Page 51 of Wish I Were Here
“She… she must be my mother.”
Are you going to be okay?”
It’s three in the morning, and Luca is standing outside my apartment door. I’m still wearing my scrubs, clutching a file folder to my chest. A file folder that reveals that I’ve been googling the wrong name for decades. That my birth certificate—the copy, anyway—was a lie. In some ways, my whole life has been a lie.
I’m not really sure what “okay” looks like at this point.
I hesitate in the doorway, tempted to invite him in for a drink. I have a bottle of red wine I bought to celebrate when I received the offer from the mathematics department, but I never drank it. Dad was off at the Shanti Festival, and in the end, it seemed kind of depressing to drink alone.
My gaze slides over the janitor coveralls that Luca’s unzipped and folded down to reveal his black T-shirt beneath. He’s already spent his night breaking and entering on my behalf. I’m sure he wants to get to bed, either his own, or maybe that friend on the eleventh floor’s. “I’ll be fine,” I lie.
“Are you going to try calling your dad again?” Luca asks.
I called Dad twice from Luca’s car on the drive home, but he didn’t answer. It could be because he’s asleep. Or isn’t Burning Man this week? I have no idea.
I sigh. “Yes, but to be honest, I don’t have high hopes for that conversation.” It’s not like I can accuse Dad of lying to me, because he’s never told me anything about my mom to begin with. Not a single thing. But it’s still a shock to find out that my birth certificate was essentially a forgery. I guess that explains why I only ever had a photocopy.
Luca takes a step closer, his gaze locking on to mine. “You know what you need?”
I’ve spent enough time with Luca to know literally anything could come out of his mouth right now. So I just shake my head.
He reaches for my hand. “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”
I don’t know what to say to that, both because I’m trying to work out where he could possibly take me at three in the morning where a fear of heights could be an issue, and because a little zing of electricity shoots through me as his hand closes around mine. “I—no.”
“You sure?”
“I once sailed across a warehouse on a trapeze swing, hanging on only by my knees.”
Luca opens his mouth to say something and then stops. “Really?” he finally manages.
I admit I enjoy seeing his forehead crease and his head tilt as he tries to work out what to make of this information. “Really.”
His grin widens. “I’m going to watch you do that someday.”
“You absolutely are not.”
“We’ll see.” He tightens his grip on my hand. “In the meantime, come with me.”
I set the file folder inside my apartment and let him tug me back into the hall to a window at the end. As Luca releases the locks and slides it open, I remember making a note of all the ways to get out of the building in the event of a fire, and this window was on my list. Luca grabs the frame and pulls himself out onto the metal slats of a fire escape. I mirror his motion, climbing up next to him.
It’s a warm August evening, and the humidity envelops us as soon as we’re outside, mingling with the scent of basil and mint growing in pots on the stairs. I should say something to Luca about that, mention that someone could trip over them, but then I remember all the ways I broke the rules today, and I decide to keep it to myself. Besides, I have other things to worry about, like the fact that we’re eight stories up and I may have miscalculated my fear of heights. The street looks awfully far below us. We’re much higher above the ground than the aerial silks and trapeze swings at ArtSpace. I grab the iron railing for balance. Luca’s arm slides around my waist, pulling me sideways against him.
“You okay? It’s disorienting the first time you look down.”
I nod, leaning into Luca’s solid frame. His citrus scent blends with the herbs, making me lightheaded for an entirely different reason.
“Stay on the inside of the steps.” Luca angles me toward the stairs, and I guess this means we’re going higher. We zigzag back and forth up the rickety iron fire escape, past the windows that open to floors above mine, finally arrivingat the platform that leads to the roof. Luca hops gracefully over a low brick wall and lands on the flat, rubbery surface that stretches over the top of the building. Then he turns to help me across. I keep my eyes trained on his so I don’t accidentally peer down through the disorienting sliver of space between the fire escape and the wall as I clamber across.
On the other side, I find my footing, but I don’t step away from the circle of Luca’s arms. I still don’t know why he brought me here, but at the moment, I don’t really care.
He takes me by the shoulders and gently turns me toward the edge of the rooftop. “Catherine,” Luca whispers. “Look around you.”
For the first time since my shaky ascent of the fire escape, I focus on the view, letting out a gasp.
The entire neighborhood unfolds before me. To my right, rows upon rows of slanted rooftops form a jumble of angled shapes under the glow of streetlights. To my left, Liberty Avenue stretches in the distance, the arched windows of the old brick buildings lit up by the occasional lamp in a window, the church steeples shadowed against the night sky. And beyond, past one of the city’s dozens of bridges, the lights of the university’s cathedral sparkle like diamonds on the hillside.
“Oh, Luca.” I grab for his arm. “This is amazing.”
