I turned to glare but couldn’t. She was crying, and trying desperately to brush the tears from her face.
“What?” I said.
“Just get in and shut the door. We’ll go? I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, for everything.” Now she was saying sorry. I looked past Laya, at the cab driver who stared back through his rearview mirror. He shrugged and put his hands up as if to say, What are you looking at me for? A few seconds more and it would have been, You’re wasting my time, man.
I gripped the top of the open door, trying to find the right words for Laya. “I can understand your anger, Laya, but I have no idea why you’re taking it out on me. I haven’t done anything to you.”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t.” She sounded tired. “Sometimes I can’t help myself. You’re a nice person—nicer than you need to be. Can we just start over? Please, let’s just go.”
The next few minutes in the cab were silent again. We couldn’t look at each other, and I began to panic at the thought of a whole lunch date, me sitting across from her trying to read her mood. What if I said something wrong? Would she dump the whole bowl of broth over me?
Inside Momofuku, we sat side by side at the bar in front of the cooks. She quietly ordered the vegetarian ramen while I ordered the tonkatsu ramen.
“You don’t eat meat?” I asked her.
She just shook her head.
“You can talk to me,” I said, prompting her.
“I don’t think I can talk right now. I’m sorry.”
We watched the cooks drop thick, raw wheat noodles into boiling broth, deftly chop green onions in a blur, and cut delicate slices of marinated pork. Steam rose up in mesmerizing wisps, then disappeared into the vents above us. Every five minutes or so, to each new guest entering the restaurant, the chef offered coordinated greetings of “Irasshaimase!” It was busy, loud, chaotic, and probably exactly the right amount of distraction.
When our ramen came, I thought for a second that Laya’s nose was running into her soup, but when I looked over, I realized she was crying. I put my hand on her back to comfort her.
She swiveled her stool around to face me and buried her head in my chest. She choked on her words and then finally said, “I feel guilty about everything. There are memories of him everywhere.”
Her statement hit me like a five-ton truck. Why did I bring her here? All I was thinking was that I knew from her post she must like this place. I had zero foresight. How could I not see coming to this place was going to trigger a monumental sadness in her?
I held her close. “I’m not a psychologist, but I don’t think you can avoid all the places that are reminders forever. Don’t get mad at me for saying this, but maybe one day you will be able to come here and smile instead of cry.” Ultimately, it was what I had hoped for, but Laya wasn’t ready right now and I should have known better.
She nodded as her tears soaked my shirt.
“I do remember last Friday,” she said. “I didn’t mean to devalue what we did. I tried to forget it because I felt terrible, and I felt like a slut.”
I was rubbing her back in circles. She was still nestled in to me. “You are not a slut. And you have nothing to feel bad about. I didn’t know him, but I imagine he wouldn’t want to see you in pain,” I said softly to her.
She sniffled. “The reason why it’s hard to hear you say my name is because Cameron used to say it like that. He lifted up the a at the end, like Lay-uhh, like he felt good saying it. That’s how I hear it coming out of your mouth. That’s why it hurts when you say it.”
Merely saying her name hurt her. I had to tread lightly. “It’s a pretty name; it does feel good to say. But I can call you George or Fred if you want.” She laughed finally. “Do you want to try to finish your ramen?” I asked.
“It’s cold and too salty from tears and snot.” She laughed again. It reminded me of the sound the wind chimes made on my parents’ veranda. I had to stop thinking about all the different reasons she was so mesmerizing to me.
“Okay, I’ll pay and we can take the subway. I’ll walk you to your door,” I said.
“You don’t need to do that.”
“I want to. We don’t have to talk, but it seems like you could use the company.”
On the subway I noticed Laya looked at everyone. She examined every person who got on and off. I would have gladly sacrificed a finger or toe to know what she was thinking, but I promised her no talking.
We climbed the stairway onto the street and that’s when I totally blew it. I headed in the exact right direction of her apartment.
“Stop,” she said. I turned and looked at her. There was obvious fear on her face. “How’d you know I lived down here?”
Recover, recover, recover.
“You live in your dad’s rental, right?”
The fear left her eyes and her whole body relaxed a bit. “Oh yeah, I forgot for a second. I don’t know how I could possibly forget that you work for my father. He basically forced us to go have lunch together.” There was something peculiar about the way she looked at me, like maybe she thought I was lying . . . which I was. “Did my dad actually tell you I lived here?”
“No, I just figured because I knew it was vacant.”
“Well, here we are, as you know. Do you want to come in?”
I couldn’t believe she was asking me. It was a bad idea but I couldn’t say no to her.
Her apartment was dark and messy. It smelled like old food. “I’m sorry. I haven’t really had time to pick up in here,” she said. She didn’t sound sorry; she just said it like it is what it is. We stood in the center of the living room facing each other. I wondered what the hell to do.
“Do you want to lie down with me?” she asked.
This was a one-eighty from our earlier interaction, but it was a sign, I thought. She trusted me a bit more. I definitely couldn’t say no now. “Okay.”
She took my hand and led me into her bedroom. Inside I noticed it was like a time capsule. It looked like a thirteen-year-old lived there. We lay down side by side on our backs, staring up at the ceiling without touching each other. There were cobwebs draping the molding above us. I wondered how long it had actually been since someone had cleaned the apartment.
I rolled over on my side, propped on my elbow, and looked at her. If I reached for her, would she move away? I decided not to question it. I touched her shoulder. She didn’t move. I ran my fingers down her arm. Her lips twitched upward but only slightly.
“When I fall asleep, can you leave?” she asked, sounding exhausted.
“Why do you want me here?”
“Because I need a distraction.”
“I feel like a placeholder or something,” I said in a low voice. I was half-kidding.
“Just stop talking. You’re not an object.” She nestled closer, and then she was dozing off. I watched her eyes until they fully closed, and when her breathing slowed to an even pattern, I realized my breathing was the same.
I sat up slowly. I took the quilt from the bottom of the bed and draped it over her. On my way out, I noticed a stack of pictures on her coffee table, nearly buried by other books and papers. I had a strong urge to go through them, but I didn’t want to continue invading her privacy. I locked the door behind me and headed toward the subway.
New York looked dirty to me, even in the daylight. It was cold and hollow, probably the way Laya felt these days.
Back at the office, I tried to sneak past Devin’s cubicle, but he caught me. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Did I hear correctly that you went to lunch with the boss’s daughter?” He waggled his eyebrows.
“Are you kidding? Now she’s the boss’s daughter? I thought you were trying to land her?”
“So, you had sex with her?”
He was infuriating sometimes and I didn’t want to make lying my new hobby, so I quickly found a way to skirt the issue since, technically, the club incident constituted having sex with her. “We went to lunch, man. We ate ramen.”
“Wh
y’d she choose you to go to lunch with?”
“She didn’t choose me. I happened to be in Jim’s office while she was waiting to go to lunch with him. Jim is the one who insisted I take her to lunch. She didn’t even want to go.”
“Well . . . ”
“Well what?” I said.
“How’d it go?”
“We’re getting married in July. She said she wanted to have ten of my babies and that I was the best-looking man she had ever seen. She did mention you, though.”
“Ha, best-looking man she’s ever seen, my ass. So, what’d she’d say about me?”
“I told her I was friends with you and she said, ‘Oh you mean that talentless, blond asshole?’ I said, ‘The very same.’ ”
“Get outta here, I have work to do.”
He turned his chair around and continued playing solitaire on his computer.
* * *
ON THE SUBWAY home, I scrolled through my phone. Laya hadn’t posted anything yet. She was probably still asleep. I went through my news app, reading headline after headline. Nothing uplifting at all: a well-to-do couple was arrested for tax evasion, an old building near Wall Street was getting demolished; and just moments before I had opened the app, a report came in that the Q subway train had run over a guy on the tracks.
When I got home that night, I immediately called Mel. “What’s up?” She sounded tired.
“Did you hear about that guy who fell on the tracks and got hit by the train?”
“Yeah, I saw that on the news. It’s why I hate New York.”
“You don’t hate it; you just love Kenny and he hates New York.”
“What’s your point, Micah?”
There was Mel, so direct. “I don’t know. Just that life is fleeting. It scares the shit out of me. I stopped doing that thing.” She knew exactly what I was talking about. It’s the twin telepathy phenomenon. I could have been talking about fishing or any number of things, but she knew.
“That’s progress. I’m relieved you don’t sit around wishing I were dead. When did you realize it was a totally demented hobby?” she asked.
“I just stopped.”
“It’s a relief you’re no longer putting my gruesome death out into the universe.”
I huffed. “It wasn’t just you.”
“Stop while you’re ahead, Micah. So, how’s your ear infection?”
“It’s better. By the way, I met someone. That’s when the epiphany hit me, Mel.”
What I was trying to express to my sister, my twin, whom I loved, was that life is out of our control; we can’t always hold on to it. It whooshes by us like a subway train that isn’t stopping at our station. We all make so many mistakes in life, and most of them are forgiven, here and now with the people we love, the strangers on the street, the judge in the court. But does any of that actually matter? Maybe there is some entity out there tallying our mistakes, our actions, or the number of times we’ve hurt someone with words alone. When the page is filled with tally marks, we get hit by the Q train, Monday evening, headed home. Some onlookers are devastated, watching to see what’s left on the tracks, and others are just impatiently wishing for the next train to pull in. Life goes on. That’s it? No more chances for the man and no answers for the people he’s left behind who are mourning.
Meanwhile, some idiot is sitting on the sixth floor of his posh office building playing Kill Your Loved Ones without any result.
I wondered if that was what religion was for. Maybe it’s why we pray . . . in hopes that some of the little tally marks will be erased for ourselves and the people we love.
“Are you gonna say anything, Melissa? I said I met someone.”
“I heard you. I thought you were going to elaborate. You’ve dropped quite a bit on me in one minute and thirty seconds.” Her voice was low, like she was trying to prevent Kenny from hearing. I wasn’t sure why.
“She’s beautiful and smart,” I said.
“Well, Micah, what’s the problem, then?”
“She’s been through a lot.”
“Why are you being cryptic?” she asked.
“Why are you whispering, Melissa?”
“Because Kenny was complaining about how much you and I talk, and how close we are.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I’ve been hanging out with you since we were fetuses. Of course we’re close.”
“He’s just being insecure because I’ve been on his case and now he’s acting all weird. I’m just so damn tired of eating granola and goji berries. But we’re getting off the subject. I asked you, why are you being so cryptic?”
“Because you know her, or at least about her, and I’m afraid if I tell you who she is, you’ll start to lecture me.”
“That’s like a self-fulfilling prophecy. If you think I should lecture you, now I have to lecture you. Do you get it, Mr. Ivy League?”
“Yes, Miss Junior College Dropout.”
“I finished junior college, dick.”
“That’s right. What was it? An associate’s degree in horticultural studies so you could grow weed for Kenny?”
“I grow pot for dispensaries, okay? It helps a lot of people with cancer who are going through chemotherapy, and it supports us. I’m saving lives, too. Stop trying to change the subject.”
“By the way that Marijuana Mac and Cheese you made practically killed Devin,” I said.
“Wouldn’t that have been a gift to the world? Back to the topic!”
“It’s Jim’s daughter,” I blurted out.
“Okay, and . . . ?”
“She was married to Cameron Bennett.” I was fishing to see if she’d know who he was.
“Oh my god, your boss’s daughter was married to that crazy stunt guy?”
“You knew about him?”
“I remember it was all over the news. It happened right before your bizarre beard stage started.”
“I shaved it, and anyway, Kenny has a beard,” I said.
“Yeah, but yours was gross. Listen, I think you’d be walking on dangerous ground with that girl. Let me break it down: she’s your boss’s daughter, and she’s a widow. I’m hanging up now so I don’t lecture you.”
“Go ahead. Hang up.” But of course she didn’t.
“I mean, can you do anything normal, Micah? You have a degree from a very prestigious college. You have a good job, you’re all-right looking, I guess, and you go around sabotaging your own life. I seriously question whether or not you should be allowed to vote.”
“You said you weren’t gonna lecture me.”
“It’s impossible in this situation. That woman watched her husband die. Half of the world watched her husband die.”
“There’s something about her. Something I can’t stay away from.”
“You better try. Shut it down.” Melissa was probably right, but I couldn’t get my mind off Laya, and I’d never felt that way about a woman.
Melissa and I hung up. I went to my room, lay down, and closed my eyes.
I imagined being back in Laya’s room, except this time she was running a hand down my arm, timing her breathing to mine.
I didn’t remember the moment I fell asleep.
11. Cosmonaut
LAYA
I spent another late night unable to sleep so I called Cameron’s phone and listened to his outgoing message over and over, thinking of what to say.
“Hey, Cam. I don’t know why, but I think leaving you these messages and posting on your page will somehow reach you. Or maybe you’re floating around in space like some cosmonaut receiving my signals from a giant satellite.
“I went to Momofuku today with a man who works for my dad. I cried in my soup and he hugged me. Wouldn’t Dad have been so happy if I’d married that clean-cut architect?
“Your sister still plans to free-climb El Cap and your mom is supporting her. I used to admire all of you. Your family, and the sense of adventure you all have. Like watching your mom ski moguls at sixty, and your dad skydiving,
your sister climbing cliff faces with nothing but a bag of chalk, and of course you! Flying in that bright-red wingsuit. I love you, but I think you’re all nuts.
“I’m conflicted, Cam. You always said if I wasn’t living then I was dying. But aren’t we already dying? No matter how many times you jump out of a plane and land safely on the ground, you’re still dying. That’s what life is: you’re born and then you die. But you can’t deny that what you and your sister are doing, even your dad sometimes, is just speeding up the process. Why? Why, when you had me? I was never enough, was I? How come I couldn’t see that?
“Cam, I’m attracted to the man I went to lunch with. He’s shy. He’s polite and kind and loving and I was awful to him. When will you stop making me be awful to myself and other people?”
The voicemail cut me off, so I went to Facebook and posted. I had to get back to a good memory of us.
LAYA BENNETT to CAMERON BENNETT
Cam, I loved when we first started dating and we went to that fancy movie theater where the seats recline. It was like ten in the morning, and we were the only people there. We brought a blanket and made out like teenagers the whole time. Remember? I was wearing that scarf and you kept smelling it. I had sprayed a tiny bit of perfume on it. It was the perfume I always wore. You asked if you could have the scarf. I gave it to you, kind of reluctantly, and thought it was a strange request. But then the first time I went to your house, I saw it on your pillow. Three. Two. One. See ya.
After I wrote the post, I cried, then finally fell asleep.
12. Roundel
MICAH
It had been six weeks since lunch with Laya. I tried to stay off Facebook but found myself trolling it when I was bored. It made me feel like a creep. I got into a political fight with some guy I didn’t even know. I got asked out on a date in a private message from a twenty-year-old, and I bought six stupid things from China.
I finally sent Laya a friend request. Mel caught me online and sent me a message. . . .
What are you doing on here? Shouldn’t you be working? Who are you stalking?
I ignored it.
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