The Sun Is Also a Star
Page 24
The woman on the phone said my timing was perfect. She’d been about to call me to reschedule as well. The only appointment I could get is for late in the day, 6 p.m., so here I am in the lobby of the building where I left Natasha, reading the directory and keeping an eye out for her. Most of the tenants of this building are lawyers (J.D., Esq.) and accounting types (CPA, CFA, etc.). I’ve never seen so many degree abbreviations in my life. Daniel Jae Ho Bae, FB (Foolish Boy), DTF (Doomed to Failure).
What appointment could she possibly have in this building? Either she’s an heiress with money to invest, or she’s in trouble and needs a lawyer to help her.
Across the lobby, the elevator doors open and she walks out.
When I was rescheduling my appointment, a part of me wondered if I was being ridiculous. A girl I’ve just met isn’t worth jeopardizing my future over. It was easier to have that thought when I wasn’t looking at her, because now I can’t remember why I hesitated at all.
Of course she’s worth it. And I can’t explain it.
Yes, she’s pretty. The combination of her big hair and bright black eyes and full pink lips is undeniably cute. Also, she has the nicest legs that exist in the known world (I moved them up to number one from number three after careful study—I’m being objective here). So yes, I’m definitely attracted to her, but there’s something else too, and I’m not just saying that because she has the nicest legs in the known universe. Objectively speaking.
I watch as she makes her way across the lobby. She’s looking around, trying to find something or someone. Her shoulders literally sag when she doesn’t find it. She’s gotta be looking for me, right? Unless she met another potential love of her life in the thirty minutes she was away from me.
Outside, she does a slow 360 one way and then a slower 360 the other way. Whoever she’s looking for is still not there.
HE’S NOT IN THE LOBBY, and he’s not outside in the courtyard. I have to admit that he’s not here and that I wanted him to be. My stomach feels a little hollow, like I’m hungry, but food is not what I want.
The day’s gotten warmer. I take off my jacket, fold it over my forearm, and stand there trying to decide what to do next. I’m reluctant to leave, and reluctant to admit to myself that I don’t want to leave. It’s not that I think we were meant to be or anything ridiculous like that. But it would’ve been nice to spend the next few hours with him. It might’ve been nice to go on a date with him. I would’ve liked to know if he blushes when he kisses.
This is the last place I saw him. If I leave, then I have no chance of seeing him again. I wonder how his interview is going. Is he saying the right things, or is he letting all his doubt and existential angst shine through? The boy needs a life coach.
I’m about to go when something makes me take a final look around. I know it’s not possible to feel a specific person’s presence. More than likely my subconscious spotted him as I was walking through the lobby. People use poetic language to describe things they don’t understand. Usually there’s a scientific explanation if you only look for it.
Anyway, there he is.
He is here.
SHE’S WALKING TOWARD ME. A couple of hours ago I would’ve said that her face was expressionless, but I’m becoming a Natasha expert, and her face is only trying to be expressionless. If I had to guess, I would say that she’s happy to see me.
“What happened to your interview?” she asks as soon as she’s close enough.
No hug. No “I’m so happy to see you.” Maybe I’m not such a Natasha expert after all.
Do I go with the facts or the truth (curiously, these are not always the same)? The fact is, I postponed. The truth is, I postponed so I could spend more time with her. I go with the truth:
“I postponed so I could spend more time with you.”
“Are you insane? This is your life we’re talking about.”
“I didn’t burn the building to the ground, Tash. I just moved it until later.”
“Who is Tash?” she asks, but there’s a smile at the corner of her lips.
“How did your thing go?” I point my chin in the direction of the elevators. Her smile goes away. Note to self: Do not bring this up again.
“Fine. I have to come back at three-thirty.”
I look at my phone: 11:35 a.m. “Looks like we have more time together,” I say. I expect her to roll her eyes, but she doesn’t. I take it as a small victory.
She shivers a little and rubs her hands down her forearms. I can see the goose bumps on her skin, and now I’ve learned another thing about her: she gets cold easily. I take her jacket and help her into it. She slides one arm in and then the other, and then shrugs to adjust the shoulders. I help her with the collar.
It’s a small thing. I let my hand rest on the back of her neck, and she leans back into me just slightly. Her hair tickles my nose. It’s a small thing, but it feels like something we’ve been doing for a long time now.
She turns, and I have to lift my hands so I don’t touch her more intimately. Wherever we’re going, we’re not there yet.
“Are you sure you’re not jeopardizing—” she begins.
“I don’t actually care.”
“You should care.” She stops talking and looks up at me with restless eyes. “You did it for me?”
“Yes.”
“What makes you so sure I’m worth it?”
“Instinct,” I say. I don’t know what it is about her that makes me fearless with the truth.
What appointment could she possibly have in this building? Either she’s an heiress with money to invest, or she’s in trouble and needs a lawyer to help her.
Across the lobby, the elevator doors open and she walks out.
When I was rescheduling my appointment, a part of me wondered if I was being ridiculous. A girl I’ve just met isn’t worth jeopardizing my future over. It was easier to have that thought when I wasn’t looking at her, because now I can’t remember why I hesitated at all.
Of course she’s worth it. And I can’t explain it.
Yes, she’s pretty. The combination of her big hair and bright black eyes and full pink lips is undeniably cute. Also, she has the nicest legs that exist in the known world (I moved them up to number one from number three after careful study—I’m being objective here). So yes, I’m definitely attracted to her, but there’s something else too, and I’m not just saying that because she has the nicest legs in the known universe. Objectively speaking.
I watch as she makes her way across the lobby. She’s looking around, trying to find something or someone. Her shoulders literally sag when she doesn’t find it. She’s gotta be looking for me, right? Unless she met another potential love of her life in the thirty minutes she was away from me.
Outside, she does a slow 360 one way and then a slower 360 the other way. Whoever she’s looking for is still not there.
HE’S NOT IN THE LOBBY, and he’s not outside in the courtyard. I have to admit that he’s not here and that I wanted him to be. My stomach feels a little hollow, like I’m hungry, but food is not what I want.
The day’s gotten warmer. I take off my jacket, fold it over my forearm, and stand there trying to decide what to do next. I’m reluctant to leave, and reluctant to admit to myself that I don’t want to leave. It’s not that I think we were meant to be or anything ridiculous like that. But it would’ve been nice to spend the next few hours with him. It might’ve been nice to go on a date with him. I would’ve liked to know if he blushes when he kisses.
This is the last place I saw him. If I leave, then I have no chance of seeing him again. I wonder how his interview is going. Is he saying the right things, or is he letting all his doubt and existential angst shine through? The boy needs a life coach.
I’m about to go when something makes me take a final look around. I know it’s not possible to feel a specific person’s presence. More than likely my subconscious spotted him as I was walking through the lobby. People use poetic language to describe things they don’t understand. Usually there’s a scientific explanation if you only look for it.
Anyway, there he is.
He is here.
SHE’S WALKING TOWARD ME. A couple of hours ago I would’ve said that her face was expressionless, but I’m becoming a Natasha expert, and her face is only trying to be expressionless. If I had to guess, I would say that she’s happy to see me.
“What happened to your interview?” she asks as soon as she’s close enough.
No hug. No “I’m so happy to see you.” Maybe I’m not such a Natasha expert after all.
Do I go with the facts or the truth (curiously, these are not always the same)? The fact is, I postponed. The truth is, I postponed so I could spend more time with her. I go with the truth:
“I postponed so I could spend more time with you.”
“Are you insane? This is your life we’re talking about.”
“I didn’t burn the building to the ground, Tash. I just moved it until later.”
“Who is Tash?” she asks, but there’s a smile at the corner of her lips.
“How did your thing go?” I point my chin in the direction of the elevators. Her smile goes away. Note to self: Do not bring this up again.
“Fine. I have to come back at three-thirty.”
I look at my phone: 11:35 a.m. “Looks like we have more time together,” I say. I expect her to roll her eyes, but she doesn’t. I take it as a small victory.
She shivers a little and rubs her hands down her forearms. I can see the goose bumps on her skin, and now I’ve learned another thing about her: she gets cold easily. I take her jacket and help her into it. She slides one arm in and then the other, and then shrugs to adjust the shoulders. I help her with the collar.
It’s a small thing. I let my hand rest on the back of her neck, and she leans back into me just slightly. Her hair tickles my nose. It’s a small thing, but it feels like something we’ve been doing for a long time now.
She turns, and I have to lift my hands so I don’t touch her more intimately. Wherever we’re going, we’re not there yet.
“Are you sure you’re not jeopardizing—” she begins.
“I don’t actually care.”
“You should care.” She stops talking and looks up at me with restless eyes. “You did it for me?”
“Yes.”
“What makes you so sure I’m worth it?”
“Instinct,” I say. I don’t know what it is about her that makes me fearless with the truth.
