Skye suddenly looks bashful. But doesn’t say a word.
“What?” J asks.
“I mean, the only question that comes to mind is...what are you doing after this? I mean, do you want to get dinner or something?”
It’s sweet. And sincere. And for those reasons, J knows he has to say no.
“I’m so sorry, but the jet lag is due to kick in any moment now—the second day is always the hardest. Plus, I have some songs to write by tomorrow! You don’t want me phoning it in.”
If Skye feels rebuffed, their expression doesn’t show it.
“Of course,” they say. “The songs! I hope we’ve given you enough to go on. If you end up needing more, you have my number, right? Just text me, any hour. Odds are, I’ll be up.”
“I promise I will,” J says.
They both stand up and chitchat while they walk to the street. They’re going in opposite directions—J has no place to go but back to the apartment, and Skye is doing the same. J wonders if Detroit is there or somewhere else.
“Thank you,” Skye says.
“No,” J corrects, “thankyou.”
“Good lord,” Skye replies, “come here.”
For a second, J thinks Skye is going to kiss him goodbye. But then their arms open, and here it is, the hug.
And damned if it doesn’t feel great again, to be held for a few long seconds. Held, then freed.
The jet lag doesn’t come, nor does a text from V. J spends the night grabbing at words. He tries not to be too negative about Detroit, to see things through Detroit’s eyes. What has Detroit lost over their life? What have they found in Skye? What makes a person want to reach for the world, even when there’s someone right there in their home, in their bed?
J wonders.
V is aware that right now, J is somewhere in this city. Lying in bed, she stares at her phone on the bedside table. She knows that all she has to do is typeCome overand he will. She has not had sex in two months...and who better to break the cycle than the person who she is supposed to be sleeping with in the first place? She wishes, somewhat, that she were the kind of person who could slide into casual without it feeling like a casualty. She can’t imagine asking J over without also asking him to stay the night. Which would lead to lying awake beside him. Which would lead to the next morning, and figuring out how he fit into her day. Or days.
Sleep is the easy way out, and she takes it.
Perversely, because of the body clock, J sleeps late. Checks his phone. Doesn’t see anything he wants to find.
He has a late lunch with his friend Eric and then drags Eric back to Julia’s apartment to play the two wedding songs for him. Then he video calls Julia and plays them for her; she is amused to have aconcert coming to her live from her own bedroom. Finally, it’s time for him to change into the charcoal suit he brought for the occasion. Guitar in tow, he walks through Brooklyn to the performance space.
Before he steps inside, he texts V, to remind her the address.
Three dots appear. Then they go away.
He steps inside.
The bar is packed; J can’t tell whether it’s usually a busy bar on Friday nights, or if people are here for the wedding. He’s the only one dressed for a wedding, or at least traditionally so. He catches some glances at his suit and guitar case and makes his way to the room in the back. Once there, he breathes a sigh of relief; wedding bell streamers have been hung across the ceiling, and Skye is waiting by the door—waiting for J. When Skye sees him, their face lights with delight; the reaction, J realizes, he’d hoped to get from V the day before.
“The man who made it all possible!” Skye announces to no one in particular. “And looking so dapper.”
For their part, Skye is wearing a stylish blazer over an even more stylish silk shirt. Is it a blouse? A pajama top? A really expensive piece of formal wear? J isn’t sure, but heissure that it looks fantastic on Skye. J now feels underdressed in comparison.
“How are you doing?” Skye asks, serious now. “Any word?”
J shakes his head.
“Do you think she still might show?”
“Doubtful.”
