CHAPTER 11
LIYAH refreshes the weather page of the local news website, desperate for it to contradict what she can see through the Field’s glass front doors: it’s snowing. Hard.
She is not going to panic. There’s only a dusting on the ground so far, and Neen’s flight delay could be construed as a silver lining, since Liyah no longer has to worry about leaving the wine night early. She’ll personally make sure it goes off without a hitch. Patrons have been filtering in for the last half hour, collecting tiny plastic cups and filling the museum with happy chatter.
“It’s going to be alright,” Daniel says from where he leans against the pillar across from Máximo, the Titanosaurus who takes up a significant portion of the half-acre Stanley Field Hall.
“I agree. I am choosing to be optimistic.” Liyah grips her now empty cup of Sangiovese (earthy, pairs well with Underground Adventure) so tightly that the flimsy plastic deforms with a soft crackle. Daniel looks at her hand and raises his eyebrows. “I know, flying swine, snow in hell, etcetera,” she says. “But I am trying.”
“Should I be trying to get you more wine? Xanax? Maybe horse tranquilizer?”
She glares. “Not funny.”
“I’m gonna go with the wine,” he says, and saunters away.
Liyah takes a deep breath, looking around the hall. From her vantage point, she can see up and across the atrium to the walled-off section of the second floor that will one day house Evolving Us. Smiles and laughter abound from passersby on their way to see SUE, and she imagines what it would be like to see that with her exhibition as the backdrop.
Eventually, she can’t help herself, and she checks the web page again. The words largest October snowfall on record stare back at her. The powdered-sugar dusting outside begins to look more like a buttercream.
Liyah’s phone vibrates, a call from Neen flashing across the screen. She wants to believe that it’s to say they’ve finally boarded, but a pit in her stomach tells her otherwise.
“C-J,” Neen starts, pausing to take a deep breath.
“No. Please don’t tell me—”
“My flight’s canceled. I’m sorry, babe.”
The disappointment washes over Liyah in a bone-crushing tidal wave. Neen’s visit is what’s gotten her through the last week, nay, last several weeks of more work than she’d bargained for. Certainly more work than the Field had bargained for based on her utterly mediocre salary. Daniel approaches with two cups of pinot noir, his features puckered with concern.
“I can hear you sighing, C-J. They’re rebooking me for next week, so you just gotta survive without me until then, K?”
Gripping the phone tightly, Liyah uses the heel of her other hand to massage the wrinkle in her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut. “I’m not sure I can.”
Neen laughs, the sound slightly distorted, their mouth too close to the receiver. “You can and you will. I gotta go get Ringo out of economy parking, but I’m gonna see you so soon.”
“Not soon enough!”
“At least try to have a good weekend. Go enjoy your winter wonderland.”
“It’s fucking October. I’m suing.”
Neen giggles. “Who, the Weather Channel? Or God?”
Despite herself, Liyah smiles. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out. Love you, miss you.”
“Love you, miss you, too. See ya, C-J.” With a click, they’re gone.
“Are you okay?” Daniel asks, handing her a cup. A look out the window confirms that the snow on the ground is steadily piling up and the flurries in the air have dramatically reduced visible distance. Liyah swallows half the wine in one gulp. “I’m going to take that as a no,” he says.
Liyah looks at the floor. “Neen’s flight’s been canceled.”
Daniel steps in front of her, his tall frame shielding her from the crop of millennial museumgoers, who are beginning to seem less like an achievement and more like a liability. He touches her upper arm, his hold warm and gentle. “I’m so sorry. I know you were looking forward to it.”
“I realize I said I was trying to be optimistic, but look,” she says, showing him the news.
He swallows, runs his hand through his hair. “Shit, okay. Do we need to call it?” Liyah closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and nods. “Okay, what do you need from me?”
“Can you tell the Windy City people? I’ll handle the rest and you can head out.”
“I’m gonna help you, Liyah. This is my event, too.”
“You don’t have to—”
He’s already turning away. “It’s nonnegotiable.”
Liyah makes it over to the PA system in a daze. She announces the early closure, wishes everyone a safe route home, stumbles through apologies and promises to reschedule. Outside, the storm clouds darken the sky, and she feels a rush of midnight tiredness at barely six o’clock.
Her phone vibrates incessantly in her pocket.
Siobhan to SSC
Not trying to be the killjoy, but can we cancel? I’m quite cozy here and I really can’t be arsed to put on thermals.
Jordan to SSC
Thermals?
Siobhan to SSC
You know, long johns. I’m sure you have a pair.
Jordan to SSC
Not a pair, only one;)
Daniel to SSC
asshole
but yeah, let’s cancel. me and liyah are still at the field trying to get everyone home
Jordan to SSC
Shit, good luck. Maybe if the snow melts we could see Neen tomorrow?
Liyah almost doesn’t want to respond, like pinging it across cell towers is what will make it real. Avoidance won’t help, though. She’ll just have to figure out a text that makes her sound less dejected than she feels. Broadcasting her mopiness would only add insult to injury. After a moment of consideration, she fires off the best she can come up with.
Liyah to SSC
Neen’s flight was canceled:(next week, tho!
They respond about as expected: a thumbs-down reaction from Jordan and a long message that begins with Sorry, love! from Siobhan. A separate message appears:
Daniel
heard your announcement. you’re right, we’ll reschedule. it’ll be okay. WCW+C has been notified
Liyah
Thank you, heading to help with coat check. Then figure out how to get home.
Daniel
may i suggest the CTA? you take the 146 from museum campus to washington, then hop on the blue line from there
Liyah
Yes, thank you SO MUCH for explaining my daily commute. I was gonna leave early to get Neen, so I drove
Daniel
oh. may i suggest driving yourself home?
She knows exactly what expression he made as he typed the message: lips rolling against one another so that he doesn’t laugh before the words land, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Oh my God, she could throttle him. And she would, if she weren’t already running toward the STAFF ONLY door that leads to the employee side of coat check.
Liyah
Again, SO helpful. What would I do without a man like you to tell me things my tiny woman brain couldn’t figure out on its own?
I can’t drive in the snow, you dolt.
When she picks up Daniel’s call, she gives a particularly dramatic eye roll in the hopes that he can hear it through the phone. “Can I help you?”
“Yes. I need someone to explain how a twenty-seven-year-old woman can’t drive in the snow,” Daniel says, ignoring the irritated tone she’s doing her best to put on.
“I grew up in Seattle!” Liyah protests. “It’s hilly and the city practically shuts down whenever there’s more than an inch on the ground. We just didn’t drive anywhere.”
“And you’ve lived in Chicago for how long?”
She sighs. “Since I started college.”
“So, you’ve lived in Chicago, Illinois for an entire decade, and you haven’t learned to drive in the snow?” he demands. She rolls her eyes. “Don’t roll your eyes at me,” he says.
“Ah! He can hear it. I use the CTA when it snows. I thought you of all people would appreciate that.”
“I take the L for the pleasure and convenience, not because I should’ve failed my driver’s test.”
“Shut up.” Liyah huffs. “I’m an excellent driver.”
“Want me to drive you? I actually know how to drive—”
“I know how to drive!”
“—and I can walk home from your place.”
Liyah pauses, considering. A large part of her wants to tell Daniel exactly where he can shove his precious Midwestern license, but she also isn’t too keen on leaving her car overnight and risking a ticket or a tow. The only other option is to brave the road. She looks out the window in the hallway. There must be four inches on the ground already. Liyah groans, mostly to indicate her reluctance to Daniel. “Maybe I’ll sleep here.”
“Alone, in your office?” he asks.
“I’m not alone, I’ve got Martha,” she says, pushing the back door to the coat check open.
“Who’s Martha?” His voice is incredulous. Liyah can practically see his eyebrow quirk.
“Our newest acquisition,” she says. “She’s estimated to be about two hundred thousand years old.”
“Why the hell is your skeleton called Martha?”
“Well, what would you want me to name her?”
“Never mind. Liyah, I’m driving you.”
She weaves her way through the room, brushing past what must be metric tons of wool and down. “I don’t have time for this. I’m hanging up.”
Toby, eyes wide, hair sticking up at all angles, breathes a sigh of relief when he spots Liyah. “It’s a madhouse.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I’m here to help.” He gives her a quick rundown, and she’s off, retrieving peacoat after puffy jacket after belted trench and trying to smile as she hands them over to frantic patrons.
She’s making a run for ticket #178 when she crashes directly into Daniel. His hands find her waist, preventing her from teetering over, and she can feel his breath on her forehead. Even through her sweater, his fingers burn into her skin, warming her blood, accelerating her pulse. “What are you doing here?”
“Like I said, I’m gonna help you.”
“This is employees only.”
Daniel laughs. “I think we’re past that point.” He spins her out of his way, jogging toward Toby, and she goes back to her quest for #178.
It takes forty-five minutes to get the last of the wine night attendees on their way home, and at the end of it, Liyah is a frazzled, heaving mess. Wordlessly, Daniel follows her out of coat check and down the winding network of hallways toward the east employee exit. She knows he intends to drive her home, but she is emotionally depleted, completely beyond arguing.
Outside, the wind whips snowflakes into her face, blurring her vision. She squints toward the parking lot, and an image of the sole remaining vehicle takes shape. Her car, completely covered in snow, only the tops of her tires visible.
Total and utter defeat. She slumps against the side of the building.
“It’s okay, Liyah. We’ll dig it out,” Daniel says.
She looks up at him, feeling the walls of her throat thicken. “I don’t have a shovel. Maybe we could use our hands around the tires, but look at the lot. How would we drive out of that?”
Daniel frowns. “What do you mean you don’t have a shovel?”
“I mean I don’t have a shovel! It’s October. It never snows this much in October.”
“Well, shit.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, joining her against the icy Georgia marble. “We’ll have to leave it. I’m not sure if the bus is going to come, but we can walk to the L.”
Liyah closes her eyes for a moment. When she opens them, she looks down at her shoes. There’s already a layer of white sprinkled over the brown leather. “They check at four, and any car left gets a ticket or a tow. I’m staying.”
“I thought you couldn’t drive in the snow.”
“The city’ll have sent plows out by then. I’ve already got my air mattress for the sleep-in next week. I’ll set an alarm for three thirty and figure it out.”
She makes eye contact with Daniel now, and it’s amazing how bright the amber of his eyes looks with only one orange-hued streetlamp to illuminate them. His tongue sweeps out over his bottom lip, and she knows he wants her to forget about the car and head home. He doesn’t tell her, though. Maybe he realizes the futility. Instead, he says, “Alright, then. Let’s go inside. ID card?” He holds out his hand expectantly.
“Go home, Rosenberg.”
“Absolutely not. ID card, please.” He taps his fingers against his palm twice, reaching it toward her.
She looks at his hand, back up at his eyes. “Daniel, this isn’t your responsibility. I’m the one who decided to drive—”
He interrupts her with a loud exhale. “Liyah, I am not leaving you here, and I’m getting cold. Swipe us in yourself, or give me the ID.”
EVENTUALLY, LIYAH OBLIGES, and he smiles like he won a prize. “Got anything to eat?” he asks when they reach the top of the stairs.
“There’s leftover shitty pizza from today’s staff meeting,” Liyah grumbles, doing an about-face, presumably toward the pizza.
Daniel follows at her heels. “Perfect, I was planning on pizza for dinner tonight, anyway.”
“Frozen?”
“Nope, I made the dough last night.”
“Ah,” she says. “The dichotomy of Daniel Woo-jin Rosenberg. Digital marketing strategy in the front, tattoos and artisanal pizza in the back.”
He laughs. “I’m a complex individual. Do you still have those wine samples in your office? Want me to grab some?”
“Yes please. Third door on your right.” He turns to leave, but Liyah calls after him. “Wait—where do you want to eat? We can access anywhere in the main three floors from here.”
Daniel grins. “Well, ever since you mentioned it, I’ve been dying to see SUE’s massive furcula.”
They meet there fifteen minutes later—Liyah with a box of microwaved pizza, paper plates, plastic cups, and her laptop, Daniel with a small crate of wine and Liyah’s overnight bag. Finding that neither of them have a corkscrew, Daniel slips off his left shoe and tucks a bottle of Chablis in its heel before pounding it against the floor. The sound echoes off the walls of the empty exhibition room, tangling with the din of the inflating air mattress. Beads of sweat collect on Daniel’s forehead, and by the time he gets the cork to pop, Liyah sits cross-legged on the already made bed, two plates of pizza in front of her.
“Where’d you learn that?” she asks.
“My dad,” he says, busying himself by filling their cups. The moment he joins her, Liyah stuffs a bite of pizza in her mouth and does a not-quite-moan, not-quite-groan. Daniel feels it in his core.
The overhead lights have been turned off for the night, the only light in the room provided by the spotlights on SUE and the LEDs that line her platform. As they eat, eerie quiet hollows the space around them.
“It’s weird being here without other people,” Liyah says before taking her second bite.
“Yeah, it is. I think Night at the Museum instilled a certain fear in me.” She nods. “Do you want to put on some music?” He opens his Spotify app and passes her his phone.
“Oh my God.” Liyah gasps, turning the screen to him. “Madcon’s Conquest is your most recent search?”
“Before you make fun of me, I need you to know that I have a very strong emotional attachment to that album.”
“I would never make fun of you for liking Norway’s greatest export.” She’s already scrolling, jumping to her feet. “And this album! I played it so much in high school I thought my dad was going to throw out my iPod Nano.” Daniel watches as she heads to one of the interactive tables in front of SUE, bending at the waist to prop the phone up against a model bone.
Tshawe Baqwa’s version of Frankie Valli’s classic lyrics comes through the tiny speakers, and Liyah twists around to face Daniel, doing a spot-on lip-sync rendition. “Ooh, put your loving hand out, baby, I’m beggin’ you,” Liyah mouths as though the smoky timbre comes from her throat. Daniel almost believes it.
Then, the beat drops. And Liyah moves.
It’s obvious that she’s an incredible dancer. Not because she’s showing off—it’s clear from her theatric hair flips and microphone miming that she’s being silly—but because even in her fun, she’s hitting every goddamn note with her hips. It’s rare that Daniel has the opportunity to look at her like this, to unabashedly stare without risk of seeming creepy or enduring snide comments, so he takes full advantage. She does a little spin, and that spark of attraction he’d felt when she first sat next to him on the plane lights a flame in his stomach.
The second chorus hits, and Liyah sings along, loudly and very poorly, motioning for him to put his hands out. He laughs and accepts, and she drags him to his feet and toward the makeshift dance floor that was once an exhibition hall.
Daniel has never been a dancer. He volunteers to lift the chair at weddings and b’nai mitzvah on his dad’s side of the family just to avoid crushing toes in his terrible attempt at the Hora. But here, in front of this dinosaur, alternating between the snorkel and the sprinkler while Liyah giggles and maddeningly twists her hips, he’s not above a career change.
“I can’t keep up with you.” He shakes his head, but he’s smiling so hard it hurts.
“Sure you can,” Liyah says, and then her hands are on his hips and she’s guiding them back and forth. He steps closer to her, heart racing. “Just relax.”
An impossible task with her looking at him like that, but he nods and steals a breath and does his best to follow along.
Without thinking, Daniel places his hands over Liyah’s. “Your fingers are still cold,” he murmurs.
“Sorry,” she says, but doesn’t remove them. Instead, every motion brings them closer, as though there’s a magnet right between his hip bones and it’s pulling on something behind her belly button. Liyah’s breath tickles his throat. Her irises are pools of black, barely catching the ambient light from SUE’s display. A lot about her has changed, but her eyes look exactly as they did in the camp observatory, lit up by his dad’s lantern. I want to kiss her, he thinks, and he swallows the thought whole.
The song ends, forcing them back apart. He flexes his fingers, trying to calm the nerves still reeling from Liyah’s touch.
“Want to watch something?” she asks.
“Not before you show me SUE’s furcula,” he replies.
“It’s right there, joining her coracoids,” she says.
“Right.” Daniel sweeps the hair off his forehead with his left hand. “I obviously know what coracoids are. But in case some of our audience members don’t…”
Liyah lets out a sparkling laugh, pointing toward SUE’s chest. “Those flat pieces that look like shoulder blades. The furcula is the swoopy thing above them.”
He looks at the bone, shaped more like a boomerang than the enormous Operation board-game wishbone he’d pictured. “It’s smaller than I expected.”
Liyah clucks her tongue. “Yet another unrealistic beauty standard for women.” Daniel laughs, and she flashes a smile up at him. “Satisfied? Can I set up my laptop now?”
They end up watching a reality dating show that—despite yelling at her computer screen—Liyah insists she has no personal investment in. At some point, shoes are kicked off, cardigans removed, shirts untucked, blankets pulled up. It’s not comfortable, per se, lying on this mattress that depresses more than it should under Daniel’s weight. It’s maybe even uncomfortable, but in this moment, Daniel is the happiest he’s been all year.
WHEN THE SHOW ends, Liyah puts on Mean Girls, in part daring Daniel to comment on her choice in media. He doesn’t, and she spends the one-hour-thirty-seven-minute run-time pretending not to notice that whenever one of them moves, they sink toward the center of the mattress. Toward each other. It’s sheer luck that they’ve yet to collide.
The credits roll, and Daniel yawns, stretching his arms over his head. She shuts her computer, sliding it into its sleeve. It’s almost midnight, and they have to be up in three and a half hours. She’s reminded of their long nights sneaking out at camp, followed by days spent napping in the sun while their friends gossiped and played Egyptian Rat Screw. Liyah has been remembering a lot more of those details lately, memories she thought were long lost to shame and embarrassment. The bad things are still there, too. There’s just room for more. “Bedtime,” she says.
“Is it okay if I take my shirt off?” Daniel asks, his voice shy. “I, um, sleep kinda hot.”
Liyah swallows and nods, burrowing beneath the covers. She stares ahead at SUE as he partially undresses, keeping her focus fixed even as he rocks the entire mattress when climbing in. She sees his half-clothed form in her periphery anyway, everything about him a sharp reminder that they’re no longer thirteen.
They exchange good nights and Liyah curls up, facing away from him. She struggles to make herself comfortable, not wanting to bother him. As she makes minuscule adjustments, she wishes she had pushed him on letting her stay here alone. She typically doesn’t even sleep with the people she hooks up with, and she fears that she’ll spend the entire night wide awake, hyperaware of Daniel’s every move. With a third leg shift, she’s about halfway to where she wants to be.
As she’s starting to settle, Daniel pokes her side. “Liyah?”
“What?” She rolls over, wasting an especially outstanding glare in the low light of the room.
“Gimme your hand.” Daniel fumbles around the floor on his side of the mattress, apparently finding what he was looking for and placing it in her palm. He uses his callused fingers to close her fist around … nothing. “This is the ticket you gave me. Can I use it now?”
Any trace of irritation vanishes, and Liyah turns her hand over so that she can hold his. “I told you it was good for whenever you want,” she says softly.
“About a year ago, my dad died.” A deep inhale. Liyah squeezes his hand as her heart squeezes in her chest. “Lung cancer,” Daniel says.