Roomies
Page 15
Finally, he looks up at me and smiles. “That looks good, too.”
We put in our orders, make small talk about the weather, and tourists, and our favorite part of Possessed, until a meaningful silence falls . . . and there’s nothing else to do but dive right in.
I adjust my napkin on my lap. “I’m sure you think it’s weird that I asked you to lunch.”
“Not weird.” He shrugs. “Nice. Unexpected.”
“The music was amazing the other day. At the theater.”
It’s almost like something warms from inside him when I say this. “Thanks. I know this sounds trite, but what a bloody honor to be called in. To be offered that gig.” He pauses, dipping his straw in and out of his water distractingly. “I assume you heard why I had to turn it down.”
I nod, and for the next two breaths, he looks devastated. But then his posture loosens again, and his smile is back.
“It’s . . . sort of why I wanted to see you today,” I say. The bite of bread I’ve eaten settles into an uncomfortable glob in my stomach. “So. Calvin.”
His eyes sparkle. “So. Holland.”
Our food arrives and breaks the tension. Calvin bends, stabbing a bite of lettuce and neatly maneuvering it into his mouth. Teeth and chin: spotless. He looks up at me expectantly. “You were saying?”
I clear my throat. “Robert was so impressed by you.”
He blushes, chewing and swallowing. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. They all were.”
He bites back a smile. “That’s lovely to hear.”
“I’m thinking . . . I might have a solution.”
He stills. “A solution? Do you have an in with the border patrol, then?”
“Ramón Martín is coming on in two weeks,” I begin, and Calvin is nodding, “and has a ten-month run. I was thinking . . . that if you—if we . . .”
He continues to stare, unmoving. When I don’t finish my sentence, his eyebrows slowly rise.
I swallow a gulp of air and push the words out in a rush: “I was thinking thatwecouldgetmarried.”
Calvin sits back, surprised.
I look at the other tables, a little unsettled. Is he going to find this not just bizarre but outright immoral?
He puts down his fork. “Aye, why not. It’s only Holy Matrimony.” He tilts his head back and laughs delightedly. “Surely you’re only joking?”
Oh God. Someone flush me out of this room right now. “No, actually.”
“You,” he says quietly, “want to marry me? For this?”
“Not indefinitely, but for a year or so. I mean, until your run is up and then . . . we can do whatever we want.”
His eyebrows pull low as he works through this. “And Robert’s okay with that?”
“Um . . .” I chew my lip.
Calvin’s eyes widen. “He doesn’t know you’re asking me, does he?”
“Of course he doesn’t.” I wash down my anxiety with another gulp of water. “He’d try to stop me.”
“Yeah, I imagine he would. I imagine he’d do a lot worse to me.” He shakes his head, still wearing a dumbfounded grin. “I’ve never met anyone who loved my playing enough to want to put a ring on it.”
I scramble to salvage my self-respect here. “Robert would never ask, but I know he wants you. I saw his face while you played.” I don’t know how to say this next part without sounding pathetic, so I just go for it. “Robert has been more like a father to me than an uncle. I was raised watching him conduct, watching him compose. Music is everything to him, and the reason I have the life I do is because he takes care of me. I want to do this for him.”
Calvin finds this either heroic or pathetic. I can’t tell from his expression which it is.
“And . . . I do love your music. I can see what it means to you, too.”
Calvin bends, taking another bite. The entire time he chews and swallows, he studies me. “And you’d do this for me?”
“I mean,” I hedge, mortified, “unless you’re a violent criminal.”
Wincing, he picks up his water, draining it in a few gulps, and my stomach bottoms out.
“I did steal a pack of gum once,” he says at length. “Age ten. Though no one was hurt.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “I think I can overlook that.”
He nods, licking his lips before touching his napkin there. “You’re serious.”
The moment seems to be slowing down, warping a little into a surreal bubble. “I think so?”
This makes him smile, and I notice how his eyes move over my entire face. “How would it work? In theory?”
My stomach slowly climbs back up from the floor. “From what I understand there are some forms, an interview.” The biggest piece of information comes out a little squeaky: “You’d stay with me. I mean, on my couch is probably the . . . way we would do it. Not, it it—but. Sleeping.” I clear my throat. “Arrangements.”
Calvin considers this, smiling down at the table. “Do you have cats?”
I blink. “Cats?”
“I’m allergic.”
“Oh.” I frown. This is really where his brain goes first? Mine went straight to bare skin and sex sounds. “No cats.”
“That’s good.” He pushes a few pieces of lettuce around on his plate, scoops up a tomato and drops it again. “A year?”
I nod. “Yeah, unless we don’t want to go that long.”
He sniffs, fidgeting with his knife and spoon, straightening them over and over on the table beside his plate. “And when would we do it?”
“Soon.” The word rushes out a little louder than I’d have liked, but I push on. “We couldn’t put it off too long because of the hiring paperwork. Definitely before Ramón starts.”
He nods, chewing his bottom lip. “Right. Sooner would be better.”
My breath catches. Does this mean he’s considering it?
“So we’d be married, and I’d get to be in the show?” he asks. “Just like that?”
“I think so. You’d have your dream, and Robert would have his new musician.”
“I’d also have a beautiful wife. What would you have? Other than a famous Broadway musician husband, that is.”
He thinks I’m beautiful? I hold his gaze from across the table, not blinking, barely breathing. “I’d get to help my uncle. I owe him so much.”
I conveniently leave out the part where I would get to look at Calvin daily—and that would not be a chore at all—hear him play, be near him. Yes, I wanted him for months before ever speaking to him, but he’s so clearly full of joy, and passion, and a playfulness I never could have predicted. I’m even more attracted to him now that we’ve spoken. He’s witty. So talented . . . but not arrogant. Way too sexy.
Calvin looks down at his salad and I can tell he’s mulling this crazy offer over. Oh, my God, he thinks I’m a headcase.
My stomach turns to concrete.
“Holland,” he says slowly, more somber than his previous impish tone. “I appreciate what you’re offering, I really do, but I worry that it’s a burden that you really shouldn’t have to bear. I wasn’t trying to butter you up earlier—you really are beautiful. What if you meet someone in the next twelve months, and you want to date him?”
We put in our orders, make small talk about the weather, and tourists, and our favorite part of Possessed, until a meaningful silence falls . . . and there’s nothing else to do but dive right in.
I adjust my napkin on my lap. “I’m sure you think it’s weird that I asked you to lunch.”
“Not weird.” He shrugs. “Nice. Unexpected.”
“The music was amazing the other day. At the theater.”
It’s almost like something warms from inside him when I say this. “Thanks. I know this sounds trite, but what a bloody honor to be called in. To be offered that gig.” He pauses, dipping his straw in and out of his water distractingly. “I assume you heard why I had to turn it down.”
I nod, and for the next two breaths, he looks devastated. But then his posture loosens again, and his smile is back.
“It’s . . . sort of why I wanted to see you today,” I say. The bite of bread I’ve eaten settles into an uncomfortable glob in my stomach. “So. Calvin.”
His eyes sparkle. “So. Holland.”
Our food arrives and breaks the tension. Calvin bends, stabbing a bite of lettuce and neatly maneuvering it into his mouth. Teeth and chin: spotless. He looks up at me expectantly. “You were saying?”
I clear my throat. “Robert was so impressed by you.”
He blushes, chewing and swallowing. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. They all were.”
He bites back a smile. “That’s lovely to hear.”
“I’m thinking . . . I might have a solution.”
He stills. “A solution? Do you have an in with the border patrol, then?”
“Ramón Martín is coming on in two weeks,” I begin, and Calvin is nodding, “and has a ten-month run. I was thinking . . . that if you—if we . . .”
He continues to stare, unmoving. When I don’t finish my sentence, his eyebrows slowly rise.
I swallow a gulp of air and push the words out in a rush: “I was thinking thatwecouldgetmarried.”
Calvin sits back, surprised.
I look at the other tables, a little unsettled. Is he going to find this not just bizarre but outright immoral?
He puts down his fork. “Aye, why not. It’s only Holy Matrimony.” He tilts his head back and laughs delightedly. “Surely you’re only joking?”
Oh God. Someone flush me out of this room right now. “No, actually.”
“You,” he says quietly, “want to marry me? For this?”
“Not indefinitely, but for a year or so. I mean, until your run is up and then . . . we can do whatever we want.”
His eyebrows pull low as he works through this. “And Robert’s okay with that?”
“Um . . .” I chew my lip.
Calvin’s eyes widen. “He doesn’t know you’re asking me, does he?”
“Of course he doesn’t.” I wash down my anxiety with another gulp of water. “He’d try to stop me.”
“Yeah, I imagine he would. I imagine he’d do a lot worse to me.” He shakes his head, still wearing a dumbfounded grin. “I’ve never met anyone who loved my playing enough to want to put a ring on it.”
I scramble to salvage my self-respect here. “Robert would never ask, but I know he wants you. I saw his face while you played.” I don’t know how to say this next part without sounding pathetic, so I just go for it. “Robert has been more like a father to me than an uncle. I was raised watching him conduct, watching him compose. Music is everything to him, and the reason I have the life I do is because he takes care of me. I want to do this for him.”
Calvin finds this either heroic or pathetic. I can’t tell from his expression which it is.
“And . . . I do love your music. I can see what it means to you, too.”
Calvin bends, taking another bite. The entire time he chews and swallows, he studies me. “And you’d do this for me?”
“I mean,” I hedge, mortified, “unless you’re a violent criminal.”
Wincing, he picks up his water, draining it in a few gulps, and my stomach bottoms out.
“I did steal a pack of gum once,” he says at length. “Age ten. Though no one was hurt.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “I think I can overlook that.”
He nods, licking his lips before touching his napkin there. “You’re serious.”
The moment seems to be slowing down, warping a little into a surreal bubble. “I think so?”
This makes him smile, and I notice how his eyes move over my entire face. “How would it work? In theory?”
My stomach slowly climbs back up from the floor. “From what I understand there are some forms, an interview.” The biggest piece of information comes out a little squeaky: “You’d stay with me. I mean, on my couch is probably the . . . way we would do it. Not, it it—but. Sleeping.” I clear my throat. “Arrangements.”
Calvin considers this, smiling down at the table. “Do you have cats?”
I blink. “Cats?”
“I’m allergic.”
“Oh.” I frown. This is really where his brain goes first? Mine went straight to bare skin and sex sounds. “No cats.”
“That’s good.” He pushes a few pieces of lettuce around on his plate, scoops up a tomato and drops it again. “A year?”
I nod. “Yeah, unless we don’t want to go that long.”
He sniffs, fidgeting with his knife and spoon, straightening them over and over on the table beside his plate. “And when would we do it?”
“Soon.” The word rushes out a little louder than I’d have liked, but I push on. “We couldn’t put it off too long because of the hiring paperwork. Definitely before Ramón starts.”
He nods, chewing his bottom lip. “Right. Sooner would be better.”
My breath catches. Does this mean he’s considering it?
“So we’d be married, and I’d get to be in the show?” he asks. “Just like that?”
“I think so. You’d have your dream, and Robert would have his new musician.”
“I’d also have a beautiful wife. What would you have? Other than a famous Broadway musician husband, that is.”
He thinks I’m beautiful? I hold his gaze from across the table, not blinking, barely breathing. “I’d get to help my uncle. I owe him so much.”
I conveniently leave out the part where I would get to look at Calvin daily—and that would not be a chore at all—hear him play, be near him. Yes, I wanted him for months before ever speaking to him, but he’s so clearly full of joy, and passion, and a playfulness I never could have predicted. I’m even more attracted to him now that we’ve spoken. He’s witty. So talented . . . but not arrogant. Way too sexy.
Calvin looks down at his salad and I can tell he’s mulling this crazy offer over. Oh, my God, he thinks I’m a headcase.
My stomach turns to concrete.
“Holland,” he says slowly, more somber than his previous impish tone. “I appreciate what you’re offering, I really do, but I worry that it’s a burden that you really shouldn’t have to bear. I wasn’t trying to butter you up earlier—you really are beautiful. What if you meet someone in the next twelve months, and you want to date him?”
