“SHOULD WE GO ALL THE WAY?” ASKS ELIZA.
“Beg your pardon?”
“All the way to the end of this thing,” she adds with a teasing smile, pointing south. Toward the terminus of the High Line, blocks and blocks away.
“You tell me,” I say, out of habit.
“No, you tell me.”
This isn’t like her. Eliza’s someone who needs to be in control. She does this because the second she walks into her house, she’s not in control anymore. But maybe the city is more my turf.
“The whole path is pretty cool,” I say. “It takes a while but I think we should do it. You trust me?”
“Max, I’d follow you anywhere. You know that.”
“Actually, I don’t.”
She grabs my arm, then stands on her tiptoes to kiss me lightly. (On the lips.)
“Silly Maxie,” she says. “You always seem to know where you’re going.”
If this is true, I’m doing a great job of fooling the world.
“There’s something different about you,” I say.
Eliza stares at me. Swallows hard and almost nervously. Another un-Eliza-like move. “Is there?”
“Yes.”
She shrugs and spins away from me. Starts walking. As always, I follow.
I first met Eliza when I was thirteen and she was twelve. She started at our tiny alternative school in the middle of the year and everyone was excited for a new student. Rumor was, she’d been pulled out of public school because she was being bullied. She had a total shell-shocked air about her, at first. And she was little. Like, short. The older girls took her under their wings, engulfing her so completely that I’m not sure I saw her at all that year.
The first time I really noticed her and how special she was, was in the school play the following spring. They were performing Twelfth Night. She was Viola and she was perfect.
But I was shy and not sure how to handle these growing limbs of mine. How would I ever be able to control two weird, long arms? Also, my feet knew I was clueless. They rebelled against me whenever they could, making me trip or lose my balance. I tried to keep my distance from the girls, but in a small school like ours, there’s no room for that.
I watched Eliza date one boy, then another. Rumor had it, she also had a summer boyfriend. I dated, too, but at some point I was fully in love with her. Eventually, she was in love with me, too. At least, that’s how she tells the story. Her story also says that we were always meant to be in each other’s lives. When someone tells you a story enough times, it’s hard to separate fact from fiction. Sometimes the fiction is all you need, when facts are confusing as hell.
Fact: It would be great if she met someone else, because maybe I could stop feeling guilty.
Also fact: I’ll be devastated when she meets someone else, because she’ll no longer need me.
I’m suddenly overcome with a strange sensation that I know how to destroy Eliza, if I wanted to: I could tell her about the past few days. Detail every hour Kendall and I spent together. Explain our dare and how it’s already changed me. Eliza wouldn’t know how to process all that. She’d see it as a betrayal, even though we are done and over.
It feels reassuring to have this in my back pocket.
We continue to walk south on the High Line. Eliza seems preoccupied with the buildings on either side of the walkway. Most of them are apartments. I can tell she’s trying her damnedest to peek into them.
“This is the perfect place for an exhibitionist to live,” she says, pointing to some windows across from us. “You could pull up all the blinds, dance around naked, and nobody could tell you not to because you’re in your own house.”
Eliza just laughs and starts walking again. Yeah, she is way too content. I catch up to her and put my hand on her shoulder. When she spins around, all I say is:
“Tell me.”
Our eyes lock. I’m pretty sure I’ve got a real Stern Father thing going on my face. Her smile fades, but not completely. She bites her lip and makes a decision.
“I’m dating someone.”
“Okay,” I say. “Thought so.”
Eliza scans my expression and I do my best to give her exactly the reaction she’s looking for.
“You’re happy for me, right?” she asks.
“Yes, of course.” I pause, knowing what I have to do now. If I can make my mouth form the words, that would help. “Who is he? Someone from Dashwood?”
“No,” she says as she shakes her head. Well, that’s good. All the dating among our school population has a creepy inbreeding vibe sometimes.
“I’m not going to grill you. Whatever you want to tell me, I’ll be glad to hear.”
“Actually, I could use your advice,” she says. Uh, yeah, that might have been the one thing I wasn’t glad to hear.
“Sure,” I say.
“Silas is great and you’d really like him. The thing is, he’s older and he’s offered to get me a fake ID so we can go out to bars together. Do you think I should let him cover it or should I insist on paying for it myself?”
“Older. How much older?”
“Thirty.”
I stop walking and turn to her. “As in, thirteen years older than you?”
“Those are just numbers, Max. Jesus.”
Eliza stands with her hands on her hips, daring me to stay upset about this. Am I overreacting? Is this no big deal if it’s no big deal to her?
I think about her parents’ strange relationship and I think about our strange relationship. I think about Luna and that guy. The way he was clearly used to having some kind of power over her. How she was trying to resist it. How much Luna reminded me of Eliza in so many ways. Not to mention the fact Eliza’s still seventeen. A minor.
Yes. This is definitely a big deal. But I can’t fight this battle with her right now.
“Insist that you pay him,” I say, trying to keep my voice casual. “It sets up a good boundary.”
Eliza nods, and we walk in silence for a little while.
“Why aren’t you with him tonight?” I finally ask.
“He has to work. It’s fine, waiters get great tips on New Year’s Eve.”
When she stops to visit a restroom, I type a text to Jamie.
Do you know Eliza’s dating a guy who’s 30?
My thumb hovers over the Send button. What’s Jamie doing right now? I can’t picture Jamie without picturing Kendall. Maybe they’re wandering around some pocket of the city, taking photos and sharing moments. Hopefully, Kendall’s happy. Getting what she’s clearly wanted for so long. The image of a happy Kendall is a good one. She’s smiling. The light in her eyes is on the highest possible setting.
Still, the thought of interrupting their good time is not an unpleasant one. Maybe I’m not the nicest person they know.
Which would be a huge fucking relief.