Page 21 of Five Things I See in You

“You don’t feel like it?”

“I feel like being with you,” she answers. “The place doesn’t really matter to me, honestly,” she adds as she sticks her hands in her coat pockets and looks toward the street. “Let’s catch the ferry!”

***

On the boat, I cancel the dinner reservation and we sit by a rain-speckled window while we watch the city fall behind.

“Why did you resign? Or rather, why did you disappear after resigning?” she suddenly blurts out. “The truth, because you told me it wasn’t ethical and yet here we are, on a date. I’d like to know what changed, and don’t repeat all that stuff about running the mental health program and blah, blah, blah.”

I look away toward the buildings we’re leaving behind and sigh.

“Okay, I was attracted to you from day one, but I think we got closer at the worst possible moment. You were on the shower floor having a panic attack and I was the person who stayed with you and took you home. I was worried you might confuse what you were feeling in that moment. You know, gratitude, feeling cared for during a hard time with…”

“With desire?” she interrupts me.

“Yes.”

Noa looks at the raindrops on the glass. Then she looks at me. Next, she pulls out her phone, unlocks the screen, searches for something in her notes and hands it to me.

It’s a message draft with my name at the top.

“Thank you so much for recommending the coffee shop. You were right, the flat white is really good. I think the difference is that they heat the milk properly, because when it gets too hot the flavor changes and it ends up tasting burnt, although I guess you’re not interested in this explanation.”

“When did you write it?”

“In March. Before the shower thing.”

I scroll down and there are two more versions of the same message. One just thanks me. The last one tries to make a joke about the coffee machine in one of the hallways of the sports complex where the Emeralds train. All of them are unsent.

I look up.

“You wrote three versions of the same message?”

“I was nervous,” she apologizes.

“Because of me?”

“No, Jordan. Because of the milk. Of course it was because of you, damn it. You came to watch me at practice, and I couldn’t stop looking at you. I’m not that broken,” she says next, turning very serious now. “I was in a bad place, but I know perfectly well the difference between gratitude and desire.”

***

On the way back, when we board from Bainbridge, it’s already nighttime and there’s nobody on deck.

The wind blows the rain sideways. Seattle glows in the distance, the buildings reflected on the water. The Space Needle rises above the skyline.

Noa presses against my arm.

“It looks better from here,” she whispers in my ear.

My glasses are covered in raindrops. I try to wipe them with my sleeve, but Noa takes them off to do it herself. Without my glasses, the city turns into blotches of light.

“I need to see,” I remind her.

“Not for this.”

She strokes my cheek with her fingertips. They’re freezing.

And my heart goes crazy. The cold on deck disappears. All I notice is her breath forming little clouds that vanish before reaching me, and her fingers still stroking my cheek. It feels strange to be the one who moves first, because I never do, but this time I can’t wait.