm that made her blush or curl her toes if she thought about it too much.

  Really. This. Over sleeping.

  Good God, get a grip.

  The past few weeks hadn’t been so great. She felt as if she was literally watching the most drawn-out morning after, but the first few months were admittedly cute. They were calling each other, texting nonstop, watching TV together over the phone. Now it just seemed sad.

  She really should have known she was in too deep after a date with another guy on one of her first nights in New York. They were having a blast that night until he kissed her, and she thought, I should check my phone for messages.

  Clearly, there was something wrong with her.

  But, in fact, when she did check her phone after the guy leaned back and opened his apartment door for her, there was a message from Elan. It was so casual, so innocent—he had no idea where she was, what she was doing, whom she was with.

  They couldn’t seriously keep talking through their phones. She kept thinking something’s got to give.

  But tomorrow was different.

  Tomorrow he would be in New York. Her New York. She felt her stomach flip at the thought of seeing him again. She was confused, because she wanted to see him so much that her chest just might burst open. Half of her dreaded the meeting, and half was desperate to see him.

  Caty didn’t know. She felt very much like the Jane Austen quote I am half agony, half hope. She needed to read something else. Not this. Not wanting. Not desire.

  Her alarm went off, and she practically leaped out of her seat. She didn’t even look at the reminder. She turned off the alarm, dropped her book, and got her purse.

  She had to water some damn plants.

  He didn’t think he’d ever make it. New York. The one his old neighbors sang about during their late-night drinking and karaoke sessions. New York, New York, the city that doesn’t sleep.

  It was just before noon when he got off the brutal bus ride from Philly. His colleagues were probably in their hotel rooms, sleeping in before flying off tomorrow. Today was their free day. He wanted to have more days, or as long as his visa would allow him to stay, but it all depended on how today went.

  No pressure at all, he kidded, but he’d like to think he was ready for it. He stepped off the bus and shook his head. Nope. He wouldn’t let the pressure get to him today. He would not think about people on another continent. Especially since he’d been doing that for the last six months—thinking nonstop about a person who lived in another country. The same person walking toward him now.

  Catalina. He had started calling her that in his head; it seemed more intimate, as if he knew her better than other people. She looked nervous.

  Her hair was back to black, slightly curled at the ends, skimming below her shoulders. Her skin was bright, her eyes dark, her lips a more muted color than he’d seen before, but she looked beautiful, always. It was still summer in New York, but she wore dark clothes. Black top, black deconstructed jeans, black ankle boots.

  There was a lot to take in—New York for one thing, with its streets and buildings and culture. Even the air smelled different here. Looking around, he noticed so many new things, but everything faded when she came into view. She took the last step toward him with a sigh. He smiled.

  She looked up at him, and he expected her to say something, but she didn’t. Instead, she smiled back, took another step closer, and he caught her in his arms.

  He felt Caty’s arms wrap around his neck, and his chin landed on her shoulders. She smelled like coffee, with a hint of the perfume she wore the first time he was this close to her.

  They stayed like this on the sidewalk, not speaking, not moving. They just breathed in and out as people walked past them.

  They were together. In New York. They had today. It seemed like a good idea to spend the first few minutes of it wrapped around each other.

  Elan was here. He looked leaner, his hair was shorter, his jaw more pronounced. He had lines on his forehead when he looked at her, brows arching up.

  When she let go of him, she suddenly didn’t know what to do next. What to do with him. He was here.

  Caty felt him watching her, so she said, “How was your fake conference?”

  His face broke into a smile, and her insides hurt. “As good as fake conferences go.”

  “Happy to see me?”

  “Always.”

  She stepped to his side and looped her arm through his. “Welcome to New York. The greatest place on Earth.”

  “I thought that was Disneyland.”

  Caty shook her head as they started to walk. “Nope. That’s the happiest. This is the greatest, Judy. This is it.”

  She watched his face light up. The sun hit his eyes, so he squinted when he said, “Well, you’re here, so it must be.”

  “Damn right.”

  They walked quietly for a bit, just moving forward, not exactly sure where they were heading.

  “You’re wearing black,” Elan started.

  She looked down at her clothes, then back at him, “Oh yeah. Grunge is back. Or maybe it never left. I’m having a phase.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since moving,” Caty answered. “It seems like the safest thing to wear.”

  “You mean like from pickpockets?” He frowned. “People harassing you?”

  “God, no.” She snorted. “Not like that. Though a guy flashed his penis at me the other day.”

  Elan looked funny. “On the street?”

  “No, in the comforts of my own room,” she clicked her tongue.

  He stiffened.

  “I’m kidding!” Caty laughed. “But I live in Bed-Stuy, so I’ve been roughened up around the edges.”

  Elan smiled easily. “You have always been rough around the edges.”

  “It can get scary here at times, but if you don’t let it roll off your back, you’re gonna book the next flight out.”

  Elan nodded, and their steps slowed. “So. All black?”

  Caty took a deep breath. “Newbie anxieties. Fitting in. Black seemed safe. And it looks good on me, don’t you think?”

  She looked up at him, watching him smile. God, she could do this now. See him smile. Not imagine it. Despite talking a lot the past few months, she now realized they had never done a video call. They were together in different ways for the whole time, but not in that sense. Introducing visuals would just be too weird, too much to ask for maybe. They were doing fine talking in speech bubbles and voice clips. Now that she could scan his face, memorize the way his cheeks stretched and his eyes wrinkled, she realized she’d been missing out.

  “I never took you for someone who’d go for safe just to fit in. Weren’t you the girl who liked to shock people?”

  Caty smiled. “Yes, well. I want New York to actually like me. I feel brand new here.”

  New York felt more like a clean slate than Toronto. New York was her choice; Toronto, even when her parents insisted otherwise, felt like her punishment.

  He didn’t say anything more, just nodded and looked at the streets. He was taking it all in, she figured. The signs, the stores, the people, the cabs. She had done exactly the same thing when she arrived, and it finally dawned on her that she was actually living in New York.

  “So where do you get your bagels here?”

  She grinned. Bagels. He remembered—her choice of breakfast. She covered her mouth and squealed. “You want bagels?”

  “No, you want bagels.”

  “Well, what do you want?”

  He put a hand on the small of her back, and they resumed walking. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just follow you around.”

  “No, there must be something you want to see, right?”

  Elan just grinned
.

  “We’ll pay a visit to your lover, Lady Liberty.”

  “Yes.” He fisted his hand and thrust it into the air, like that iconic Judd Nelson move.

  She laughed. “But I mean, the best things are in Brooklyn.” She reached for his arm. “I might need to reroute this whole thing. Are you up for it?”

  His hand wrapped around her wrist, and she responded by turning it so her fingers could touch his.

  “Up for it? I came prepared.”

  He used his other hand to pull a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over to her. Caty took it and read the scribbled words. She paused, her eyes running down the list, and then looked back at him. “Are you serious?”

  “It’s all you’ve talked about.”

  She laughed, looking back at the list of places she’d been visiting for the last two months since moving to New York. It wasn’t even the tourist spots; these were places she’d mentioned because she liked them—the vintage shop in Brooklyn, Franklin Park, Dumbo at night. They might not be able to cover everything, but she squeezed his hand and tried hard not to giggle.

  “Lead the way,” he said, as she leaned in.

  Caty pressed her lips together and tried to stop herself from saying the things she wanted to say. Too early. They had two days. They could talk about it, whatever it is, later.

  “That all you have?” She pointed to his bag.

  “I had one of the guys take most of my stuff home so I wouldn’t have to bring everything here.”

  Caty nodded. “You’re a light packer. I could never stay for two days with one bag.”

  Elan paused. She saw his jaw twitch, and her stomach twinged. But he took a breath, and his face shifted, back to the way it was when they held hands, like things were back on track. “Well, I didn’t bring a suit this time. Do I need one?”

  Caty bit her lip, remembering the last time they saw each other. The ball. The dance. The room. The bed. The morning after.

  She cleared her throat. “No. You look fine. Great, even.”

  “Thanks.” He smiled and stepped forward, as if he knew where they were and where they were going.