Chapter 27
twenty-seven
Lily
December 26th
I circle the arrivals lots at Denver International Airport, again, checking for River in the distance. My phone vibrates and I glance at the text:
River:
Arrivals is a zoo, can you meet me at departures?
Lily:
You got it!
Flicking on the turn signal, I merge back into the flow of traffic towards departures. Towards River. I'm too nervous. From a distance, I recognize him immediately. He's in a gray knit hat pulled low on his forehead, a deep blue wool peacoat, jeans peeking out from below the hemline, and a pair of weather-proof work boots. He's completely handsome without trying. A brown leather duffle sits at his feet and I notice a matching backpack slung over one shoulder .
I signal right and pull over to the curb. Once the car's in park, I go around back to open the trunk and greet him. I move like a magnet towards him as he moves towards me.
I'm immediately engulfed in a firm hug—the kind that knocks me off my balance and has my feet in the air. Despite the cold air surrounding us, I'm convinced that I'm wearing a ski suit on the equator at noon. My face must be turning all kinds of pink hues but I hope he'll think it's cold chapping my face. I look up and find him staring down at me.
Back on my feet and meeting each other's gaze tentatively, there is an uncoordinated series of events. First he leans in to kiss my cheek as I turn to talk. He misses my face and lands on the side of my mouth. The near-kiss shocks us apart, and we use the cold as an excuse to get in the car quickly.
There are seatbelt buckling sounds and apologies muttered. I really hope this is not a sign of the week ahead of me. I will absolutely die of sexual frustration and embarrassment all rolled into one. As we exit the airport and pull onto I-70, I pass him the auxiliary cord, "Hey, DJ, surprise me."
We make the trip singing along to everything from boy bands to classics to Disney. The awkwardness dissipates and leaves two old friends relaxed and playful. Which is why I audibly gasp, a memory locked away deep in the back of my memories pulled out by the drum beat emanating from the speakers.
"Is this—" I start to question before he interrupts.
"I've carried you home a few times now, figured it was fitting to revisit the old group anthem."
I was right. It is "We Are Young" by Fun featuring Janelle Monáe. The phrase ‘we are young' was sing-song exclaimed for every silly, extreme, or unexpected idea. With twin smiles we're shouting to set the world on fire, and the irony of it isn't lost on me that not many months later that year setting things on fire would be literal. A catalyst for every change I've been through in the last decade.
I pull up to my assigned parking spot at the apartment, and then we're sitting and waiting. I know he's expecting me to lead the way, but I'm frozen in place. The longer I wait, the more nervous I become. I just have to move. So I scramble out of the seatbelt, nearly hitting myself in the face with the metal latch plate on the strap.
Getting out of the car, he stretches and declares, "The first thing I'll need is to shower. I hate the feeling after sitting on a plane."
"One hundred percent, me too. It's the recycled air, or how inefficiently they clean, or just having someone breathe on me for a few hours while I'm trying to watch a cheesy movie and forget that we're hurtling through the air in a tin can. It doesn't even make logical sense that we are able to fly in something so large and heavy honestly."
I realize I'm rambling, but he's just smiling and nodding along. Walking up to my door together, I'm nervous to have someone in my personal space. I put the key in the lock and immediately begin to apologize.
"I did my best, but I'm sure there will be something I forgot. I'm not the neatest, but I really, really try."
Scratching against the door picks up, the beige painted wood is suffering under Pete's claws. "Calm down, pup, it's Mommy!"
The door opens into the apartment, nudging Pete back a few steps before he stretches long like a downward dog pose with paws forward and his head bowed. Lowering down to him, I give him a few scratches on his head thanking him for being a good boy while I was out. Sniffing, Pete starts to make an unhappy face; his longest, sharp, canine tooth exposed from the side of his curled lip. There is no snarl or posture change implying he's looking to attack, but I know by now this motion implies uncertainty. Pete's assessing if he needs to protect me. Thankfully, after giving a slight warning growl, Pete continues to sniff at River and switches to wiggling his hips and tail.
"Better give the man what he wants. Pete is asking for you to scratch his booty, and if you ignore him he'll hate you. He's testing his approval of you coming back. Generally, what he says goes around here." I wink at Pete.
River joins me on the floor, shrugging the backpack off his shoulder and placing it on his duffle, shutting the door behind us.
I knew this place was small. Now that Pete, River, and I are squished together on the floor of the entryway slash kitchenette slash living space, it's downright claustrophobic .
Pointing to the only other door in the place, I say, "Feel free to use anything you need to wash off the plane feeling. Clean towels are in a basket, you'll see them."
Once the bathroom door clicks shut I climb onto my daybed-slash-couch to listen to a guided meditation in hopes of calming down before he's back in the room. Relaxing would be a lot easier if I wasn't already drenched in his pine scent, that only grows stronger as he showers. Note to self: read his soap bottle and switch so you can drown in it.
Before I can fully shut off my mind, I pop up wide eyed. No. I can't possibly be that stupid about housekeeping. I put everything away yesterday. Right?
I didn't just wash it and leave it on the shelf there, like a giant invitation to … I don't even know what. Think about me masturbating? Tease me for it, in the most non-sexual way? Think it's an invitation to something more. I should check that everything is in the lock box.
Feeling under the bed frame, I realize it's not there. Shit . That means it's under the sink.
Laying back down I tell myself: hands light on your belly, follow the coaching, breathe in, breathe out. This particular track is listed as ‘heart opener: a journey to your true desires.' Instead of hearing what they are asking, I'm thinking about the man in my shower.
All morning while he was on the plane the girls' group chat was sharing things River would never know to point out about himself.
Group Chat: Bad Bitches [Stef Santos Manolo, Lily Long, Delia Shane, Nessa Rabin]
Delia:
River living upstairs isn't just because he wants to work on the cottage. He's literally always at the bar, cleaning, fixing, brewing beer or moonshine. He's been letting me do the books a little more lately since I'm thinking about starting my own makeup and styling company, but he's doing pretty well for a small town. He's always in the black.
John's kind of a dick.
Lily:
John? Ya mean Mr. Hendrix?
Stef:
Kind of?
Delia:
Kind of. He's getting better with River since revenue is up. It was uphill.
Nessa:
Daddy issues? Toxic masculinity? What are we talking here?
Delia:
Stop psychoanalyzing everyone. We're not helping with the podcast.
Nessa:
Anonymously?
Lily:
You do that anyway
Nessa:
smirking emoji can't prove it
Delia continues to say River's focus and determination when it comes to The Featherweight's legacy has been impressive and it's been pushing her to think about what she actually wants. She suggests I get him to more breweries and sustainable farm-to-table eateries, saying it was why she sent him here. It seems the Vermont trip I got him to go on really did help with his menu planning. That's pretty cool to know, honestly.
Stef jumps in with how Lee & Seth have been pushing him to ease up on checking in so often about his dad's care since Robert pays for Gary to provide nursing support. How River keeps putting everyone else first except himself. Apparently, Lee is a bit of a pushy friend within the guys: making Seth show up grumbling and all, angling the right questions at River, trying to make the people Stef loves part of his extended family.
Group Chat: Bad Bitches [Stef Santos Manolo, Lily Long, Delia Shane, Nessa Rabin]
Nessa:
Paying clients are about to start coming in, then I have to sort through these listener questions… unless anyone here wants some advice about sex and relationships?
Maybe someone who hasn't been in a serious relationship in at least five years?
They talked more about River the last three hours than they have in nearly a decade, and honestly, I was starting to wonder if they were trying to sell me on dating him or encourage him to relax. Or both?
Nessa (voice text):
"Ouch! Delia! She knows we are being heavy handed, doesn't she? You didn't think this was subtle?" [Nessa unsent voice message]
Too bad I saw the transcript. That settles it. It had the intended impact. Despite the voice in my ears and best attempts to breathe through, my mind drifts back to what is going on in my bathroom.
What is my heart trying to tell me?
I don't know.
What is my heart asking me to see?
I DO NOT KNOW.
A soft drip of water rolls down my face before I can internally yell at the meditation app again. Great, so nervous that I'm sweating. Wait. Sweat doesn't hit you, it rolls out of you. I think the dog is now crated ?
Cracking one eye ever so slightly I find River standing over me. Searching through his duffel wearing only a towel. It sits low on his waist and seems in danger of falling, causing my heartbeat to pick up and my breath to hitch. I close my eyes again quickly, hoping he was too distracted to notice me. An internal war rages over willing the towel to not move or fall and reveal River to me in his full, naked glory. Maybe I can fake sleep if I keep my eyes closed? With the narration over, his laugh takes over my every sense causing goosebumps to prickle everywhere.
More water lands on me, and I can hear him shaking out his shaggy hair. River removes one of my earbuds and taunts me, "Wakey wakey, maid of dishonor." His words are a whisper in my ear that reverberates down my body.
I return my earbuds to their case, and I look his way to see the towel has been swapped for a pair of black boxer briefs, fitted and if he turned a little further to the side I would get a quick glimpse of what he is packing. A white T-shirt comes over his head and floats down his back, and he steps into his gray sweatpants.
"Much better," he sighs, and looking at me a little funny he sits down next to me on the side of the daybed slash couch.