* * *
I hurry through breakfast and a shower. Mom and Laurie are already gone for the day and I want to follow through with my me-and-Stephen-unpacking date idea. In less than an hour, I’m knocking on the door for 3D.
“Who is it?”
Tingles run up and down my arms at the sound of his voice. “It’s me.”
Unlike yesterday, he doesn’t leave me waiting outside. The door opens almost immediately and he’s smiling at me. I take my time looking at his hair, his eyes, his lips, his hands. My heart is doing somersaults.
“Hi,” he says softly. It feels intimate, his voice low, only for me. My toes curl into the bed of my flip-flops.
“Hey.” I am smiling like an idiot, but I can’t help it.
“Do you want to come in?” He steps back, but I shake my head.
“I have a favor to ask,” I say. “And it requires your presence at my place. I know it’s a lot to ask, it being so far out of the way and all.”
I’m laughing, but he looks uncomfortable. I think I know why.
“Mom and Laurie are gone all day,” I say quickly. “It’s just me and boxes.”
He smiles at me, and I think I’ve levitated an inch. “Boxes?”
“I could use some help unpacking.” I try to look sultry. “I promise rewards.”
He laughs, and that’s when I remember that sultry doesn’t usually work for me; it comes off as maniacal, and now I’m blushing and kicking the frame of his door.
“I can help you unpack,” he says, but he sounds a little unsure.
I’m starting to doubt my plan. Why would he want to unpack books and dishware? Yesterday he took me to beautiful places in Central Park, and this is what I suggest when it’s my turn? I suck.
I hurry to salvage my idea. “We don’t really need to unpack. I just need to show some evidence of progress with the boxes. I’m in charge of the boxes, and if I don’t open one or two today, I might get kicked out of the apartment.”
“Evicted, eh?” He grins. “That would be tragic.”
“I know,” I say. “It’s such a nice building. Good neighbors are hard to find, I hear.”
I start to back away.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” he says, ducking back into his apartment. I wander back to 3B and wait for him at my door. He appears a few minutes later, locks his own apartment, and follows me into mine.
We stop in the middle of the living room. His eyes sweep the space.
“You’ve got a box infestation,” he says. “I’m afraid it’s serious.”
I laugh, heading for the kitchen to grab a knife. When I come back to the living room, Stephen pushes a box towards me.
“I’ve found it,” he says. “This is the box for us.”
“So be it.” I brandish the knife and begin cutting away the packing tape. We open the box together, slowly pulling away the sticky remnants of tape. The container is filled to the brim with objects wrapped in bubble wrap. I pull out one of the mystery shapes and pop a few of the bubbles, enjoying their snapping sound, before I tear away the plastic cocoon. Stephen rocks back on his heels, watching me as if a person wrestling with over-taped bubble wrap is the most fascinating pastime on earth. His attention makes me giddy.
“Pretty,” he says when I toss the protective shell away to reveal a carnival-glass candy dish that belonged to my grandmother.
“Then you can decide where it goes.” I hand the dish to him. He takes it carefully, which I appreciate. Its value is sentimental only, and I think it’s sweet that he’s cautious about handling the glass dish.
“So when you look at me, you think ‘interior decorator,’” he says, walking around the room as he searches for the candy dish’s new home.
“I think you’ve got what it takes,” I say, unwrapping a music box. I automatically wind it up, though I already know doing so will rob some of my happiness. Tinkling music flutters through the living room.
He pauses, listening. “‘Send in the Clowns’?”
I nod. “This is Laurie’s.”
“Yeah?”
“He’s had it since he was five,” I say.
“Kind of a heavy song for a five-year-old.” Stephen sets the candy dish on an end table. It looks lonely without jewel-toned candies filling it.
“My grandma.” I point to the empty glass bowl. “Candy-dish grandma gave it to him for Christmas because he loved music and clowns. I don’t think she realized that it was a sad song. I’d be shocked if she knew who Stephen Sondheim was.”
I stand up, cradling the music box in my palms.
“How is your brother adjusting?”
“Better than me.” I sigh.
He flinches a little and I chew my lip.
“I don’t mean . . . I feel good now,” I say. “When we’re together . . .”
My heart stutters. I don’t want to say too much and ruin things. “But Laurie has school and stuff to keep him busy. I’m stuck with unpacking duty.”
“Ah . . . the injustice.” He’s smiling again, and I relax.
“Right?” I say, putting the back of my hand to my forehead in mock suffering. “He did manage to snare someone else in the building already. A boy who lives upstairs . . . Five-C.”
“Sean,” Stephen says.
“Oh.” I tilt my head, taking in his thoughtful expression. “You know him?”
He balks. “A little. I think he prefers books to people.”
“I’m the last person who’d call that a character flaw,” I say. “But still, he’s not exactly a chatterbox, is he? I couldn’t understand a word he was saying, but I’m pretty sure he’s Laurie’s new crush—God save us all.”
I watch his reaction, which is mostly a non-reaction. His face is open, pleasant. All he says is: “Sean strikes me as very shy. Hence the mumbling.”
I grip the music box a little too tightly. “Let’s take a break. I’ll put this in Laurie’s room.”
“A break already?” Stephen looks at the other piles of boxes around the room. “We only unpacked two things.”
“I said I only need evidence of progress.” I nod at the candy dish. “You have provided said evidence.”