One Month, One Lifetime

15: I Know You Cry At Ballets

"The night is young, m'lady, and we have nothing else to do."
Britton had spent two hours after my trip to the tattoo parlor giving me a walking tour of Salt Lake. Just incase he ever did decided to abandon me, he joked. The joke earned a punch on the arm that drew a flinch from him. But two hours was a long time to walk the streets of a relatively uninteresting city. Eventually the roads became familiar, and I felt better equipped to navigate them.
Which left us in our current predicament.
It was six o'clock, we had already eaten dinner, and had nothing to do. Cue Britton's remark.
"And how do you propose we fill that time?" I stripped my jacket off as the temperature seemed to rise even though the sun was lowering. The city felt sweltering even though there was still remnants of snow in the Wasatch Mountains that loomed above us.
"We could get ahead on your task list," he suggested, like the responsible dork he was. Never up for something exciting and spontaneous. Not that the list wasn't exciting or spontaneous. But it was planned. It came with instructions. I wanted a night that didn't. "We could visit Grandma."
It was a nice idea. Really it was. I loved that Britton's idea of an exciting night was spending time with Mabel. And if we went it was a sure way to get fresh baked cookies. But it was planned and I was bent on being reckless.
Then an idea hit me and it refused to be moved. It wouldn't end in a night out on the town with music blasting around us, the base rattling our rib cages, but it was cover to figure out Britton. I knew there was a part of him that he was keeping hidden, and I didn't like it. I understood it, but I didn't like it. "Does your building have roof access?"
"No." He sounded concerned. So really did have me figured out. "Why?"
"Can we give ourselves roof access?"
"Not legally."
"Perfect."

Fast forward an hour and Britton and I were wearing our Sunday best in the middle of attempting to break onto the roof of his apartment building. In one arm I cradled a few bins of chinese takeout, because we were going for ultimate cliche bonding time. I had slung a heavy quilt over the other. Britton, being the easily deceived gentleman was tasked with getting us onto the roof, which turned out to be easier than either of us predicted. In an event that made both of us worry about the security of the building, we found the roof access door not only unlocked, but also cracked open.
My first thought was that someone had forgotten to shut it behind them. Apparently Britton had a different idea. From the way he instantly shrunk into himself, it was clear that he thought a maintenance worker was on top of the building, just waiting to bust us.
But this was my night. My spontaneous--by not crazy spontaneous--night. In true Indi fashion, I grabbed ahold of Britton's sleeve while balancing the food and a blanket and pulled him onto the roof behind me.
The view was better than I imagined.
Britton's apartment complex was situated on the outskirts of the city. On one side was a view of the surrounding rundown buildings, but the other side was golden. Quite literally at that moment. As it was still spring, we managed to catch the sunset while it was still early enough to have a decent dinner. And that sunset lit up the valley.
The bustling freeway directly across from the apartment was finally beginning to die down for the night as business men and women headed home from a long day of work. And past the cement strip was the body of water Salt Lake was named for. The fading sun turned the water into liquid gold. Pink streaked the sky, reaching into the fading gray of dusk. The building facades were drenched in the same rich colors and the barren trees that line Salt Lake's streets looked like bronze statues.
It was there, in that moment of awed silence, that Britton butt in with a, "The sunset is only so pretty because there's a lot of pollution blanketing the city."
And suddenly the moment was gone. The lake was just a lake and the trees were just trees and Britton and I were just two people standing on a roof in the middle of a city. Who needed fairytales anyway?
A little miffed that he couldn't have thought of a better way to break the silence, I shoved the blanket into his empty arms and asked--told--him to spread it out over the hard cement roof. We settled in between air conditioning units that hadn't been turned on yet. It gave us a little privacy and would hide us from any prying eyes if a maintenance worker did show up like Britton thought.
As I sat down and began spreading out the food, he followed. His movements were reluctant. The way he kept glancing over his shoulder like the boogie man was going to attack was setting me on edge.
"Britton. No one is coming. You are not going to tarnish your perfect name. Now pay attention and pass me the chopsticks." My stern words shook him out of his stupor for me to get my chopsticks. Then there was silence.
Only the sound of gnawing on steamed broccoli and attempting to eat lo mein with two sticks.
"Any special reason you brought me up here?" Britton asked when he silence became to thick for his liking. I knew I could count on him to break it. And was I just imagining it or was there a hint of nervousness tinging his words.
I slurped up my next bite and spoke with a mouthful of food. "I jus wanned Chinese."
"Are you sure?" Yes, there it was. I had the ability to make Britton uncomfortable. Oh what wonderful power that was.
When I had eaten my fill and he was pecking at the fried rice with a fork--because he was too afraid to try it with chopsticks--I settled against one of the air conditioning units. Taking his cue from me, Britton leaned against the opposite one and stretched his legs so they were resting in my lap.
"You're annoying."
"You have an agenda," he said.
"True."
I tried to shove his feet off me, but he kept them firmly planted. My subsequent glare made him smile. "How old are you?" I asked suddenly, which caught him off guard.
"Why?"
"I know nothing about you," was my counter. I had been planning this conversation in my mind since it popped into existence an hour ago. "I know that you're name is Britton Schuster and that you're unemployed. That's it."
"You know more about me than that."
"And I know you cry at ballets."
He didn't like that. It brought the shadowy look to his face again. The one that gave me a twinge of pain deep inside my chest. "I didn't cry," and something in his voice told me to drop it. That had been our rule, hadn't it? I didn't ask about the sad look he got when he thought I wasn't looking, and he didn't ask about my many problems and quirks. It was supposed to be simple.
So why didn't I want to stop?
"I know you love your grandma."
"Who doesn't?"
I thought about my own grandma. About Mom honking at her and cursing when we were arriving at Minnie's estate. Everything had changed since then.
"What made you agree to this?" I gestured to the area around us, hoping he would catch the meaning behind my words. No such luck.
In response he held up the container of fried rice. "You offered to pay."
"No. To this month."
"A million dollars could bribe anyone into spending a month with you."
I didn't want to, but I couldn't help the smile forming on my lips. I punched his foot that was still resting on my legs and this time he didn't flinch. I wanted that answer to be enough. I didn't want to feel needy.
But I was needy and I wanted something more. I didn't want this to be about a million dollars.
"What are you going to do with your cut?" My words came out in a breath. I half hoped he wouldn't hear so I could resettle into the comfortable quiet that we had fallen into.
"I'm going to open a theater." His answer was just as soft.
And he didn't wait for prompting to expound on it. "A community theater that hosts all sorts of performances. Plays, musicals, ballets, dance recitals, operas, concerts. Anything that could need stage."
"So you like to perform?" I hazarded a guess.
He shook his head but held my gaze. "I like to watch. I used to go to Capitol Theater all the time, back... before." It sounded like he wanted to continue that idea but thought better of it last second. Interesting. "My turn to ask you."
I groaned but wiggled in my seat so I was sitting straighter. I couldn't very well chicken out of the this game of Truth or Truth that I started. "Shoot."
"Why did you throw your coffee in my face?"
"I thought we were past this," I complained. "It was on my list. Pick a better question."
"No, I don't mean why, I just mean-" He cursed in that Mormon sort of way that didn't actually use any swear words. This time around he muttered something about pickles. "I mean, what made you take me to that coffee shop. Why am I here with you now?"
Ah, there was the probing crap that I was bracing for. Luckily I had imagined this would be one of his questions. Even better, my answer wasn't nearly as embarrassing as it could have been. "I thought I could use a friend in Salt Lake. At least a tour guide. You literally turned up out of the blue. It was a sign from the universe that you were meant to hop on this crazy train." Apparently satisfied by my answer, he pulled his feet off my legs, which had begun to fall asleep from the pressure. Not missing a beat I crossed my legs on top of his. The sweetest form of payback.
"What job did you get fired from?"
He physically shrunk away from the question. I knew he would. No one wanted to talk about their failure. But I was nosey, hence the game. I wanted to know everything about this man I was sitting across from.
He scratched the back of his neck, a move which forced him to drop our eye contact. "It was five months ago. Four and three weeks, actually, but details don't matter. Something was going on in my personal life so I wasn't performing as well as I should have. It was a marketing firm. I didn't enjoy it much, but it was a job and I needed the money if I ever wanted to go to school. I was taking point on a very high profile case. The day I was supposed to present to the heads of the company, I choked. I didn't see the point of getting out of bed. My company had already given me too many warnings." I reached over to take his hand. He didn't protest. "I showed up the next day and they had packed my desk for me. I knew it was going to happen. My boss--great guy, we still talk sometimes--he asked if I needed any help getting back on my feet."
It was more than I had asked for. More in every way imaginable. I had expected something simple: a job title, a company name, maybe an explanation if Britton was feeling generous. Not whatever that was.
Britton didn't give me time to respond before launching into his question. I was grateful because I didn't know what to say to him. "Why are you running away from your past?"
There it was. The question I had been mulling over since I stepped foot in Salt Lake, but was too chicken to answer.
"I'm not." It was a bad bluff. So terrible that Britton didn't try to contradict me. Instead he kept our fingers intertwined between us and waited for the truth. "It's a classic case of family drama," I finally admitted. I felt a twinge of guilt in the pit of my stomach, like my intestines were being twisting onto a fork like spaghetti. "Mom and I never really saw eye to eye on anything. Dad was better, but he always sided with my mom. My brother was no help. And the rest of the family is just as crazy. At Minnie's funeral they were trying to outperform everyone else. Like whoever sobbed the most would get her inheritance. Even though Aunt Minnie said none of us would touch a penny of it years before. Then at the reading of the Will, it was my name. Mom looked so angry. Like I would keep all the money to myself." I forced a laugh. Even if what I was saying wasn't true, it wasn't a pleasant conversation topic. Britton didn't catch this bluff.
"You mean no one cared about her?"
"That's what you're focusing on?"
"Yes. It's terrible. If no one that actually cared turned up at my funeral, I would consider my life wasted. I can't imagine that anyone--even someone as awful as you describe your great aunt--could live a life so empty of love."
I hadn't grappled with the thought of someone actually mourning for Aunt Minnie. Even her daughter seemed to be putting on a show. My grandma, Minnie's sister, was one of the worst there. I knew for a fact that they hadn't been in contact for years, but then Grandma was weeping over Minnie's casket like a bad production of Romeo and Juliet.
"You didn't know her." I tried to shrug it off, because the thought wasn't comfortable.
"Did you?" Britton's voice had dropped an octave. It wasn't his calming voice. It was as serious as when he talked about getting fired. And at the forefront of it was an accusing note. I hadn't gone to Minnie's funeral to mourn, after all. I was just as bad as Mom.
I wiped at my cheeks. There were no tears, but they were hot with embarrassment. The heat was spreading to my eyes. If we didn't change the topic my eyes would start welling up. "Okay, my turn." I wanted to turn this into a light hearted conversation. I wanted to ask what Britton's favorite color was. I wanted to ask about an embarrassing childhood story that Mabel already shared. But I couldn't.
Not with the way Britton was staring at me. The flash in his eyes was warning me to steer clear of whatever question was on the tip of my tongue. Even when they were cautionary, his eyes were stunning. I never knew blue eyes could look so golden, but in the last rays of the sunset, they lit up like the lake in front of us.
"What happened?" I didn't need to explain further. It was the natural follow up to his work confession. Something happened in his personal life that made him so unresponsive, he had said as much.
"Don't ask me that."
But I had.
I pushed myself off the air conditioning unit so I was leaning toward him. A tug on his hand and he met me halfway. We would have looked funny if anyone wandered onto the roof in that moment. Silhouettes against the disappearing sun, both on the offense.
"Why?"
"Indi," he breathed.
And then that pang of sadness hit me, stronger than ever. I knew Britton was manipulating me. He knew it too. He knew I didn't want to hurt him or pry too much. Not when we had the rest of the month to spend together. After this was all over and he had his money I could ask whatever I wanted. Then there was no danger of awkwardness, because he would go his way and I would go mine.
"Britton."
Was I imagining it or was his gaze dipping to my lips? I didn't notice how close were were until then. There had never been much space between the two air conditioning units, but with our new positions we were within whispering distance. I glanced at his lips, then back up to his eyes and their sea of gold. They weren't a turbulent sea. They were calm.
On the other hand, my heart beat was quickening to an erratic pace. I knew that I could lean in half an inch. Would Britton meet me in the middle? He had on everything else so far. More often than our compromises was me demanding my way or the highway. He had complied every time.
We had been here too long. Stuck in this inbetween world where anything could happen. If something didn't change so my heart would burst. His eyes were asking me. Everything else was my choice, after all. This would be too.
But the hurt in his eyes. I saw it in a flash of memory. There was something he wasn't telling me and that stung more than any pair of puppy eyes he pulled on me.
"You never told me how old you were."
The confusion on his face was so blatant that I tried to smile. It couldn't have been convincing, but it was enough to jolt both of us back to reality. He was the first to sit back. I untangled our fingers and drew my arms around me. There was no chill in the air, but I suddenly felt cold. Ever after a heartbeat I didn't uncross my legs. Resting them on him was far too comfortable.
Plus, I didn't want to remove myself from this conversation completely. As stupid and sappy as it sounded. I still wanted to talk to Britton.
Just not like that.
"I'm twenty two. Today, actually." He tried to cover his answer with a cough, but I caught it anyway.
"It's your birthday! Why did you say anything?"
I saw his shoulders relax against the AC unit. The smile that had disappeared when I broke the silence made a triumphant return. Enough to show off his hint of a dimple. "We had plans."
Forget everything else that had happened in the last half an hour, this was my main priority now. "I could have gotten you a present. Or made you a cake. Or done something."
He did his best to put me at ease. "Trust me, watching you get a tattoo was enough of a present. Plus I have perfect blackmail photos now." To illustrate his point he held up his phone. As if he didn't already have blackmail pictures of me. He had documented our adventures thus far. By the end of the month he would have enough pictures of me in stupid situations, many of them terrified out of my mind, that he could fill a scrapbook.
"You're sure you don't want to do anything else for your birthday now that you're an old man."
"I'm not that old!" he protested. "You can't be that much younger."
It was true that I was only two years younger. Twenty as of a few months ago. But the joke kept the smile on his face. His smile made my heart flutter in a wonderful, stupid way.
"You're sure? This is enough."
"This is wonderful."
For good measure I took my feet off his legs.
We ended the night staring over the valley as the light disappeared for the night and sunlight was replaced with city lights. I insisted that if he didn't get a birthday cake, I was going to sing to him. Cut to me presenting him with the last fortune cookie accompanied by my subpar rendition of Happy Birthday.
I had to agree with Britton: it was a wonderful way to spend the evening.

Do people still say spicy? Cause this seen is SPICY!
-m burton