CHAPTER 20
EVERYONE knows what a holiday party is: halls decked in glittery red and green, eggnog abounds, a nondenominational gift giver with a suspiciously familiar Coca-Cola–red suit. A Christmas party, with an afterthought of inclusivity haphazardly slapped over the name.
Daniel and Liyah decided to go tongue-in-cheek with this event, though, and created a holiday party in true form. The entrance to each exhibit is transformed into a different day of the year with a house drink to match. There’re sprigs of fir, holly, and spiked eggnog in Stanley Field Hall, of course—Daniel knew they’d never escape without gaying some Yuletide. But the Ronald and Christina Gidwitz Hall of Birds has chocolate-dipped strawberries and rosé for Valentine’s Day, and the Grainger Hall of Gems boasts streamers, champagne, and novelty New Year’s glasses. There’s Earth Day at the Abbott Hall of Conservation, the Fourth of July, Halloween, etcetera.
They’re standing at a cocktail table near the opening of Wild Color, an exhibition that Liyah informed him—with an impressive scowl—had been conceived as an Instagram trap but did at least have a UV-fluorescent platypus. It’s St. Patrick’s Day–themed, swathed in shamrock, and is the only exhibition with two drinks. The first being ice water with enough food coloring to run as green as the Chicago River on the Saturday before March 17. And the second being Irish coffee, which Liyah is currently staring down with naked lust in her eye.
“You want one, don’t you?” Daniel asks.
Liyah’s attention snaps to him, her mouth slightly ajar. “I shouldn’t have caffeine this late, I’ll be jittery and spend the rest of the party worrying about membership sign-ups.”
“Ever heard of decaf? We made sure that was available,” he challenges.
“I can’t order decaf, that’s embarrassing.”
Daniel leans forward, propping his elbow on the green tablecloth. “Ooh, a new Liyah rule. Do tell.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’ll get my Pacific Northwesterner Card revoked. We’re a proud, overcaffeinated people.”
“Get the decaf Irish coffee. I’m sure it’s equally delicious.”
Liyah frowns. “But people will see me when I order!”
Daniel shakes his head in response, backing away.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re ridiculous. I’m getting it for you.”
He knows she wants to tell him not to, so he stalks off before she gets the chance.
DARK-WASH DENIM APPROACHES her periphery. “That was fast,” Liyah says, hurriedly typing out the rest of her email to Jeff before drawing her eyes away from the phone screen.
“Aliyah! I thought that was you.”
Is it possible to feel your own blood drain from your face? If so, Liyah does. Although it’s not physiologically likely, she’s pretty sure a pint of it has clotted into a pit in her stomach.
She’d know his lilting French accent anywhere. Her eyes slide to the nearest exit as her pulse quickens in her ears and throat, and she tastes metal. Why did she choose to stand tucked in a corner, away from the stairs? She should have listened to Daniel and walked through the party like a normal patron, ability to people watch and panic about membership sign-ups be damned. Even if she were willing to leave her bag behind, she cannot make a run for it without causing a scene. Her chest begins to heat.
After what might have been an entire millennium, she looks up. “Hi.” She hears the word but doesn’t feel it escape her throat, like a stranger has commandeered her vocal cords.
“It’s been a while.” Liyah reads his smile as smug, even if it’s not meant that way. His eyelashes are still long, so long that the tips are bleached blond by the sun. She once found them endearing, said they made him look like a baby cow. He says something more, but she’s not registering it. Her eyes flick to the cup in his left hand. A ring on the fourth finger. Gold. Maybe he ended up with Sara from sophomore year. She wouldn’t know, she doesn’t have him on any of her socials. Sara had always been nice to her. They lived in the same dorm. Liyah would take the first opportunity to bolt every time they spoke, but Sara was still nice to her. Does she still see him as a baby cow?
“Aliyah?”
“What?”
“I was asking if you ended up doing the museum thing.”
“Oh, um. Yeah. I work here.” She gulps, trying to think of a way out, but her mind keeps coming up blank. Her breathing shallows.
“Well, I’m in town for a consulting project, but I extended my stay to see some friends from Northwestern. Do you remember Luke and Molly?”
She nods vaguely, eyes darting around until they land on Daniel. He’s thanking the bartender as he picks up her drink.
“Anyway, maybe we could grab a drink while I’m here.”
Liyah’s jaw slackens. When she closes it, she shakes her head vigorously. “No, we couldn’t.”
His smug smile turns downward. “You’re not still upset about freshman year, are you? I regret how we left things after—”
“Who’s this?” Daniel interrupts, an unfamiliar edge in his voice. He sets the Irish coffee down on the tall table to Liyah’s left. She makes no move to touch it. Instead, she focuses her attention entirely on Daniel. It’s easier that way. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, a muscle in his jaw tightening.
“I’m Jerome. Aliyah and I went to school together. We were quite close for a time.”
Daniel looks from him to Liyah and back. He straightens slowly, as if to emphasize each inch he has on Jerome. “You’re blocking my spot.”
Jerome raises his free hand. “Hey, I was just trying to make plans with an old friend. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Old friend? Liyah reminds herself to breathe. She presses her palms into her thighs. Daniel’s fist clenches.
“She very clearly does not want to talk to you. Or did you not hear her say no?” Liyah winces. Daniel’s gaze rivals Medusa’s. There’s a long, exquisitely agonizing moment where nobody speaks.
“I guess I’ll be going then,” Jerome says at last.
“I think that’s a good idea,” Daniel replies through gritted teeth.
Even after he disappears from her sight line, Liyah’s pulse races and her breathing doesn’t regulate.
Daniel swoops down so he’s at eye level and places his hands on her shoulders. “Liyah?” Does she respond? She’s not sure. He exaggerates his inhale and exhale, so close that his breath fans over her cheeks. She follows his movements, five, six, seven times before she can hear the holiday playlist over the thumping of her heart. “Do you need to leave?”
“I … the party. We’re only halfway through. What if…” She’s mumbling, unsuccessfully trying to hide the quaver in her voice.
“Fuck the party, Liyah. Jordan’s around here somewhere; I’ll text him and he can make sure everything’s okay. Do you need to leave?”
“Yeah,” she says. “I need to leave.”
He nods, reaches over her to pick up her bag. She must put her coat on and walk outside, but she doesn’t really remember doing so. It only occurs to her that she’s in open air when a snowflake catches on her eyelashes.
“Can I hug you?” Daniel asks once he’s led her half a block away, to an area with fewer passersby. No sooner than the nod of her head, she feels one of his arms wrap around the waist of her parka, the other hand stroking the back of her hood. “Do you need to talk?” She shakes her head. Talking is the last thing she wants. “Let me take you home?”
“Yes,” she murmurs, the sound of her voice muffled into Daniel’s insulated chest.
“Okay,” he says, but he makes no effort to move, just pulls her closer. It’s exactly what she needs.
LIYAH FUMBLES WITH her keys at her apartment door. Her hands tremble, but it seems important to her that she do this herself, so Daniel doesn’t interfere. Forty-five seconds pass before she turns the lock.
Inside, Daniel takes Liyah’s coat before removing his own. Her face is still completely blank. They rode home in total silence, the hand he didn’t have clasped around Liyah’s mitten fisted in his pocket, fingernails digging into his palms. She undoes her boots and wanders to the couch, where she curls up, knees to chest, arms wrapped around shins, rocking slightly from side to side.
What do you even say in this situation? “Are you alright?” would be a profoundly stupid question. He wishes he could call Kayla, but getting anything useful would require divulging more than Liyah’s explicitly permitted. He sits down on the sofa a foot away from her, not sure if she wants space. After a moment, she pitches sideways, landing her head in Daniel’s lap. He runs his fingers up and down her arm.
“Wanna watch a movie?”
Her cheek brushes against his thigh as she nods. “10 Things I Hate About You, please.”
He scrolls a few streaming applications and tosses the remote on the coffee table as the opening credits dance across the screen.
Halfway through, she reaches for the clicker and hits pause. “Daniel?”
“Yes?”
“I’m not weak. I don’t want you to think I’m weak.”
How could that be the takeaway from today? He almost laughs. “That’s not at all what I think.”
She swallows, and her lips part with a deep exhale. “I’m glad you’re here, but I would be okay if you weren’t.”
Daniel nods. He doesn’t doubt it. The problem lies in the cost of that okay-ness. “You’re allowed not to be, though.”
The tears come quietly, and Daniel’s gently swiping thumbs turn gray with mascara. “He’s married,” she whispers. The horror in her voice churns his stomach. Daniel has never thrown a punch in his life, but part of him regrets letting that guy walk away without a few bruises. “I’m getting upset about this a decade later. I haven’t—I haven’t dated anybody. I mean, anybody. Because, you know, he told me he liked me, during…” She pauses, and Daniel winces. “I mean, I learned my lesson. People don’t really like me. They want something from me. I was too afraid to even sleep with another friend. And he’s married? He’s fucking married.”
The injustice slices deeply, and he wishes he could help shoulder her pain. There’s a memory in his body of something like this from when Kayla told him all those years ago. Sadness, helplessness, anger. The inability to provide anything sufficient. He blinks away tears. “I’m so sorry, Liyah,” is the only thing he can come up with. He thinks now about standing outside Windy City Wine and Cheese, her saying it’s all the same—was his failure to defend her at summer camp one more data point to prove her hypothesis? Daniel might not have been the worst, but was he the first person to show her that people will take what they want from her and leave? The depth of her anger toward him when they first reconnected makes sense now, and in this moment, he hates himself.
She sits up and climbs into his lap, wrapping herself around him like a koala. He squeezes her tightly and she sighs into his neck. Liyah’s taller than average—plus, the size of her personality probably adds another few inches—but right now he’s keenly aware of how much smaller than him she is. How much smaller than Jerome she is.
He wants to punch through a wall. Or vomit. Neither will do her any good.
“I’m kinda hungry,” Liyah mumbles into his shoulder.
“Do you want me to order a pizza?”
“Sure. But I don’t want you to move.”
“My phone’s over there in my coat.”
“Mine’s in my back pocket.”
“Fair enough.” Daniel chuckles and feels around for the brick of glass and metal, careful not to let his fingers linger. “Mushroom and spinach, right?”
The food comes as they’re switching from the movie to old episodes of The Good Place. Liyah wordlessly gets up and heads to the kitchen, rising up to pull down two wineglasses as Daniel gathers plates and paper towels. She pours generously and brings the entire bottle to the couch.
Her glass is empty before the end of the first episode, despite most of her pizza slice remaining. She reaches for another. Daniel’s not sure if he should intervene. If this is what she needs in the moment, he can let it go. So, he sits with his arm resting across her shoulders and watches the show.
At the end of the third episode, the bottle’s completely gone, despite Daniel’s glass never being refilled.
At the end of the fourth, Liyah’s hand, which had been resting on Daniel’s thigh, trails up to where his leg meets his pelvis and gives a gentle squeeze. In response, Daniel rubs his thumb across her upper arm. He hopes she can find comfort in his touch.
But her fingers run higher and higher until she’s swiftly unbuttoning his pants and slipping her hand into his underwear.
“Liyah,” he says in what’s meant to be a warning tone, but he goes breathless as she palms him. With every ounce of his available will, he grabs her by the wrist and removes her hand from his waistband. “We can’t.”
She yanks her hand out of his grip and scoots away from him on the couch, folding her arms across her chest. “Why not?”
When he goes to touch her leg, she pulls back farther. Okay, no touching. He sits on his hands to avoid doing so unconsciously and inhales deeply, making his voice go tender. “You’re upset right now—justifiably—and you’ve had a lot of wine. It wouldn’t be right.”
Her teeth sink so deeply into her bottom lip, he worries it might be painful. “Or maybe you don’t want me anymore,” she spits back.
Daniel closes his eyes, steadying his breath. “No, Liyah. I want you. I want you more every single day. I’m just not going to have sex with you right this moment.”
“But I don’t want to feel like this anymore!” Liyah yells, slamming her fists into the couch cushions. An anguished noise comes from the back of her throat, and she hides her face in her hands. “Anything else. I just want to feel anything else.”
Something snaps inside Daniel’s chest. He stands, only to go squat in front of her. Slowly, he offers her his hands. As his heart thunders in his rib cage, she drops her arms and gingerly laces her fingers through his. “I want to help, in any way I can. But not by … not like that, not tonight.” He tilts her chin upward to run his thumb across her bottom lip, and it comes away bloody. “Liyah, can you let me hold you? I understand if not. But just, please?”
She nods, and he gathers her in his arms, pulling her up to standing. He holds her close to him, relieved that she can’t see his tears from where her face is pressed into his sternum. As minutes pass, the chest of his sweater dampens against him, and her whole body shakes.
Eventually, she stills. “Can we be naked instead?” she mumbles. “Not for sex, I promise. I just want to feel your skin on mine.”
“Yeah, okay. But please forgive me if my body, you know, reacts.”
She steps back, wiping at her eyes as she lets out a short laugh. “I thought you were advocating against sex.”
Daniel smiles. “My mind is in the right place, but I can’t always direct my blood flow accordingly.” Especially not where Liyah’s body is concerned. Sometimes it feels like she just looks at him and bam! there he goes.
“Okay, I’ll ignore any blunt objects that poke at me, you have my word.”
LIYAH HAS CRIED a total of three times in the past six months. All in front of Daniel. Two of them today. Neen has always been a crier; they say it’s a relief when the tears finally come, but Liyah has never fully understood it. She doesn’t feel relief, only hollowness and exhaustion.
When Liyah returns from the bathroom, having washed the mess of smeared eyeliner and mascara from her face, Daniel is waiting for her under the covers. His clothes are folded in a pile next to the bed.
Her body thrums with nerves as she pulls her sweater over her head. It doesn’t make sense to feel so self-conscious. She’s undressed in front of him regularly for a couple weeks now, and yet she finds herself turning away as she peels off her jeans and unhooks her bra.
She climbs into the bed as quickly as she can, pulling the sheets and comforter up to her nose. Is he going to reach out to her first? Most days, she would guess yes. Today, probably not.
He’s watching her intently, and then he does that thing where his tongue swipes so briefly over his bottom lip, and the whole picture sends a shiver down her spine. Does he know he does it so often? Or is it in the blind pane of his Johari window? She hopes so. It makes her feel special to notice something that might be a secret from himself.
God, I can’t believe I asked him to hold me naked. Her face heats. That’s so fucking weird. Maybe I shouldn’t have had all the wine. She nuzzles farther under the covers.
But he’s here, isn’t he? Waiting for me. Daniel Rosenberg, who up until six months ago might have been the very last person she would have imagined could comfort her through this. She probably wouldn’t believe it now if he weren’t right in front of her.
But he is. Ready to give her whatever she needs. So, she inches forward. Hesitantly at first, but then the corners of Daniel’s lips turn upward (one more than the other, as always), and she crosses the rest of the distance.
Ahhh.
“So warm,” Liyah whispers into his ear. She drapes her leg across his hip by way of pulling him closer. “You smell good, too.” As promised, the erection growing against her stomach goes unmentioned.
“So do you.” Daniel unclasps his hands at her lower back so that he can use one to trace the side of her body from her shoulder to her knee. The skin he touches pinches into goose bumps; he smooths over his reversed route with soft, calming grips. “You always smell good. Like lavender-flavored chocolate.”
A warmth spreads behind her ribs from surprise, amusement, something else. “It’s cocoa butter lotion and lavender-scented conditioner.”
“The secret Liyah recipe has finally been exposed!”
Liyah giggles. “It’s not a secret. I would’ve told you if you asked.”
“Okay, then.” He leans his head back to look her in the eye, keeping the rest of their bodies in contact as much as possible. “What else do you smell like?”
“My deodorant is supposed to smell like aloe, but really I got it because it doesn’t smell like much at all. I don’t wear perfume. The rest is just me, I guess.”
Daniel hums. “Well, the just you bit smells good.”
Liyah closes her eyes, letting the cool smoothness of her pillowcase and the heat of Daniel’s hand on her lower back consume her. “You smell like Old Spice Fiji.”
“You know Old Spice scents that well?”
Her left eye opens first, then her right. The smile on his face looks exactly like it sounded in his voice. She’s smiling, too. A delirious, cheek-splitting grin. “Nope, your deodorant is on your bathroom counter.”
“That’s cheating.”
“Maybe. It’s not only the deodorant, though. Your just you bit smells good, too.” She wants to lean in and get a good sniff, but that would be too much, wouldn’t it? They’re friends. Instead, she wiggles her hips, trying to get even closer. Daniel tightens his hold on her thigh. “This is a weird conversation. I shouldn’t be trusted with that much wine.”
He shrugs. “Weird is relative. I’m quite enjoying myself, actually.”
“Me too. I feel … safe, I guess.”
Daniel squeezes his eyes shut, then presses his lips to Liyah’s temple. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that.”