The Part I Couldn’t Explain

Julian arrived at seven with dinner, a toolbox, and a dark sweater that made me regret agreeing to spend the evening looking at him.

The sleeves were pushed to his elbows. His hair was slightly damp, and he had clearly changed after work.

I was wearing the second shirt I had tried on.

Neither of those facts needed to mean anything.

Unfortunately, I noticed both.

I took the food from him.

“The couch is leaving,” I reminded him. “If you repair it, I’ll consider that an act of sabotage.”

He glanced into the living room.

“I brought tools to take the legs off.”

I accepted the answer and led him inside.

While he removed his shoes, I put dinner in the kitchen and tried to remember what I had been thinking before he arrived.

Something practical, probably.

I missed it.

***

We knelt on opposite sides of the frame.

Julian loosened the remaining screws while I collected them in a bowl. Beneath the cushions, we found an old receipt, two coins, and a pen he had lent me months earlier.

He picked up the pen and looked at me.

I held out my hand.

“I was keeping it somewhere safe.”

“Apparently, so safe that you couldn’t find it.”

He placed it in my palm.

His fingers brushed mine.

I closed my hand around the pen and dropped it into the bowl with the screws, which defeated its rescue almost immediately.

Julian watched without commenting.

That was generous of him.

It was also inconvenient. If he had teased me, I could have concentrated on being annoyed instead of on the warmth still lingering against my fingers.

When one screw resisted, he moved beside me and adjusted the screwdriver’s angle.

His shoulder pressed lightly against mine.

I became interested in a patch of worn wood that did not deserve the attention.

“Try it now,” he said.

I turned the screwdriver.

The screw loosened.

Julian shifted back, and I found myself missing the contact before he had fully moved away.

I had only dated women.

I had enjoyed dating them.

Until recently, those facts had felt sufficient to explain what I wanted.

Julian was making them feel less complete without having to do anything more dramatic than kneel beside a broken couch.

***

The frame caught on the first landing.

We lowered it, changed the angle, and ended up briefly trapped between the furniture and the wall.

Julian braced one hand beside my shoulder to steady it.

I looked up.

His face was close enough that I could see the faint mark near his eyebrow. His hair had fallen forward, and he was breathing harder from the effort.

I had the sudden, unmistakable thought that I could kiss him.

It frightened me because it wasn’t abstract.

I could see where my hand would go.

I could imagine him turning toward me.

Julian noticed the change in my expression and moved back as far as the frame allowed.

“More room?”

I nodded and concentrated on the couch.

By the time we reached the collection area, I had regained enough composure to blame the entire incident on poor building design.

Julian stood beside the discarded frame with dust along his cheek.

I brushed it away automatically.

Then my fingers moved a strand of hair off his forehead.

He went still beneath my hand.

I stopped, too.

This was beginning to look deliberate, even to me.

I lowered my hand and picked up the toolbox.

“Come on. The noodles are getting cold.”

He followed without teasing me.

I appreciated it and resented it in equal measure.

***

We ate on a blanket in the living room.

Julian arranged the food on the coffee table, leaving two cushions beside each other. I sat on one and watched him lower himself onto the other.

There was a sensible distance between us.

After a few minutes, I found it annoying.

I shifted closer under the perfectly reasonable excuse of reaching the sauce.

My knee touched his.

He glanced down, then continued eating.

I stayed where I was.

The apartment felt different with him in it like this. No unexplained darkness. No waiting for a voice. Just dinner, warm light, and the small sounds of someone making himself comfortable beside me.

I looked at his profile.

Then I remembered the women I had dated and tried to work out what, exactly, I was supposed to do with this new information.

Nothing about those relationships had been false.

Nothing about wanting Julian closer seemed false, either.

I returned to my food before the thought could demand a conclusion.

When he passed me the side dish I liked, I accepted it and told him he had finally become useful.

He smiled into his noodles.

Apparently, he knew how to translate me.

***

The game was meant to restore familiar ground.

I was good at it. Julian wasn’t. We could spend an hour arguing over something that had clearly defined rules.

For the first two races, that worked.

Then he asked me to explain the controls properly.

I leaned across him to demonstrate. My hand rested over his briefly, guiding his thumb toward the button.

He turned his head.

I looked at him.

On the television, his car drove directly into a barrier.

Neither of us reacted.

I could feel the warmth of his hand beneath mine. His eyes moved toward my mouth, then returned to my face.

I sat back too quickly and bumped the cabinet.

Julian turned toward the screen, giving me somewhere else to look.

That was thoughtful.

It also left me wondering what would have happened if I hadn’t moved.

During the next race, he beat me.

I threw a cushion at him. He caught it against his chest, and when I leaned over to retrieve it, my knee slipped on the blanket.

His arm caught my back before I could hit the table.

I ended up half against him, one hand braced on his shoulder.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

I could feel his breathing.

I remembered sharing his narrow college bed and telling myself I was irritated because he took up too much space.

There was plenty of room now.

I was the one who wasn’t using it.

Julian loosened his hold.

I sat back slowly with the cushion in my lap.

“Unstable seating,” I said.

He looked at the blanket.

“We should mention that in the review.”

I laughed, grateful for the ordinary answer.

But the feeling didn’t disappear.

***

Later, I noticed he was tired.

I paused the game and made tea. When I returned, his eyes were closed, his head resting against the cabinet.

I sat beside him carefully.

He opened them anyway.

“I was going to let you sleep,” I said.

“I’d rather be awake while I’m here.”

He accepted the mug, and I settled against the cushion.

We talked briefly about the accident and the difficulty he had been having with sleep. He didn’t pretend he was fine. I didn’t ask him to make the conversation easier.

After a while, his shoulder came to rest against mine.

I liked the weight of it.

That was the