“There you are!” she said, like we’d been playing hide-and-seek.
I narrowed my eyes. Even for Alice, this was odd behavior.
“Why are you standing out there? Come in.” She reached for my camera case and pulled the strap over my head. “Come in and relax.” She set the case down just inside the apartment.
Expecting her to back up and allow me to pass, I was surprised when she instead shoved my keys at my chest, stepped into the hall and walked around me, heading for the stairwell.
“Wait—wait, Alice. Where are you going?” I turned, frowning at her retreat. “Aren’t you staying?”
She also turned and faced me but continued to increase the distance between us, walking backward. “Oh, no. You’re tired. I should go. I have things.”
“Things?”
“Laundry. Mostly. A lot of laundry.” She tilted her head back and forth. “Today is underwear day, so I can’t miss that.”
“No. Don’t want to miss that.” I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing. I was exhausted, but Alice could always make me laugh. I loved how honest she was, and I loved how it just spilled out of her. She’d always been this way. “What time tomorrow?”
“Oh, gosh.” She glanced at her wrist, and I lifted an eyebrow because she had no watch on. She used to wear a watch but hadn’t in years. “I think I have to work late tomorrow to make up for today, but I’m sure once you’re settled, we will—well, I’ll call.”
“Okay.” I nodded, bewildered. Maybe this whole interaction would make more sense after I slept.
“Okay! Bye!” With that, she turned and pushed through the stairwell door, disappearing.
I stared after her for a while hoping she’d come back. Maybe seconds, maybe minutes? I had no idea. When I caught myself, I zombie-walked into my apartment and shut the door. Shoving my luggage to one side, I set my keys on top of the hall table and shuffled to the kitchen, wanting some water. After that, a shower and nap.
On my way to the fridge, a new plant caught my attention, sitting on the kitchen table all by itself. The side of my mouth tugged upward at the sight of it in a little red ceramic pot. The leaves looked like big hearts and were green toward the bottom but pink and red near the top.
I sighed, making a mental note to look up how to take care of it. This one I wouldn’t let die. I’d treat it right even if I had to take gardening lessons.
I was terrible at taking care of plants. I killed them, frequently, overwatering or underwatering or putting them in the wrong spot with too much or too little sun. But Alice had a green thumb. And keeping plants at my place gave me an excuse to give her a key, to ask her to check on the apartment and water the plants, to have her over after I returned.
I didn’t care if that was sneaky and dishonest. Hey, whatever it took. I needed her in my life, and not to take care of houseplants.
Leaving the new heart plant where she’d left it, I scanned the potted greenery by the balcony door, the ones in the living room, and the orchid—another gift from Alice—on the entryway table. As always, everything looked great. Even more alive than when I’d left.
But then I spotted something on the floor by the front door. Crossing to it, I bent and picked it up.
It was a key.
The one I’d given to Alice.
Part Three
*Milo*
Two days after I’d returned, she still hadn’t called me. I’d texted her as soon as I’d woken up from my nap. She didn’t respond. I’d texted again that night. Nothing.
I didn’t want to bother her, and I figured she’d see the texts eventually. Anxious to see her and spend time together, I had to force myself not to text anything for three days. Besides, we’d likely run into each other on campus. She was a creature of habit, and I knew all her habits.
But at the end of the three days, when I hadn’t seen her and she hadn’t texted me, I sent her another message.
Milo: Can we meet at Palmer Hall for breakfast?
Alice: I can’t! I’m working from home today.
Milo: Come over tonight or tomorrow or this weekend. I’ll make you dinner.
She’d responded immediately.
Alice: I can’t this week or weekend. Grant deadlines and dinner dates. But how about breakfast one day next week?
And that’s it. One day next week. One day.
No asking how the trip had been, no random tidbit of information about this day in history. Nothing.
My mouth suddenly dry, I read the message maybe ten times, looking for a hidden meaning, but then I rolled my eyes at myself. That wasn’t Alice. Alice didn’t do hidden meanings; she didn’t play games because she didn’t know any. Alice said exactly what she meant all the time. It was one of the reasons I loved her so much.
Yet something felt off. I rubbed my fingers against a tight, uncomfortable sensation in my chest, trying to ignore it, and I texted her back,
Milo: I have work to do as well. Maybe we could work together? I can come to your place. Or when do you think you’ll be free? I’ll take you out if you don’t want to eat my cooking. I miss you. I haven’t seen you in months.
My thumb hovered over the send button for longer than I’d like to admit before I pressed it, reminding myself that, with Alice, I never had to pretend to be anything other than myself.
Well, except when you pretend you’re not in love with her.
Gritting my teeth, I shoved that thought away.
It’s not like I wanted to be dishonest about how I felt, how I’d always felt, from almost the very first moment she’d introduced herself in the tutoring lab going on fifteen years ago. Yes, she’d been beautiful. But more than that, she’d been friendly, open, kind, and patient. Being with her had been like being back in Iowa, and for a midwestern Italian boy living in New York, I couldn’t get enough of her genuineness, her gorgeousness, or her company.
And did I mention she was brilliant? So fucking brilliant. I was convinced she thought in code, in equations and if-then statements. Her thought process was its own kind of artistry.
But I knew she hadn’t felt the same about me. Even if she hadn’t been engaged to that asshole—and then married that asshole, a moment I’d never quite recovered from—Alice didn’t see me as anything but a friend.
That was fine. I would be her friend. I would always be her friend. If that’s all she wanted from me, fine. It didn’t change how much I adored her. I wanted—I’d always wanted—just to be in her orbit.
Tired of staring at the screen of my phone, rereading her last text and waiting for her to return mine, I shoved my cell in my back pocket and left my office in search of something to drink, maybe coffee, maybe tea. I wanted the walk more than I wanted the drink, which was why I skipped the stall at the bottom of the physics building and left campus.
On special occasions, Alice and I would walk to Tea and Sympathy in Greenwich Village. The owner was a real character, and all the dishes were mismatched, but I liked that the space was small, necessitating that we squeeze together no matter where we sat.
Deciding on tea, I turned in the direction of the tea shop, unable to cease ruminating on her last message. I can’t this week or weekend. Grant deadlines and dinner dates. But how about breakfast one day next week?