Chapter 12 - Nadia

“We get off at 72nd Street,” Dorian told me as the subway car rumbled along. He and Braden sat in the row in front of me, so he had to turn to look over his shoulder at me, which showed his defined cheekbones and jaw in wonderful profile. Ryan and Andy had to work late, so it was just the three of us. Dorian smiled amiably. “It’s a short walk from there.”
I nodded along, but didn’t say anything. I was beginning to second-guess the impulsiveness of agreeing to their offer. It just sort of happened without me ever really thinking about it.
The practice Dorian helped me with before rehearsal certainly made me more comfortable with the situation. That, and the fact that I wanted to be around Braden more. Any excuse to spend more time with him. Their offer was the best way.
I’m going to end up getting hurt, I thought to myself. I didn’t really care. It’s just a trial run. We’ll see what happens.
I felt as nervous as the first day of school as we exited the subway and walked along the sidewalk. It was all the excitement and trepidation of a new place, a new situation, and being thrown out of my comfort zone all at once. We hadn’t even talked about the arrangement in detail. Would they draw straws to choose who “got me” for tonight? Or were they envisioning a sign-up sheet? Blocking off chunks of my time by the hour, like a rental jet-ski?
Granted, I wanted certain things from them too. Friendship—and more practice!—with Dorian. A chance at something with Braden. But I wasn’t interested in becoming a glorified blow-up doll for them to use and discard.
At least, not until I was a lot more comfortable with them.
We passed O’Rourke’s Bar and turned north onto York Avenue. The brownstone townhouses in this neighborhood were gorgeous, with grey stone steps and black iron rails leading up to the front doors. Braden stopped to admire one with a protruding cupola room that extended to the top, like a castle tower was sticking halfway out the front of the building with a flurry of windows. I stopped with him and whistled.
“These places are gorgeous.”
“Yep,” Braden said. He was looking at me for some reason. Waiting for something.
That’s when I realized he hadn’t stopped to admire the place.
“Wait,” I said.
“Uh huh.”
“There’s no way this is your place.”
Dorian did a dramatic little dance and extended his hands toward the brownstone. “Welcome to our lovely abode, Nadia! The butler will be out shortly to take your things.” He stood up straight. “We don’t actually have a butler. That part was a joke.”
“But the building is ours,” Braden hastily added. “It was my grandma’s, I mean. But she left it to me.”
“Which… which floor do you own?” I said dumbly, my brain still unable to comprehend that it was all theirs.
Braden smiled. “Come on. Let’s give you the tour.”
I continued gawking as I followed them up the grey stone steps and through the front door.
The floor of the entrance area was tiled in brown hexagons like an over-sized bee hive, and the walls were a soothing shade of grey. The ceilings were higher than I was used to; at least eight feet. Much more spacious than my cramped little apartment.
“This is the front parlor,” Dorian said, gesturing to the room next to the entrance. A sectional sofa and two recliners filled the space, all facing a huge television mounted on the wall.
“You mean living room?” I asked.
Braden rolled his eyes. “Dorian thinks parlor sounds more sophisticated.”
“Doesn’t it?” Dorian nudged me. “Surely you agree parlor is more distinguished than living room.” He made the latter phrase sound distasteful.
“It’s nice,” was all I could say. I was already overwhelmed.
“The kitchen is that way,” Braden said, taking over the tour. I caught a glimpse of steel appliances and white marble counters. “The dining room and garden are on the other side.”
“Garden?”
“More of a sitting area with outdoor furniture,” Braden admitted. “Nothing special.”
Right. There was nothing special about having your own private garden out the back of your townhouse in the middle of New York City. Totally normal.
I followed them up to the second floor. I expected it to be bedrooms, but these were more communal rooms with hardwood floors. One was a skinny room which ran the length of the building, with a little wooden desk at one end and more sofas in the middle. A few laptops were scattered on the coffee table, connected to power cables that snaked underneath the sofa.
“We call this the office, but only because that’s what Braden’s grandma called it,” Dorian explained. “Mostly I come here to watch Netflix when I want to get away from the others.”
“Uh,” Braden said, “correction: you come here when we won’t let you watch soap operas on the TV downstairs.”
“Riverdale is not a soap opera!” Dorian protested, giving his man-bun an angry squeeze. “It’s my guilty pleasure.”
“Your guilty pleasure. Which is why we banish you up here.”
Dorian rolled his eyes and led me down to the end of the office, which opened into another room. He didn’t need to tell me what this was.
“A library!” I said as I gazed around the walls, which were covered with bookshelves filled with books. I couldn’t see the walls in here because the bookshelves had been built to the room’s size, with cut-outs for the two windows that gave a view out the back.
Braden fist-pumped and gave Dorian a triumphant look. “What?” I asked.
“I call it the study,” Dorian muttered. “The others insist it’s the library.”
“And more important, we made a bet on the subway as to which you would call it. I won.”
I gave Dorian a sympathetic smile. “I like study, too.”
Braden shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. You called it a library, which means I win.”
Dorian reached into his pocket, fished out a twenty dollar bill, and crumpled it up in his fist. He tossed it at Braden, who snatched it out of the air.
I went to one of the windows and drew back the curtain. A sizable portion of the sky was visible, not blocked out by the surrounding buildings. The garden below was a small outdoor patio space with vines and bushes covering the fence for privacy. Even though it was only ten feet by ten feet, that was a huge luxury in the city.
The third floor held two master bedrooms, each with their own adjoining bathroom. “I’m in this one,” Braden said, “while Andy has the one across the hall. Upstairs are the others.”
I gawked at the size. Two bedrooms here, more upstairs. This was unreal.
The fourth floor was laid out like the third, with two large bedrooms. The only difference was they shared a bathroom in the hall, and had larger closets. I stuck my head in one. The bed was a mess of sheets, and boxes of electronics equipment filled one long wall. Tools were scattered across the floor.
“Who’s the slob?” I asked.
Braden snickered. “That would be Ryan. He’s quiet, though, unless he’s in a pissy mood.” He gestured. “That makes this your bedroom.”
I blinked as I stepped into the other room on the fourth floor. It had a double bed with a maroon-colored comforter on top. The bedside tables held picture frames and other small belongings, and the dresser on the other side of the room had a stack of clothes on it.
I must have looked confused because Dorian said, “It was my room, but I’ll be bunking with Andy downstairs while you’re here.”
“No,” I protested. “I didn’t want to kick anyone out…”
Dorian put his hands on my shoulders and shook his head. “No way. We want you to feel at home here. The only reason my stuff is still here is because we didn’t know you were going to accept so quickly.”
“There’s no use arguing,” Braden said. “This is your room now. Or at least, it will be once all Dorian’s stuff is moved out and yours is moved in. Speaking of which, when do you plan on bringing your stuff over? I don’t know how much you have, but I’ve got a buddy with a truck if we need…”
I laughed out loud. “Pretty much everything I own can fit in a pair of duffel bags. I can shuttle them here in a trip or two.”
“Absolutely unacceptable!” Dorian declared, jabbing his finger in the air like a debate coach making a point. “You have four strong roommates to help you now.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Are you saying I’m not strong?”
He bowed at the waist. “The emphasis of my argument is on the math of the situation, not your capability. Five helpers is better than one.”
“I’ll gladly accept the help, then.” I pointed at the window on the other side of the bed. “Why is that cracked open?”
Braden shot Dorian a look. Dorian held out his hands.
“I’ve been telling him to make sure to close it, but he seems to leave it open every time he goes up on the roof.”
“The roof!”
Braden smacked his forehead. “I kind of forgot the best part, didn’t I? Come on, let me show you.”
“Hope you’re not afraid of heights,” Dorian said as he approached the window and pulled it all the way open. “Perhaps avoid looking down, if so?”
“I’m not afraid,” I said, but as they stepped out the window and onto the fire escape I began to second guess myself. The metal of the fire escape shifted under Dorian’s weight, and beyond that was open air and a 60 foot drop to the garden. They climbed the fire escape out of sight, and I didn’t want to seem afraid, so I swallowed any fear of the height and followed them. My feet banged on the metal as I clutched the railing and climbed up the side of the building.
I kept my eyes firmly in front of me until I finally stepped out onto the solid footing of the roof. My gaze slowly rose, and with it my breath caught in my throat.
The city skyline glowed with lights all around me. Rarely had I seen a view of the city from the middle of it, and it made all the difference in the world. My eyes were immediately drawn to the west, where the treetops of Central Park were visible in the gaps between buildings. I turned to the south, where the taller skyscrapers of lower Manhattan reached to the night sky like glowing yellow fingers clawing at the stars. The very tip of the Empire State Building poked above it all.
“There it is,” Braden said.
“What?” I asked, wondering what building he was talking about. But he was pointing at me.
“That look. Everyone we bring up here has that same look on their face.”
“I’m… I’m literally speechless,” I said. “I don’t know what to say.”
Dorian spread his arms like he was trying to give the city a hug. “When words cannot suffice, then say nothing! Instead, merely smile and enjoy the view.”
I did. We stood there in silence as I savored the city. It looked so different from here than it did on the ground, or back at my apartment in Queens. Like the poor saw a different version of things than the rich.
“I don’t know about you two, but I’m starving,” Braden said, breaking the silence.
“The extra practice before the real rehearsal is what did it,” Dorian agreed. “Let’s get it ordered. What kind of Chinese food do you like?”
“Chinese?”
“Oh,” Braden said, suddenly embarrassed. “We always get Chinese food on Thursdays. I hope that’s okay.”
“Dude,” I said as we went back to the fire escape. “There’s nothing more okay in the world. I could murder a plate of pork fried rice right now.”