Meternity Page 12

  “What, you think I have a face for radio, you’re saying?” he teases.

  Umm, the total opposite, I think, unable to stop staring at the screen.

  “So basically, I’ll be explaining the backstory behind this company we’ve found out in Palo Alto.” We watch the minute of footage, and I’m honestly floored. He’s got such a solid presence I can’t stop staring. I find myself wanting more.

  Once the file ends, I look at him and am shocked to find him with his head down, fidgeting a bit with his fingers. “Well? Whadja think?” He pushes some hair behind his ear.

  “Honestly,” I say simply. “It’s awesome.” He brightens, so I continue. “From what I can tell so far, it’s going to be really, really good.”

  “Really? Aw, thanks, Liz. I mean, I could probably cut a bit from the first ten seconds. I don’t know if everyone needs to see my mug for so long, but otherwise, yeah, I think it’s going pretty well. I just need to find more time after work to work on it. I don’t know when I’m going to have time. I think we’re heading to Southeast Asia in a few weeks, actually.”

  “I know you’ll figure it out,” I say, sure that he will. He takes my compliment with a proud smile, then gives me a long, hard kiss.

  “Thanks, Liz. Coming from you that means a lot.”

  His words warm my stomach.

  He looks down. “You know I Googled you after the last time we hung out.”

  “You did? What did you find?” I smile.

  “A helluva lot of baby articles,” he jokes. “But I also found a profile you wrote three years ago about a single mother who’d made the choice to move forward with the pregnancy after she found out her daughter would have Down syndrome. You really captured the complexity of the situation. I really felt for her.”

  “It was one of the ones I was most proud of under our former editor, Patricia. I remember how it felt to see my first feature byline when I was twenty-eight.” I loved working on that story.

  Ryan seems to sense that I’ve gone somewhere. He swivels my chair toward him so our knees are touching and takes both of my hands, giving me a slow, soft kiss.

  “Why don’t you do more of that kind of stuff?”

  I stop to think about it. “I don’t know.” An image of Alix comes up. “When I was twenty-eight, I remember feeling like I was on the right path, totally confident for once in my life. I was moving up in my career, taking chances and getting noticed. But just after that Cynthia and Alix came on board. I felt a shift. Like now, my ideas were too far out there or too risky. I don’t know exactly. My stories don’t always start with a point. They’re kind of rambling and tangential, but they always make their way there. Patricia always got it, but with Cynthia and Alix, I just feel this contempt in their eyes every time I open my mouth in meetings. So I stopped. I guess I started playing smaller and smaller. I can’t really blame Alix or the shift in the magazine industry. I did this to myself.” I look down, balling my legs up beneath my arms, huddling on the chair.

  “Do the stories end with something meaningful?”

  “Yes, actually.”

  He thinks about it for a second. “You’re an Irish storyteller. That’s all. Yeats, Wilde, Joyce. Come on. All the greats were like that. There’s nothing wrong with the way you write—you just do it differently.”

  Immediately an image comes to mind of my dad telling these long-winded stories when I was little. He’d tell us about what it was like to step up after his father died of a heart attack in the ’50s when he was only sixteen, and how he took on work after school delivering meat from the Meatpacking District out to New Jersey for extra money. How my granny Buckley would make him save plastic Baggies and wash them out because of how little she had during the Depression. How the landlord would always be on the verge of sending them packing for being late with the rent, but he’d somehow strike a barter deal that would get them through to the next month.

  There’d be one detail here and then, the story would go in an entirely different direction. I always remember wondering how things were going to come out at the end, yet loving the way he told it, always with a gleam in his eye as he looked up to some special place in the sky—the place where all these stories were held. When he finally came to the conclusion, everything would seem to magically fall into place. It was one of the only times I remember my mom smiling at him admiringly and my dad looking genuinely proud.

  Ryan looks me straight in the eyes. “Liz, just because you do it differently doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong. In the end, it’s probably going to be your biggest strength.”

  “That’s not what the internet wants right now.”

  “Longform’s coming back. You’re ahead of the curve. You might need some video along with it, though,” he says with a smile.

  I laugh and then he brings his hand to my knee. “You’ve got greatness in you. I know it.” To my surprise, his comment brings a tiny tear to my eye. Something opens up in my chest and I feel a flutter.

  “Sometimes I just feel lost,” I admit.

  He sighs, looking deeply into my eyes. “I know how that feels. You know what helps? Ever since I was a little kid, I’d do this thing called pathfinding. Whenever I’m unsure of what to do next, I just let my body lead the way. Literally. Like, I go out on the street and just starting walking. You’d be surprised where it takes you.”

  I shiver. “Actually, I think I know what you mean. I’ve been doing that, too.”

  “After my dad died, I’d wander the city. And the next thing I knew, I was filming everything left and right.” He starts looking away. “I ended up making a little documentary about firefighters’ lives after September 11th. Their home lives—after they took off their uniforms. It got some recognition and led to my first job in television production at HBO. Though it messed me up pretty bad for a while.”

  “The Emmy,” I say softly, feeling my breath almost slip away. Ryan barely acknowledges the yes.

  “Come on, Charlie Brown. I want to show you something else.” He grabs my hand and leads me out to the main area, grabs a bottle of sparkling wine from the wine fridge, and finds two glasses, and puts them in my hands. “Let’s go up to the roof.”

  “Okay,” I tell him, excited at the idea. I feel around my bag for my phone, making a conscious effort to avoid the bump. It’s 1:30 a.m. I should go home soon, but I want to keep this feeling going. We find the door to the rooftop out in the hallway and as we climb the stairs, I find myself looking at Ryan’s butt. It looks so good I can’t help but smack it.

  “Hey,” he teases back, “hands off the goods. Until we make it to the roof at least.”

  I laugh, and finally we head outside, making sure to place a brick in the door so we can get back in.

  There’s a hot tub. Ryan sees me eyeing it. I shoot him a mischievous grin. “We should go in!”

  “Want to? Really?” He looks like a little boy at Christmas.

  “Nah, we shouldn’t,” I say, coming to my senses. But in a split second, he’s already stripped to his boxers and is dipping a foot in.

  “No time like the present,” he urges. I find myself nodding and following suit until we’re both down to our underwear, which makes me blush. I notice he has an FDNY crest tattooed on his bicep.

  “Come on, Liz,” he says, not hiding the fact at all that he’s stealing a look while drawing me toward the tub. We hop in, and I press the button to turn the bubbles on. Ryan pops the Prosecco and pours us each a glass, and immediately starts kissing the side of my neck. He looks at me for another second. He brushes the rest of my hair from my face, then slowly brings one arm down around my waist, pulling me into a straddle position on his lap and looking into my eyes, letting our foreheads touch for a few seconds before continuing to kiss me. His arms wrap around me in a way that feels foreign. Close. No agenda. I’m amazed at how hot my bell
y feels. Not in that sexy way that can happen with any random hookup, but true warmth—an opening up feeling.

  His hands move all over my legs and I give in to the feeling. In my mind, I bargain with all the ways I can be honest and tell him about the bump. Then I think about everything he’s told me—the importance he places on his personal integrity. No, I realize in no uncertain terms, I need to get out of Paddy Cakes, a new job at least. So this relationship can have any small possibility of working out. But right now, I need to be smart. Things can’t escalate. “Liz?” Ryan asks. He puts his hands on both sides of my face. “Be here with me, Liz.”

  “Ryan,” I start. “I can’t. I’ve got to...” The words don’t follow.

  He kisses me again, which only makes it harder. And then on my collarbone. He unhooks my bra and slides it off and kisses the top of one of my breasts. He moves it away to kiss my stomach, and then the next thing I know, he’s sliding me up onto the hot tub deck. There’s a softness and a carefulness to all of his gestures that make me feel there’s a true intention there. But if I allow him to continue, I’m going to get attached. Or worse, needy.

  He seems to notice my hesitation. “Just lean back and relax, Liz. I’m really good at this.” He winks. Oooh.

  As I feel the amazing sensations of his mouth all over me, I stare up at the stars in the sky, my back cold against the Formica tub, my legs dangling in the bubbling hot waters, Ryan grabbing on to the backs of my thighs; for once, my mind goes totally quiet. I’m feeling the sensation rising up.

  With JR, I used to get close, then lose it right before the end, falling back into my head, making some excuse, or worse, pretending. Now, here with Ryan, I can feel myself there. Almost. And again, back in my head, worried again about what all of this is about. My lower body slackens. Ryan seems to notice, coming up, kissing me all over my face, before whispering into my ears, a soft, “You are so sexy, Liz. I want to taste. Every. Single. Bit of you.” There’s a softness to his movements. He cares.

  He pushes my thighs apart a little wider. That does it. A low, full orgasm overtakes me without warning. I let it wash over me and he lies next to me as we look up at the stars together.

  “See?” he says after a while. “Told you.” His cheeky confidence brimming, as he comes out of the tub, grabs his jeans and pulls me off to lean against the side.

  “You were right,” I say, pulling on his button-down. “You are very talented. And dedicated.”

  “I try.” He puts my hand in his and starts drawing little circles around it.

  “What time is it?” I ask.

  He checks his watch. “Almost 4:30 a.m. It’s almost time for sunrise.” He wraps an arm around my shoulder and we slink down and stare out at the waxing moon. “Might as well make it an all-nighter.”

  “I would go, but just your luck, I happen to be a sunrise connoisseur.” I give him my best cheeky expression.

  “Why’s that?” returns Ryan.

  “Each one is totally different. It can never be re-created again because the time and place won’t be the same. In part, the reason why they’re so sweet is because they’re perfectly ephemeral.”

  My brain disarmed, I continue. “My dad taught me about watching the sky. When I was little, he’d often wake me up to go see the sunrise at the hill in our town whenever it was a particularly clear morning. ‘The best things in life are free,’ he’d tell me. I guess I never realized how much I missed seeing the sunrise, living here in the city.”

  “He must be proud of you.”

  “Not exactly. After my parents got a divorce, we kind of had a falling-out.”

  Ryan takes my hand and squeezes it, then starts to rub my knee. We both look up at the deep inky blue sky now covered with nighttime clouds.

  It’s his turn to pause for a bit. “Well, if there’s one thing I know, it’s that nothing’s worth holding a grudge over when it comes to family. I made that mistake before my dad died and I don’t think I’ll ever stop wishing I could have done things differently.” He looks straight up to the sky.

  “What happened?” I ask, putting my hand on his thigh.

  He takes a deep breath before beginning. “Well, before my dad passed away, my brother was in a bad place. He got into the party scene through work. He’d be out all hours, hooking up with sleazy girls in bars, doing tons of coke. Finally it got so bad he couldn’t pay his debts with his dealer.” He looks at me now, pensively. It seems as if he’s bracing for judgment. “It really wrecked my dad. He couldn’t understand how it could have happened. I couldn’t, either, to be totally honest. We were a really solid family growing up. I think the city just took its toll on him. My dad never said it outright, but I knew he felt as though it was up to me to straighten him out. I tried to do everything I could, but in the end, he wouldn’t listen. I even offered to pay for him to go into rehabilitation, but he wouldn’t accept. My brother and I got into a huge fight about it, and he chewed out my dad, too.”

  He looks away. It’s as if this part really hurts him. His eyes hollow out in a way I haven’t seen yet. “Then, one day there was a—a five-alarm fire, and it ended up taking my dad’s life. Just like that. The next day Dad was gone.”

  Ryan turns away as if trying to hold something back. I try to offer my hand, rubbing his arm. He takes another deep breath and lets out a loud sigh. “He died with one son not speaking to him and the other one letting him down. He didn’t deserve that.” He twitches his nose a bit. “After that, I made a promise I’d do whatever it took to get my brother straightened out. I finally got him into rehab and he got mostly sober with the hard drugs, but he’s still drinking. I moved in with him to keep an eye on him.”

  His brow creases and I can feel the guilt is weighing on him.

  “You can’t beat yourself up,” I say, trying to figure out a way to help him see that none of this is his fault. “Ryan, you can’t save people until they want to be saved. Sometimes you have to let them make mistakes and walk away for a while.”

  “That’s bullshit, Liz. Cowardly.”

  I maneuver myself so I’m facing him. The sun is now starting to come up.

  “You can’t always force people to do what they don’t want to do.”

  “No, but you can keep showing up for them.”

  “Sometimes people don’t deserve it.”

  “Everyone deserves a second chance.”

  “Not everyone.”

  I find myself getting annoyed. Ryan looks uncomfortable, too. We both sit, staring at the horizon over the East River. The sun’s first rays turn the lower horizon a hazy purple.

  “Yes, they do. If they’re family.”

  “Ryan, my dad cheated on my mom, okay. And then abandoned her when she was going through cancer. It doesn’t exactly make me want to forgive him.” Ryan goes silent for a second.

  “Well, sometimes we don’t know how to handle the hardest stuff and we deal with it in stupid ways. But, that’s in the past. Why can’t you forgive him and let it go?”

  “Ryan, you have no idea what you’re talking about.” We don’t look at one another. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to warm up. He lets out a loud sigh. There’s a silence between us for the first time.

  “Look, there’s the sunrise,” Ryan says finally. Now the salmon-pink gassy layer rises above the buildings to the east. I want to go backward and redo what just happened. But I can’t get what he said out of my head. My dad hasn’t called me for months—he’s the one who left me and my mom. I should give him a second chance? Hardly. I’m no coward.

  “Where’d you go?” Ryan is now bristling. “You have to talk to me.”

  No, I don’t, I find myself thinking reflexively. I check my phone. It’s now almost five thirty and reality is starting to set in. Even though it’s Saturday, I’d still planned to do a ton of research on the surrogacy story and
I’m going to be tired all day. I’m getting stressed. Ugh. I stand up, smoothing out my clothes.

  “I’ve had a nice time, Ryan, thanks. But I have to go now.”

  He pauses for a second as if trying to figure out what to say, then lets down his shoulders. “Okay, Liz. I understand. I’m just a piece of meat, here purely for your entertainment,” he says, attempting a light joke, but for some reason it has the opposite effect on me this time. I wrap my arms around my shoulders protectively. He seems to revert back to work colleague mode, clapping his hands together.

  “It’s okay, Buckley, I have to go, too. This has been fun. Seriously. We’ll hang out again?” His usual calm demeanor turns cooler.

  “Sure, okay,” I say, noticing he just said “hang out,” instead of “see you.” With my best attempt to appear cool again, we walk toward the door. Inside, I feel a weird mix of emotions—sad, searching for any way I can make this work in my favor. But my brain, foggy with so many drinks and no sleep, comes up with nothing.

  “I’ll call you,” he says, picking up the glasses and then kissing me on the lips again as we find the inside door, and we walk through the editing suite. He looks around. “Actually, I have to turn off everything and save the latest versions of the files. You go on ahead,” he tells me. I smile and say goodbye, walking toward the elevators, head full of static.

  Thirteen

  Saturday morning, an uncertain mania overtakes me. As I do errands, I replay details from last night in my head while sucking away at my cold brew, bump attached. And by midafternoon, with no new calls or texts from Ryan, I am feeling weird. Really weird. I try to put it out of my head all afternoon, but now Brie’s birthday at the Wythe Hotel in Williamsburg is tonight, and all I can think of is that it would be great to bring him. Why hasn’t he texted?

  Heading to Williamsburg I’m still hopeful. Maybe something came up. Making sure my trench is belted tightly, in case anyone I know should spot me, I walk into the dimly lit hotel lobby, searching for Brie’s party. The swanky hotel hosts celebrities, but Addison was able to pull off a free party space because of her connections in the fashion world.