Page 46 of The Truth of Our Past

“Okay, we’re here.” Alec opens the door and I slide out after him.

I step onto the sidewalk and tilt my head so far back, Alec grabs my arm to prevent me from toppling over into the street. It’s an enormous cathedral, and even though I’m not religious, the sheer beauty of it staggers me.

“This is St. Patrick’s.” Alec swaggers toward the cathedral.

I expect him to open the grandiose wooden doors, which stand a couple of stories high, but he walks around the corner and knocks on a side door. A heavily tattooed man greets Alec with a half hug and thump on the back. He extends his hand to me and leads us down a long hall that opens up into the cathedral.

The opulence is something that could never be replicated today. I stand there, insignificant amid the rows and rows of pews resting on stunning marble among the towering regal columns standing sentry. The stained glass seems miles above me, and I wish I could trace the intricate designs. I commit them to memory. It must have taken decades to create. The man tells me what I assume are interesting facts and the history of the church, but my eyes are so overwhelmed my ears can’t listen.

We’re able to walk around and I run my hands over the wooden pews, needing tactile confirmation of the experience. Alec’s friend leaves us alone and I investigate the enclaves, admiring the workmanship while he explains the religious significance of every part of the church. I admire the rituals and traditions.

The sun creates rainbows of light from the stained glass. Each individual pane is elaborate and unique. The amount of time and artistry required to make the thousands or hundreds ofthousands of panes is astounding. Alec sits beside me, content to watch me catalog the stories being told by the church.

As we’re walking out, I can’t help myself. I take Alec’s hand to squeeze it. “Thank you.”

“This is just the first stop, Viking.” He tugs my belt loop, and it takes all my restraint not to yank his hand to pull him into a kiss. I am not familiar with the rules for public displays of affection between fake boyfriends.

A cab takes us to our next stop, and I’m standing in front of Patience, one of the majestic lions guarding the New York City Library, another work of spectacular architecture.

“His brother, Fortitude, is on the Northern side.” Alec waits as I examine it.

Patience is lying seemingly relaxed but with the air of power, ready to pounce. Patience and Fortitude are life lessons dressed up in marble, making me realize I need to get over myself.

The grand scale of the building and rooms, once again, humbles me. The ceiling in the main reading room is magnificent and Alec tells me the room itself is over two blocks long. Ornately carved wood panels on the ceiling are inlaid with ethereal murals depicting vibrant, cloudy skies. Painting a ceiling would be torturous. No wonder Michelangelo hated it.

We amble down the center aisle of the room between the tables. The stark lines of the ceiling and the stacks of books are incontrast with the arched windows and chandeliers. The library holds so many treasures, I could spend a week here and not see everything.

Alec has an immense amount of knowledge regarding the library as well. I am totally in awe of him as well as our surroundings.

When he tells me he spent a lot of time here when he was homeless, I have the urge to fight his family and all the people who hurt him. Alec brings out a violent side I never knew I had.

I can’t protect him from his past, and I hate thinking of someone harming him in the future.

He brings my focus back to the treasures around us, and too soon, Alec is dragging me out, handing me a bottle of water and a protein bar.

The sun, low in the cloudy gray sky, is the only indication it’s late in the day as we rush down a flight of stairs to board a subway train.

“You’re staring. Stop it.” Alec elbows me, and I notice people watching us.

I have been staring. This is the true meaning of America’s melting pot. It’s such a departure from Sweden. I’ve never seen such diversity in one tight tin-can-esque location.

We’re standing shoulder to shoulder, hanging onto the overhead bar, and I lean into Alec, soaking up his warmth and energy. An overcrowded subway is hardly the place to seek warmth, but Alec’s warmth is more than heat. It’s something more that if I try to name, I will forget that this is fake and that I plan to leave the US as soon as I establish myself as an artist.

We emerge onto Wall Street and it’s easy to be overwhelmed taking in the sights. I learn my lesson. Trying to walk while looking up can cause vertigo. But Alec holds on to me, so maybe the disorientation is worth it.

He’s walking backward down the street, eager to show me our destination. He turns and steps onto a concealed escalator to Elevated Acres.

“This place is spectacular in the spring and summer. It’s a green oasis in the middle of the busy city.” Alec’s steps are slow and measured now.

The wood boardwalks stretch around trees and plants waiting for spring. But the view steals my focus. The skyline alone is breathtaking, but coupled with the water, it turns this spot—awe-inspiring. Millions of people are bustling around this sanctuary, and I bear witness to it all.

The wind off the water stings my face and I’m unable to fight the urge to wrap my arm around Alec as we stand at the railing overlooking the water. Today has been a gift.

“Is this where you either toss me over or politely maneuver me into place to block the wind for you?” His hair is blowing sideways and his dimples peek out to kill me where I stand.

“Good options.” I use my free hand to tap a finger to my lips. “It’s hard to decide.” It’s so cold, every muscle in my face aches.

“Someone is hangry.” Alec throws an arm up over my shoulder but tilts off balance.

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