Page 83 of Vera Stein Is Fine
“I’ll be the Western to your disco.” He gave me a once-over. “You’re really pulling your weight.”
“Leonard was concerned about my wardrobe options, so you can thank him for this.”
He fisted his hands into his pockets as we stood there in silence for a moment. “We let it get weird, didn’t we?”
I sighed. It at least felt good to acknowledge it out loud. “It’s probably for the best.”
He shook his head, his expression turning serious. Almost annoyed. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever you want, Vera.”
He walked away and I stood there for a moment, watching my reflection in the framed print of the original Starlight Palms hanging in my office.
I needed things between us to be okay. I told myself it was because of work and the apartment. That was the tidy reason. But he was back in my life all of a sudden and it was hard to believe that it wasn’t for a reason. Even if that reason was to resolve the abrupt way things ended almost two decades ago.
“Eli,” I called after him, peeking my head out my office door.
He was already halfway down the hallway with his fists clenched at his sides. For a second he paused and just stood there before turning around.
“I want...”
His mouth fell open, but he held his words at bay.
“I want us to be friends,” I finished, and felt embarrassingly proud of myself.
He was quiet for a moment before he rolled his lips together and shook his head. “I don’t think we want the same things.”
A heavy dread settled in my chest as I felt punished for what felt like bravery to me. I glanced back to make sure we had the hallway to ourselves before I walked down toward him.
He took a step closer but then paused, letting me establish the space between us.
I wanted to touch him. His shoulders. His forearm. Just to let his warmth seep into my skin. I didn’t trust myself, though, so I stood just out of reach for both our sakes. “I need this job,” I told him.
His face was blank as he nodded.
“And Ireallyneed the apartment.”
Then his measured features morphed into disappointment and anger. “What? You think I’d kick you out because you don’t want to dry hump on the couch like a couple of teenagers?” He scoffed. “Ya know, I was a little shit back in college. I know that. But it was so, so easy when you always expected the worst of me.”
“What thehellis that supposed to mean?” I said in a low, urgent voice.“Just because I expected you to act like an asshole, that gave you the right tobean asshole? You hated me in college. What else was I to expect from you besides the worst? And I’m sorry for being worried that getting physical with you could fuck up my very fragile living and working situation.”
“I wouldneverkick you out, Vera. Hell, I’d go find a place of my own before I did that to you. Just say the word if that’s what you want.”
I shook my head. “No, I’m not asking you to leave your own apartment. I want you there. I just...” The supply chain between my brain and my mouth came to a grinding halt, because I didn’t actually know what the hell I wanted.
He watched me carefully and when he realized I had nothing else to say, he gave me a curt nod. “I’ll see you at Leonard’s thing.”
“Okay.” The moment he turned away, all the words I might have said fell into place and I pushed them aside along with any remaining hope that things might return to normal between us. Whatever the fuck that looked like.
As he walked in the opposite direction, I stood there in my cape and gloves, reminded distinctly of a time nineteen years ago when I stood in an empty hotel room with a sheet wrapped around my chest and a veil discarded on the floor.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The community room had been transformed. The far wall of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the iconic pool and was framed with red, pink, and teal tapestries. What Leonard had managed to arrange in only a few weeks was astounding. The ceiling was draped with more of the same tapestries and a disco ball hung from the center. It felt like the inside of a jewelry box. Rows of rented chairs faced his prized casket and along the back wall was an open bar. Waiters in black pants, white shirts, and hot pink vests circulated with hors d’oeuvres.
According to Morgan, the room had been rented for anniversaries, birthday parties, and even a few weddings, but this was the first she’d heard of a living funeral. Thankfully, the room was full enough—even if many attendees were there to assuage their curiosities—that any concerns I’d had over attendance quickly evaporated.
I was shocked to see Ruby sitting near the back with Gwen and Harvey.
“You look like a piñata,” she said as I sat down beside her after signing the guest book.
