Page 2 of Only One Bed: Anthology Vol. 1
“Diet?”
“Yes, she expects everyone to do this new keto style diet before the wedding. She signed us all up for an app where we have to log all of our meals and workouts and she checks it daily.”
“So, those Krispy Kreme donuts you had at the last rest stop...Did you log those?” Julian turned to me with a smirk.
I pursed my lips and cut my eyes at him.
“Wendy is out of her damn mind. She’ll be fine when the wedding is over, I hope. But I’m too busy with school to pay her and her drama-filled wedding planning any mind.”
“So how is school going?”
“It’s good. I’m really lucky to have gotten accepted into the program but it’s so much work. How did you get through grad school.” I didn’t know much about Julian’s grad school experience, except for the tidbits I could get from my brother without drawing suspicion. But I knew it involved a lot studying abroad and photographing things I would probably only read about. I, on the other hand, lived in the research library, not remotely interesting.
“Well, I think my grad school experience was a little different than yours.”
“Yeah, I guess studying photography is a lot more glamorous than getting an MBA.”
“It’s not always glamorous.”
“But it must be so cool, traveling the world and photographing amazing locations.”
“Yeah.” He nodded then he glanced at me. “You been checking up on me?” He hit me with a sly smile that made my cheeks heat.
“No,” I stammered. “Well, yeah, a little.” More heat flooded my neck and cheeks. “Marcus talks about you all the time and I might have Googled you once or twice.”
“Wow.” He grinned and nodded. “My very own stalker.”
“I wasn’t stalking you.” I whispered and looked out of the window. I wasn’t sure why I was suddenly so embarrassed. It could have been because I was stalking Julian. For as long as I could remember I’d had a crush on him. I didn’t see him often—he and my brother didn’t hang out in the same circles as I did. Then he moved to Brooklyn right after graduation, but, when we were younger, I grabbed any excuse to see him and get close enough to smell the axe body spray he used to douse himself in. He was always really kind to me and asked me about school and things I was interested in, like he actually cared. I’d spent years convincing myself that he was just being nice to his friend’s little sister… until the night of my senior prom.
“Hey, Dee D— Nadirah,” Julian covered the space just above my knee with the large warm hand that wasn’t holding the steering wheel. “I was just kidding.”
I took a deep breath and forced myself to look at him.
“If we’re being honest, I’ve done my share of digital sleuthing, checking up on you from time to time,” he said with a little smile. It’s possible that I imagined it but I could’ve sworn I’d seen Julian wearing his own look of embarrassment, but it was fleeting. He pulled his hand off my thigh and said, “But, hey, doesn’t everyone do that?”
“Yeah, I guess.” I forced a smile. “So, tell me about the unglamorous world of photojournalism.”
“There’s not much to tell. I have an agency that tells me where to go and point the camera. I have a few clients I do side gigs for.” He shrugged. He was being modest, but his glittering eyes and smirk gave him away. Julian was an amazing photographer. He had a camera with him almost every time I saw him growing up. No one was surprised when he got accepted to The Pratt Institute to study photography. My mom, who was friends with his mom, and Marcus never neglected to mention Julian’s many awards and achievements. It was always “Did you know Julian flew to Camp David to photograph Barack and Michelle?” or “Julian won a Lucie award this year.” I Googled Lucie awards to discover they were abig dealin the photography world.
He didn’t seem to be affected by his fame. Though I hadn’t seen him in almost two years, he still seemed like the same Julian I knew.
“I think you’re leaving a lot out but I’m not gonna press you. I know you’re busy jet setting all around the world photographing snow leopards and taking selfies with the Dalai Lama.” I smiled at him and he snorted a laugh.
“Not as busy as you, college girl.” His voice got a little lower and he looked away with a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I turned to look at him. He fixed his eyes on the road refusing to meet my gaze and it made me a little nervous.
Was I missing something?
He paused for a moment before he said, “You never called me.” He took his eyes off the road for a second to glance at me and my face must have reflected the confusion I was feeling because he continued, “When we ran into each other at MoMA? We exchanged numbers and said we’d meet for lunch. I knew how nerve-wracking grad school is, so I asked to you call me…” He trailed off.
I remembered that day like it was yesterday. It was an exhibit for a photographer I heard Julian talk about. I couldn’t get any of my friends to go with me, so I went by myself. I wasn’t expecting to see him there— okay, maybe I was hoping… a little. The main reason I went was because a small part of me wanted to go, to feel close to him: to see what he saw in this artist and feel what he felt when he looked at an amazing photo. I stood in a gallery on the second floor examining a black and white photo of a child holding an orange when I felt eyes on me, smelled the intoxicating scent of a man’s cologne mixed with soap and heard a familiar deep voice.
“This is one of my favorites,” he whispered in my ear causing a wave of full body shivers that settled between my thighs. I inhaled another breath full of his delicious scent and exhaled slowly. “Benito spent the whole day shooting in this small South American village. Just before he was about to leave, this little girl comes up to him with a thank you gift.”
“The orange,” I whispered back.
“Mmhmm. It was one of her few possessions and she wanted to share it.” He nodded and rested his chin on my shoulder. He’d never done it before. It was such a welcome and intimate gesture. It flooded my body with warmth and feelings that I thought were long buried, but they were back and all grown up.
