toward heaven, some being dragged down.
“What about it?” Phen says after a long moment.
“Is this how it’s going to be?” she asks. “We’re all going to be sorted? In the end?”
I want to hear this. I move closer, hold my breath so I can listen over the shuffle of feet and quiet chatter of the tourists around us. For a minute Phen looks like he’s going to say something serious, impart some crucial piece of knowledge about the universe, life and death, heaven and hell, eternal rewards and everlasting punishment. Then he smiles.
“If I told you it’d spoil the surprise,” he says.
She whacks him in the arm. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”
“Oh, I won’t.”
“You’re a jerk, you know that?” she says, but she’s laughing.
Phen wants to climb to the top of the dome at St. Peter’s. Good thing I’m wearing decent shoes, is all I’m saying. It takes us a while to get there. First we have to take an elevator and then climb something like three hundred and twenty-three steps in this claustrophobic, shoulder-wide spiral staircase. But then we’re outside, and it’s like standing on top of the world, Rome stretched out beneath our feet all ablaze in the setting sun.
It takes my breath away. Well, that, and I just climbed all those stairs.
“This is amazing,” breathes Angela.
“Yes,” Phen says, and I guess he should know amazing when he sees it. “It is.”
I stand at the rail and take a few pictures of the view, but I realize there’s no way that my camera will be able to capture how beautiful it is. Then I turn and impulsively snap a picture of Phen and Angela. I know the second I see it flash across my screen that I’ve taken a gorgeous photo of them, standing close together but not touching, Phen not looking at the sunset but at Angela, openly admiring the way she’s bathed in golden light, strands of her long, dark hair blowing around her face as she gazes out with a rapt expression. In that instant I get the sense that this might not be a one-sided thing, their relationship. He might like her, too.
I’m not sure how I feel about this. It seems wrong to me, an eighteen-year-old in love with someone who’s older than dirt—literally—but who am I to judge? My mom married an angel too, after all.
Age is only a number, right?
I should go, I think, slip away and let them have this romantic moment together.
But then Angela says, “I have to pee. I’ll be right back.”
I stare at her, baffled. “You’re going to go all the way down to the bottom? I’ll come with you,” I offer.
“No. You stay,” she says, and I recognize the no-nonsense tone. This isn’t about her having to go to the bathroom. This is about her wanting me to be alone with Phen.
“Wait,” I say, but she’s already gone.
“Women,” Phen says with a laugh. “They always pick the most inopportune times to powder their noses.”
“Yeah, women are so dumb that way,” I say, irritated. I don’t like to be manipulated, even if I understand why she’s doing it. I should be nice, make small talk, try to get to know him. And he is likable, I’ll admit. Funny. Charming. I can see what Angela digs about him, and I know that this is important to her, that she wants me to approve of him, but I can’t help it, hypocritical or not. For some reason I can’t quite put my finger on, he makes me uncomfortable.
He smirks. This guy is a master at smirks. “You don’t try very hard to hide the fact that you don’t like me.”
I look away, embarrassed that it’s so obvious. “I like you, Phen.”
“Right,” he says sarcastically.
“Well, I want to like you, anyway.” That much is true.
“Why?” he asks. “Why do you care?”
“Because Angela cares.”
“Ah. I guess that makes you a good friend.”
“I guess.”
“So you’re trying to like me, but you can’t quite manage it,” he says with a laugh. “Why?”
“Because I don’t know what you are,” I answer. Might as well be
“What about it?” Phen says after a long moment.
“Is this how it’s going to be?” she asks. “We’re all going to be sorted? In the end?”
I want to hear this. I move closer, hold my breath so I can listen over the shuffle of feet and quiet chatter of the tourists around us. For a minute Phen looks like he’s going to say something serious, impart some crucial piece of knowledge about the universe, life and death, heaven and hell, eternal rewards and everlasting punishment. Then he smiles.
“If I told you it’d spoil the surprise,” he says.
She whacks him in the arm. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”
“Oh, I won’t.”
“You’re a jerk, you know that?” she says, but she’s laughing.
Phen wants to climb to the top of the dome at St. Peter’s. Good thing I’m wearing decent shoes, is all I’m saying. It takes us a while to get there. First we have to take an elevator and then climb something like three hundred and twenty-three steps in this claustrophobic, shoulder-wide spiral staircase. But then we’re outside, and it’s like standing on top of the world, Rome stretched out beneath our feet all ablaze in the setting sun.
It takes my breath away. Well, that, and I just climbed all those stairs.
“This is amazing,” breathes Angela.
“Yes,” Phen says, and I guess he should know amazing when he sees it. “It is.”
I stand at the rail and take a few pictures of the view, but I realize there’s no way that my camera will be able to capture how beautiful it is. Then I turn and impulsively snap a picture of Phen and Angela. I know the second I see it flash across my screen that I’ve taken a gorgeous photo of them, standing close together but not touching, Phen not looking at the sunset but at Angela, openly admiring the way she’s bathed in golden light, strands of her long, dark hair blowing around her face as she gazes out with a rapt expression. In that instant I get the sense that this might not be a one-sided thing, their relationship. He might like her, too.
I’m not sure how I feel about this. It seems wrong to me, an eighteen-year-old in love with someone who’s older than dirt—literally—but who am I to judge? My mom married an angel too, after all.
Age is only a number, right?
I should go, I think, slip away and let them have this romantic moment together.
But then Angela says, “I have to pee. I’ll be right back.”
I stare at her, baffled. “You’re going to go all the way down to the bottom? I’ll come with you,” I offer.
“No. You stay,” she says, and I recognize the no-nonsense tone. This isn’t about her having to go to the bathroom. This is about her wanting me to be alone with Phen.
“Wait,” I say, but she’s already gone.
“Women,” Phen says with a laugh. “They always pick the most inopportune times to powder their noses.”
“Yeah, women are so dumb that way,” I say, irritated. I don’t like to be manipulated, even if I understand why she’s doing it. I should be nice, make small talk, try to get to know him. And he is likable, I’ll admit. Funny. Charming. I can see what Angela digs about him, and I know that this is important to her, that she wants me to approve of him, but I can’t help it, hypocritical or not. For some reason I can’t quite put my finger on, he makes me uncomfortable.
He smirks. This guy is a master at smirks. “You don’t try very hard to hide the fact that you don’t like me.”
I look away, embarrassed that it’s so obvious. “I like you, Phen.”
“Right,” he says sarcastically.
“Well, I want to like you, anyway.” That much is true.
“Why?” he asks. “Why do you care?”
“Because Angela cares.”
“Ah. I guess that makes you a good friend.”
“I guess.”
“So you’re trying to like me, but you can’t quite manage it,” he says with a laugh. “Why?”
“Because I don’t know what you are,” I answer. Might as well be
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