Just Remember to Breathe (Thompson Sisters)

coming together in the same place. It felt strangely exhilarating.
    It was close to midnight before we reached Robert Meyer’s apartment on the Upper West Side. Robert was, to put it mildly, obscenely rich. His father and mine were friends, and I’d received more than one obnoxiously heavy-handed hint from my parents that I should throw myself at him. I liked Robert, sort of, as a friend. But to date? Oh, hell no. Probably riddled with STDs, Robert knew exactly how his money affected girls, and had used to it to lay an impressive trail of crying women across the city of New York. At twenty-seven, he had shown no signs at all of improving, either in his disposition or level of responsibility.
    But you could be sure I’d hear more about how marvelous he was when I returned home for Thanksgiving. Sometimes my parents were so clueless.
    That said, his apartment was fantastic. A penthouse apartment with a large rooftop deck on West 73 rd Street, I’d never seen anything quite like it. Even with thirty-something people attending, it didn’t feel crowded. When the four of us arrived, Robert hugged my sister, a huge smile on his face, while Sherman glowered.
    “It’s so good to see you again, Carrie. It’s been a long time. How is the studying going for you?”
    “I’m at Rice now,” she said, “Working on my PhD.”
    He raised his eyebrows. “I did hear something like that. Good for you. And this must be Alex. You’ve changed quite a lot.”
    I nodded. “This is my boyfriend, Dylan Paris.”
    Robert gave Dylan an insincere smile and said, “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Paris. You’re a lucky man, indeed.”
    “Thanks,” Dylan muttered. It was obvious he was extremely uncomfortable.
    “Come join the party,” Robert said. Behind him, past the entryway, was a large living room. Several small groups of people were standing or sitting around, all of them in various states of inebriation. The crowd spilled out onto the roof, looking out at the skyline. Loud music was blasting from a stereo in the corner, and I could see more people down the hall.
    “Make yourselves at home!” shouted Robert as we entered the living area.
    I saw a few people I knew from school, as well as friends of both my family and Robert’s. This was going to be an extraordinarily strange night.
    I leaned closed to Dylan, put my lips to his ear, and said, “You okay?”
    He nodded. “Yeah. Just… this place takes some getting used to. What the hell does a rooftop apartment in Manhattan cost?”
    I shrugged. “No idea.”
    “I guess if you have to ask, you can’t afford it, right?”
    “Pretty much.”
    Carrie let out an exclamation, and then she was hugging someone—an old friend from school I supposed. She gave introductions, taking Sherman around the room and introducing him to people. They stood out, taller than anyone else in the room, both of them looking like rock stars.
    We mingled, and talked with a lot of people, the two of us holding hands all night.
    At one point, he said, “I’ve got to sit down, my leg is killing me.”
    He sat and wiped his forehead, and I could tell he was uncomfortable, both with the crowding and the loud music. I was going to get him out of here soon, Carrie or not. She was staying at a hotel on 108 th Street, and we could always meet up for breakfast.
    “Let me get you a glass of water,” I said.
    He nodded gratefully, and I made my way to the kitchen.
    Sherman was there.
    “Hey,” I said. “You and Carrie sure hit it off.”
    He grinned. “Yeah, I like her. A lot.”
    I returned the grin. “I’m so glad.”
    “Paris doing okay?” he asked.
    “His head’s hurting, I was going to get him a drink of water.”
    He nodded, suddenly looking serious.
    “Can I ask you a question, Alex?”
    “Of course,” I said, grabbing a glass and running the faucet to fill it up.
    “Are you serious about him?”
    “What do you mean?” I asked, turning toward him.
    He looked around the room, at pretty much everything but me, and then said, “Look. He’s my friend. And… I don’t know if you know how much into you he really is. I don’t know if you know everything that happened over in Afghanistan, either. But… look, I’m worried about him, okay? He’s been through the shit. And it wouldn’t take much to knock him over the edge permanently. Guy needs some time to heal.”
    I nodded, seriously, then said, “I love him, Sherman.”
    He closed his eyes and nodded. “That’s all I wanted