Tye scoots away from me. Not a lot, but enough for me to notice that he moved, that the energy between us shifted. “I thought you’d appreciate that I was thinking of you.” Tye sounds so sincere when he says this that all the irritation in me dissolves and I feel so selfish for being ungrateful.
I look the water bottle over, read the little square tag that’s wrapped around the top. “Thank you,” I say. “And you’re right. I don’t have one of these.”
Tye still looks like a sad puppy, so I add, “And I like the color black, so yeah, thanks.”
We ride the rest of the way in an awkward silence. I wonder what Tye is thinking about. I am daydreaming of things I wish Tye had given me.
GIFT IDEAS FOR YOUR NEW GIRLFRIEND
1.Flowers. I know, I know. Total cliché, right? But I actually really do like flowers. And I don’t need a dozen roses, just a simple bouquet of something to brighten up my day. Something that says, these are lovely and so are you.
2.A handwritten note. The more personal the better, but as I’ve discovered, the right quote can go a long way, so even if it’s a poem or song lyrics that aren’t original—as long as they’re heartfelt, I’m okay with that.
3.A framed photo of the two of us. Tye and I have 1.7 million selfies of our summer outings. It would be nice to see at least one of them off a screen.
4.Time. Giving time is the most valuable gift. I don’t really need Tye to give me something tangible. Spending the summer together is the gift I didn’t know I wanted, needed.
High Street is announced over the intercom as the next stop. “This is us,” Tye says. He stands and wobbles to the door. I wait for the train to stop. The humidity greets us as soon as we get off the subway. It is sticky and hot underground, and there are too many smells clashing with one another to make out what any of them are. But the closer I walk to Tye, the more I smell his cologne. We climb the stairs, me a little out of breath, but I don’t ask him to stop. I keep up, follow his lead.
“I never come to this part of Brooklyn,” I admit. “It’s quieter over here, feels less crowded and busy.” I say this hoping it is a peace offering, hoping we’re not still in our funk.
“I’m taking you to Brooklyn Bridge Park. The whole month of July they’re showing movies here every Thursday evening,” Tye tells me. “There’s only two more screenings, and I thought you’d like tonight’s flick. Thought it would be cool to watch a movie with a view. Got a blanket and some snacks in my bag. Hope this is an okay plan.”
“This is perfect,” I say.
We walk through DUMBO, making our way to the park. The annoyance and irritation between us is gone. Tye takes my hand, and when we turn the corner I can barely focus on anything else but the majestic view of the Manhattan Bridge. I can tell that we’re getting closer to the park because there are more people. We have to walk single file, me behind Tye, to get down the block. Once we enter the park, we are side by side again holding hands, and then I see the Brooklyn Bridge and downtown Manhattan looking close enough to touch. The East River splashes against the oversized stones, and now that we’re at the water, it feels a little cooler. We walk around, and after taking it all in we claim a spot and put the blanket down. “How’d I do?” Tye asks.
“I’m loving everything about tonight,” I tell him.
The sun is yawning its way into night. The movie will start once it’s dark, so we eat and watch the city lights shimmer on the river water. As dusk settles, more and more families, couples, and groups find a spot on the lawn. Now that we aren’t arguing anymore, I take my phone out and take photos of the Brooklyn Bridge, then a few shots of the crowd that is forming on the grass and steps of the park. We take a few selfies, and then Tye grabs my phone and starts taking candids of me. “Tye!” I reach for it, but he is not giving it up. “Why can’t I take pictures of you?” He takes a few more. Then shows them to me. “See, you’re beautiful,” he says.
“Thank you,” I say. “And so are you.”
“Beautiful? Don’t you mean handsome?”
“Nope. You. Are. Beautiful,” I tell him. “Beauty is not just a word for girls, you know.” I rub my hand against his face, trace his eyebrows, ease my hand to his head and draw random shapes with the tips of my fingers all the way to the nape of his neck.
Tye lies back, his face looking at the changing sky. We lounge together, taking in the view, taking in each other. Then, Tye sits up, says, “I forgot to ask—how are things going with the photo legacy project? When are we going to get the rest of the frames?”
I tell him half of the truth. “Sharon, my, um, boss—she won’t let it happen. I’m not going to be able to do it.” When I say this, part of me is relieved. And then, I realize that I can just end the whole lie right now without ever letting Tye know it was a lie. “I think I’m just going to step down, end the Open Studio, and stop working there,” I tell Tye. “Maybe I’ll join Inspire Harlem.”
I have been thinking about getting involved in something for real. I can do without Toya, but as long as Tye, Imani, and Sadie are there, I think I could manage.
He sits up. “You can’t quit. You can’t just give up.”
I hear applause and realize the movie is starting. “We can talk about this later,” I whisper.
“You can’t quit, Nala. Don’t take no for an answer. If it’s something the residents want, something you feel passionate about, you have to fight for it.” Tye is always so confident, so sure.
“Can we please just talk about this later?” I ask. The couple next to us hushes us, and the woman in front of me turns around and rolls her eyes. A little girl whines to her father about not being able to hear, and we are hushed again.
Tye lowers his voice but keeps talking, “Nala, seriously. We can’t call ourselves activists or community organizers if we don’t do the work.”
I don’t call myself an activist or community organizer. “Tye, please! Can we let it go for now? We’re on a date, aren’t we? Why can’t we just enjoy the movie? Somehow you manage to make everything a social justice moment—”
“What is your problem? All I’m trying to do is encourage you to do the thing you say you love so much.” Tye is loud-whispering, which is just as annoying as if he were yelling.
“Can we please just watch the movie? That’s all I’m asking.”
“Why are you so grumpy all of a sudden?”
“I’m not grumpy. I just want to have fun with my boyfriend. I don’t want to talk about volunteering at my grandmother’s residence. And I definitely don’t want to discuss what Consumer Reports has to say about the best water bottle on the market.”
Tye rubs his head, exhales a deep breath, and looks at the screen. We watch the movie, but we don’t watch it together, not like a couple watches a movie. There is no hand holding, no joining in on the laughter, no grabbing each other if something scary happens.
Just when I am relaxing and getting into the movie, letting the argument go, Tye leans over to me and says, “If you don’t want the water bottle, just give it back.”
“It’s not about if I want the water bottle, Tye!”