Page 82 of Jesse

I sigh. Long and loud. “That was me. I swear.” I know it’s not a laughing matter and nothing about this moment has earned a laugh. But I laugh a little. “With you, I’m the real me.”

“Then who is this?” She pans her hand around the apartment. “What is this? It’s fucking weird, OK? The whole thing is weird. That security downstairs. Who rents a space like this?”

“I mean… that’s all public record and—”

“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it. What kind of family lives on four different floors of this creepy fucking building? Why am I standing in a lobby that’s supposed to be your apartment? And what kind of businesses need the security you offer?”

“Do you know what I do for a living?”

“You said you’re a consultant. For yacht people. Racing, or whatever.”

“Yeah.” I laugh. “That is pretty much my only job. But I don’t work much. I don’t need to work.”

“Neither do I,” Emma says. “So if you’re trying to impress me with your money, it’s not gonna fly.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” I say, feeling defensive. “I mean, Jesus Christ. We haven’t even had sex yet, Emma.”

“Yes, we did. Thirteen years ago.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“Since when?”

“Just… can you listen to me for a minute? We didn’t have sex yet because I didn’t want to.”

“Oh, that’s much better.”

“I mean, I didn’t want to make the same mistake I did before. I wanted to enjoy our weekend getting to know each other. And I feel like we had such a perfect day yesterday that I didn’t want to change it. Or take away from it. And when you offered to pick me up I decided… ‘OK. Let her in. Let her see the real me. What she’s getting into before we take this any further.’ And that way, if we did take it further, you’d understand me and wouldn’t feel blindsided when you…” I sigh. Throw my hands up in the air. “Saw all this.”

She looks around. At the hallway to the left of the bank. Of elevators. To the right, the other hallway. “What is it?”

“It’s a fucking office space, Emma. That’s it. Just an office space that pretty much looks like every other office space when you get off the elevator.”

“When did you move in here? How old were you?”

“Twenty,” I say. “I told you that. I didn’t grow up alone, if that’s what you’re asking.”

She glances up at the ceiling. Then drops her gaze to the floor. “You grew up down there. One floor below?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

She takes a deep breath and holds it for a moment. Thinking, maybe. “OK. Then show me that.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to see where you come from.”

“This is my home now. Why don’t you want to see this?”

“Because I don’t understand this yet. But if I can start at the beginning, maybe it’ll make sense after.”

“It doesn’t look the same, Emma. No one uses that floor anymore. Not since my uncle died.”

“You mean when your father went crazy.”

For a second I’m pissed. Because she doesn’t even know my father. But then that anger fades, because she’s not wrong. “I haven’t even been down there in more than a decade,” I say. “I don’t even know what’s down there.”

“Show me,” she says.