Maisy

Chapter 9: Maisy

It wasn't like he wouldn't come. I stared at the door, gingerly, like a light spread through it so radiant that I should have looked away. Instead I just gazed through half closed eyes and waited. I mean, it wasn't necessarily part of his job, but he had offered to be there for me if I needed him. The phone rang and I laid waiting, wanting.

"Hello?"

"Hi. It's Maisy."

"Yes, I know. Ivory."

"What?"

"Oh, you hadn't heard that yet? That's your code name for the team." His voice seemed soft, light, almost mellow.

"Do you like it?" He asked with almost a giggle.

"Are you drunk?" I questioned.

"No. I..."

I could hear him inhale through his nose and instantly knew I shouldn't have said anything. I should have just let his strange openness, delightedness continue, instead I squandered it with the first thing I thought and now heard only silence. It carried on and I almost lost my nerve, but I took a deep breath and said, "could you come to my room for a minute?"

There was more silence before, "through the inner door?"

"Yes." Was he lying there, too, looking at the door?

"And Holland is outside your room?" He asked, but he knew the answer so I said nothing.

"Should I come now?"

"Yes, please," I replied, already walking towards the door.

I placed my fingertips on the white surface and listened, not truly believing he would come, believing nothing. But then I heard it, he was turning the lock. It scraped a long bend of sound, and my blood zipped with the final 'click' of unlock.

But then again silence when I wanted to hear his door. I wanted to hear the handle turning, the low spirally sound of the gears. I wanted to hear the shift in air as the wooden panel moved on its hinges across the carpet so much that I couldn't wait, I quickly twisted my lock, turned my handle, and pulled the door open, out of sight.

Slowly, Jon was pulling his door open, and when I met his eyes he looked shyly away. His sweat pants rode low on his hips and he wore another crisp white tee. I was suddenly conscious of what I was wearing and looked down at my body to remember. A tank top. Baggy shorts. Phone in hand.

We both hung up our phones as I invited him in, leaving the doors open on either side. I walked to the window and he followed me, looking down on an empty street.

"I don't even know what city we are in. Does that make me awfully ungrateful?"

"We are in Detroit. It's hard to keep track... and you haven't been here very often, right?" We watched a car drive by.

"I think twice. My mother tells me everyday where we are, but sometimes I don't want to listen to her, so I just nob. Does that make me a terrible daughter?" I turned to look in his eyes, they were balmy, long lashes swooping down and up as I stared.

"Are you feeling a little down this evening?" He asked in a reserved voice, deep, and something swung in me like a bat. I turned back towards the window and wanted something to do with my hands so I stroked the glass with ten fingertips, letting the cold bleed into my body.

"I'm sorry I asked if you were drunk." I tipped my head to the side.

"It's okay, I'm not sure what initiated that response, though." He was looking down, looking vulnerable.