CHAPTER 15
WHEN Daniel told Kayla there was a Survival Club meeting tonight, she complained that if she’d known, she wouldn’t have booked a morning flight back to New York. He apologized profusely for the oversight, but secretly, he’s relieved. Usually, he’d love a chance to watch her let loose, as a lot of their closeness in their adult years has been brought on by shared drunken nights and hungover mornings. But Kayla is the most observant person he knows, and he only got through yesterday without her figuring out he’d kissed Liyah by the skin of his teeth.
He shouldn’t be thinking about the kiss. When she pushed him away, her face scrunched so tightly, he was sure she hadn’t wanted it, even if she’d kissed him back at first. Must have been an unconscious reaction, like how she always melts into his hand when he places it on the small of her back, or how she’d curled up into him and whimpered in her sleep when he tried to take his arm off her. So, he suggested that they forget about it, because he’s sure that’s what she wants to do. Already forgotten, she said.
He hasn’t forgotten. In fact, he’s replayed it approximately one hundred times today. He can still feel her fingers in his hair, her tongue tangled with his, her hand on his chest as he watched her heave labored breaths.
Get ahold of yourself, Daniel.
So here he is, half an hour early to the tenth iteration of the Speakeasy Survival Club, nursing a gin and tonic and trying to do just that. As Alex poured his drink, the sole upside of his father’s death was revealed: if Daniel’s acting weirdly, everyone in his life will chalk it up to grief and ask no further questions.
Siobhan arrives first, followed shortly by Jordan and then, fashionably late as usual, Liyah. There’s a light in her eyes and a flush in her cheeks and she seems to have chosen jeans that accentuate her hips and waist and a tight shirt specifically to torture him, though he suspects he’d feel this way no matter what she wore. He’s so caught up in Liyah as she approaches that he almost misses Neen walking by her side.
“Daniel,” she says, wrapping him up in a hug that makes his heart race, before moving on to Siobhan, casual as ever. Maybe she has truly forgotten. “Siobhan. You both remember Neen. Jordan, this is Neen, quite possibly the best person who has ever lived on the face of this earth. Neen, this is Jordan, the answer to the question ‘What if A$AP Rocky had an MBA?’” Everyone laughs, but no one quite as hard as Jordan, who gives his most dazzling smile as he shakes Neen’s hand. Daniel and Liyah exchange a look that says this should be interesting.
It becomes increasingly clear as the night goes on that Jordan is totally enamored with Neen. Unfortunately, his attraction to them apparently acts as horse blinders for their equally obvious attraction to Siobhan. The third time Daniel catches Jordan winking, he can no longer contain himself. He elbows Liyah and says out of the side of his mouth, “Quite the show, to watch Jordan openly lusting after Neen—”
“Who in turn is openly lusting after Siobhan,” Liyah finishes under her breath, a coy smile playing at her lips.
“Who in turn is openly lusting after Jordan. The circle of life.”
At this, Liyah gives up on pretending to pay attention to Jordan’s story and looks directly at Daniel, eyes wide. “You know?”
Daniel chuckles. “It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out. Can’t blame her though, he’s charming. Like you said, Pretty Boy Flacko in a suit.”
She bites her lip. “Does he know?”
“I mean, he’s probably gathered that she finds him attractive, but I don’t think he’s aware of the crush, if that’s what you mean.”
Liyah lets out a breath. “Okay, good. Please don’t tell him. She’d be mortified and I’d feel awful for confirming it for you.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Liyah. I can keep a secret.” Daniel doesn’t mean the subtext, but it’s clear that’s how Liyah takes it. She swallows, reaching for her drink.
Already forgotten, my ass, Daniel thinks, and rides that high all the way back to the rooftop of Liyah’s building. They all lean on the brick lip, buzzed and chatty, looking up at the starry sky, and Daniel is struck with an intense wave of déjà vu. Except, as attracted as he remembers being to Liyah in that camp observatory, it’s about twenty times worse now. She’s standing sandwiched between him and Neen and their arms keep brushing, Daniel hyperaware of each touch even through many layers of fabric.
Neen withdraws a robust joint from the depths of their jacket. “Anybody care to partake?”
“Neen!” Liyah exclaims, aghast. “You brought a pre-roll all the way from SF?”
“It’s legal here, isn’t it?”
“Yes, which is why you didn’t need to risk a felony charge to smoke tonight!”
Neen shrugs, wearing a charming smirk that Daniel realizes is not unlike Jordan’s. “Weed’s better in California, though. If you’re so appalled, don’t have any.”
Liyah rolls her eyes. “I didn’t say I was that appalled.” She glares daggers at the laughter, which turns out to be the general direction of everybody. Daniel hopes he’s not imagining that her eyes linger a little bit longer on him.
JUNIOR YEAR OF college, Liyah went through a two-month period when she smoked weed nearly every day. Not at all coincidentally, Arielle, the girl she was sleeping with at the time, was their dormitory’s plug. Since then, Liyah’s sessions have become fewer and farther between, but one thing has stuck with her: she finds watching people smoke sexy. Maybe it’s something about drawing attention to the lips, or maybe it’s Pavlovian conditioning, but if someone she already thinks is good-looking lights up in front of her, it never fails to make her skin feel hot.
Daniel places the joint between his lips and begins the process of relighting it on a Chicago rooftop in October. That is, after a few attempts, he’s forced to carefully cup his free hand around the flame to keep it from going out, the light illuminating his palm. The end glowing red orange, he takes a deep inhale and pauses, closing his eyes before passing the joint and the lighter off to Jordan. When he exhales, finally, the thick curls of smoke hardly leave his lips before he circles them back through his nose. Liyah is transfixed.
“French inhale,” Neen says, rolling their eyes. “Nice,” they drawl.
Daniel, face and shoulders already relaxing, blows the rest of the smoke out with an easy grin. He doesn’t seem to mind Neen’s ribbing. “I did go to college in California, you know.”
“You learned this at Stanford? Here I was thinking a school like that had nothing to offer,” Liyah jokes, trying to ignore her tingling nerves.
Daniel shakes his head, still smiling. Though that could be the weed. “Quick as ever, even high.”
It’s not quite true, because if Liyah were sober, she’d be able to shoot him a glare, or at the very least conceal her smile. Instead, she wears her pleasure at the compliment on her entire face and does a pathetic shrug to try and play it off. It feels like everyone’s eyes are on her.
Until they aren’t. The recycling symbol of unrequited lust returns as Neen’s contraband makes it the rest of the way around the circle. Daniel and Liyah lean back and watch, amused, exchanging the occasional look. Liyah is happy standing here on the rooftop, not saying a word, quieted by the night air and the smoke.
No, not happy. Content. Daniel’s got those half-lidded eyes and that slightly crooked smile and she’d bet anything that he’s feeling her emotions right along with her.
“Does it get exhausting, being so on all the time? Don’t you ever just wanna, like, relax?” Daniel’s voice is deep and coarse, the way it is when he wakes up in the morning. This thought distracts her, and she stares at him blankly for a moment as she processes the question once again.
“Poking fun at you is relaxing for me,” Liyah eventually responds.
Daniel elbows her gently in the ribs. “Of course it is.”
He looks at her, and she watches his tongue sweep over his bottom lip, and she is struck by how much she wants to replace his tongue with hers. The desire hits her like a freight train, and if they were alone, she’d be unable to restrain herself from pressing up against him right then and there.
But they’re not alone, and she’d sooner throw herself off this rooftop than kiss anyone, let alone Daniel, in front of her friends. The inconvenience of their presence will save her from rejection and the ensuing embarrassment she’d wake up with in the morning. Imagine that, having him push her away and then doing the museum sleep-in tomorrow. She’s seen the words I’m sorry forming on his kiss-bruised lips every time she blinked today, heard should we just forget about it? beneath everything Daniel’s said. Being brushed off by the same person twice would be bad on its own, but Liyah has to work with him. She shudders.
Jordan holds the pre-roll out to Neen, and instead of taking it, they lean in and toke from between his fingertips, exhaling smoke into the moonlight with a blithe smile. Liyah wonders if the boundaries of gender and sexuality are even flimsier than they appear. She looks to Daniel, and he seems to be thinking the same.
Then Neen laughs, insouciant as always, plucking the joint from Jordan’s hand and taking another long drag. If people are like magnets, Neen is every pole. Anyone can get drawn in if they find the right alignment. This fact is something of which they remain woefully unaware.
Daniel’s low whisper interrupts Liyah’s train of thought. “We’re good, right? I know we said…”
Liyah holds her gaze steadily forward, telling herself that the shiver zipping down her spine is from the chilly air. “We’re good, Rosenberg.” She turns to look up at him, but he’s already leaning in to whisper something else and her nose nearly brushes his. Daniel’s eyes flick back and forth, searching hers like they had on Yom Kippur.
And he pulls back.
DANIEL IS PLAYING with fire, and he knows it. When he’s not high and it’s not the middle of the night, he’s going to work on getting his thoughts in check. As it is, he spends his walk home replaying every look Liyah gave him tonight and wondering what would’ve happened if he hadn’t pulled away from her at the last moment.
She would have shoved you away and told you off, and she would be right to do it, dumbass.
He wants to call Kayla, which is an impulse he wishes he was rid of. He’s approaching thirty, for fuck’s sake. He can’t always be calling Noona to make it better.
Considering that Liyah turns him into a sixth grader poking the girl who sits in front of him until he gets her attention, even if it’s just a stuck-out tongue and a muttered jerkhead before the teacher notices, it’s kind of fitting. Maybe he does need his big sister to explain all the funny feelings in his chest.
It’s two thirty in New York, but Kayla’s always been a night owl and her body should still be on Central Time, so Daniel picks up his phone anyway.
“How was the Doomsday Preparation Cult, Danny?” she says by way of hello. He smiles.
“Speakeasy Survival Club. Good, actually. I wish you could come,” he says, only now realizing how silly the name sounds, and how true the last part is.
“And whose fault is that?”
“Sor-ry,” he singsongs.
“God, you’re stoned, aren’t you?” she says.
Daniel pouts. “It’s within my rights as an Illinois resident.”
“Yes, and I am very jealous. However, as both your sister and a licensed therapist, I have to ask if this is a good idea given yesterday. Are you alone?”
“Walking home by myself, yes. But it’s not like that. Liyah’s best friend is visiting, and they brought some.”
“Okay, well. I’ve had most of a bottle of pinot so I’m not sure why I’m lecturing.” She chuckles wryly.
Oh. It always seems like she’s handling things better than he is, but maybe she’s just … handling them differently. “You okay?”
“No. And neither are you and neither is Eomma, but that’s normal, because Dad died relatively young and it was a really fucked up thing of him to do, if you ask me.”
“It was, wasn’t it? Wasn’t the thought of some future kiddos calling him Zeydie supposed to keep him going for another ten years?”
Kayla laughs, more earnestly. “Ten? We are both very single, and it’s not like they can speak right out of the womb. I’d say twenty for good measure.”
Daniel’s grinning now, a block and a half away from home. “What’s getting called Zeydie if they can’t walk yet? I’m thinking imaginary grandchildren should’ve given him another thirty, at least.”
“Thirty-five at the absolute minimum,” Kayla agrees.
“Right. It’s not like fighting cancer for another forty years is too much to ask.”
“Simple, really.” She pauses, and he can hear her pouring another glass of wine. “I’m glad you called.”
“Me too.”