Page 76 of The Seven Year Slip

“I used to all the time with her.”

“What stopped you?”

“Work. Adult things. A good career. A stable relationship. A home.” I sat up in bed and gave a shrug, wrapping the comforter around me. “I had to grow up someday.”

He wrinkled his nose. “You must think I’m nuts, then, to start a new career halfway to thirty.”

“Not at all. I think you’re brave,” I corrected, and kissed his nose. “People change their lives all the time, doesn’t matter how old you are. But... can you promise me something?”

“Anything, Lemon.”

“Promise me you’ll always be you?”

His eyebrows knitted together. “Well, that’s a weird thing to ask.”

“I know, but—I like you. Just the way you are.”

He laughed, a soft rumble in his throat, and kissed my forehead. “All right. I promise—only if you promise something, too.”

“What?”

“Always find time to do what makes you happy—like painting, and traveling, and fuck the rest.”

“How poetic.”

“I’m a chef, not a writer.”

“Maybe you’ll be both someday. And rightnow, what’s going tomake me happy is a shower. Maybe it’ll help with this hangover.” I began to scoot out of bed, but he pulled me close to him again and kissed me. I loved the way he kissed, like I was something to savor—even with morning breath. “This also makes me happy,” I added.

He smiled against my mouth. “The happiest.”

Eventually, I peeled myself away from him, gathered my clothes, and left for a shower.

When I came back out, he was already dressed.

“Let’s go out today,” he said as I came out of the bathroom, drying my hair with a towel. He was sitting on the fainting couch, his eyes closed and arms behind his head, the window open to let the pigeons eat some popcorn on the sill. I glanced at the microwave clock—it was already one in the afternoon. “You can show me around the city. Ooh—and you can bring your watercolors. I can watch you. Where do you like to paint?”

I gave it a thought. “Tourist traps, mostly.”

“Central Park, then? Or is there another one you like more? Prospect Park is beautiful.”

“Well...”

He sprung up from the couch. “Let’s do it. Before the day’s gone. It’s so pretty outside today. Let’s lounge, and I can bring a book, and you can do your watercolors.”

“W-wait,” I said in a panic, as he disappeared into the study, and came back with my tin of watercolors and a book, and took my hand. “My hair’s still damp. My head’s throbbing. I don’t have any makeup on!”

“You look beautiful just as you are,” he replied, pulling me across the living room. He grabbed his wallet from the counter.

“That’s not thepoint.”

And yet I still let him lead me to the front door.I can’t leave thisapartment, I wanted to tell him, but he wouldn’t believe me. Then again, I hadn’t tried to leave this apartmentwithhim. Maybe...

I could have stopped him if I really wanted to. I didn’t. His excitement was infectious. He spouted off places he’d like to check out—the deli fromWhen Harry Met Sally, some other movie-specific restaurants. He wanted to try a hot dog in the park, a pretzel, maybe some ice cream.

“Do they actually allow you to rent rowboats in Central Park?” he asked, sliding on his shoes, and I put on my flats. His hand around my wrist was tight with excitement, until I took his fingers and laced them through mine instead.

There, much better.

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