Everything Leads to You(19)

“This is gorgeous,” I say, because it is. The paper is the pattern of a night sky, panel after panel, with glowing stars forming constellations. It’s perfect for the little boy, who has an interest in science and whose room is shot primarily in night scenes.

She steps away and smiles at me. I allow myself to notice how good her arms look in her tank top, tan and strong but still unmistakably girl arms. And because the music room is finished and I knew that I wouldn’t be doing anything too hands-on today, I wore a skirt and a skimpy shirt to show off my girlishness, too.

“I’m mostly running errands today,” I tell her. “But I wanted to check it out. Since I couldn’t, you know, on Saturday.”

“That’s right,” she says. “You and Charlotte had a library party to attend.”

“We were actually doing something pretty interesting,” I say.

“I can imagine.” She turns back to her work and I watch her hands as they smooth down swirls and stars.

To the right is a bunk bed built out of light-colored wood.

“You built this?” I ask her, and she nods.

I climb the little ladder and sit on the top bunk. It would be so easy to forget that all around us people are working, moving planter boxes of trees to go on the opposite sides of windows, painting sets and assembling furniture, supervising and surveying and engaging in conversations. So easy, because here is a bunk bed and rumpled sheets, here is a model of a hot-air balloon floating from the ceiling, here is a white wall steadily becoming less white as Morgan applies panel after panel of deep blue wallpaper. It’s all a fantasy, so it’s easy, for a few minutes, to get lost in it.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be on the top bunk,” I say, even though the idea has never occurred to me.

“And?”

“It’s great,” I say. “So cozy. You haven’t been up here?”

“Not since I finished building it.”

“Why don’t you join me?”

She smiles and shakes her head.

“Hey, what are you doing later?” I ask, trying to ignore Charlotte’s inevitable disapproval. I already had to explain myself about Saturday morning’s encounter.

“I have plans,” Morgan says.

“What kind of plans?”

“Mmm,” she says. “I don’t know if you want to hear about them.”

“Oh,” I say, and the glorious world of little boy’s bunk beds and hands smoothing stars and beautiful arms and short skirts disintegrates. I skip the ladder and hop down instead.

“Well, have fun.”

“Em,” she says. “I’m sorry if this is hard.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“No, really.” She sets down her sponge and leans against the bed, looking at me. “I really like you; I just can’t be tied down right now.”

“That’s such a cliché thing to say,” I tell her. “If I saw that in a script I would laugh.”

She shrugs. “It’s how I feel right now. When you’re ready to hang out as friends I would love that.”

My phone buzzes and I check the screen. It’s Charlotte texting, I thought your sofa was green?

“Charlotte’s here,” I say. “I have to go.”

“Okay,” Morgan says. “Thanks for coming by. And my friend Rebecca might want to talk to you. I gave her your number. It’s about good things.”

“Sure,” I mutter, and head to the music room.

I see Charlotte as soon as I round the corner.

“Of course it’s green,” I say. “I’d call it, like, a cross between forest green and kelly green. What would you call it?”

“Um,” she says, “light gray?” And then she turns to look into the room and I turn with her.

My sofa is gone.

I spin away from her and out of the building until I’m in the bright sunshine of the lot with Charlotte behind me saying, “Emi, let’s just talk about this for a second. Let’s just take a moment to calm down.”

But all I can say is “Clyde f*cking Jones,” because it’s his sofa in the place of my perfect one.

I storm through groups of smiling people and stern people and people talking on cell phones and carrying Starbucks cups and into Ginger’s building and past her secretary and into her office. She’s on the phone and holds up a finger for me to wait. So I stand there, in her perfectly decorated room, adorned with posters from all the famous movies she’s worked on, until she hangs up and says, “This must be about the music room.”