Undecided(19)

“Well, that’s a ringing endorsement. Okay, stand up.” The desk assembled, we both rise as he arranges it upright and positions it against the wall. He rattles it a bit, one big hand wrapped around the edge, and I want so badly to do something “fun” right now. To feel that hand on me. “Look good to you?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say too quickly. A bit breathlessly.

He gives me a weird look. “Are you okay?”

“Totally fine.”

“Did anyone bother you last night?”

“No. I didn’t even see anyone.”

His brow is wrinkled, and slowly it relaxes. “Good.”

Because my bed takes up too much room, we assemble the wooden frame in the living room, where there’s just barely enough space. As before, Crosbie does all the work. I mostly watch and pass him pieces. I don’t know if he senses that things were getting weird in my room or he just wants to change the subject, but he asks again about my “Steve Holt!” artwork and from there we just talk about TV.

When the frame is assembled he carefully edges it through the doorway and back into my room. I stand at the end closest to the door and hoist up the frame, then he lifts the mattress as I push the frame under. It sounded better in theory, but we eventually get it in place, and when I start to smooth the rumpled blankets, Crosbie stops me.

“What?”

“You’ve gotta make sure it’s sturdy,” he says.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Up you go.” He grips my arm and herds me onto the bed so I’m standing in the center. “Jump,” he says.

“I’m not going to—” I feel absolutely ridiculous.

“Jump, Nora. For my peace of mind.”

“I’m not planning to do a lot of jumping on this bed, Crosbie. If the frame collapses, it’s a six-inch fall. I’ll survive.”

He folds his arms. “Jump.”

“Screw off.” I try to climb down but he blocks me. “Crosbie—”

“Have fun,” he says. “Just for a minute. I want to know that you can.”

“All right, you know what?” Now I’m just annoyed. “I appreciate your help, but you’re making me feel really stupid. I know how to have fun, I’m just choosing not to right now. I don’t need to perform for you to be fun.”

He looks surprised. “It’s not a performance.” Then he glances at the bed. “Though I can see how it might be misconstrued.”

He doesn’t stop me when I step down, and I feel a little bit bereft. Like maybe that was my chance and I missed it. And later tonight by myself, if I jump on the bed alone, it won’t be nearly as fun as if Crosbie were here.

“Okay,” he says, stepping up onto the bed. “I gave you a shot. But if the frame breaks, you’re on the hook for it.”

“What are you—”

He starts to jump. The mattress squeaks, the pillows bounce, but nothing breaks. And still he jumps. “This is the most fun ever, Nora!” he mock squeals.

“Shut up. Get down.”

“I can’t believe you’re missing out on all this fun!”

“Knock it off.”

“One jump.”

“You’re going to break something.”

“Who cares? You’re paying for it.”

“Crosbie—” It’s impossible to keep a straight face. This may have started as a joke, but I think he’s really enjoying himself. And when he holds out a hand, I take it and climb on.

“Just once,” I say.

“Totally,” he agrees.

I jump and the frame breaks.

The bottom left corner gives out, sending the mattress skidding to the end. Crosbie and I collapse, banging our foreheads together, squawking our surprise and alarm. When we finally come to a halt I’m halfway off the edge of the bed, held up only by Crosbie’s big arm around my waist. His eyes are wide with shock and then they crinkle at the corners as he starts to laugh. I worm my way out of his grasp and flop onto the floor and start to laugh too.

“Shit,” he gasps. “Nora, I’m so sorry.”

“This is what happens when people have fun!” I say, sticking a stern finger in the air. “Never again.”

He swats my hand. “It’s your fault,” he says. “I know I’m not supposed to say this to a woman, but I think you’re too heavy. Your heaviness is what broke the bed.”

I’m a hundred pounds soaking wet, and, as Marcela liked to say, I carry my weight in my boobs. I know I’m not fat, and Crosbie knows it, and that’s why I’m not really angry when I snatch up a fallen pillow and smack him with it.

“Sorry.” He laughs and rolls away, face red. “Should I have said ‘big boned?’”

“You’re going to hell, Crosbie. Fix my bed frame.” I feel hot and happy, despite the mess. Despite the fact that the wood is snapped and splintered and I don’t think it can be fixed.

He slides down the angled mattress and joins me on the floor to inspect the damage. “I have to go.”

“Crosbie Lucas.”

“Bye, Nora. Take care.” He stands but doesn’t actually go anywhere, staring at the ruined frame.

I stand, too. “Product defect?” I try.