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Stosh Piznarski hadn’t wanted to go to Whole Foods. It was rush hour, a terrible time for food shopping. Plus, he was exhausted. His local deli usually had the necessary ingredients for a couple of extremely light meals—a head of iceberg lettuce and a single, pallid tomato he could make a salad with, a dusty box of instant oatmeal aka breakfast, but he’d made a pact with himself to eat better dammit so that was out of the question.
Also, if he was being honest, and he was, he just really, really liked to look at exotic produce. It was calming, and for that only a high end supermarket would do.
(He had something of a mild obsession. The first time he saw cherimoyas, he convinced himself that they were dinosaur fruit and held one in his hands for a creepy long amount of time, beaming with contentment. He bought a pair, and displayed them on his coffee table. They looked great, like they belonged there, another check mark on his super secret private list of cool accomplishments. Signed Terror Twilight poster on his wall, the ability to wear sneakers to his place of employment, a drama-free interview with Lou Reed (R.I.P.) and a much praised arrangement of antediluvian-looking produce on his coffee table that he had put together, all by himself, no decorator necessary. It was the little things.)
His cramped and dark Chinatown studio rental was still full of moving boxes. He knew he needed to do something about the Collyer-like maze of cardboard but he was so jazzed about work, he hadn’t had much time to make a home for himself. Hence the cherimoyas. They just looked snazzy! But dinner or breakfast material? Not so much. For that he vastly preferred oranges, though lately he’d been buying grapefruits instead. Because he was a successful adult now, successful adults ate grapefruit for breakfast and he was trying to fake it till he made it.
So there he was, making it, all grown up at Whole Foods. Not at the exotic fruits section, but in the citrus aisle, weighing two grapefruits in his hand, doing a good job of either looking like he was checking for quality or considering a breast enhancement. Or possibly both. That’s when he heard the familiar woosh of a smartphone photo being sent.
“You should consider yourself lucky that I’m feeling charitable, otherwise this picture would be going to my five Instagram followers instead of Wallace.”
Piz looked up and let out a squeak which he tried to cover up with a cough. “Oh my god, Veronica Mars!”
He tried to put the grapefruits back but caused a mini-avalanche instead, so after a few seconds he gave up, threw his hands in the air in a “so what” gesture and jumped over to her, giving her a huge hug and squeeze. He wasn’t sure what possessed him, other than he really was happy to see her, and judging from her expression, part surprise, part pleasure, she was too. He stepped back grinning, throwing his hands up excitedly and almost wiped out on a grapefruit. He winced. “I guess I should clean this up before the enforcers come.”
Veronica smiled. “I’ll help.”
The two of them made quick work of the mess. He snuck looks at her. Wow. She looked fantastic. Even more gorgeous than he remembered. He looked at her hands. No rings. Cool. Wait. Why are you looking? Because she might be single, doofus. Aaaand, she dumped you back in college. But you never know? That was years ago. He was an adult now. He could ask her if she was seeing anyone, he could be smooth about it. He wasn’t a dolt.
Piz turned to her and grinned, the words out of his mouth before he thought them through. “So, are you seeing anyone?”
He mouthed What? and slapped his hand over his mouth. At least she was smiling and not running away. He soldiered on, willing himself to stay put and not look like a sweaty lunatic. “Okay. Forget I said that. Asked that. I have borderline Tourette’s. It’s really appalling, don’t invite me to children’s birthday parties. You’ll regret it.”
Piz took a deep breath, and brushed his hair back. “Let me try this again.”
He extended his hand to her and she shook it gamely, the skin of her hand smooth and perfect. “Hi, Veronica. It’s so very nice to see you. It’s been a while! Would you like to get a coffee or a drink or something with me? In a friendly, totally not creepy, sort of way?” He paused, gesturing towards their carts. “After we pay for our items of course, we can’t just, like, walk out without paying, because that would be a crime. Grand theft vegetable. Which a buddy of mine told me is an actual thing. Though maybe our produce has to be in a certain weight class to qualify, not sure about that. What’s the opposite of Grand Theft… Ummm... Yeah, sooo after the whole checkout situation, maybe we can catch up on each other’s lives in a normal sort of fashion. Over a latte or… shots.”
His voice went up on the last word, like he was a pimply preteen and he grimaced in mortification. The. Worst.
Amazingly, she was still smiling. “A drink sounds nice. Meet you by the exits.”
One drink turned to three, followed by food truck Belgian fries. It was fun and comfortable, more than he would’ve expected given that they hadn’t seen each other in years. So comfortable he allowed himself some mild fantasizing of more evenings like this. Let’s go upstate for the weekend, he’d say. Yes! Of course, Piz, she’d reply.They made plans to hang out again soon. She kissed him on the cheek and took off towards Houston and the subway, yelling over her shoulder when she got to the corner. “Piznarski!”
“Mars,” he answered.
Her grin was wicked. “The answer is no.”
His face dropped. Had she read his mind? Shit. “Umm.. to what?”
“No, I’m not seeing anyone.” She gave him a dazzler and walked off out of sight. By the time he got home, his face hurt from all the smiling. He looked at himself in the mirror. He pointed an index finger at his reflection.
“Mister, you are in so much trouble.”
It started with a museum trip near her apartment in Brooklyn. Then the movies, a Béla Tarr retrospective. A show here and there when he had a plus one. More elaborate trips, simple errands. It was nice, too nice. He was elated but also worried, like once again, Veronica Mars was too perfect to actually exist and would soon vanish in a plume of smoke. It didn't seem like she was going anywhere. She called him just as often as he called her. Her job was fairly demanding but whenever she’d be MIA for a week, he’d wind up seeing her for a couple of days in a row afterwards. He was happy, cautiously happy. Then one night, after going to see a folk festival in Brooklyn where they’d talked to some of the musicians outside the venue and made Mumford & Sons clothing line jokes, she’d taken his hand and walked him over to a brownstone stoop. She’d climbed up a single step, turned around and kissed him. It was soft and sweet. And caution disappeared.
A week after that, he asked Veronica to come to a Friday night dinner party with him, and was psyched she said maybe and that later in the week that maybe became a yes. She showed up at his place, looking beautiful but exhausted. She stretched out on his couch and watched him get ready as he negotiated his way around the clutter.
Veronica yawned, somehow still looking beautiful. “So tell me about these people.”
“They’re editors. Freelancers. Novelists. And friends of mine.” He decided to go with some hair gel to avoid looking like a five year-old on picture day. He sniffed at it gingerly before applying.
“Ah, so they’re poor,” she nodded sagely.
“The poorest.” He turned and pointed at her. “But, they do get free concert tickets.”
“Oooh.” She widened her eyes.
“Aaaaand free music.”
“Wow.”
He turned to her, over enunciating dramatically. “Screeners.”
“Tell me more.” Veronica put her finger in her mouth in mock seductiveness. Which worked just as well, if not better, than anybody else’s real seductiveness. He ducked down to give her a quick kiss. She mmm’d against his lips.
“Aaaand bags with logos on them and weird stuff in them. This is the creme de la creme.” He reluctantly walked away, jumping over a box to get to his tiny dresser.
Veronica sat up on the couch, resting on her elbows. “I’m actually a little nervous now. What if I tell them I like Nickleback?”
“Seriously?” He raised an eyebrow at her.
“Hypothetically speaking, of course.” Veronica’s guileless was master class worthy.
“Of course.” He made his eyes go hard. “Immediate expulsion. I could not defend you.”
“I should stick to Spoon then?” She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head.
“Yeah, that’s safe. Though if you wanted to be more of the moment, go with the Divine Fits. Or maybe we should check Tumblr, Britt Daniels probably has another band going this year.”
“I’m surprised you don’t know this already, Piznarski.”
He stepped over to the couch, patted her on the knee, and sat back. “Trust me, they won’t ask follow up questions. I’m the only one who does that.”
Veronica put her feet on his lap and wiggled her toes. “Just in case things don’t go well, let’s settle on a safe word? Say it and leave, no questions asked? How about… rhythm?”
“What if we start talking time signatures? Prog rock debates have been known to happen at these things.”
She smiled crookedly. “I’ll use it in a different context then… Such as, Piz, should we really be using the rhythm method, I hear it isn't safe?”
They hadn't slept together yet. It was freaking him out a little bit. He had way more experience under his belt since they dated at Hearst and knew he could probably deliver the goods. Still. He hoped it was caution causing the delay and not ambivalence. She stared at the ceiling, tapping her finger to her mouth, lost in thought.
He patted her leg. “Come on, Mars. We won’t need a safe word. They’re nice, they’re my pals. They can be a little bitchy but only about things that don’t matter, like whether or not Taylor Swift and Jonathan Franzen are overrated.”
Veronica gasped, eyes wide in mock horror. “Oh my god, are they?”
Piz shot her a look.
“Why am I coming with you again to this den of vipers?” she murmured, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.
“Because you’re funny.”
She made a stupid face at him.
“Yes. Both ha ha funny and funny looking.”
She laughed.
“Mars. You’re stunning and smart and if I start talking too much, and you know I will, you can distract people with your awesome. I call that the definition of win win. Also, I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but I’m a catch. A sexual Sharknado. You’ll be the envy of all.”
Her eye roll was affectionate. “Okay, hot stuff. Let’s hit the road.”
The door opened with a bang. Tall, bearded, t-shirted and beaming the red-faced beam of the slightly buzzed, Stan Rogowski opened his arms wide and pulled Piz into a loose but hearty, back-slappin’ embrace. “Piznarski!”
“Rogowski!” Piz yelped.
“Hey! And a friend!” Stan raised his hand in a wave.
“Stan, this is my friend Veronica. Veronica, Stan Rogowski. Stan is the music editor of The West Sider and is practically my evil mind-twin.”
“Hey, I’m the good mind-twin,” Stan protested.
“Hush. We met years ago at a Mountain Goats show where we made asses of ourselves backstage, fawning over John Darnielle in an alarmingly cliched music nerd sorta way.”
“Speak for yourself, Piznarski. It was totally worth it. Pleasure to meet you, Veronica.” He extended his hand. She took it.
“Likewise! I’ve read your columns before. You’re a fantastic writer.”
Stan smiled goofily at Veronica, a blush visible at his temples. “Thanks so much! That’s really nice to hear.”
Piz handed Stan the Nero D’Avola that the Astor Wines guy recommended and looked at Veronica with a mix of curiosity and surprise.
“There’s a stand near my subway stop,” she said. “I pick one up and read on the way in to work.” She elbowed him, smiling. “What? I like music too, you know.”
Piz helped her out of her coat and handed it over to their host. Veronica wore a simple black blouse underneath that made him want to turn into a cartoon wolf, and he pinched himself internally for being lucky enough to have the chance to date her again. He couldn’t wait for her to wow his friends with her Veronica-ness. Because Piz had met a lot of people, talking to people was his job, and he’d yet to meet anyone that fascinated him as much as Veronica Mars.
Stan hung their coats in the hall closet and glanced over his shoulder at Veronica, who was looking around the foyer, hand at her neck. “So… are you a writer? No. A musician? Actress?”
“Heh. No,” Veronica answered.
“Veronica is a lawyer,” Piz piped in, putting his arm around her. “In fact, she is my lawyer. I have her on retainer for when the truth about me finally comes out.”
“Smart move. Come on in. Sarit will be so happy to see you, Piz. It’s been too long.”
“Yeah, this is my first time seeing your place. I might be wrong, but is this an actual foyer? One that might be bigger than my living room ‘area’?” Piz looked around, honestly dumbstruck by the details: the chandelier tinkling above them, the curve of the winding staircase.
Stan laughed, his blue eyes twinkling gleefully behind his glasses. “This apartment is insane. I’ll give you a tour.”
They followed him down a short but wide hallway. Piz grabbed Veronica’s hand impulsively. She pulled it away and punched him lightly with it, a closed-mouthed grin blooming on her face.
They came into a large open room where a small group of people were sitting.
“It’s Piznarski!” Stan announced.
A collective greeting-noise erupted in response.
“And his lovely friend, Veronica.”
The group shouted Hi, Hey, Hello there, Hi, Veronica!, You have friends? Piz took in the assembly. They were all bastards. And he loved every single one of them. Veronica waved.
Stan’s wife Sarit yelled from the kitchen. She came out with a knife in her hand, a green and pink apron tied over a loud print dress, her hair swept up in a tomato-like updo. Piz hadn’t seen her in forever and he’d been looking forward to her mom-like blend of humor and blind, nonjudgmental warmth.
“Piz!” Sarit squealed.
Piz stepped back, his arms up. “Hey there, Knifey!”
Sarit put the knife behind her back, as if that was better. “Come and give me a smooch!”
Something started beeping and Sarit ran off with a small shout, knife aloft. Piz stood there with his arms open. She yelled from the kitchen. “Sorry! Gimme ten minutes, Pizzy, then I’m going to hug the hell out of you!”
“Sure thing,” Piz yelled back.
Stan walked over to the kitchen door. “Sweetie, I’m going to take them on a tour of the upstairs. I’ll bring them back.”
He led them up another flight of stairs and silently showed them two bedrooms, a reading alcove with built in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and a bathroom with stained glass windows. They stood in the hallway that connected all the rooms, another chandelier tying it all together. Veronica looked at Piz and raised her eyebrows. Piz looked at Stan, putting his hands on his hips and affecting a look of fury. “You asshole. I hate you so much.”
Stan laughed hard, his hands coming up to rest on his stomach. “Trust me, I wake up every day and hate myself for scoring this wondrous abode.”
“You should. You should hate yourself. I live in a month-to-month closet and you live in a chateau,” Piz groused. “How can you guys even afford this place?”
Veronica turned to Piz, arms crossed. “The Chinatown Hellhole is a month-to-month?” He nodded, pursing his lips.
“Ugh, month-to-month. That’s the worst,” Stan commiserated. “My first place on Ludlow was a month-to-month. The building was torn down. It’s a condo development now.” He grins and leans in, stage-whispering, “And uh, we can afford it because it’s below market.”
“Bastard.”
Veronica looked around appraisingly, nodding, impressed. “This apartment is amazing, Stan. Are you quite sure you’re settled in New York? Any plans to relocate? Anything I can do to convince you to?” She cracked her knuckles menacingly.
Stan laughed. “Yeah, this place just fell into our lap, Sarit’s aunt knows the couple that owns the brownstone and she referred us to them. They live here too, on the street level and basement floors. They’re from Puerto Rico, they’re hardly ever here, they let us use their yard and laundry room. They have no idea or interest in what the market value is for this place, so we’re definitely never gonna leave. Ever.”
Piz made a strangled noise and put his head on Veronica’s shoulder. She patted him gently. He raised his eyes to Veronica’s apologetically.
“You don’t have to explain, Piznarski. New York turns everyone into a real estate obsessed nutjob,” Veronica said matter-of-factly.
“I know, right?” Stan agreed gleefully. “It’s mass psychosis.”
“I think we better head back downstairs before Piz learns how to forge your signature, part his hair like you and takes over your life.”
Piz stage whispered from her shoulder. “Shhhh, Veronica. Don’t tell him my plans.”
They headed back down and went straight to the kitchen. Sarit blew the hair out of her face, put the knife down, and gave Piz a huge hug. He introduced her to Veronica, Sarit looked her up and down, nodded, gave him an incredibly unsubtle thumbs up and went back to frantically cutting up garlic.
“Do you need a hand?” Veronica offered.
Sarit slumped on the counter dramatically, swiveling out. “Yes, please.”
Veronica laughed. “Hit me.”
“Could you grab that wine, pour a fuck ton in a glass and give it to me?”
Piz snorted and Veronica marched briskly towards the open bottles on the kitchen counter.
“Red or white,” Veronica asked.
“Red please.”
Piz grabbed a couple of wine glasses from the cupboard, took the bottle from Veronica and poured two generous helpings. He handed Sarit one and kept the other. They clinked their glasses.
“Thank you. Have I told you lately that I love you, Pizzy?”
“My pleasure. And no, of course not. Please do.”
“I love you.” Sarit gulped down the wine and handed the glass back to Piz, motioning him over to the wine for another.
He poured her another glass. “Almost done here?”
“Yes, Impatient One. I’ll be right out with the main course. There’s stuff out in the living room already. Including this hummus… eventually.” She turned to Veronica. “Whenever we do this, I tell Stan I’m going to just have everything catered and then I always chicken out because of GUILT.”
From the next room they heard people scream Causality! Veronica did a double take and Sarit shook her head, using her knife to push the chopped garlic off of the cutting board into a bowl of mashed chickpeas. “It’s the hot word of the year. Every single article I read has causality hidden within.”
“Why is that, you think?” Veronica asked, swiping Piz’s glass of wine and having a sip.
“Everyone’s gone to grad school nowadays.” Piz took the glass back, smiling at the lipstick print she’d left on the rim.
“Yeah, ‘causality’ has become inescapable.” Sarit sighed. “Somewhere along the way my peers took over all media. Our friends write the news, the TV shows and the books. Their references are my references. It’s bizarre. Are you a writer?”
“Noooo.” Veronica shook her head vehemently.
Sarit smiled, her brown eyes crinkling. “Must be an actress then.”
Veronica looked at Piz and then back at Sarit. “Stan also suggested actress and no. But thank you? I think?”
“Well, you're stunning and you have movie star type skin. That’s usually the tip-off.”
“Then definitely thank you. I’m a lawyer. Well, not yet. I will be.” She trailed off. “I’ve put off taking the bar.”
“Awesome! What kind of law, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Corporate.” Veronica looked almost apologetic. “Though my initial interest was Criminal Law. But law school didn’t come cheap and sometimes you have to go where the money is.”
Sarit mashed the chick peas and garlic. “Criminal law. That is fascinating. So if Pizzy ever got accused of murder you could get him off?
Veronica gave a dry laugh, casting a quick glance his way.
Sarit looked up. “Oh my god, I don’t mean it that way. We don’t know each other well enough yet for me to be inappropriate. Or do we?”
“I’ll allow it. What about you?”
She chopped a lemon in half and poured the juice into the contents of the bowl. “I was a writer but I quit.”
“A fantastic writer. Short stories,” Piz interjected.
“Aw thanks, Pizzy.” She blew him a kiss and spooned out the lemon seeds. “Not sure what to do with myself now. I may let Stan knock me up.”
Sarit poured some olive oil into the bowl, then sprinkled in cumin, and stirred it all together. Piz watched Veronica and was filled with a quiet sort of contentment. She looked up at him with an unreadable expression, then slowly mouthed “WINE” and extended her arm. He stepped closer to her and handed her the glass.
“Presto Hummus!” Sarit turned around holding the bowl. “Will you bring this out for me?
Piz took the bowl from Sarit who immediately turned around to work on whatever was in the oven. As he headed out to the living room, he felt Veronica walking behind him, and smiled.
They settled into spots on the long leather sectional and Piz introduced Veronica to the rest of the party. There was Lena, with her dyed peach-colored hair, who worked for Classic Movie Channel and was writing a novel on the side, and her platonic best friend Mike who was a copy editor at Vanguard. Piz loved him because he was a fellow Oregonian and also, much, much cooler than him. (Mike’s ill-advised underaged tattoo was the Big Star logo, which was way better than his own much-mocked and little known ankle anarchy symbol.) Small, intense Joe, who worked at the Voice, and his boyfriend (Skinny) Neil who was at a new glossy that he couldn’t remember the name of. Slim, dark-eyed Julia, who was at WBLU. They were all arguing, as usual, about the latest literary sensation, a girl who wrote a short story about sleeping with one of their married friends and had done very little to disguise the participants. Everyone was up in arms about it but their reasons differed.
He caught Veronica smirking slowly to herself. She spoke finally, her voice crisp and louder than he’d become used to but definitely her. “I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with the story… This young woman contacts an internet writer and tells him she wants to sleep with him?”
Stan confirmed with a nod. “Yes.”
“Aaaand, she flies herself out to him on her own dime, sleeps with the man, several times, but before she does any of this, she tells him that she is writing about the experience for her blog?”
“Yes.” This time from Mike, who was splayed out on the floor, his head in Lena’s lap.
Veronica widened her eyes and shook her head with a smile. “I’m sorry but I fail to see how this young woman is in the wrong. Your argument is that it’s an affront to feminism?”
Stan touched Veronica’s shoulder. “Veronica, can I get you some wine?”
“Yes, thank you. Red, please?" Veronica's eyes flicked up at Piz. Didn't he get her a glass? Oops. He whispered sorry. She smiled and scratched her cheek with a middle finger.
“Of course it’s a feminist issue.” Lena shrugged and refilled her glass. “As an artist who works everyday to better their art, I think her approach is insulting. It’s not about her talent, unless her talent is being young and hot and able to fly around the country seducing people and writing about it and calling it achievement? Which okay, fine, you do that. But do I think it’s good writing?” She shook her head violently. “Does this approach advance our cause as women still striving to be taken seriously in the Arts? Do we all have to define our work vis a vis our sexuality and attractiveness?”
Piz looked at Veronica, whose eyebrows were raised sky high. He gritted his teeth and joined the fray. “R-rrright. But if she’d been homely this writer might have never considered sleeping with her. Isn't that some sort of statement in itself?”
Neil piped in, his low voice soft and almost flat. “Well, it’s a clear byproduct of this youth culture narcissism. This is the selfie age. All art is going to swing back to the self. I refuse to laud it. Especially in her case. If she’d been homely her story wouldn't have been published or reviewed. It would be sitting on some dusty little corner of the internet for people like me to make fun of.”
Lena high fived Neil and took a carrot from the crudites plate, biting it with a loud, decisive crack. “Everything about this story is just so exploitative. I mean, I was a teenager, I remember feeling sexually powerful. It would be easy to crush some poor idiot who wasn’t thinking—all in the name of my ‘so-called’ confessional art.”
“Co-sign,” said Joe, scratching his arm and yawning.
Veronica took in a sharp breath and Piz automatically put his hand on her shoulder in what he hoped was a soothing manner. She scooted forward in her chair, towards Lena and Neil.
“A grown man, a married man who was told, in writing, that the barely legal girl he was sleeping with would be writing about her experience? Nope. Sorry. No sympathy for this guy. I think the real issue is this: he hadn’t expected her to get published.”
Veronica sat back, arms folded, crossing her legs. The hard edge of her smile made Piz nervous in an old familiar way.
Julia pointed at Veronica. “Hey, I’m sorry to interrupt but I know I know you from somewhere. Did you go to Oberlin?”
“Nope. Stanford. Well… ” Veronica looked at Piz and her face softened. “Hearst College first, then Stanford. Then law school. Columbia.”
Stan returned with a glass of red and handed it to Veronica. “Thank you, Stan,” she said.
“My pleasure.” Stan sat next to Piz and winked at him.
“Nooooo, that’s not it.” Julia’s high voice quivered with frustrated curiosity. “I’m so sorry, you just look so familiar. Where did you go to high school?”
Veronica darted her eyes at Piz. “A small city in Southern California, near San Diego. Neptune.” Veronica ignored the glass in front of her, reaching for his wine instead. “Are you from the West Coast?”
“No. I’m from Rhode Island. Little Rhodey!” Julia peered nearsightedly at Veronica. Piz recognized the look in her intense eyes, he’d seen her give it to the people she interviewed. “I’ve definitely seen you before. I have a really good memory for faces.”
His first muted-like-a-long-ago-nightmare thought is: Holy shit, she means The (Looks Like But Wasn't Really) Sex Tape. But that can't be it. Firstly, because he is painfully, visibly co-starring and Julia would certainly remember that and never, ever let him forget it. Secondly, because ALL of his friends would never, ever let him forget it, as in they'd probably make animated gifs of the whole thing and project them at parties like this one.
Piz was genuinely stumped. “You’re probably confusing her with someone on TV, Jools. The reverse happens to me all the time. I saw Elijah Wood at South By and I was sure he was someone I went to sleepaway camp with.”
Mike drawled in his slow, not-a-stoner-but-sounds-like-one way, “I once mistook Alyssa Milano for my dentist. She’s a stone cold fox.”
Stan chortled. “Oh my god, the foxiest. Sorry, honey.” Sarit waved him off.
“You know his dentist?” Piz quipped and everyone laughed.
Julia was still trying to puzzle out the mystery of where she knew Veronica. “I just know I’ve seen you before. It’ll come to me.”
Veronica smiled and shrugged. She turned her back to Julia and leaned closer to Piz. “So about that guy who slept with the teen diarist—Please tell me his wife left him at least.”
He laughed and kissed her on the cheek, glad that things didn't escalate. Veronica got up with a small stretch and walked over to the stairs, pausing briefly to crouch down and speak to Sarit, who was sitting on the floor talking to Mike. After that, Veronica went to the stairs, and climbed up slowly. He considered following her, kissing her underneath that crazy chandelier, just feeling the realness of her, but thought himself out of it. Crap. He was in way over his head again and was just painfully glad that he went against his instincts and hit that Whole Foods after work that Wednesday. So, so glad.
Stevie Nix by The Hold Steady played, one of his favorites. Piz lifted the glass up to the light and got lost in the curved lines of Veronica’s lipstick print. He heard a low chuckle to his right.
“You got it bad, huh, buddy?” Stan refilled his glass.
Piz looked at him dolefully. “You have no idea.”
Veronica was uncharacteristically quiet during dinner, which went by fairly quickly, given that everyone was both hammered and starving, shoving food into their mouths like prisoners during meal time. She didn't eat much, just drank her wine, nodding along to the conversation or zoning out to the background music, just Stan’s iPod on shuffle, mostly indie stuff. They began discussing the psychology of jury selection, a topic he was sure Veronica would dominate, absolutely crush Hulk-style, given her undergrad research work at Stanford, but she didn't say a word. When he asked her if everything was okay, she smiled brightly and said, “Yeah. Just tired.”
A Broken Social Scene song started up and Piz and Mike reminisced about the time they went to see them in Prospect Park. Piz had managed to snag an internship at Rolling Stone that summer and the two of them spent the night screaming along to all the songs at the top of their lungs and getting drunk on deli purchased wine coolers like a couple of 8th graders. He turned to Veronica and saw her statue-still, her eyes unnaturally bright, moving her lips silently. She had her phone out, two of her fingers tapping a soft beat on the screen. He put his hand on her back at the same time that Julia shouted “Oh!” from the other side of the table. Veronica jumped, jerking away from his touch.
“I know where I know you from. You’re the friend.” Julia said it reverently.
Veronica said nothing, her mouth parted.
Julia continued, her voice pitching higher. “The Lilly Kane murder case. You were her best friend?! I saw it on The Murder Channel.”
“Oh shit yeah! I saw that on TV when I called in a mental health day last month. Didn't they jail the wrong guy?” said Lena.
“Well, it was never proven but supposedly her boyfriend’s dad did it. You know, that guy who won the Oscar for that Nazi movie, Eric Echolls?” Joe replied.
Neil sat up with a start, running his fingers excitedly through the lank fringe of his blond hair. “Aaron Echolls. I loved that guy. He had that sexy smirk. I used to have the biggest crush on him when I was a kid. What was the one with the truck? The one where everything blows sky high?”
“The Long Haul,” offered Stan.
“The Long Haul! That shit was crazy. Man, that guy was hot. Like a skeezy Miami Vice reject or something.” Neil laughed at the dirty look Joe gave him. “Don’t worry. You’re still the skeeziest. Trust.”
Piz forgot the simple mechanics of breathing. This was all going too fast for him to keep up with, much less react to. Rhythm, he thought, feebly.
“Wasn’t the Long Haul a remake of that French movie, the one with Yves Montand. Piz, what’s that movie called?” Sarit asked.
Piz opened and closed his mouth, like a fish.
“The Wages of Fear, Sarit,” said Stan. “There was another remake of that… in the 70s? What’s his face… The guy who did the French Connection. Friedkin? I liked Friedkin movies, he—”
Neil interrupted, oblivious to Stan's too-subtle attempt to steer the conversation. “Yeah, The Long Haul came after that other remake. It’s like the proto-Die Hard coked-up version of Wages of Fear. Right up my street.” He stopped, mouth catching up with his mind. “Wait a second, I missed something, Aaron Echolls murdered somebody? I thought he was falsely accused?” he asked, motioning for Mike to refill his glass as he was the one closest to the wine.
Julia licked her lips. “Yeah, he was charged, there was a trial and the jury found him innocent BUT get this—this year a few people went public saying that they were paid to not testify at his trial. So it would appear he actually did murder the girl or at least hid some involvement.” She turned to look at Veronica. “You were a part of that, so you know.”
Veronica sat up slightly, her voice calm. “Yes.”
Lena stared at Julia and Veronica, her face a little red and shiny with sweat. “So did he do it? I always assumed it was the boyfriend. It’s usually the boyfriend.”
The room went completely still. All eyes were on Veronica Mars. Piz was frozen in place. He didn’t know whether to grab Veronica and run or tell a joke or yell fire or what.
Stan cleared his throat. “You guys, this is a little awkward.”
Piz knew that Veronica hated when people assumed she was weak so he watched and waited, hoping she’d clue him in.
She looked normal, restrained. “It wasn’t the boyfriend, it was Aaron Echolls.”
Julia put her hand up to her face. “Oh my god, it must be so awful for you. It was on TV, did you see it?”
“No.” Veronica smiled briefly, a flash, shaking her head.
“Well, it was so sad. She seemed lovely.” Julia flitted around from the other side of the table, towards them, leaning down from the waist to hug Veronica, who stiffened visibly.
From behind the two women, Stan looked at Piz with a WTF? expression.
Fuck, Piz thought. Put a stop to it. Act. “Hey. Jools, Jools. Not all of us are huggers. Why don’t you give Veronica some space.”
Lena, who was watching this exchange like it was television, stretched out her arm as if to grab Veronica’s hand. “Can I just say, you are way prettier than the girl they got to play you in the reenactments.”
Veronica stood up quickly, too quickly, and accidentally spilled her wine. Everyone leaned over, arms out, like demented synchronized swimming. First, to stop it, then to help clean up. Piz grabbed her phone which was in the direct path of spill.
“Oh no, I’m sorry,” Veronica said with something like relief.
Sarit walked around and steered Veronica to the kitchen to help her clean up. As soon as they’d left, Veronica’s phone vibrated. Piz saw that it was Wallace. He hit answer automatically.
“Sorry, girl. Got held up by an unexpected parental phone call. You know how it is. What am I saving you from now?”
“Hey man, it’s me.”
“Yo Piz, what up? Did V get you to fly out to her rescue? She called me forty minutes ago asking me to pretend to be an emergency call. I guess she’s okay now.”
Piz ignored the chill creeping up his arm, and forced himself to smile a little. “Yeah, she’s okay.”
“Cool, cool. So any plans to head out to the best coast? Maybe with V-Mars? Hmm?”
“Maybe.” Piz watched Veronica come back from the kitchen, paper towel in hand. Their eyes met. “Listen, buddy, I gotta go. Call you soon.”
He hung up and passed the phone to Veronica. “It was Wallace.”
She looked down at the phone in his hand, took it. “Right.”
“He says umm, he needs you to help him out with something urgently. Well, he said it was u-u-rgent, so uh, we should go. I can come back with you?”
Veronica breathed out slowly. “Yes. Thanks.”
Their goodbyes were less awkward than expected and in less than fifteen minutes, they were out on the street, heading back to Veronica’s apartment. They walked uphill past rows of brownstones, some lit with kerosene burning lamps, standing tall in front stoops. The smell of city fireplaces sputtering to life, the smells of winter in Brooklyn, swinging back round again. It was freezing, almost unseasonably so, and they walked briskly, their silence occasionally punctured by the shrillness of passing sirens and random shouty batches of Park Slope revelers.
“So I probably should’ve said rhythm, huh?” Her smile was rueful.
“I’m sorry,” Piz said sincerely, a dull ache throbbing between his eyes. He massaged his forehead. “That sucked. Like, phenomenally so.”
She sighed deeply. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“Please, Veronica. It’s me. You don’t have to explain. People were thoughtless. Look… ” He struggled, trying to find a way to express his thoughts and couldn’t. “Jools is a curious, flaky, sweet girl. I just don’t think she understood—”
“I know. Normal people don’t usually have much experience with murder. There aren’t nearly enough guidebooks on how to handle that topic when it comes up in polite conversation.” Her laughter was dry and short.
“I uh, panicked and didn’t know how to redirect things. I froze, I’m so, so sorry.”
She pulled her coat closer, her gloved hands in her pockets. “You really don’t need to apologize, it wasn’t a big deal. I’ve had worse experiences at the DMV.”
He stopped walking, suddenly aching for less comedy and more feelings, realizing that he wasn’t ready for it either way. She sped on ahead and he rushed to keep up. She waited at the light. Her smile was tight.
“Look, Piz. You don't need to walk me home tonight. You can hail a cab, this is probably the best place to get one. What do you say? My treat.”
As if on cue, a small flotilla of green and yellow cabs came speeding down Flatbush, honking and swerving haphazardly around one another.
“No.” He swallowed. “Unless you want me to. Do you uh, want me to? Would you rather be alone? I can leave you alone.”
Veronica looked down on the ground, then back up at him. She took his hand.
Back at her place, Veronica went straight to the bathroom to scrub off her make-up. She returned, yawning, clad in an enormous Padres t-shirt and sweatpants. She sat heavily on the couch next to him.
“Hope you don't mind my new look.” She brought her arms up to her head in a bombshell pose.
“Not at all… So umm, you've never told me about her.”
She tilted her head. “Lilly?”
“Yeah. Do you want to?”
“Sure. What do you want to know? Oh,” she smiled at him in a warm yet slightly sad way. “Is this one of your interviews?”
Piz shook his head. “You never really talked about her with me. If she was the one and only Veronica Mars’ best friend, she must’ve been exceptional.”
“She was.” Veronica's single nod was immediate and solemn.
“Then I would like to know more about her. How did you meet?”
She stared off into space, remembering, eyes fond and smile suddenly impressively enormous. “At a school fair slash fundraiser. She climbed a tree and refused to come down. I think she might’ve been my dad’s first on-the-job experience.” Veronica took two hair ties from her wrist and tied her hair up on top of her head as she spoke. “My family had just moved to Neptune from Fresno. My dad had gotten a deputy position with the sheriff’s department and my parents were so excited because they’d heard such good things about the schools.” She snickered. “I can’t tell you how many times I heard my mom say that. It didn't make any sense. She grew up in Neptune. Wouldn't she know the schools were good?”
“Were they good?”
“Hmmm. Torrey Pines Elementary was very good. Neptune High? Hmmm. If you were rich and clueless—yes. Great education, fine facilities.” Veronica snorted. “If you weren't… Did you ever watch Buffy? The episode with the hyena people and dodgeball?”
Piz made a face. “Does it look like I’m a human with a heart and a soul? Come on!”
Veronica inspected him from all angles. “You don’t look like a demon so I’m going to take that as a tentative yes.”
He tried to snarl, he did. It was weak. He waved his hands in front of himself. “Ignore that. Observational humor's more my thing.”
“Right.”
“So… Neptune High was chock full o' monsters?”
“If you weren’t rich and popular, Neptune High was basically Sunnydale. Our Principal was much nicer though, and I’m happy to say, was not eaten by a giant snake at graduation.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“I used to be one of them. The 'In' Crowd. There was a time when I thought that school was soooo much funnn. I thought everything was a blast. And it was. We were who other kids wanted to be.”
“Were you a mean girl, Veronica Mars?”
She lifted her shoulders. "Yes.”
“Whoa, really?”
“Yeah.”
“I wouldn't have had a chance with you in high school, huh?”
Her smile only went up on one side. “No. Probably not. Well… Maybe?” She worried her lip and Piz knew what the real answer was. He'd barely stood a chance with her in college.
“What did you guys do? For fun? You and Lilly?”
“Umm… We talked. Danced around a lot. We were all about the dance team. Sang. Did gymnastics.” She laughed, rubbing one of her eyes. “The 2000 Olympics. Ooh boy, we went crazy. We cried when Team USA didn’t make it to the top three. Major emotional investment. Let’s see… We went roller skating. Movies. Musicals. Lilly was a musical theater nut and she kind of infected us all. You haven't lived until you've heard a couple of tween boys butcher Bali Hai, let me tell ya.”
“What's that one from?”
“South Pacific.”
“I think my dad likes that one.”
“Yeah,” she smiled, “We had fun.”
“Tell me something no one knew about her.”
“She was tender-hearted. She put up a lot of walls to protect herself. But underneath…”
Veronica trailed off and Piz took her hand. She squeezed it.
“You know that song at the party reminded me.” Veronica looked at him, almost shyly, as if she were embarrassed. “Do you want to hear what she sounded like?”
“Yeah. Absolutely.”
She stood up. “I haven’t heard this in a while. I used to listen to it all the time back then. I had to stop, after.”
Veronica went to her hall closet and rifled around a large box. She came back holding a CD covered in Sharpied letters. She popped it into her laptop and skipped ahead to the last track. The plinked opening banjo lines of “Anthems… ” began.
“This song always makes me think of Knives Chau,” Piz sighed.
“Oh, you hipster boys and Scott Pilgrim.”
“You don’t understand. That comic book was my life, and that movie? My actual afterlife.”
Veronica grinned but Piz was sure she hadn’t heard. Her eyes had that slightly unfocused look of the politely pre-occupied.
“Is this a mix?”
“Yeah.” Veronica nodded.
“She was into more than musicals, then? Canadian indie rock collectives also passed muster. I'm impressed.”
“Lilly liked a lot of things. Though I do think she picked this because of the title. She loved to be self referential.” She rolled her eyes affectionately. “It worked, I can't hear this song without thinking of her. Having sleepovers and talking about boys and our fabulousness. Hers actual, mine eventual.” Veronica brought her hands up to her face, framing it with spirit fingers. “She thought I hid my light under a bushel.”
She settled herself across the couch and put her head on his lap, her hair fanning out. He touched it reverently and listened to the song. He liked this one. The ending was all repetition. He wrote about it once, reviewed it for a music magazine back when he freelanced for what his then-roommate Bill Newton termed “socialization funds”. At the time Piz thought the coda was an incantation for lost youth and the repeated dream about me refrain was about letting go of that. He looked down at Veronica mouthing the last lines again like she had at the party and his heart hurt for her. Nothing should be so literal, there shouldn't be a dead girl at the center of her story, a space in her heart.
His words made good copy, that was his gift. He had narrative skills, was aware of what worked in aid of it, and knew, intrinsically, how to find the patterns. Patterns that led to the bigger theme. But those things were useless here. Words were no band-aid. Suddenly, he saw Veronica as she’d been, carefree and young, at the top of the pecking order, and couldn’t shake the dissonance between that person and the one he knew. The song finished and they sat there in silence. Then there was a small click and a girl's voice cut through, high and teasing.
“Hey. Dorkus. I know the CD is still playing because you're too busy brushing your hair in front of the mirror or setting up whatever outfit you're gonna wear tomorrow like the fairy princess that you are. Am I right or am I right? Don’t roll your eyes. I can see you. I have super powers."
The girl giggled. He snuck a peek down at Veronica, who listened intently, her eyes staring straight ahead.
“Princess Veronica, ummmm, light of my life, fire of my loins…”
Lilly Kane giggled again, for it was Lilly Kane, it had to be, Veronica’s face said as much. “Ugh, Logan’s got me quoting Lolita which he assured me would be steamy but I don't know what book he read 'cause I skimmed it and it's about some old pervert who is not even hot. Oh my god, remember when we borrowed your mom's Flowers in the Attic? Well, that was way better. Certainly more educational. For me anyway. I mean seriously, if you’re going to have an old guy ruin a young girl's life at least make him sexy. I mean, c’mon. That’s how you know a love story was written by some old fart.”
“I guess she hadn’t read Little Women,” Piz interjected.
Veronica didn’t respond. Her face was the picture of stillness.
“Veronica. I know I give you a hard time but you're the coolest girl I know and the only person worth knowing in this stupid place. You don't have to be like me or anyone because you're awesome. I should know because I am equally awesome and like recognizes like, right? I wish you were coming with me. So we could—”
“Oooooh. Verrrrronicaaaa. I love youuuuuuuuuu.” A boy’s voice. For some unexplainable reason the hair on the back of Piz’s neck went straight up.
“Logan, I told you to stay downstairs.”
Ah.
“Hi, Ronnie. Just wanted to see how my girl was doing.”
The sound of shifting weight on a bed, light tussling, teenage noises.
“Cut it out,” Lilly said.
The unmistakable smack of kissing. Logan Echolls kissing Lilly Kane. It was disorienting. Piz always remembered him as Veronica’s boyfriend and had a hard time imagining him as someone else’s, even though he clearly had been. The smacking intensified. Veronica laughed softly, like this was a punchline. Maybe he’d led a sheltered life but he did not understand the dynamic at all.
“Okay, hands off.” Lilly Kane sounded imperious. Piz was certain she would’ve scared the shit out of him.
“Yes, mistress,” Logan replied, smarmy even then.
“You’re going to help me edit this later.”
More kissing noises. Piz looked down at Veronica, who shrugged, a small smile on her face.
Someone else’s voice cut in, another boy. “What are you guys doing? Man, do you ever stop?”
“Come join the party, DK. Lilly was about to confess her Sapphic… ”
The sound of a screech and another slap.
“Oh my god, can I not have a moment without you two doofuses breathing down my neck? Seriously.”
“Honey, I’m nowhere near your neck.”
“C’mon dude, that’s my sister.” Lilly’s brother. Duncan Kane. Veronica’s boyfriend. That he knew. She’d told him a little about him once.
“Shut it for like five seconds! GOD. Okay, Veronica. I know you’re going to have a quiet summer of boring but do something for me, okay? Live it up, just once.”
“Are you talking to Veronica? Is this for her?” Duncan said tentatively, the seeming opposite of his sister.
“Shhh,” Lilly hissed.
“Hi, Veronica,” Duncan said, closer to the mic. Shy and lovelorn, Piz knew that sound.
Someone slow-clapped, then Logan spoke again. “Ha ha ha, look at his face. Ronnie, I’m seeing the love here. I think this is worth second base, at least.”
There was a smack and some scuffling. Bodies hit the floor and then, the unmistakable noise of fabric tearing.
Logan brayed, annoyed and indignant. “DUDE. Uncool. I just got this shirt.”
More scuffling, then Lilly spoke again.
“This is ridiculous. Now they’re wrestling. Again. Will you just give it up and kiss already?” She sighed. “Veronica. I hope you like this mix. It is awesome. I made it. Of course it’s awesome.”
“I helped!”
“Shut up, Logan. ANYWAY, like I was saying, I’m sorry we won’t all be here to force you to have fun once in a while…”
“Wait up, I’m here this summer,” said Logan and Piz berated himself inwardly for being so irritated by some goofy kid’s voice. A kid that was about to lose his girlfriend. And like some twisted origins story, become a super aggro dude who beat up innocent guys out of some misplaced sense of chivalry and jealousy and waltzed away after a single ‘sorry’ like that’s all it took to right things again. Piz wasn’t bitter, he wasn’t really, but his eye socket still ached when it rained.
Lilly spoke, annoyed sounding, a bit petulant. “Why didn’t you tell me? I thought you were going on location with your dad?”
“Change of plans. Dad is heading to Malta without us. So we’re sticking around ole Neptuna. Me and Ronnie are gonna take over this town while you two are away. Aren't we, shortcake?”
A snort, then Duncan Kane spoke. “Veronica, do not let him talk you into anything.”
In the present, Veronica shook her head and covered her mouth. Was she laughing? She was.
“THAT’S IT! BOTH OF YOU OUT!”
Mumbling, slaps, ouches. A door slammed.
“Finally. They’re gone.”
There was a long pause and Piz thought it might be over, then Lilly’s voice, sounding like she was standing right next to them, thrillingly, achingly alive, whispered, “I guess what I'm trying to say is that I guess I really, really love you and I guess I'll really, really miss you. You’re my favorite. Email me. Call me. Something. Figure it out, Veronica Mars. You always do.”
A click and a stop.
Veronica had both hands over her mouth now, balled up into small fists. She wasn’t crying or anything, Veronica Mars didn't cry, she was just somewhere else. It was silent, oppressively so, and the room felt smaller for it. It went on, the quiet, for a while. Then she ran her hand down his leg, slowly, just once, like reassurance, and sat up.
“Wow. That was a trip down memory lane. I’d forgotten the guys were in it.”
“My face started tingling before Logan started speaking. It’s like it knew.”
Veronica touched his cheek gently, a tiny frown on her face.
Piz wanted to know, but didn’t want to ask. Finally he screwed up the courage. “Was it weird, Lilly and Logan and you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Because you dated him.”
Veronica’s frown deepened, two small lines forming an x on her forehead.
“No, it wasn’t like that. We were friends. What happened later, happened later. I was with Duncan. He was with Lilly. That’s who we were.”
Piz breathed out slowly, finally relaxing a bit. “Would you still be friends? You and Lilly? My best friend from high school Scott and I keep in touch but more out of shared nostalgia than anything. He’s already married with kids. He moved to Spokane and became a gentleman farmer. Meanwhile, I still can’t figure out whether I can handle a dog.”
She tucked her legs under herself, and touched a spot at her sternum. He remembered that gesture, she used to wear a necklace back then. She’d play with it when she was going over something in her head.
“I’ve thought about it. Yes. We would. It would be different. But we would. You know, in here,” she pointed to her heart, “she's forever sixteen but it my mind, I let her age along with me.” Veronica looked into his eyes. He nodded, understanding. After a moment, she continued, “I miss that the most. Not being able to share things with her. I still miss it. Sometimes I’ll hear a song that she’d have liked or see a movie she would’ve loved and I wish that I could call her… wherever she was and that we could talk about it. Or that we could just talk. About anything. I don’t think that ever goes away.” She laughed. “I just found out Lifetime adapted the Flowers in the Attic trilogy. I know we would’ve watched that together somehow and Lilly would’ve come up with a drinking game to go along with it. Something ridiculous… like, drink when someone lies.”
“What’s Flowers in the Attic? Is that some sort of proto-50 Shades of Grey?”
“No, much better. There’s ballet. And incest!” she said, cheerfully.
“Yay!” Piz raised his arms in a half-hearted cheer. Veronica laughed.
A car went by blasting “What Makes You Beautiful” by One Direction, accompanied by the sounds of out of tune caterwauling from its passengers. It got closer, louder, more tuneless on approach and the UH OOOOHS distorted wildly as they drove past and further away. The interruption was sheer comedy, and it made a kind of sense. Veronica's laughter ramped up and soon she was doubled over, helpless with it, clutching her stomach.
“Oh my god, you know what? Lilly would’ve loved, loved, LOVED One Direction.”
Piz groaned. “Oh, come on.”
“I’m serious. She would have loved One Direction. If I am sure of anything it’s that. She probably would’ve emailed me all day long with facts and gossip. She would be working at Vogue, all high powered and stunning, and she’d still find time to spam me AND,” her voice rose up and she bounced on the couch, “…if there were nude photos of One Direction, she would have them, in triplicate, and she would send them all to me. With captions.” Her laughter was infectious and Piz got swept up in it. Veronica took a big breath, her hand on her stomach and smiled. “Forget everything else I said about her, that sums her up best, I think. Successful adult woman who unashamedly loves One Direction.”
“Ah, but you can’t ignore the most important question. Which member of One Direction would’ve been her favorite?”
Veronica sat back, putting her finger to her temple. “That’s a very good question, Mr. Piznarski. I think… she would say Harry but really Zayn’s more her type. Pretty.”
“But I hear Zayn is really devout? Might be too serious for her.”
“Really?” Veronica crossed her arms and raised a single amused eyebrow. “What else do you know about Zayn? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Okay. Veronica, I’ll come clean. I am a 1D superfan. I love Harry Styles. I’m a Styler.”
“That’s not an actual thing. Is it?” She narrowed her eyes at him.
He shook his head no. They smiled at one another.
“What about you, Mars? What’s your poison?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Probably Liam with a little Louis on the side.”
“You’d step out on sweet, handsome Liam? You hussy!” Piz felt outraged for poor Liam in an oddly invested way.
Veronica leaned over and rubbed his arm. “Aw, Liam is gorgeous and sweet but I need to meet my sarcastic asshole quota.”
“She has a quota. Greaaat.” His dejected look was only half-rooted in humor.
Veronica leaned over and tilted his chin up with her hand. “Are you saying you’re not sarcastic?”
It had to be said, she was glorious and he was a sucker. He modestly indicated a smidgen with his thumb and index finger. She chuckled softly but then stilled.
“Have you ever lost anyone?” she murmured, tucking her hair behind her ear.
“No. Not really.”
She looked at him seriously and kissed him on the cheek. “Good.”
Veronica stood up, walked slowly to her computer and hit eject on the CD drive. She took the CD gingerly and put it back in the case, closing it with a snap. He reached out for it and she passed it over. The song titles were scrawled on in all caps, the handwriting surprisingly aligned, like font, the lines strong. Loud. He handed it back to her. She looked at it also, then said, laughing slightly in a dry way, shaking the case in her hand, “Tell me the truth. This was a little weird.”
“A little bit,” he replied, honestly. “But nice weird. Get-to-know-my-girlfriend-in-an-important-way weird. Which is the only weird you need, really.”
"Girlfriend, huh?" Veronica smirked and went to put the CD away, back in the giant box in her closet. She came back not long after, looking around the room as if cataloging its contents.
“Can I uh, stay?” Piz asked, louder than he meant to, making himself jump.
She stepped over to him. Her feet were bare, he hadn’t noticed when she’d taken off her socks. The room was lit by a single corner floor lamp, making giant shadows of them on the wall, and because of the angle of the light, hers was larger, looming. She leaned forward, the blue of her eyes warmer in the half-light, and kissed him. It was a yes sort of kiss. “Come on, Piznarski,” she said softly and pulled him up from the couch.
He followed her down her little hallway, taking note of the pictures on the wall. Wallace, Mac, her dad, some people he didn’t recognize, other friends he’d never met, photos of places she’d been. Her slim slender feet in a clear stream, a young man with clasped hands sitting next to a cow. A rocky field with bursts of wildflowers, a beach visible in the distance. A small peasant woman with a lined, smiling face standing behind a counter in a kiosk holding up a phone card and a cup of something hot, steam curling from the top. Nothing from before though, no girl, no boys, no past. The past started with Wallace, smiling on Dog Beach with some kind of remote control contraption in his hand. Looking like the kid he was, an easy smile gracing his handsome face.
Piz wasn’t there either, he had no wall representation, but he was here now. That was what he wanted to be, there for her, now. They could spend more time talking to each other like this, getting to know one another. More deeply and meaningfully. One of his friends could take a picture of them, side-by-side on a picnic blanket, in Prospect Park. Or on the Wonder Wheel at sunset, her mouth open in a laugh. He could be a part of her too, undeniable and necessary, like water, like air.