The apartment was quiet when we entered it, and I shut the door behind us as quietly as I could. The curtains were drawn, white light piercing the space, and I pulled my coat, gloves and scarf off quickly along with my boots. Iain followed suit.

The place seemed deserted, and it was only a few short steps to my room. I beckoned him to follow me as I rounded the corner.

“Ouch!”

I’d walked right into Shannon herself. I stumbled back, Iain’s hands on me to keep me from falling. Shannon cursed, grabbing her foot.

“I’m sorry!” I exclaimed, flinching. Everything I had been trying to avoid happened anyway, and Iain’s hands dropped after I stood upright. My face set on fire as I realized that Shannon noticed we weren’t alone.

“Who is this?” she asked, obvious surprise etched in her features. She was dressed for work in a starchy blouse and pencil skirt. Her eyes flicked incredulously between him and me, and my mouth refused to open.

“I’m Iain,” he said behind me, moving around me to extend his hand. Shannon took it, her eyebrows disappearing into her hairline.

“Hello there, Iain,” she replied. “I’m Shannon. Welcome to my apartment.”

I fiddled with the hem of my shirt as I searched for something to say. “I met Iain at Catfish -”

“Last night? Is that why you didn’t come home?”

I looked at her, disbelief on my face. She was always telling me to get out there, to see the city, to meet someone… why did it feel like she was acting as if I had done something wrong?

“Um, no,” I said. “We met last week.”

“Well, we met more like two weeks ago, right Michele?” he interjected, and I tensed.

“Right, on the street.”

“On the street,” Shannon repeated, her eyebrows on a trip somewhere way above her hairline.

“The guy I told you about? Who helped me find my train?”

Comprehension dawned on her face. “I remember you mentioning that.” She looked at Iain again, her eyebrows returning to their rightful place above her eyes. “Want some coffee? I was just about to make some.”

I turned and met Iain’s eyes, silently telling him no. I had to get a quick shower and change into something decent, and he had to go and see his mom for the first time in who knew how long. We didn’t have time for coffee with Shannon.

“That’d be great, thanks,” he said, completely oblivious to my pleading stare.

Shannon moved around me toward the kitchen without another word. I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was upset with me about something, but decided to ignore it. It wasn’t the time to hash anything out.

“I’ll be twenty minutes, tops,” I told Iain before heading to the bathroom.

A quick shower and a fresh change of clothes later, I joined him and Shannon in the kitchen. Iain looked comfortable leaning against the kitchen island, mug in hand. His eyes met mine as if drawn by magnets, his gaze trailing down my face to the ends of my loose hair resting against my chest. Viscerally, I remembered the way he’d looked at me in bed last week, the way he’d whispered in my ear as he claimed me. My insides twisted at the memory, and I broke eye contact, pouring myself a cup of coffee. If he had time for coffee, then I did too. I needed caffeine to get any further into this weird as shit day.

“Iain was just telling me that he’s a private investigator,” Shannon said when I’d joined them. Her face was unreadable as she said this, but I knew what she was thinking.

Brandon.

“Yeah, he’s freelance,” I told her. I felt too uncomfortable with this conversation; I’d wanted to tell Shannon about Iain on my own terms, in my own words. Instead, I was walking into it blind, not knowing what he’d said or how he’d said it. Did they talk about Brandon? I prayed to God they hadn’t.

“So he said. Fascinating work, really.”

“Definitely not what I imagined myself doing after the Army,” Iain said casually, as if this conversation was as normal as could be. He was watching me, too, his face alight with something I couldn’t name. Despite this situation, despite him saying way more than I would have liked, I felt my heart racing as his eyes were on me, as if the path they trailed over my face was something I could feel. I bit my lip nervously, breaking his gaze, looking down into my cup.

“I’m sure.” Shannon’s phone beeped, and she rolled her eyes after checking it. “Ugh. That’s my cue. Gotta go.” She dumped her coffee and put the mug in the sink, heading toward the pegs where our coats hung. She bundled up, then peeked her head around the wall. “Will I be seeing you tonight, Michele?”

“Yeah, of course,” I replied. She nodded and disappeared. I heard the sound of her keys jingling, of her boots being pulled on, their heavy thumps reverberating through the floor.

“See you later, then. Nice to meet you, Iain.”

With that, the door shut firmly, and I rounded on him the second I was sure she was out of earshot.

“Remember how I’d asked you to let me do the talking?”

He held his mug up to me, as if in a silent toast. “Well, my dear, I would have been glad to do it if you’d actually, you know, done some talking.”

My mouth popped open and I moved around the counter so that I was facing him. I jabbed a finger into his chest and he only laughed.

“Hey! It’s not funny. Shannon’s pissed at me now. And who’s gotta deal with it? Sure isn’t you.”

“She didn’t seem pissed to me.”

I rolled my eyes, waving a hand at him. “That’s because you don’t know her like I do. She’s pissed that I brought you here, but mostly because she thinks I’ve been holding out.”

“Why have you been holding out, then?”

“Gee, I don’t know. Maybe because up until yesterday I wasn’t even going to see you again?”

He held a hand up to his chest, mock hurt crowding his face. “I’m wounded.”

I held back a laugh, remembering that I was supposed to be mad at him.

“You don’t know wounded yet, buddy.”

“Is that a… threat?” he asked me, setting his mug down. Something in his body language shifted, and my face colored as he began to step toward me. My breath caught in my throat, and I stepped backward, hitting the end table next to the living room couch with the back of my thigh. It stung, but faintly, like it had happened to someone else and I was only imagining the way it would feel.

My world had gone white. I no longer saw Iain before me, but Brandon, prowling, predatory. I could see that look in his eyes, that familiar look indicating that he knew his prey was caught. I had only been kidding, but it was obvious that I’d taken it too far. I reached blindly behind me, my hand landing on hard wood, the sound of something falling from somewhere behind me. I didn’t look to see what it was.

“Woah, what’s wrong? What’s the matter?”

I blinked. Brandon disappeared, and Iain stood in sharp focus, his face concerned.

“Michele, you’re crying.” He stepped forward, tentatively, so differently than he had just a second ago. My heart was in overdrive, and I jumped out of the way before he could touch me.

“Just - give me a minute. I’m fine.”

I rushed to the bathroom, shutting the door behind me and pushing the lock in. When it clicked into place, I leaned against the door, sagging against it, forcing myself to breathe.

 

xxx

 

The subway was warm with so many bodies, and Iain and I rode silently to the hospital.

I refused to say anything to him about what happened after the incident in Shannon’s apartment, instead telling him it was time and we’d better get going. He had tried to press, but I held my hand up.

How could I explain to him what I didn’t even understand myself?

Instead of retreating from him, I let him guide me to the subway. I let him rest his hand on my lower back, and I leaned against him as the movements of the train swayed us to and fro.

At our exit, we piled out, and Iain caught my eye before we left the station.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” he asked me. We walked through the gates and through a short tunnel, colorful posters advertising a better life decorating the walls. Perfume, watches, vodka, plane tickets. If only it were that simple.

“I’m fine,” I said again. I wondered if he had any idea what I had just experienced, or if he was completely in the dark and trying to make sense of it in any way he could.

Judging by the way he was looking at me, as if I were made of something glass, it was the former.

“You know I was just teasing you, right? That I would never, ever hurt you?”

We approached the steps that led to the street, and sunlight shone down, meeting our shoes. I nodded, then began to climb.

It was still Brooklyn above, but the neighborhood had a completely different feel to it than where I was staying. The shops and food places were smaller, the windows covered with stickers and signs advertising brands and money services. We passed a coffee shop with a line out the door. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but everything felt rougher, grittier. By now, the snow had been partly cleared, or at least it had been trampled down by hundreds of pedestrians making their ways to their destinations.

I began to walk, but Iain pulled me gently to the side, stopping me. He stood so close that I could smell him, that I could see the flecks in his eyes.

“We can’t set foot in that hospital without me understanding what happened back there.”

I considered not telling him anything and turning back around. But I remembered the way he had looked this morning, after he got off the phone with his dad. His face was full of grief, and full of something else, too. He was conflicted. I thought of my own mother, living the life she’d always wanted in Tampa. Without me.

I didn’t want that for Iain. I wanted him to see his dying mother, even if it meant I had to face my fears.

“I saw Brandon,” I said, quietly. “In the living room.”

His face transformed from concern to panic, and I held my hand to stop him.

“Not like that. Like, like a memory. Like it was happening right in front of me.”

Iain nodded, his expression darkening, his lips in a fine line.

“Since you left him, have you gone to see anyone? You know, like a therapist?”

I shook my head. “I haven’t, and I really can’t afford it. I never….” I trailed off, not quite sure what I had been about to say. I never what? Never intended to stay here? Never meant to leave in the first place? Never thought any of it through?

“Michele, I’m sorry I made you feel that way.” He pulled me close, kissing the top of my head lightly before letting me go. “When Emily left me, at first, I thought I saw her everywhere.” I watched him swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Everywhere.”

“Did you see a therapist?”

“No. I thought I was a tough guy. But if I had, maybe I would have gotten over it sooner.” He regarded me for a moment, and offered me his arm, which I took before we started to walk again. “But I didn’t go through what you went through. Not even close.”

“But you… you lost your baby.” He was quiet after that, and I cursed myself for saying that aloud. “Fuck, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry to bring it up.”

“No, it’s okay. It was five years ago.” I looked at him, and he smiled at me. “That isn’t to say I don’t still think about it, but I can’t… dwell on it. You know what I mean?”

I thought that maybe I did. It gave me hope that maybe one day, I wouldn’t dwell on Brandon. That he would only be a painful memory that I could keep locked away, only to bring out when necessary. Which I hoped would be never.

The hospital came into view, and I couldn’t help but feel a surge of hope. Even though nothing about my life would ever be perfect, I had hope that maybe, one day, it could at least be normal.