Halfway Perfect (14 page)

“That's great! Really great. I'm so happy for you.”

After he tells me a little about the job and the area, we hang up and I find a bench to sit down on. My feelings drift from elation for the fact that I'm not thirty-two like Jeff and still trying to get out of our town, to guilt and anger as I stare at my mom's name in my phone, trying to decide if I should call her to see what she's going to do about Dad.

Reluctantly, I hit call and put the phone against my ear. The miles between us now give me a bit of confidence, especially knowing that I literally can't run home to help.

“Mom, it's me, Eve,” I say after she picks up.

“Let me guess, you're home again, aren't you?”

The condescending “you think you're so much better than me, but you aren't” tone grates at my last nerve. “No, Mom, I'm in New York.”

“Oh,” she says. “Well I'm on my way to Florida to stay with Betty. She's got a place near Miami now.”

Betty is my mom's sister and she's an evil-eyed, bitter lady pothead. “I thought Dad wrecked the truck?”

“You heard about that, did you?” She sounds nervous, maybe because she's abandoning her husband while he's in jail. “Well, I told him not to go out after he'd been drinking. He's done it to himself. I got Grandpa's truck. He can't drive no more anyway.”

There's so much to absorb all at once that I'm speechless for a good thirty seconds. Growing up, I'd always felt like I had a lot in common with Matilda. I guess it helps a tad to know my mom is just as likely to neglect Dad as she was me. All this time, I'd thought it was just me.

“I'm not going to go home, Mom,” I say firmly. “I'm not gonna bail him out or even talk to him if he calls me for help. Maybe if I had money left I could do something more.” Probably not bail him out though. Rehab, maybe.
Since
I'm an expert
on rehab.

I don't wait for her to reply. I've said what I needed to say. All that's left to do is hang up the phone and tuck it back into my bag.

I wish I could say this is all done without guilt because I know I'm right, but that would be a lie. They're still my parents. Writing them off has not been easy; I'm not sure it ever will be. Maybe someday I can bring them back into my life. But right now, they're a sinking ship, and I'm barely treading water. If all three of us end up drowning, what would that accomplish? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

October 13, 6:30 p.m.

Eve approaches a really big old building and slides a key into the door.

“Is this the party house?” I ask. I have no idea where we are and where we're going. The words
John
Jay
are written on the building. Doesn't sound like a frat house, but what the hell do I know?

“This,” she says, pushing open the big front door, “is where I live.”

I follow her inside and glance around the halls and the dining room as we walk through.

So this is a college dorm.

She smiles at me before pushing the button on the elevator. “I need to change before we go anywhere, and Steph is at a study session for her poetry class so she's not back yet. Is that okay?”

“Totally okay.” I lean against the wall beside the elevator, watching her face carefully. “So I get to see your room?”

She rolls her eyes, probably at the implied innuendos. “Yes.”

After we get off on the eleventh floor and walk down a long hallway, Eve unlocks the door to a very tiny room. There's a twin bed pushed against each side of the room and a desk at the end of the bed. One side of the room is purple and white and the other is brown and teal. The wall on the purple and white side is covered with band posters, ticket stubs, receipts, and random labels. The teal side has dozens of photos taped to the wall. The back wall has built-in dressers and a small closet. No TV or game systems or couch. Just a minifridge with a microwave on top.

I walk through the doorway and sit on the brown and teal bed. “It's very…
quaint
.”

Eve's already sifting through the closet. “This dorm is supposed to be all singles and all freshmen, but the housing waitlist was so long this year that they took corner rooms and turned them into doubles. Supposedly they're bigger. I don't really believe it. Anyway, a few sophomores got thrown in here too. Like my roommate.”

“That sucks,” I say. “But it's probably helpful to have a sophomore for a roommate your first year.”

She shrugs and pulls a pink long-sleeve top from the closet. “We got a big price break since we're sharing, so I really don't mind.”

I decide to kneel on her bed and study her photos just in case she's planning on changing in here. I'm going to need something to look at besides her. Although, it
would
even the score. She's already seen me in underwear.

I start with the far side of the photos and study them from top to bottom. I can tell most of the images were taken outside somewhere in New York City. But none of them are complete objects or people. She's found a hundred ways to slice an image in half and still have it be symmetrical.

From the corner of my eye, I can see Eve sliding her jacket off. I keep my eyes trained on the wall. “Want me to leave?”

“No, I'll be done in like ten seconds. I'm afraid to leave you alone in the hall.” She laughs and then her voice gets muffled from the shirt she's probably pulling over her head. “There are girls
and
boys
on this floor that wouldn't be above kidnapping you for the night.”

My eyes rest on several pictures of Elana. I remember Eve taking these earlier this week. “She looks so young.”

“I know. It's weird how when you shoot her from the front and get her entire face, she ages like six years. Something about her bone structure.”

It helps that Elana's not standing up in any of the photos. She's either lying on her stomach with her pink cell phone, or tapping her pencil against a textbook.

And then I see me. The pictures she took and pretended to be capturing shots of the view out the window. It's just my profile and there's a shadow over my face so you can't really tell it's me. I'm also hunched over like I've forgotten to stand up straight.

Eve catches me staring at myself. She's now wearing jeans and the pink shirt she yanked from the closet a minute ago. She's morphed back into College Eve. “Is it weird that I have pictures of you on my wall?”

“You can't really tell it's me,” I say, but it is a little surprising. Not weird, just surprising. I don't have pictures of anyone, including myself, in my room or in my shared apartment at all.

Eve moves beside me and taps the picture I'm looking at. “I like this one a lot. You look human.”

I laugh. “As opposed to alien?”

“As opposed to supermodel.”

“I get it. You're against Photoshopped models and all that,” I say. It's a tired argument—though I'd willingly have it with Eve—but it's not like I can change the world or anything. It's not like I have any say in what's done to my pictures.

She pulls two rubber bands out of her long wavy hair, letting it fall loose from the tight bun. I immediately smell her shampoo. “It's not Photoshop that makes me hate fashion pictures. I edit too. I'm just not as intrigued by images where the subject knows they're being photographed. It's like being on trial. You're going to hide all your vulnerability, all the raw emotion that you get in a real image.”

“So what you're saying is, if I were to replicate this pose…” I tap the picture in question. “But this time I knew you were taking a picture, I couldn't make it look the same?”

She's still staring at the image. “I don't know. Maybe I'm too biased to answer that since I'm the one who took the photo. Maybe it would only look different to me.”

Just hearing her say that makes me realize how much of her goes into her pictures, and how little of me is actually in a photo from any professional shoot I've ever done.

“I think I get it.” I scan all her photos again. “If you don't include the entire subject in the picture, then people are free to fill in their own blanks.”

I'm not even sure where that came from. It sounded like a fucking Freudian analysis or something. The air must be different on a college campus than in the rest of New York City, and it's gone to my head.

Eve turns her eyes from the picture and stares at me. “Maybe.”

Her proximity to me becomes the only thing my mind is able to focus on. I didn't come on this date just so I could kiss her, and I didn't come into her room for that reason either. Which is why I know for sure, the second her head turns and her eyes meet mine, that it's exactly what I
should
do.

I only have to lean in a few inches before my mouth is on hers and her eyes are closing. And there's nothing to look at or think about, nobody watching us or taking our picture. It's as easy and natural as taking my next breath, and I know I'm already addicted to kissing Eve before my tongue has even moved past her lips. My hands are going to insist on living in her hair forever, even if it's really hard to walk around anywhere. And I'm pretty sure my heart is going to beat at this much faster pace for good.

I should have done this five days ago.
And
every
day
since
.

And I was wrong about my hands; they decide on their own to drift under the back of Eve's shirt. I tug her closer until she's pressed against me, her arms tight around my neck. Somebody will have to carve a statue of us just like this.

After a few seconds or a few minutes—I'm not sure—she pulls away, then drops her arms before sitting back on her heels. She's smiling but also biting one of her nails, so I'm not sure what her “after” reaction is yet. I know the “during” reaction had a positive charge to it.

I'm about to say something, but I'm still breathing like I just sprinted fifty yards to catch a bus.

“Do you think this is okay?” she asks. “You know, with Elana and all?”

Elana
who?

Oh right.
Elana
my
almost
supermodel
girlfriend
. “I don't think Elana's going to tell anyone if she does find out,” I say. “We just have to be careful. There're so many places to go that aren't going to bring on any tabloid people or anyone in the fashion industry at all.”

I think I just turned date into dates. Which is something I haven't done since my high school girlfriend, Lindsey.

“Are you going to tell Wes?” she asks.

I snort out a laugh. “God no.”

Her face relaxes and I decide to tuck that subject far away. “It's gonna be weird for you, right? Seeing pictures of me and Elana together?” I stop and refill my lungs with university air. “Of course it's weird. It's probably been weird watching us at the CK shoot all week.”

She rubs her hands over her face and then starts laughing. “We haven't even officially started our date. Maybe we should forget about those details for the moment.”

“Good plan.” I stand up and pull her off the bed beside me before kissing her again.

The sound of someone about to open the door breaks us apart and we look almost innocent by the time a short blond girl bounces into the room.

“Stephanie, right?”

She looks me over, shaking her head back and forth. “Oh no. You can't go out like this,” she says.

“Like what?” I look down at my outfit. Maybe it's a little too designer? Wes is pretty much a stickler for me looking photo ready at all times.

“Yeah, that Dolce & Gabbana blazer, while classy as hell, won't blend in well with the Sig Pi guys. They're a little like…what's the word? Neanderthals,” Stephanie says.

Eve throws a weary glance in my direction. “I told her you're avoiding the crazy tabloid people tonight.”

“So you're not spotted cheating on your fake girlfriend,” Stephanie adds.

Okay, I guess college roommates don't keep secrets from each other. Which is so weird to me. I hardly tell my roommates anything.

I pull my backpack off the floor and set it on the bed, opening it up. “I've got a T-shirt and gym shoes?”

“Perfect,” both of them say.

“Where's the bathroom?” I ask, trying to peek inside the closet to search for the secret door.

“Down the hall,” Eve says. “We can check it first before you go in. It's the girls' side of the floor.”

After I switch to my blend-in clothes and use the bathroom, Eve takes a turn and comes out five minutes later with her hair brushed and makeup on. I can't stop myself from staring a few seconds too long. Even without having changed, I would do a much better job of blending in than she will.

Before we head back outside, Stephanie tosses a Green Bay Packers hat on my head. “I don't like the Packers,” I tell her.

She holds the bill firmly in place, not allowing me to remove it. “It's key to the disguise.”

I roll my eyes before adjusting it to my size. I'll have to come up with an excuse for this one. I'm not about to be accused of being a fan.

Eve stops when we get outside. Digging in her purse, she removes her cell phone and glances at an email. “Oh my God! Look what Janessa just sent me.”

Stephanie and I both lean in to read.

Just
talked
to
CK
marketing. This photo will be on a billboard in SoHo. Congrats, Eve. Keep it up and you'll be doing my
job.

—Janessa

She scrolls down, revealing a photo of Elana and I from yesterday's shoot when Eve had classes she couldn't miss. “An Eve Nowakowski original on a giant billboard,” I say, grinning at her. “Not too bad for a freshman.”

Eve looks like she just won the lottery. “I didn't even know you guys reshot this pose. And I like it much better with the jeans, and Janessa fixed your hands…it looks beautiful.”

“It looks hot,” Stephanie says. “Those jeans hug you in all the right places, Alex.”

Normally, I'd respond with a snappy retort, but looking at this photo makes me think of being tangled with Eve in an almost identical fashion. She must be thinking the same thing because pink creeps up from her neck when she glances sideways at me, smiling a little before tucking her phone away. “Another excuse to celebrate tonight,” she says.

“A damn good excuse,” I add. “That's a pretty big item to add to your résumé.”

She's still beaming. “You think?”

“Yeah,” Stephanie and I say together. Not that I know anything about photographer résumés, but when you've done something that just about any random person would consider cool, it's a huge asset. It has to be.

When we finally start walking in the direction of our destination, Eve's arm brushes against mine, and I immediately reach for her hand. It feels important, doing this off camera just because.