Chapter 7: The Friend

Friday passes in a blur.

I submit my paper at 11 PM, a whole hour before the deadline. This is late for me. I usually submit days early. But this week has been different. This week I have been distracted. Thinking about a bench. A sketchbook. A pair of tired brown eyes.

I sleep late on Saturday. When I wake up, the sun is high and my phone has three messages.

The first is from my mother. Call me when you are free. Just checking in.

The second is from Amina. Did you finish the paper? Are you alive? Are you still wearing the hoodie?

The third is from Eli. Good morning. I have a question.

I sit up in bed. My heart is already beating faster. I type back to Eli first. I cannot help it.

Good morning. What question?

His reply comes fast. My friend wants to meet you. His name is Marcus. He is very annoying and he does not believe that you are real. He thinks I made you up because I have been single for so long.

I laugh out loud. Alone in my bed. Laughing at my phone.

You told him about me?

I might have mentioned you once. Or twice. Or maybe ten times. He says I am insufferable now. His words, not mine.

My face feels warm. He has been talking about me. To his friend. Ten times.

What do you want me to do about this? I ask.

He wants to meet you. Tonight. There is a party at his apartment. It is small. Just a few people. I know parties might not be your thing but I thought I would ask. No pressure.

A party. I have never been good at parties. Too many people. Too much noise. I never know what to do with my hands or where to stand or how to talk about things that are not school. And now there is this added thing. I would be meeting his friend. His annoying friend who thinks I am not real.

But Eli would be there. Eli would be next to me. And I want to see him. I want to see him before Wednesday. Wednesday is four days away and that feels like a lifetime.

Okay, I type. I will come. But you have to stay next to me the whole time.

Deal. I will pick you up at eight.

You still have my address?

I have it memorized.

I stare at the words. Memorized. He memorized my address. The street. The number. Where I live. This man who draws strangers is paying attention to me the way he pays attention to everything else. Closely. Carefully. Like I matter.

I type back. Eight is good.

Then I put the phone down and scream quietly into my pillow. I am twenty three years old. I am acting like a teenager. I do not care.

I spend the rest of the day trying to figure out what to wear. I pull everything out of my closet. Nothing looks right. Everything is too serious. Too academic. I own sweaters and button up shirts and dark jeans. I do not own party clothes. I have never needed them.

I call Amina.

"What do I wear to a party?" I ask.

"You? Going to a party? Who are you and what have you done with Nubia?"

"Eli invited me. His friend wants to meet me. His friend who thinks I am made up."

Amina laughs so loud I have to pull the phone away from my ear. "Oh this is amazing. Okay. Send me pictures of your closet."

By six o'clock, Amina is at my apartment with a bag of her own clothes. She pulls out a black top I have never seen before. It is simple, but it fits close to the body. Then she pulls out a pair of jeans that are softer than mine, more worn in. She adds a thin gold necklace. Small earrings. A pair of boots with a little heel.

"Try it on," she says.

I do. I look at myself in the mirror. The Nubia in the mirror looks different. Not like a student. Not like a scholar. Like a woman. A woman going to a party to see a man.

"You look amazing," Amina says. "He is going to lose his mind."

"I am nervous."

"I know. But nervous is good. Nervous means you care." She puts her hands on my shoulders and meets my eyes in the mirror. "Just be yourself. Not the academic version. The real you. The one who laughs at his jokes and wears his hoodie and lets herself want things."

The real me. I am still figuring out who that is. But I think she is in there. Somewhere.

At eight o'clock exactly, a car pulls up outside. I watch from the window. Eli gets out. He is wearing dark jeans and a jacket over a plain shirt. He looks up at my door. Pauses. Does not knock. He is waiting. Giving me time.

I open the door before he can knock.

"Hi," I say.

He looks at me. His eyes move over my face, then down, then back up. Something shifts in his expression. Something softens.

"Hi," he says. "You look really beautiful."

I am not used to being called beautiful. My grandmother calls me smart. My professors call me bright. My classmates call me intense. Nobody calls me beautiful. Except him.

"Thank you," I say. "You look nice too."

He opens the car door for me. I get in. The car smells like him. Like clean laundry and something warm. I settle into the seat and try to calm my breathing.

"Tell me about Marcus," I say as he starts driving. "You said he is annoying."

Eli laughs. A real laugh. "Marcus is the most annoying person I have ever met. And he is my best friend. We grew up on the same street. He is loud. He says whatever comes into his head. He has no filter. Zero."

"What does no filter mean?"

"It means he will probably say something inappropriate within five minutes of meeting you. He does not mean harm. He just does not think before he speaks. His mouth is faster than his brain."

"Sounds charming."

"He is. In a strange way. He is also very loyal. He has been my friend since we were seven years old. He would do anything for the people he cares about. He just shows it by being a pain."

The car turns onto a street lined with old apartment buildings. Students live here. The sidewalks are cracked. Music plays from an open window somewhere. Eli parks outside a building with a flickering porch light.

"Ready?" he asks.

"No. But I am going in anyway."

He smiles. "That is the spirit."

We walk up the stairs together. Eli's hand hovers near my back, not quite touching. I feel the near touch like a warmth. Like an almost promise.

The door opens before we can knock.

A man stands in the doorway. He is tall like Eli, but broader. Big shoulders. A wide smile. His hair is cut close to his scalp. His eyes are bright and mischievous. He is holding a bottle of beer and grinning like he just won something.

"OH," he says. Loudly. Very loudly. "So you ARE real."

"Hello to you too," I say.

He points at me with the beer bottle. "I am Marcus. I did not believe Eli. I said to him, I said, Eli, my brother, you have been alone for so long you have started imagining women. But here you are. Real. And pretty. How did he get you to talk to him? Did he draw you a picture?"

"Actually," I say, "he did."

Marcus throws his head back and laughs. The sound fills the hallway. "I knew it. The sketchbook trick. Works every time." He steps aside and waves us in. "Come in, come in. Welcome to my humble home. It is not humble. It is a mess. But it is home."

The apartment is small and warm. There are couches pushed against the walls. Posters taped up everywhere. A table with bottles and cups. Music playing from a speaker. About ten people are scattered around, talking in small groups. Nobody looks at us when we come in. Nobody cares.

Marcus leads us to the kitchen. He pours me a drink without asking what I want. I take it and hold it without drinking. I am too nervous to drink.

"So," Marcus says, leaning against the counter. "Tell me everything. Where did you come from? How did you meet my emotionally constipated friend? What do you see in him?"

"Marcus," Eli says. "Can you not."

"Can I not what? I am being friendly. This is me being friendly."

"You are being a lot."

"I am always a lot. She needs to know that now. No false advertising." He turns to me. "I am a lot. But I am also right about everything. Remember that."

I smile. I cannot help it. He is a lot. But he is also funny. And I can see why Eli likes him. There is something warm under the loudness.

"We met at the bus stop," I say. "On campus."

"The bus stop." Marcus looks at Eli. "You met a woman at a bus stop and did not tell me the bus stop part? That is so sad. That is the saddest meet cute I have ever heard."

"It is not sad," I say. "It was nice."

"She is defending you," Marcus says to Eli. "Already. I like her."

He points his beer at me again. "Okay, Nubia. I am going to ask you some questions. Eli, go away."

"What? Why?"

"Because I want to talk to her without you standing there looking nervous. Go get a drink. Go talk to someone else. She will be fine."

Eli looks at me. A question in his eyes. Is this okay?

I nod. "I will be fine. Go."

He hesitates. Then he walks away, glancing back once before he disappears into the other room.

Marcus watches him go. Then he turns to me. His face is still smiling, but his eyes are sharper now. "Okay. Serious time. For one minute only. Then I will go back to being funny."

"Okay."

"Eli talks about you a lot. More than I have ever heard him talk about anyone. He is a quiet guy. He keeps things inside. But he does not keep you inside. He tells me about you. What you said. What you think. The way you look at your phone. The way you bite your lip when you read." Marcus takes a sip of his beer. "I have known him my whole life. I have never seen him like this. So I have one question."

"What is the question?"

"Are you going to hurt him?"

The question sits between us. I feel the weight of it.

"No," I say. "I do not want to hurt anyone."

"Good." The serious look leaves his face. The grin comes back. "Because if you hurt him, I will be very annoying about it. I will call you every day. I will send emails. Long ones. With bullet points."

"I believe you."

"Good." He raises his beer. "Welcome to the family."

I do not know how to answer that. Family. I am not family. I am a woman who sat on a bench and went to a diner and wore a man's hoodie. But Marcus says it like it is already decided.

"Can I ask you something?" I say.

"Of course."

"What you said before. About Eli being alone for a long time. Is that true?"

Marcus tilts his head. "He has not told you?"

"Told me what?"

He thinks for a moment. "That is his story to tell. Not mine. But I will say this. He has not been with anyone in a long time. And he does not let people in easily. So the fact that he let you in means something." He finishes his beer. "Okay. Serious time over. Let us go find him before he thinks I scared you away."

We find Eli in the living room, standing near the wall with a cup in his hand. He is not talking to anyone. His eyes find me the moment I walk in. The relief on his face is easy to see.

"Did he say anything terrible?" Eli asks when I reach him.

"Nothing I cannot handle."

"Did he threaten you?"

"A little. But in a nice way."

Eli closes his eyes. "Marcus."

"He is a good friend," I say. "He cares about you."

"He has a funny way of showing it."

"He said welcome to the family."

Eli opens his eyes. Looks at me. Something soft passes across his face. "He said that?"

"Yes."

"Then he likes you. He does not say that to just anyone."