We continue up.
“I missed you while I was sitting up front, FYI,” Orion says.
“Same. Holding you calmed me down a bit.”
“What a coincidence, I also calmed down when you were holding me.”
Second landing, second kiss.
Someone’s cooking on this floor has my stomach growling. I don’t even know what it is.
“That smells amazing,” I say.
“For real.”
“What’s the first thing you’re going to eat after the surgery?” I ask.
“Isn’t that kind of torturous to talk about?”
“It’ll be over soon anyway,” I say with a lightness in my voice.
“You choose for me,” Orion says.
It’s hard to think because at this point I would eat this dirty banister or a human foot. “You got to have some linguini, of course.”
“No doubt, no doubt.”
“Mashed potatoes drowned in gravy. Roasted carrots. Steamed spinach. Macaroni and cheese that’s baked to the point it’s burnt.”
“I might have to break that up over a couple meals.”
Third landing, third kiss.
Someone is arguing upstairs. That noise problem won’t be mine for much longer. I’m relieved that I did all my recording back in Orion’s so I won’t have that in the background, even if loud neighbors are a classic New York staple.
“I’m excited to see these pictures,” I say.
“Which ones are you most hyped to see?” Orion asks.
A different memory rises as I go up each step.
Outside the pawnshop.
My first time buying a copy of the New York Times before realizing my connection to the cover shot of Joaquin Rosa on the phone.
Up on the High Line with Orion.
The memorial site.
The Brooklyn Bridge.
Everything on the train where we put on a show for the ages.
Kissing Orion in Times Square.
They’re all winners.
“The High Line,” I decide at the top of the stairs, right as I hear a clattering from above that I can’t make out and don’t concern myself with because I’m happy in this memory. “It’s our first photo together. I want to see how it came out.”
“I bet you look amazing, and I look like shit.”
Fourth landing, fourth kiss.
“I’m sure you look great too.”
“I said amazing! Once again, in trying to compliment me, you downgrade me.”
I laugh. “I’m sorry, my amazing boyfriend! You are amazing and I’m sure you look amazing and everything about you is amazing and I’m not amazing enough for you! Are we amazing again?”
“Yeah, sure, sure, sure, we’re amazing again, my great boyfriend.”
“I could kick you down these stairs,” I say, halfway up the fifth flight.
“I’ll just land on my pillow. But for real, I wouldn’t mind the break. You chose poorly moving into a sixth-floor walk-up.”
“I was told there’d be an elevator.”
“If you knew me sooner I could’ve checked that shit out for you.”