If (17 page)

Ash had spent the last few nights at my place. I knew it was fast, but I just couldn’t send him back out on the street. Ash argued with me, saying he didn’t need to sleep and he didn’t want to impose, but he wasn’t an imposition. We’d end up in my bed at the end of the night anyway. What was a few more hours of lying in it before I went to work and he spent the day where ever he was going for his secret project?

He glanced up and down at me. “You might want to throw on some pants.”

“Are we going out?”

“Sort of. You don’t need to get dressed up, just don’t be naked.”

I puffed out a small laugh. “The suspense is really killing me.”

“We’re not going far. You don’t need to bring anything.” Ash snatched the afghan from my futon. “Except this. It’s cool tonight.”

I slid on some flip flops and he grabbed my hand and practically dragged me out of my apartment to the stairwell.

“Where in the world are you taking me?” I asked, as we ascended the stairs.

We climbed flight after flight until we could go no further and reached a metal door: the door to the roof. I had never been up here before. There was never any reason to. Ash gave the heavy door a hearty heave with his shoulder and it creaked loudly as it jarred open. Whatever we were doing, it felt mischievous, and I kind of liked it.

He pulled me around the small brick housing for the door. The tar underfoot had some give to it and I wondered if roofs like this are designed to hold people’s weight. Before I could ask that out loud, I saw it: an entire section covered in squares of color. So many of them. Even in the darkness they were bright.

Ash flipped the flashlight and swept it over the roof. “This is what I have been working on. There’s a theme, but I don’t want to tell you what it is until I am done. I just couldn’t hold it in any longer.”

“You’ve been up here all that time?”

Ash nodded proudly.

“Can I?” I asked, motioning for the flashlight. He placed it in my hand. I swept the beam of light over the ground trying to absorb the abstract pieces. They seemed to be in no particular order, but I could tell based on shapes and color scheme, they shared a theme. And then I caught a glimpse of the tar underneath. The roof itself had become some sort of accidental work of art as bright paint colors littered the tar, the same colors Ash had come to my place covered in these past few days. And now I understood why he was so tanned and sweaty, working up on this hot roof.

“Wow . . . there are so many.” Dozens and dozens of beautiful squares of color. I wanted to know more, but I knew he was saving the surprise, so I didn’t ask. “I can’t wait until you tell me what it’s all about. What are you going to do when you’re done? Maybe we can find a gallery to hold a show or something.”

“There’s something else I want to show you,” he said. “Come on.”

I followed him to another spot on the roof, with perfect views of downtown LA and even the shadows of the hills and valleys that extended past.

“I thought you might like this,” he said. On the ground was a bottle of juice, crackers and cheese. No, it wasn’t a ton of money spent, but knowing his situation, it was a priceless gesture. “There’s nothing like the quiet of twilight,” he said. “The world is asleep, and you get to have it all to yourself.”

That’s what this felt like—two kids sneaking away to a secret treehouse. This was our private place and time. Sure, I could have cared about the landlord finding out, or lack of sleep, but these were the things about Ash that made him unique and uniquely mine. The magic between us always felt like a secret no one else could possibly comprehend.

We sat down next to the little picnic. I placed the flashlight facing up, like it was our candlelight, and I shivered a bit as I sat.

“Cold?” he asked.

“A little bit.”

“Come here,” Ash offered, unfolding the afghan and draping it over his shoulders. He spread his legs wide and I nestled between his knees as he cloaked us with the blanket.

“I’ve never had a picnic in the middle of the night.”

“It’s the best time.” I heard his smirk in the tone of his voice.

I poured us each a SOLO cup of juice and we sipped in silence.

“I want to hear the story of you coming out to LA. You told me a little bit about it, but I sense there’s more to the story. When exactly did you move out here, Annalise?” He always called me Bird and using my real name made me feel like he was trying to give the question weight.

“Well, Asher . . . a little over a year and a half ago. I was in school, but I knew what I really wanted to do. I just had to build up the guts to do it.”

“You were scared?”

“Not so much about coming out here, but of how my parents would react. They were strict. They had very specific expectations and pursuing dance was not one of them.”

“But I assume they paid for you to do years of dance classes. It’s obvious you’re well trained.”

“Why, thank you,” I said in a terrible British accent. “And they did, but it was part of sculpting the perfect daughter. And that was just one part. I think they mainly did it to help me build confidence because of my face.”

He tenderly stroked the scarred side of my face with the side of his thumb.

“So, how’d they take it?”

“About as badly as they could. They tried to forbid it, but I was already legally an adult. So they said they wouldn’t support me financially, and I expected that.”

Ash didn’t say anything, but I felt him nod, and he lilted back and forth ever so slightly with me in this arms. It felt safe to keep going.

“It’s not that we just declared one day we’d stop talking. Sure we argued, but everyone argues with their parents. But before I left it was explosive. It felt like they were trying to hurt me. And it’s just that . . . I’m hurt. I’m angry. They don’t believe in me. And I know it has nothing to do with talent and everything to do with my face. They are just like everyone else out here. Of all people, I thought they would see past it. And I know they don’t want me to get hurt . . . but I needed their support. I needed them to tell me that it was okay to follow my dreams, but they told me I would fail. They told me what I believed about myself was wrong. They made me love dance and then they wanted me to forget it. So I left it all behind. And now it’s not just a dream, it’s proving them wrong. They cut me off, and I feel betrayed and they feel betrayed and I won’t go back until I have something to show for all of this. They want an apology, they want me to run back to them and tell them I need them and that I’ll go back and be the lawyer or the doctor or whatever.”

“You think you’ll reconcile?”

“They’ve tried, I guess. But it always comes with a condition. ‘Come back home, we’ll pay for you to go to school.’ Never once have they just called to say they were sorry and they respect my decisions. I’m not accepting that. It’s so hard out here. So hard. Soul-sucking, pride-swallowing, physically exhausting. I don’t have space for anything but hope. I’m not asking for their money. I just want their support.”

A peaceful silence descended on us. It was nice to just sit wrapped in Ash’s arms, his warmth contrasting with the cool night air. In a city full of so many people, at this moment, in this spot, we were the only two people. I understood why he liked late-night picnics on the roof.

“You’re gonna make it, Bird.”

“I know.”

“No, you’re gonna be successful beyond your wildest dreams.” He said it like it was a fact.

I looked up at him and smiled wistfully.

“I should mention, my sister has always backed me through it all. She worries about me being alone here, kind of like your brother does with you. What about you? Did your family support your talents?”

“Yeah. More than I could have ever asked for. And I was different. My dad was military, just like his father. Lots of type-A’s in my family. And here he had a son who was seeing rainbows in sound and who loved art and music. It was probably interesting for them to say the least, but my parents encouraged me.”

“That’s nice. Do they still?”

“It’s not relevant.”

“Why?”

“I changed. I don’t see my parents these days, either.”

“Why not?”

“Things aren’t the same with my family anymore. We’re broken up.”

“Divorce?”

“No, my sister died.”

“Oh my god.”

“And we just aren’t the same. Nothing is.”

“How old was she?”

“Fifteen. I was in college, studying art, and Miller was already finishing up law school. She was the youngest.”

“What was her name?”

He paused. I felt his breath catch in his throat.

“Sarah.”

He said her name like it physically hurt to utter it. I could tell he was done talking about her. A silence lingered after he said it, an emptiness that reflected her absence.

I thought about asking how his sister died, but he didn’t offer the information. Ash was smart. It was a deliberate omission. It didn’t feel right to ask yet. There would be more nights on the roof or in my apartment for those sad details.

“Your brother, I assume he’s older?”

“Yeah, seven years. He’s married, a lawyer. Used to work at the DA’s office, but now he’s in entertainment because the money is so much better.”

I laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, my sister is a lawyer, too. She doesn’t practice. She pretty much married and had kids right away.”

“I assume your parents are happy about that.”

“Very.”

“Does she dance?”

“She’s a terrible dancer. I mean it’s excruciating. I am convinced it could be used as a form of mental warfare . . . maybe an interrogation tactic.”

Ash threw his head back in laughter. I realized that for the first few weeks of our friendship, he didn’t laugh, I mean really laugh, at all.

“I guess it doesn’t run in the family.”

“I wouldn’t know as far as genetics. I’m adopted.”

“Well, your parents are lucky to have you.”

“Sometimes I wonder if they think they made a mistake.”

“Don’t do that. They’re caring in the only way they know how. Even if it’s the shitty way. We’re all just trying to make it, right?”

I sighed.

“It’s funny,” Ash said. “When I was a little kid, I imagined being twenty-something and having all the answers. Like it was the peak of adulthood. Here I am, and I still feel like a kid. I wonder if that feeling ever goes away.”

“I don’t know. I have a job and an apartment and I still feel like I’m playing house. In a much crappier house, I might add.”

Suddenly, I felt Ash pulling me back onto him as he lay down. I screeched playfully and turned over so that I was on top of him.

“Oh come on, I wanted to show you the beautiful smog overhead.”

“How romantic!” I swooned sarcastically.

“Bird?”

“Yes?”

“You are a dream personified.”

I bowed my head and shook it softly. He could be so poetic.
Ah, the plus side of dating a sensitive artist.

“You are. And one day, little girls are going to see you on stage or on TV and dream that they could be you when they grow up. I think you should float. I don’t think the ground deserves for you to walk on it.”

“Stop,” I said, feeling overwhelmed. “Don’t put me on a pedestal like that. I’m destined to fall from it.”

“You will forever be on a pedestal, just like those little ballerinas in a jewelry box. Your parents are wrong. You are the reason I can paint again. The fact that you even noticed I existed, when all I was trying to do was hide . . . you are blinding color in a world of beige.”

It was like Ash was trying to fill me with the hope that had been beaten out of me a little at a time with each rejection since I had arrived.

“What about you, Ash? You’re like a superhero. You have the closest thing to a super power I have ever seen. And just like Clark Kent or Bruce Wayne, you can try to hide it, but your talent will find a way to show itself to the world. Your gifts are not meant to be hidden on some roof. Your parents were right.”

He pulled me in and kissed me like maybe he didn’t have all the answers yet, but he knew he wanted to be with me.

We officially turned the tree house into a love nest, surrounded by swirls of color on the black tar floor, out in the open, with no walls.

Afterward, I lay wrapped in the blanket, but Ash was reinvigorated. I wondered how he found the energy. How could this be the same guy who stood there and let himself get pushed around weeks ago? How could this be the guy who hung his head every time I tried to steal a glance?

“I can’t wait until you see this when it’s done,” he said. His voice floated overhead as he paced the roof.

“Me neither,” I said, drifting to sleep. My eyes slowly closed, and I thought we should head back downstairs. We had to be discrete about hanging out on the roof. I sat up and opened my eyes to tell Ash we should go back down. When I spotted him, I gasped in horror.

ASH

I didn’t understand why Bird was freaking out about me walking on the edge of the roof. It was wide, I was fine. If I was walking on that same ledge a few feet from the ground, the thought of me slipping wouldn’t have crossed her mind. I liked the feeling of looking over the edge on one side, then seeing her on the other. Exhilaration on one side, safety on the other. The world was spinning fast, but Bird still grounded me. I felt great. I felt fucking great.