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“Studying digital design,” I offered.
“Cory says you’ve moved in.” His tone was light, but I felt the weight of his stare, silently questioning my motives.
I shrugged, trying to downplay it. “I got kicked out of the dorms. We figured since I was spending most of my time there anyway, it made sense.”
“I didn’t realize the city college had dorms.”
While Cory’s attention shifted to the game on TV, I held Nate’s eyes. “Housing on the Westside is expensive. Where else are students supposed to live?”
He took a sip of beer and gestured toward Cory. “Regardless, congratulations on snagging this one,” he said. “He’s a hard one to pin down, though you’re exactly his type.”
“Lucky me.”
Cory turned back to us, and soon the two of them were deep in conversation about work, mutual friends, and Nate’s many dating conquests.
Throughout the evening I caught Nate staring at me, as if he were trying to unwrap me. But I gave him nothing to latch on to. I smiled, drank my beer, and mostly kept my mouth shut.
***
It takes time to grow roots in someone else’s life. You have to establish routines—brunch on Sundays, a favorite restaurant for special occasions. Rituals that bind you to another person. Life with Cory was 80 percent routine, and if he noticed the only friends we socialized with were his friends, he never said anything.
But Nate noticed. “Where are your friends, Meg?” he asked one night. “Why don’t they ever come out with us?”
“And have them suffer through an evening with you?” I shot back.
His stare was hard and steady. “I just think it’s strange. A girl your age, with no girl posse. Where’s your posse, Meg?”
“You’re showing your age, Nate. It’s ‘woman,’ not ‘girl.’”
Cory laughed, and Nate did too. But Nate held my gaze a fraction of a second too long, and I knew I needed to watch him.
***
Most men are generous, simple creatures. You just have to know what they care about, and then give it to them. To figure that out, I started looking through Cory’s things when he wasn’t home, searching for the parts of himself he kept hidden. The engraved pocketknife from his grandfather, tucked inside his underwear drawer. An undated birthday card from his mother that read, We’d love to see you at Dad’s 70th. He may not come out and say so, but I know he’s forgiven you.
I’d been working slowly, one drawer at a time, waiting to see if he’d notice that his things were slightly shifted inside their spaces, jumbled in a different way. Every now and then I took something, just to see what would happen. A couple twenties from cash he had hidden under his clean socks. Bigger things too, like the spare car key I found in a kitchen drawer, the black fob fitting snugly in my palm. But he never noticed a thing. I spent the cash, but kept the car key in the outer pocket of my purse, a reminder that my time here had a purpose.
I had the contents of Cory’s nightstand drawer emptied on the bed when my cell phone rang, startling me. “Hey, babe,” I said. “I was just getting out of the shower.”
“I’m glad I caught you,” Cory said. “I left the budget binder on my desk and I need it for an afternoon meeting. Can you bring it on your way to class?”
I began putting things back in the drawer, approximating their original placement as best I could. “Sure. I just need to put on some clothes and dry my hair. Twenty minutes?”
“It’ll be lunch by then and I might be hard to find, so just drop it in the office.”
“You got it.”
***
I parked at a meter on a side street and walked the short block to the high school. Kids flowed through the gates, opened for the lunch hour. I signed my name on a clipboard and attached the visitor’s badge to my shirt, turning away from the main office and instead making my way toward the north quad.
As I rounded the corner of the history building, I slowed to a halt and stood there, taking in the scene. The area was packed with students, backpacks flung onto the ground next to them. Even though this wasn’t my high school, the snatches of conversations took me back to my time at Northside High, maneuvering my way to a quiet corner to eat my sandwich and study.
Also familiar was the cluster of girls who surrounded Cory when I finally spotted him. Flipping their hair, edging closer as they spoke, a dark-haired girl placing a hand on his forearm to make a point. I waited for him to take a step back. To maintain a professional distance. To say something reassuring and then continue his rounds of the quad. Instead, he leaned into the attention. Ate it up.
I wondered if any of those girls had fantasies about sneaking out of Cory’s office, her clothes in disarray. Slipping into the passenger seat of his car.
I plastered a smile on my face and approached them. When he saw me, he looked surprised, finally taking that step back. “Meg,” he said.
