A large arm wraps around me and pulls me close into a warm body that smells like pine trees and sweat.  Jamal spoons up to me from behind.  I smile, remembering the night before.  I breathe in the smell of him and press my back against his skin.  It was a good night.  Still, there is something that nags at me, like a faint voice repeating an urgent message, warning me that this familiarity might not be what it seems.  I push it out of my mind and turn my head to look at Jamal.  

His eyes are open but sleepy.  He smiles at me and kisses my cheek.  “Good morning,” he murmurs, and wiggles against me.

It’s pretty clear by now that we like each other.  A lot.  I’ve found this kind of matched adoration only a few times in my life.  It’s usually one person liking the other more, like David with me, and I with Sean.  Shut up, brain, those men aren’t supposed to be here.  This is time for Jamal.

“Good morning,” I answer, feeling a little bit shy.  Morning face, morning breath, morning hair.  I wonder if mascara is streaked around my eyes, and if my hair looks cute and tousled, or like a startled wild animal.  Jamal looks the same as last night, just sleepier and sexier.  In my bed.  

I roll over so we can kiss.  “Is my breath bad?” I ask.  He shakes his head.  His isn’t great, but it doesn’t matter.  Probably what he’s thinking about me, too.  “I’ll be right back.”  I climb over him and go to the bathroom, wondering what I look like from behind, naked.  

Giving my teeth a quick brush in the bathroom, I see my bottle of quetiapine on the counter.  I quickly shove it in the medicine cabinet, behind a cluster of bottles.  I hope he didn’t see it last night.  Speaking of, I didn’t take my quetiapine last night and feel noticeably more alert this morning.  I’m so tired of the grogginess.  I look at myself frankly in the mirror.  I haven’t weighed myself, but I’m sure I’ve gained ten pounds in the five weeks I’ve been on this medicine.  Am I less depressed?  It’s really hard to gauge that right now, as I feel over the moon about Jamal.  I’ll call Dr. Kim this week.  Tomorrow, maybe.

I crawl back into bed.  “What do you have to do today?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he says, and gives me a squeeze.

We spend the morning in bed.  I don’t think about my depression, I don’t think about work, I don’t think about Covid-19 (as this virus has been named).  I just think about Jamal, about his body and the way he looks at me, about all the little mysteries I want to uncover.  How does he drink his coffee?  What’s his middle name?  Does he like to dance?  Does he want to get married?  Have kids?  Does he want a serious relationship?  

After I’ve made us coffee and we are sitting up in bed, watching shadows of clouds sway across the basketball court out the window, I ask my most burning question.  “Why did you become a cop?”

He laughs.  “That’s what you want to talk about right now?  Wow, this really is a big deal for you!”

“It’s not really.  I mean, I don’t think it is.  I’m just curious.  You really don’t seem like a cop,” I say.

“OK.  Well, what’s a cop supposed to be like?”

“I don’t know.  Big, tough, macho…dumb.”

He laughs and puts his hands up, mock defensively.  “Don’t hold back!  So I’m not big and tough, but police officers are dumb and macho.  Ouch!”  

“You know what I mean.  Cops are violent!  You seem so sweet and gentle.  You seem more like a teacher, or a social worker or something.”

“That’s funny.  I almost went to social work school.  And I do teach basketball to kids, so you’re not far off.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, through the Boys and Girls Club.  I volunteer there with the police.  We also run the Sunshine Division, maybe you’ve heard of it?  We give food, money and clothing to families.  We teach free self-defense classes to women and girls.  National Night Out?  That’s us.  Living room roundtables, safety zone, youth forums, all-star fanfest, shop with a cop, neighborhood outreach—”

“OK!” I interrupt, laughing.  “I get it.  Cops do a lot of cool things.  I didn’t see that as much in New York.”  I’ve hurt his feelings a little, I can tell.  I reach over and rub his arm.  He is quite muscular, but still seems too lean and sprightly to be a cop.  “I can tell that part of the job means a lot to you.”

“It does!  Look, I know there are problems with the police.  I’m not dumb, like you seem to think all of us are.  I just think we get a bad rap.  We do a lot of good, and I see part of my job as keeping the police force moving in a positive direction.”

“All right.  Thank you for telling me all that.”  I take a sip of coffee and study his face.  “So is that why you became a cop?  To do good?”

“Sort of.”  He scoots up against the pillows and cradles his mug.  “It’s kind of a funny story.”  He pauses and gives me a quizzical look, as if he’s not sure if he should tell me more.

“I’d like to hear it,” I say.  “I promise I’m not closed-minded.”

“OK.  When I was a kid, my dad was arrested.  For something he didn’t do.  And the cops beat him up pretty bad.”

My eyes widen.  This is not what I was expecting to hear.  “Was he OK?”

“No.  He wasn’t OK.  He got sent to prison, and spent ten years there.  He’s got a felony charge for the rest of his life.”

“Oh my god!  Jamal!”  I set my cup down and hug him.

“Yeah.  My whole childhood, he was in prison for it.  He didn’t get out until after I graduated from high school.”

“And you became a cop after that?”

“I know.  It seems weird, but I decided that I really wanted to make a difference.  I was so angry after he was arrested.  I hated the police!  I hated the judge, and the prison, the whole system and whoever it was that actually committed the crime and got away with it.  But then, after a while, that anger burned away and I had to really think about what had happened.”  He’s become more animated and starts thumping his palm with the other hand.  “I knew the police hadn’t really looked for the guy.  I knew my dad didn’t even match the witnesses’ descriptions.  I knew he got arrested because they just wanted to close the case and say they had caught the perpetrator.  And I knew that the police would never change unless people changed it from the inside out.  So that’s what I’m doing.  I’m changing things from the inside out.”

I smile.  It’s really sweet, what he’s saying.  But I know that my smile can’t hide the skepticism in my eyes.  Jamal must have more faith than I do in one person’s ability to make a difference in something so big.

“Wow,” I say.  “That’s really powerful.  How is your dad now?”

Jamal rubs his forehead.  “He’s…well, he’s mad I’m a cop.”  He laughs.  “But he’s good, he’s good.”

I nod.  I want to ask about his grandma, too, but I’m starting to feel like I’m giving him the third degree.  “I really like you,” I say instead.  I smile at him, and am immediately afraid that was too much.

But he says, “I like you, too,” and we snuggle back under the covers.

I’m a little relieved when we finally say goodbye that afternoon, and he makes the short walk home.  Being around him is causing such intense feelings in me that I’m exhausted after just a few hours with him.  And as much as I like Jamal, I am still holding up a facade of a healthier person, afraid he’ll see my cracks and flaws, and it only adds to the exhaustion.  But I am thrilled when we text each other to say good night, and I can’t stop the inevitable vision of the future that my mind is starting to build: Jamal and I falling in love, Jamal meeting Liz, meeting his family, us on vacation, getting married, with children.  I would never say any of this to him, of course, but the sweet fantasies lull me to sleep.

My phone dings the next morning.  Good morning, beautiful.  Open your door, texts Jamal.  On the doormat, there’s a little bouquet of white and purple crocuses that I think must be from his garden.  I text back a happy face and a heart, then send a photo of the flowers to Liz, who texts back OMG YES!!!!  Then I worry that the heart emoji was too much and obsessively check my phone for the next several hours. 

There is nothing quite like the rush of falling in love, and for the first time that I can remember, Liz and I are falling in love at the same time—she with Dr. Green, and I with Jamal.  All day, I am floating everywhere I go, happy to see every single person in the world.  I like everything and everybody.  I have become gorgeous and hilarious.  I’m sure that everything about me is absolutely lovable, seeing myself through his eyes.  And Jamal is constantly on my mind.  Every little thought of him fills me with satisfaction and excitement.  I review our conversations and dates.  I hear his laugh in my head, and feel his hands on my body.  To say I am distracted is an understatement.  I am walking around in my own private movie that only I can see.

I don’t think Liz is experiencing falling in love in quite the same way.  That evening, I go over for dinner, carrying my usual bouquet of flowers and loaf of fresh, store bought bread.  Liz is humming and smiling as she finishes making dinner.  Even Binky is commenting on it.  “What is going on with you?” she asks her mom, repeatedly, and each time Liz smiles and says, “I’m just happy!”.  But when she turns away I catch the tell tale signs of anxiety in her face—pursed lips that scrunch in and out, quick sighs, and the knitted brow.  I’m beginning to realize that I never understood just how deeply Genji broke her heart.  

I can’t stop myself from gushing about Jamal at dinner, until Binky is staring at me with a stone cold look of boredom on her face.  Her shoulders droop and she pointedly flops her fork up and down on her plate, looking straight at me.  Point taken.  To make up for it, I devote my time to playing with Binky after dinner, even putting my phone on silent so I’m not constantly imagining a hear a text come in from Jamal.

I have to keep myself from inviting Jamal back that night.  I long to see him again, to spend the night with him again, but I know from past experiences that it isn’t good for me to dive headlong into a relationship, even though it feels like every cell in my body is screaming to see him.  We text instead.  Every ding on my phone causes my heart to speed up and my chest to feel hot.  Finally I have to force myself to say goodnight, knowing that lack of sleep will likely cause some hypomania.  

I get up from the couch and make my way around the apartment, turning off the lights.  In the kitchen, something sharp stabs my bare foot.  I wince and lift my foot to see a sliver of blue glass.  That’s odd.  I don’t remember breaking anything.  I yank it out and go to throw it away, but when I lift the lid of the trash can I freeze.  A layer of blue glass glints up at me.  I’m sure I didn’t break anything.  

My heart begins to pound in my chest.  Quickly, I grab my phone and text Jamal.  

Did you break a blue glass when you were here?

After a moment, the three dots blink at me as he types.  It feels interminably long.

No, why?

I pause.  I’m sure he’s telling the truth.  It would be a weird thing to lie about.  I’m also sure that I’d have heard him break a glass, since my apartment is essentially one large room, the only door being to the bathroom.  I think long and hard for a minute.  Is there any way I could have broken the glass and don’t remember?

My hearing feels ultrasonic all of a sudden, and my muscles are tense, ready to jump into action.  It has occurred to me that I might not be alone.  I want to text Jamal and ask him to come over, but if nobody is here I’ll feel stupid.  Still, who broke the glass?  Could somebody from the property management company have come in?  But why?  I try to remember who has a key.  Liz, but I think that’s it.  I moved in here after Sean and I broke up, so he wouldn’t have one.  So me, Liz and my landlord.  

There are only a few hiding spots in my apartment, the first being the coat closet, where the fire extinguisher is, and I’ve already chosen it as my weapon.  If anyone is in here, they know I’m here and have been keeping quiet for a long while.  My phone dings.  It’s Jamal.

Is everything ok?

I hesitate, then text back.  Fine, sorry.

I open the front door and examine it.  No signs of forced entry.  I close the door and walk slowly to the coat closet, then quickly open it and grab the fire extinguisher, stepping back and raising it behind my shoulder so I can whack the crap out of someone’s head if they are in there.  But it’s empty.  I check all the other spots someone could be hiding, feeling braver each time, until I come to the tall wardrobe in my bedroom.  This is one of Binky’s favorite spots when we play hide and seek, and it’s a great hiding spot.  It looks tall and menacing in the corner.  Still, I walk over and throw the door open, jumping back.  It’s empty.

I sigh, relieved.  This is silly.  Who would come into my apartment, break a glass, throw it away, then leave?  It must have been somebody from the apartment company.  I’ve wondered before if they’ve come in while I’m not home, and I’ve heard neighbors speculate the same.  Now I start to feel angry.  That’s a violation of my lease!  I brush my teeth and go to bed, determined to call the office tomorrow and speak my mind.  

My phone dings with one last text from Jamal.

Ok well sweet dreams.

You too, I text back, with a sleepy moon face emoji.

…

I’ve forgotten about the glass in the morning, until I go downstairs for coffee and step on another blue shard.  Cursing, I sweep and mop the kitchen, then dial the number of the management office.  

A perky woman named KC answers, and I explain the situation to her.  I’m less angry than I was last night, but still very annoyed.  KC assures me that nobody entered my apartment.  

“OK, but how can you be sure?” I ask.

“Because maintenance doesn’t have keys for all the units.  They have to come get one from us, and nobody did.”  She is chewing gum and it pops into the phone.

“But couldn’t they have made a key at some point?  Or someone from the office could have come in?”

KC pauses.  “I mean, why would someone do that, though.  You know?”  Pop, pop.

She’s right, why would someone do that?  “OK, thanks.”  I hang up and my thumb hovers over my phone.  I take a breath and then text Jamal.

Can you call me when you have a sec?

I assume he’s working today, so don’t want to call.  Can cops use their personal phones while on duty?  He rings after a few seconds.

“Helloooo!” he sounds happy to hear from me.  I hear a radio crackle in the background.

“Hi.  Um, I’m sorry to bug you at work but…I think someone was in my apartment yesterday.”  I explain the broken glass and my conversation with the leasing office.

Jamal’s tone becomes very serious.  “I’ll be right over.  You’re sure you’re alone?”

“Yes, I mean, I slept here last night.  If someone wanted to murder me that would have been the time.”

“Mar, you should have called me yesterday!”

“I…” I’m not sure what to say.  I didn’t want to be the helpless damsel in distress.  I didn’t want to look like I was overreacting.  “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“OK, I’m just a few minutes away.  Hang tight.”

I hang up and start biting my thumbnail.  Of course there is the other reason I didn’t call Jamal yesterday—he might have been the one who came into my apartment while I was gone.

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