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I hide a laugh. She is so direct and just says the truth simply, like she used to back then. God, I’ve missed this.
“I can’t, ok?” I tell her.
“You can’t what?” There’s an edge to her voice now. Interesting.
“I can’t talk to you outside of writing, do you understand? I’ll… start all over again.”
“Start what?”
I just look at her. How can she ask me a question like that? I see it in her eyes that she knows the answer. She just wants to torture me.
“I’ll start coming apart at the seams again,” I say finally.
She doesn’t say anything for a bit. The music, our music, has stopped. I try out a chord or two, but my guitar sounds out of tune. It’s not the guitar that’s out of tune. It’s me. She turns to leave, but I grab her elbow lightly.
“Don’t go,” I say. “Don’t go, just… just talk to me.”
She nods.
“Why are you here?” I ask her.
She stays, but she doesn’t speak right away. I wait. The window is half open and the air up here on the tenth floor is already damp with the coming warmth, but it’s chilly inside. Eden is wearing an oversized sweater that stops at her slender wrists. My fingers can wrap around her wrists twice. Or at least they used to.
“Why are you here really?” I ask her again, not daring to look at her. My heart is about to jump out of my chest. “Unless you don’t want to say.”
“Well, let’s see,” Eden replies, “short answer, I want to get into Harvard. I’d love to become a lawyer eventually. English lit was just a passion, left over from when I was a kid. Besides, I’ve studied it for two years in community college, and it was fun, but I need another kind of diploma if I’m to work with abused kids.”
“Is that what you want to do with your life?” I ask, impressed.
“It’s what Ineedto do with my life,” she replies after a pause.
I’m not sure I understand that, but I don’t want to make a fool of myself by asking what she means. I’m out of my depth here, but then again, I always was, with her. Since we were kids. I nod, dumbly.
She doesn’t volunteer any more information.
“So, a lawyer, huh?” I say eventually.
“Yeah. You don’t approve?”
We’re close enough that I can smell her perfume, something floral and absolutely intoxicating. Knee-melting. Or maybe that’s just her.
I inhale sharply. “What does it matter if I approve or not?”
My question hangs in the air between us, and I look at her. She’s looking back at me expectantly, as if she’s hoping I’ll say more. I panic.
What do I say?
What is she waiting for?
I feel so dumb. Was I always so dumb around her? Or am I always, generally dumb and no one’s told me? Well, except for my stupid brother, of course.
Dammit, the boy was right.
“That’s amazing,” I say, feeling like an idiot.What do I say what do I say?“Becoming a lawyer, working with abused kids. It sounds tough and smart. Like you. How did you decide to work with them?”
She looks away, her face a tad paler. I’m sure I said something hugely stupid again, possibly catastrophically stupid, but I have no idea what.
“There are too many,” Eden says. “And not enough people care about them.”
