The other three people in the room turn to her for explanation. But all she says is “What? Theyare.”
Thor looks at his watch, then says, “We’ll leave you two alone now. But, J, we should talk soon—I would love to get your take on the sonic modalities we’re employing to create a more hypercon-scious user experience. You know?”
J does not know, but he nods. He is reminded that this nineteen-year-old in front of him has managed to conjure up his own virtual universe, which requires knowledge that J can’t even begin to fathom.
Meta says again how good it was to meet him, and Thor gives him another hug before they depart.
It’s only after the door is closed and he and V are alone in the conference room with their salads that J says, “Well, she’s...”
“Young,” V finishes. “They’re both young. And extremely smart. I actually think she’s as smart as he is, just with a different set of skills. I just wish I knew more about her. Her last name, to start.”
“You don’t know her full name?”
V shakes her head. “I don’t know anything about her, besides what she’s told Thor. She’s definitely a student at NYU, and on social media she presents herself as just plain Meta. But beyond that, it’s like her history has been scrubbed clean. I don’t know many college students who know how to do that.”
“Steal a peek at her driver’s license.”
“This is New York—no one has a driver’s license. And her student ID only has Meta on it. No last name. Apparently NYU is the kind of school that lets you do that.”
“I love that you checked.”
“Of course I checked. She’s either an heiress who’s ashamed of being an heiress, a killer who’s smart about being a killer, or some combination of the two.”
“Seems like a lot for Thor to handle.”
“I don’t know that he’s questioning it. He’s just enjoying it. As I said...they’re young.”
J wants to ask her about what Thor said about them being a perfect couple; the implication is that V is clearly painting a rosy picture among her colleagues. But he also doesn’t want to disrupt the rapport that’s returned between them. So instead they talk about her job, and life in New York, and where J is staying. About anything but the two of them, and what the two of them might mean.
Still, it’s close quarters in the conference room, and the proximity of their bodies can’t be denied. It’s easy enough to deny while they’re eating salads, because it’s impossible to be sexy while eatinga salad. But when the salads are finished and pushed aside, J feels his leg moving over to touch V’s, because it is there and his desire to do so is undeniable. She doesn’t move her leg away. Instead, she moves her other leg so it’s touching his other leg. They hold in that position for a moment, neither of them attempting anything more than this simple touch.
“Ihavemissed you,” V says.
“I’ve missed you, too,” J says. He wants to lean over to touch her hand, her face. But that would mean shifting his legs away to get the right angle.
Then he sees it: V deciding that this a bad idea, to be touching him, to be saying she’s missing him. Sure enough, she pulls back in her chair, disengages their legs. She starts to gather the trash from the table.
“You don’t have to do that,” J says.
“I’m not leaving out salad bowls for the cleaning staff!”
“I meant pull away. You don’t have to pull away.”
Now he’s standing. Putting his hand on hers, as it holds a salad container.
The room now smells more like salad dressing than it does of either of them. He tries to find her perfume underneath.
“This is why it’s hard to see you,” V says. “This is what I mean. I’m going to throw these out in the kitchen.” She pulls away, then leaves.
She is back quickly but stays in the doorway and then leads him back to the elevator. She asks again if he’s made sure Tara’s husband-to-be is okay with him singing the song that Tara thinks is hers, and he tells her he’ll do it this afternoon. She doesn’t ask him for any more details about any other plans he may have.
As they walk back to the elevator, J can hear one of his own songs blasting from an office—no doubt Thor’s. It’s a song from thirteen years ago, a happy song that sprung from his own sadness. A silly lifeboat of a song that other people ended up wanting to climb aboard.
V hears it, too.
“I promise, he’s not just playing it because you’re here. This is one of his favorites.”
“Does it drive you crazy, him playing my music all the time?”
