CHAPTER 12
DANIEL takes another deep breath. He’s glad for the dim room. “Are you gonna ask?”
“Ask what?”
Daniel swallows. “If he smoked.”
“Oh. No, I wasn’t going to,” she says carefully. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? Either way, he was your dad.” She says it like it’s easy, like it’s obvious.
That’s new to him. “Most people ask. And it makes me so goddamn angry. He quit smoking decades ago and the doctors said that we can’t really know if that’s what caused it. He used to joke that giving up cigars ruined his pensive professor shtick, but Eomma always would respond that no one bought it in the first place…” He lets his voice trail off, then inhales to regain his composure. “So, maybe it was the tobacco, and maybe not. But who fucking cares? Is it better if he played some role in it? From where I’m sitting, I can tell you it isn’t. Not one bit.” Daniel goes silent, and Liyah reaches for his other hand. His breathing is shaky. He should probably turn back, tell her to forget it and go to sleep. He’s not going to make her sit through this.
But Liyah runs her thumbs over the backs of his hands, and his resolve crumbles. He knows right then that he’ll tell her anything she wants to know. Maybe more.
“I stayed in Madison for the funeral and shiva, and I managed to function through it. Then when I got back here, I just … shut down. Kayla took an extra week off work so she could watch me. It was like she thought I would starve without her.” He lets out a dry laugh. “I don’t really remember eating much during that time, so maybe she was right. I couldn’t wrap my head around it, around him being gone. Which is silly and childish because it’s not like it was sudden. He was sick for years, on and off, and in the end…”
He pauses to gulp for air. Liyah takes the opportunity to say, “It’s not silly or childish, Daniel.”
He has no idea how to respond to that. She gives his hands another squeeze. “In the end, he was so tired. It was a relief in some ways, to know he was no longer in pain. But mostly, I just want him here. It feels like … I don’t know. A hole in the floor maybe? Like he died, and then this giant pothole appeared, and for a while all I could do was stare at it, because I didn’t know how to fill it in. I’m not sure if Kayla told them or they just realized how much of a mess I was, but Alex and Jordan kept checking on me. I think I was scaring them. It’s kind of a blur. They helped a lot, though. More than I can hope to repay. And then there was my cat, Sweet Potato.”
“You got Sweet Potato last year?”
“Yeah. I was passing by the animal rescue and saw her in the window. An hour later I was three hundred dollars poorer thanks to an adoption fee and an opportunistic PetSmart employee. I thought Kayla would say it was rash, but she approved of the idea. Said it was good for me to be responsible for something other than myself.” He pauses, losing his train of thought.
“She’s your phone background, isn’t she?” He nods, surprised that Liyah noticed. “Sweet Potato helped with the hole in the floor?”
He considers it. “Not really. But she helped in other ways. I just decided to pretend the hole wasn’t there. But now it’s biting me in the ass, because I can’t pretend forever, and I still don’t know how to patch it.”
It’s a while before Liyah speaks, like she’s waiting to see if Daniel has more to say. He doesn’t. “The pharma account?” she whispers.
And there it is: that tumbleweed of anger balled into sadness that likes to roll around the desert of Daniel’s chest cavity. “During his second time through chemo, there was a shortage, and he delayed one of his rounds so it could go to the pediatric unit. It probably didn’t make a difference, but I can’t help but—” The words catch in his throat.
Without hesitation, Liyah crosses the small distance between them and wraps him in a hug. Her fingers run up and down his spine, and he tucks his head into the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of her. Lavender, cocoa, spice. All he can think is how much he needs her closer, so he pulls her in tightly, feeling her torso melt against his, legs threading together. Tears prick the backs of his eyes, and he can’t bring himself to care if Liyah notices.
“Thank you for telling me,” she murmurs, her lips brushing against his ear.
“Thank you for listening,” he says into her neck.
“Do you want to tell me about him?”
Daniel shakes his head, nuzzling his nose farther into her shoulder. “But … another time, maybe?”
Liyah nods, her jaw scraping against his cheek. He pulls back a little, enough that he can just barely make out the planes of her face.
“God, I’m sorry, I’m dumping all of this on you. I didn’t mean to—”
“No, Daniel. Don’t apologize. We’re friends, and I’m happy to listen.” Friends. The word fills him up, and he lets it. He thought she felt that way, but it’s nice to hear her say it.
“Do you want to tell me something?” he asks. The hand running across his shoulder blades stills. “I mean, I’ve already proven that I’m very good at carrying around your baggage.”
Liyah giggles, playfully slapping his back. “I told you multiple times that I could get it from the overhead bin myself.”
“Still, I did a great job, didn’t I?”
“Sure you did.” A pause. “What do you want to know?”
“Whatever you want to tell me. Worst breakup?”
Liyah shrugs. “I haven’t dated anybody seriously since high school, so there hasn’t really been anything to break.”
“Really? But what about the dating app misadventures?” Daniel doesn’t hide his surprise. The Liyah in his mind always had a slew of admirers, and he’d thought for sure that at least one would have had the sense to try to tie her down.
“I only do very casual.”
Come to think of it, she’s the only SSC member who hasn’t mentioned an ex. Daniel had chalked it up to a desire for privacy, like with her first-time story. Maybe there’s more to it. “Oh. Why?” he asks.
Liyah’s laugh is unmistakably sardonic, melodic but hollow. “I think there’s been enough emotional turmoil for the night. Another time, maybe.”
“Okay.” Daniel tightens the hug one last time, then releases her to her side of the air mattress. “Good night, Liyah.”
“Good night, Daniel,” Liyah whispers, and he allows his eyelids to fall heavy.
AFTER WHAT FEELS like thirty seconds of sleep, the alarm blares loudly. The only sign that time has passed is the deflation of the air mattress, which has forced Liyah half on top of Daniel, his elbow poking her squarely in the sternum. It’s far from the least comfortable part of waking up in this position.
They scramble to their feet, dress, pack up the mattress and bedding, and make it to her office in record time. They stow the crate of wine and sleep-in materials under her desk, and then they’re off, racing to the east museum lot before the meter maid can beat them.
Liyah, hyperventilating, swings open the door with such force that it bangs against the side of the building. Then she checks her phone, sees that it’s only 3:45, and stops to catch her breath. “We did it.” She wheezes.
“And the streets are plowed,” Daniel says. She turns to him, and the look on her face must really be something, because he releases a raucous laugh between heavy breaths. “I’ll still drive you, don’t worry.”
She bites her lip, fixated on the snow-blanketed pavement below. Even plowed, there’s still a lot. “But I don’t want to make you walk from my place in this.”
“How about I drive you to mine to get you through downtown, and then you can drive the rest of the way? You can take side streets and go as slowly as you want. We still have a few minutes, I could run back in and print you a ‘student driver’ sign.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re joking, but don’t you dare.”
Daniel shakes his head, his sleep-crumpled hair brushing across his forehead. Then he leans his head down until his eyes are level with hers. “Liyah,” he whispers. He’s so close, the white wisps of her shaky exhale graze his face. “Please let me drive?”
“Alright, fine. To your place only,” she says, and starts down the steps.
As Daniel walks with her to the parking lot, he’s got a big smile plastered on his lips and a rosy flush in his cheeks. Liyah, on the other hand, shivers violently, her grimace deepening with every shudder. Her fall coat usually doesn’t fail her, but it’s no match for a surprise blizzard. She tosses Daniel her keys and shoves her icy hands into her pockets.
“You’re in a good mood,” she says as he fiddles with nobs to push the driver’s seat several inches back. They spend most of their time together seated, so Liyah often forgets about Daniel’s height, but then he does something like this, and she finds herself fighting the impulse to let her eyes crawl up and down his long frame.
“It’s the first snow of the season!”
“The wrong season. And it’s four in the morning. We slept like two hours,” Liyah grumbles, but Daniel’s still sporting a million-watt smile. As he pulls out of the parking lot and toward the densely gridded streets of downtown Chicago, he’s all ease and confidence, one hand loosely gripping the steering wheel where Liyah would be white-knuckling it. The playlist Liyah had been listening to before the wine night seeps through the speakers, and she reaches over to spin the dial for the volume. Music roaring, she matches Daniel’s reclined posture and closes her eyes.
Daniel wakes her when they reach his place, and Liyah rubs her face, squinting. The flakes in the air are slower, but still falling. She isn’t sure if the plows haven’t made it here yet or if the ground covering has replenished that quickly.
“Liyah, it’s not plowed yet. Just let me—”
“It’s only a few blocks, Daniel. I’ll be fine.” She tries to hold in her yawn, not wanting to undermine her point. It’s a losing game.
After they say their goodbyes (and earnest, if begrudging, thanks), Liyah climbs into the driver’s seat. As she adjusts it forward, she can see Daniel watching her. He’s standing there, arms folded, easy smile, as she psyches herself up to drive the rest of the way home.
She rakes her fingers into the roots of her hair. “You can do this, Liyah,” she mutters aloud. Despite the rolled-up window, she can feel Daniel trying not to laugh. Does he really need to be standing there? She checks her rearview and side mirrors once, twice. He’s actually laughing now. Fuck him, she’s leaving.
Liyah turns the steering wheel to pull onto the street, gently depressing the gas pedal, but nothing happens. Which is probably because she hasn’t started the engine.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Liyah startles at the rap of Daniel’s knuckles on the driver’s window but obliges when he motions for her to roll it down. “You sure you don’t want me to drive you home? Offer’s still good.”
She glares. “You’ll get frostbite walking back in your dress shoes, and I don’t want that on my conscience.”
Daniel exhales heavily through his nose, fisting his hands into his coat pockets. “Fine, I won’t drive. But you’re tired, it’s snowing, and this is a wreck waiting to happen. Stay here and get some rest. It’ll be plowed by daylight, and then you can drive yourself home, okay?”
He’s offering to have her spend what’s left of the night? Liyah hasn’t even seen the inside of his apartment before. She parts her lips, ready to say she doesn’t need help, but that’s clearly untrue. Also, she’s suddenly painfully curious about the color of his bedspread, whether he has any art on his walls, how well-stocked he keeps his spice cabinet. “Alex won’t mind?” she asks, still hesitating to step out of the car. “I don’t want to intrude.”
DANIEL SIGHS, LOOKING up at the large, lazily falling snowflakes. Liyah is being about as difficult as he expected, and it’s doing nothing to dampen his mood. The coldest days of winter, he’d happily abandon, but he’d be lying if he said his years in California hadn’t made him miss the snow. He pulls on the car door handle, swinging it open. “You are not intruding, and Alex is weathering the storm at Marc with a c’s.”
“Alright,” she relents, exiting the vehicle at last, crunching the fresh snow under her heeled boots. She silently follows him up to his apartment, slipping off her shoes and coat at the door. He does the same, and rolls up his shirtsleeves for good measure, wondering how long it’ll take for Liyah to notice and poke fun.
But Liyah is too occupied with the fluffy, purring animal in her arms to take stock of him. “Sweet baby,” Liyah coos, bending her neck to plant a kiss between Sweet Potato’s ears. The cat shuts her eyes and lets it happen, tufts of orange hair obscuring Liyah’s nose. Apparently remembering Daniel’s presence, Liyah turns and says, “I can’t believe you haven’t introduced us before.”
He shrugs. “Don’t think she’d do too well in a crowded bar. Sweet Potato, this is Liyah. Liyah, Sweet Potato.”
“Sweet Potato!” Liyah echoes, planting another kiss.
Daniel grins. “Wow, she loves you.”
Liyah looks up at him, eyes bright. It’s not just him, it seems: Sweet Potato can cure all ills. “Jealous?” She smirks.
“I am. After I adopted her, it was a few weeks and several tuna bribes before she let me pet her without hissing.”
Liyah laughs. “Guess I’ve got the magic touch. Alright, where are your sheets? I can take the couch.”
Daniel swallows. “Liyah, we’ve already shared an air mattress.” And I learned what it felt like to wake up with you on top of me, which I definitely will not be replaying in my mind for the rest of my life.
“You know what?” she says. “I’m too tired to argue.”
Daniel smiles. “A rare treasure. Want a change of clothes? I can grab some sweats and a T-shirt.”
“Yes, please.” She bites her lip, her eyes traveling down his legs. “Wait,” she says. “Could you just grab me the largest T-shirt you’ve got?”
“Sure.” Daniel does just that, then shows her to the bathroom, pointing out which face wash and lotion are his and directing her to the drawer full of spare toothbrushes.
Back in his room, he undresses hurriedly, switching into the plaid pajama bottoms his mom got him that he never wears. Considering he usually sleeps stark naked, this’ll have to do. Thank God he changed his sheets earlier.
“Daniel?” Liyah calls from the bathroom. He darts out of his room, thinking that he forgot to get her toothpaste. When he arrives, Liyah asks, “Is this a one-night-stand kit?”
His cheeks burn. “Blame Alex.”
She turns toward him, smug smile on her face and hand on her hip. “Alex’s hookups regularly use silk hair scrunchies and tampons? I mean, maybe some do, but a whole drawer? That seems unlikely.”
Daniel blushes deeper, shaking his head. “No, but he insisted I keep them. I figure I should listen, he’s the hookup pro. Not that we’re…”
“Well, Alex, orientation aside, sure knows how to please a lady. I might ‘accidentally’ forget to return this scrunchie. I’m always losing mine.”
Daniel laughs. “Take as many as you want, they’re not getting much use.”
“Sure they aren’t,” Liyah says, patting his bare chest and sliding past him to disappear into his bedroom.
MAYBE SHE SHOULD have asked for the sweatpants, but Liyah’s seen Daniel’s legs, and she’s also seen her own. It’s possible that the height difference would have compensated for his lack of hips, but it’s not the kind of day where she could handle the emotional blow of his pants failing to pull up over her thighs. Now she’s looking in his mirrored closet door and hoping that the mid-thigh reach of his T-shirt isn’t too indecent.
Then again, there’s nothing decent about Daniel’s naked torso, let alone the trail of dark hair that disappears under his flannel pajamas (or the way his tan skin stretches over his gently defined stomach, or how his tattoo perfectly accentuates the muscles in his arms).
She shakes her head vigorously, trying to dislodge her thoughts. You’re a grown woman; you can share a bed without going there.
Footsteps approach the door, and Liyah does a quick survey of his nightstands. His book and phone charger are on the left one, but Sweet Potato is curled up asleep on the right side of the terra-cotta-colored duvet, and Liyah doesn’t have the heart to move her.
During her moment of indecision, there’s a knock. “You decent?” Daniel asks.
“Yeah.” I hope. “Trying to figure out how to get in the bed without disturbing your cat. Come in.”
“Slide her toward the middle, she won’t mind.” Liyah does as he says, and Sweet Potato barely stirs. “Shirt work out okay?”
“Yes, I am now a proud Wisconsin Badgers fan,” Liyah says, sitting down on the bed. Great. From this angle, she’s got a view of his V-lines to contend with. She quickly draws the covers up over her goose bump–studded skin. His covers. Because she’s in his bed. Not an air mattress they’re sharing out of desperation—his bed. Only now does she realize she could have left her car and walked home, or told him to grab his snow boots before he drove her.
Daniel smiles, sitting down on his side of the bed to remove his socks. “As you should be,” he says.
Liyah lies back, pulling the sheets up to her nose. Daniel’s sheets. She’s telling herself not to panic, but then he lifts the blanket on his side and slides under the covers with a sigh that makes her stomach flip. I am in Daniel’s bed. I am in Daniel Rosenberg’s bed. What the fuck am I doing here?
“Liyah, I need you to stop freaking out.”
She turns to face him, frowning. “I am not freaking out.”
“We’ll deal with Jeff and Brett come Monday. For now, let’s get some rest.” Liyah swallows and nods, even though the wine night could not be further from her mind. “Good night, Liyah. Thanks for showing me SUE’s furcula.”
“Stop objectifying her, you perv.”
Daniel’s laugh fades into a yawn, and with a twist of a knob, he casts them into darkness. Liyah doesn’t even remember her head hitting the pillow.
A fact Liyah thought she’d never know: Daniel Rosenberg cuddles in his sleep. So does his cat. She distinctly remembers settling under the sheets with a good foot of mattress between her and Daniel, Sweet Potato curled up at the foot of the bed. Now, Liyah finds herself in a Rosenberg sandwich. Sweet Potato is situated in the right angle formed by her thighs and torso; Liyah, in turn, rests against the same place on Daniel. His arm drapes loosely over her waist and his heavy breath (or maybe snore, but that seems too strong a word for the sound he’s making) tickles the back of her neck.
Liyah is surprised not only that she slept through the night, but also at how comfortable she finds herself in this bed that smells like Old Spice and clean sheets and Daniel. That is, until her stomach grumbles. Contemplating how to extract herself without waking her bedmates, Liyah tilts forward slightly. The Rosenbergs (or is it Rosensberg, like passersby?) remain where they are, chests rising and falling in somnolent rhythm. A wiggle. Still nothing. Feeling bolder, Liyah rocks forward.
Disaster. The motion causes the already curled UW Madison shirt to ride up farther and Daniel’s hand to fall from her waist to the bare skin just above the seam of her panties. His touch sends a current through her entire body, causing her every hair to stand on end and her to shoot bolt upright in the bed.
“S’everything alright?” Daniel mumbles. His morning voice is deep and gravelly but between rubbing his eyes and slurring his words, he gives the impression of an enormous, disoriented toddler.
“Yes, um, go back to sleep. I’m going to make breakfast.” Liyah stumbles out of the bed as fast as humanly possible, a now very awake Sweet Potato meowing at her heels.
Safely in the kitchen, Liyah grips the edge of the counter and heaves out the breath she’s been desperately holding. What. The fuck. Was that. Ending up in bed on a Friday with someone beautiful is Liyah’s forte (at least, before the new exhibition and the marketing project got in the way), but waking up next to them? Feeling an innocent brush of their fingers on her stomach in guilty places? She’s miles out of her element.
Oh, God. Liyah, of all people, understands how precious a gift trust is. How much that kind of friendship can mean. Hell, she was seconds away from dragging him into the worst of her own issues. She probably would have if he had pressed her. Which is why she needs to stop reliving the drag of his calloused fingertips across her skin.
Daniel’s body was warm and firm against hers when she woke, bent around her like she was meant to fit there.
Stop, Liyah. She should never have listened to Neen, always egging her on.
She should call Neen.
But she can’t exactly pick up the phone and say, “I shared an air mattress followed by a real mattress with Daniel Rosenberg and now I think I’m attracted to him; do you have a horoscope for this?” when Daniel’s in the next room.
Right, breakfast.
Liyah rummages in his fridge, extracting eggs, cheese, and a bell pepper. It occurs to her that he might want some form of breakfast meat, but he doesn’t have any in his fridge, so she pulls open the freezer drawer. Underneath a package of bacon is a familiarly stamped brown paper bag, now encased in a freezer-safe Ziploc. Brownstein’s Bagel Bakery, while good enough to forgive the alliteration, is a train ride and two buses away from here.
There’s a pang in Liyah’s chest, something like flattery but sharper. She slides two pumpernickels into the toaster oven and busies herself chopping an onion and heating oil in a pan.
Liyah is pouring beaten eggs over the browned vegetables when she hears Daniel emerge from his bedroom. “The coffee’s ready, but I hope you like your bacon burnt,” she says. “I have many talents, but cooking dead animals is not one of them.”
Daniel chuckles. “Thank you. We’ll just call it extra crispy.” His voice is still rough and low, in the way it only can be when you’ve run it raw or haven’t used it in a while.
She turns to face him. Mentally, she knew that he wouldn’t be wearing a shirt. Before was bad enough, but the sight of him now is catastrophic. His dark hair is messy, a loose wave falling in front of his face. Those tartan pajama pants hang low on his hips, and the entire left side of his body glows from the snow-reflected sunlight streaming through his window.
Liyah’s teeth sink deeply into her bottom lip, and she returns to scrambling the eggs. “Yeah, let’s call it that.”
“Liyah?”
“Yes?” she says, voice a little too high-pitched, not looking up as she scrapes the egg scramble onto plates with the toasted bagels.
“Do you feel weird about our conversation last night? Because you’re not making eye contact.”
Well, maybe you should get a new physical form, or if you insist on this one, at least have the decency to keep it covered. She pushes his plate toward him, looking him directly in his amber-colored eyes. “I don’t feel weird about it at all. I’m just hungry.”
He smiles. “Ah, yes. I’ll let you get something in your tummy before the claws come out.”
She rolls her eyes before emphatically taking a large bite of eggs. They’re delicious. She sighs, contented. Maybe her reaction to him this morning was just an unusual brand of Liyah’s normal hunger-induced emotional dysregulation.
They eat in silence, and when Liyah finishes, Daniel rises to clear the plates and load them into the dishwasher. Sweet Potato curls up on Liyah’s lap and purrs at her head scratches while Daniel scrubs at the pans.
“Weird Q,” Daniel says while drying one with a dish towel. “You doing anything on Thursday night?”
“I don’t think so, why?”
“It’s my dad’s Yahrzeit. We’re going to be doing some of the traditions for Jesa, which is the Korean memorial for the anniversary of a death. My mom did it for her grandparents when she still lived with our family in Busan. Would you want to come?”
“Oh, um. Are you sure? Won’t it be a family thing?”
He nods. “I’m sure. We’re not going to be doing the full tradition on either side, just lighting a Yahrzeit candle and eating his favorite foods. And it’ll be here, because Jesa are held at the firstborn son’s house, so you don’t have to schlepp out to Madison or anything.”
“That sounds nice. I’ll be there.” Even with her response, Daniel looks hesitant, so Liyah smiles warmly to reassure him. Eventually, he returns the gesture.