Page 26 of Stray for You

The tour takes us, predictably, underground. They aren’t lying about that part of it. We descend below the bustling city, into dank tunnels lit gracelessly with harsh modern lights. We often have to stick to designated walkways. The stuff down here truly is old, as our tour guide informs us. For some reason there are a lot of toilets. One is intricately painted and sits on a little pedestal.

Thankfully, not all of the architectural flourishes belong in a bathroom. We pass brick archways and head down stone tunnels, glimpse drawings of old Seattle and examine antique devices. It’s half museum and half history lesson, with the tour guide giving us deep dives into everything around us.

“This is kind of amazing,” I admit as we take in framed black and white photographs of Seattle while it was being built.

“You like it?” Julian says.

He’s smiling at me, all those perfect white teeth on display. Does me enjoying a silly tour really make him that happy? It seems strange, yet he hasn’t stopped grinning this whole time.

“Yeah, I do,” I say. “Thanks for suggesting it. I don’t think I would have done it on my own.”

“Really? But you live around here.”

“Yeah, but you never do the tourist stuff in the place where you live. It would have been easy to miss this.”

“I guess that’s true. I’ve never gone up the Empire StateBuilding even though I pass it five days a week.”

“Maybe you should sometime,” I say.

“Have you gone up the Space Needle?” he counters.

“No, but that’s not nearly as tall, and half the time it’s cloudy and you can’t even see anything.”

“Whatever,” Julian says with a playful roll of his eyes. “My point stands. How about this — I’ll do the Empire State Building when I go home and you’ll do the Space Needle. We’ll send each other pictures from the top.”

My stomach clenches around the suggestion. I assumed that once he went home that would be it for this strange reunion. We’d go back to silence. I could be done with all this confusion and mess in my mind and forget about him. Yet the moment Julian insinuates that we’ll keep chatting even after he leaves, some piece of me wants to agree.

“We’ll see,” I say noncommittally.

He lets it drop as the tour continues. We stop under a grate that looks up at the city above our heads and the tour guide explains how Seattle’s city planning unfolded over the years. I barely hear her, my ears full of static as I replay that interaction back in front of the black and white photos. Can I let this continue? I should have shot him down, made it clear that this ends tonight. I agreed to go on this tour, but afterward, I have every intention of saying goodbye and going home.

At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself. Yet I didn’t park on the street this time. I parked in a garage, somewhere I could safely leave my car overnight if I had to. At the time, I rationalized it as parking in the closest, most convenient location, even if it costs a little extra, but my excuses are starting to sound hollow even to myself.

I miss the tour guide’s explanation, following the group in a daze. I hope I look interested when we stop in front of some ancient bit of machinery I can’t identify. My head is whirling, butJulian seems calm beside me. If he has any expectations for how this night might go, he’s masking them incredibly well. I suppose that’s what he does, though. That’s why he’s here. Because he’s good at charming people, at luring them in, at showing them only what he means for them to see. Am I another sucker roped in by his games? Is this an elaborate trick like when he touched my knee and leaned in like he wanted to kiss me back in college? I don’t know what he stands to gain by interfering in my life anymore. Maybe it’s fun for him. It’s always seemed fun for him.

My uncharitable appraisal sits in my stomach like a stone, dragging me down, but as I watch Julian delight in every bit of trivia, every weird gadget and strange photo, I struggle to truly believe my own pessimism. I’m not good at people like he is, but this Julian, the guy in jeans and a T-shirt who invited me on a cute tour, doesn’t feel like a guy hiding some sinister alternative motivation.

God, I hope I’m right about that.

The tour ends in a gift shop. Julian is entranced by all of it, every silly little trinket and corny T-shirt and cheap piece of junk. I humor him, tagging along. Am I doing this to hang around him longer? The tour is over. We could eat. We could go our separate ways. The thing I came here for is done. There’s no reason to hang around except … except wanting to. Do I want to?

“Hey, you alright?” Julian asks.

I blink. A rotating stand of keychains greets me when I come back to the world. I finger one idly, not really caring what it is.

“I’m fine,” I say. “It was a long tour.”

“Over an hour,” Julian agrees, “but it was really good. Thank you for doing this with me, Cam. It was nice.”

I don’t dare look at him, not when there’s so much sincerity in his voice. “It was,” I say.

“Do you like that one?” he says, nodding at the keychain stand. “You keep going back to it.”

In truth, I didn’t even notice which keychain I was fondling. It’s a miniature Space Needle with “SEATTLE” written across the base. It’s the sort of thing you buy if you’re a visitor to the city and want a cheap memento of your trip. I’d die from shame if I had something like this hanging on my keychain.

“It’s fine,” I say.

Julian reaches past me to snatch it. His arm brushes against me as he moves, and electricity prickles my skin even through our shirts and jackets. As soon as he has the keychain in hand, he makes for the checkout counter.

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