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“I don’t know,” said Essence, sighing. “Yeah. Lie to ourselves.”
“So everything isn’t fine?”
“Everything is shit,” said Essence. “Everything is out of your control. Everything. Your own self, and also the rest of the world, and also all the other people. It’s just a big, wide, spinning world of shit, and the best you can do is shut your eyes and not think about it too hard. After all, it’s tough enough trying to find your phone most mornings.”
Decker shook his head at her, looking at her with a fond smile. “You’re selling yourself short. You’re very together, Essence.”
“It’s an act!” She gestured with her drink. “I am not a successful journalist. I just play one on TV.”
“Okay,” said Decker. “But, um, me? I’m deep-down good?”
“You don’t see yourself clearly,” she said. “I see you.”
“Maybe I see you,” said Decker.
She felt like these words seemed to hit her right in the middle of her chest. Her breath got lost in her lungs, trying to find its way out of her mouth and nostrils. She stared at him, slack-jawed. When she found her breath, she said, “Let’s get out of here.”
He smiled. “Okay.”
11:30 p.m.
DECKER ALWAYS FELT like he didn’t fit in Essence’s apartment. She lived in the upstairs of a building in Shepherdstown that had probably been built in the 1700s. All the rooms were small. All the walls were thick. All the ceilings were low. He hovered at the edge of her kitchen, which was actually also her dining room, so there was no room for him to squeeze in there. It seemed to him there was really barely enough room for the table that was in there.
Essence bent over, looking into the refrigerator. “I only have White Claw.”
“That’s fine,” said Decker.
“Raspberry or Peach?”
“Either,” he said. “We don’t have to keep drinking.”
She straightened, looking at him over the door of the fridge. “You don’t want to?”
“I mean, we both have things to do tomorrow. We should get some rest at some point. It’s going to be midnight before we know it.”
“True,” she said. “True, right.” She shut the door to the refrigerator.
“I mean, unless you want to keep drinking, because if you want—”
“I don’t, necessarily, no.” She surveyed him.
He nodded. “Okay, then.”
She drew in a breath. “Well, you said we should talk more.”
“Right,” he said, nodding. Why had he said that? What should they talk about? He felt as if they’d talked everything to death with Hollis. He was dizzy from the turns in the conversation. He felt as if he didn’t even know what he thought anymore.
“Let’s go sit on the couch.” She gestured.
He turned, folding his wings in even tighter, and ducked his head down to make his way to the couch. The ceiling was very low, and there were light fixtures that he might actually collide with in this place.
“Sorry my place is so small,” she said.
“It’s fine.”
“It’s only that you’re so huge, and I don’t mind that, or anything, but you make it seem tiny.”
“I’m huge, huh?” He gave her a teasing grin.
