by Adam Silvera
“I take it Penny is their daughter,” Rufus says.
“Yeah. She was born a week after Christian died.”
“How’d that go? The call?” Rufus asks. “If that’s too personal you don’t have to tell me. My family getting their call was a nightmare and I’m not a big fan of talking about that either.”
I’m about to trust him with this story as long as he promises not to tell anyone, especially not Lidia, when I realize Rufus will die with this story. Short of him gossiping in some afterlife, I’m safe to tell him anything and everything. “Christian was traveling to outer Pennsylvania to sell these weird daggers and swords he inherited from his grandfather to this collector.”
“Weird daggers and swords tend to sell for mad bank,” Rufus says.
“Lidia didn’t want him to go because she was having all these hysteria freak-outs, but Christian swore the money would be worth it in the long run. They could buy a better crib, diapers and formula for the next couple months, and clothes. He took off, stayed overnight in Pennsylvania, and woke up around one-something to the alert.” My chest tightens reliving this, all the tears and screams. I stop and rest against the wall. “Christian tried reaching Lidia, but she slept through everything. He texted her every minute he could. He’d hitchhiked there with a Decker truck driver, and they both died trying to get back to their families in the city.”
“Holy shit,” Rufus says.
There was no consoling Lidia. She obsessively read Christian’s final, frantic texts and hated herself for not waking up to any calls. There was a chance for her to see him one last time through The Veil—a video chat app that drains batteries quickly, but also creates a stronger personal hot spot for anyone who’s somewhere with weak service, like a Decker on a highway headed home—and she missed those invites, too.
I don’t know if it’s true, but the way Lidia spoke about Penny in the beginning sounded like she resented her for wearing her out so much toward the end of her pregnancy that she slept through her boyfriend’s final hours. But I know she was grieving and doesn’t feel that way now.
Since then, Lidia dropped out of high school to take care of Penny full-time in a small apartment with her grandmother. She’s not very tight with her own parents, and Christian’s parents live in Florida. Her life is challenging enough without throwing a goodbye into things. I just want to see my best friend one last time.
“That’s brutal,” Rufus says.
“It was.” Coming from him, it means a lot. “Let me call her.” I walk a few feet away, giving myself some privacy.
I hit Call.
I can’t believe I won’t be there for Penny if something fatal strikes Lidia, but I’m also pretty relieved I’ll never have to live through Lidia receiving the call.
“Mateo?” Lidia groggily answers.
“Yeah. Were you sleeping? Sorry, I thought Penny would be awake by now.”
“Oh, she is. I’m being Mom of the Year by hiding under my pillow while she talks to herself in the crib. Why are you awake at ass o’clock?”
“I . . . wanted to go see my dad.” I’m not lying, after all. “Can I come over for a bit? I’m in the area.”
“Yes please!”
“Cool. See you in a bit.”
I hail Rufus over and we walk to her apartment. It’s in the kind of projects where the superintendent sits on the stoop reading a newspaper when there’s clearly more work that can be done—like mopping and sweeping the floor, fixing the blinking lamp in the hallway, and setting up mouse traps. But this doesn’t matter to Lidia. The breeze she gets on rainy evenings charms her, and she’s taken a liking to her neighbor’s cat, Chloe, that wanders the halls and is scared of mice. It’s home, you know.
“I’m going up alone,” I tell Rufus. “You’ll be okay down here?”
“I’ll be fine. I should call my friends anyway. They haven’t responded to anything since I left.”
“I won’t be long,” I say. And he doesn’t tell me to take my time.
I run up the stairs, nearly falling face-first on the edge of a step before I catch myself on the railing, hovering an inch away from what could’ve been my death. I can’t rush toward Lidia’s company on my End Day. That urgency can—and almost just did—kill me. I reach the third floor and knock on her door. Penny is screaming from inside.
“IT’S OPEN!”
I walk in, and it smells like milk and clean clothes. There’s a laundry basket right by the door, clothes spilling out. Empty formula bottles are also on the floor. And inside the playpen is Penny, who doesn’t have her Colombian mother’s light brown skin tone, but is instead very pale like Christian was, except right now she’s red from screaming. Lidia is in the kitchen, warming up a bottle in a cup of hot water.
“You are a godsend,” Lidia says. “I would hug you, but I haven’t brushed my teeth since Sunday.”
“You should go do that.”
“Hey, nice shirt!” Lidia fastens a top onto the bottle and tosses it to me, right when Penny screams louder. “Just give it to her. She gets pissed if she doesn’t hold her own bottle.” Lidia ties her messy hair back with a rubber band and speed-walks toward the bathroom. “Oh my god, I get to pee by myself. I can’t wait.”
I kneel before Penny and offer her the bottle. She has attitude in her dark brown eyes, but when she grabs the bottle from me and sits back down on a stuffed bear, she smiles and flashes me her four baby teeth before getting to work on her bottle. All the baby books say Penny should be done with formula already, but Penny resists the real stuff. We have that in common.
Lidia comes out of the bathroom with a toothbrush hanging from her mouth as she puts batteries into a plastic toy butterfly. She’s asking me something, but toothpaste-y saliva drips down her chin, and she rushes to the kitchen sink and spits. “Sorry. Gross. Do you want some breakfast? You’re so damn skinny. Gross, I sound like your mother.” She shakes her head. “Oh god, you know what I mean. I sound like I’m mothering you.”
“No worries, Lidia. And I ate already, but thanks.” I poke Penny’s feet while she drinks, and she lowers her bottle to laugh. There’s some gibberish I’m sure makes perfect sense to her, and then she returns to her bottle.
“Guess who got the alert?” Lidia asks, waving her phone.
I freeze while holding Penny’s foot. There’s no way Lidia knows I’m dying and there’s no way she’d be this casual about letting me know she is. “Who?”
“Howie Maldonado!” Lidia checks her phone. “His fans are devastated.”
“I’m sure.” I share an End Day with my favorite fictional villain. I don’t know what to make of that.
“How’s your dad doing?” Lidia asks.
“Stable. I keep hoping for one of those TV miracles where he hears my voice and snaps awake, but that obviously didn’t happen. Nothing we can do but wait.” It’s crunching my insides talking about this. I sit beside the playpen and pick up some stuffed animals—a smiling sheep, a yellow owl—and bounce them toward Penny before tickling her. I’ll never have any moments like this with my own kids.
“I’m sorry to hear that. He’ll pull through. Your dad is badass. I keep telling myself he’s just taking a nap from all that badass-ness.”
“Probably. Penny’s done with her bottle. I can burp her.”
“Godsend, Mateo. Godsend.”
I wipe Penny’s face clean, pick her up, and pat her back until I get that burp and laugh out of her. I do my signature Dinosaur Walk, where I stomp around like a T. rex with Penny in my arms, which always seems to relax her. Lidia walks over and turns on the TV.
“Yes, it’s six-thirty. Time for cartoons, aka the only time I have to clean up the previous day’s messes before it all goes to hell again.” Lidia smiles at Penny, slides toward us, and kisses her on the nose. “What Mommy meant to say is what a treasure her little Penny is.” Under her breath and behind a smile she adds, “A treasure that leaves nothing buried around.”
I laugh and put Penny down. L
idia gives Penny the plastic butterfly and collects clothes from the floor. “What can I do to help?” I say.
“You can never change, for starters. Then you can throw all her toys back in the chest, but leave the sheep alone or she’ll freak out. And in return I will love you forever and ever. I’m going to put her clothes in her drawers. Give me a minute or ten.” Lidia leaves with the laundry basket.
“Take your time.”
“Godsend!”
I love Lidia in all her forms. Before Penny, she wanted to graduate high school with top honors and go to college to pursue politics and architecture and music history. She wanted to travel to Buenos Aires and Spain, Germany and Colombia, but then she met Christian and got pregnant and found happiness in her new world.
Lidia used to be the girl who got her hair straightened after school every Thursday, was always glowing without makeup, and loved photo-bombing strangers’ photos with goofy faces. Now her hair is what she calls “somewhat cute, somewhat lion’s mane,” and she will never approve any photo to go up online because she thinks she looks too burned out. I think my best friend glows even brighter than before because she’s been through a change, an evolution that many can’t handle. And she’s done it solo.
When I’m done throwing all the toys back into their chest, I sit down with Penny on the floor, watching as she blows raspberries whenever the cartoon characters ask her questions. This is Penny’s beginning. And one day she’ll find herself on the terrible end of a Death-Cast call and it sucks how we’re all being raised to die. Yes, we live, or we’re given the chance to, at least, but sometimes living is hard and complicated because of fear.
“Penny, I hope you figure out how to become immortal so you can rule this place for as long as you like.”
Here’s my vision of Utopia: a world without violence and tragedies, where everyone lives forever, or until they’ve led fulfilling and happy lives and decide themselves that they want to check out whatever’s next for us.
Penny responds with gibberish.
Lidia comes out of the other room. “Why are you wishing Penny immortality and world domination while she’s learning how to say ‘one’ in Spanish?”
“Because I want her to live forever, obviously.” I smile. “And make minions of everyone else.”
Lidia’s eyebrows rise. She leans over, picks up Penny, and holds her out to me. “Penny for your thoughts?” We both cringe. “That is never going to be funny, is it? I just keep going for it, hoping that the next time will be it, but no.”
“Maybe next time,” I say.
“Honestly, you don’t even have to give me your thoughts. If you want Penny you can have her for free.” She flips Penny around and kisses her eyes and tickles her armpit. “Mommy meant to say that you’re priceless, little Penny.” Then she mutters, “The priciest priceless little Penny ever.” She sets Penny back down in front of the TV and continues cleaning.
The relationship I have with Lidia isn’t the kind you see in movies or maybe have with your own friends. We love each other to death, but we don’t go around talking about it. It’s understood between us. And words can sometimes be awkward, even when you’ve known someone for eight years. But today I have to say more.
I prop up a framed picture of Lidia and Christian that was tipped over. “Christian has got to be crazy proud of you, you know. You’re Penny’s shot at happiness in a world that makes cheap promises and has no guarantees and doesn’t always reward those who never did wrong. It’s like, the world will just as easily screw with a good person as it will a not-so-good one, but you devote your days to someone else selflessly anyway. Not everyone is programmed like you.”
Lidia stops sweeping. “Mateo, where is this random flattery coming from? What’s going on?”
I carry a bottle of juice over to the sink. “Everything’s okay.” And everything will be okay. She’ll be okay. “I should probably head out in a bit. I’m tired.”
I’m not lying.
Lidia’s eyes twitch. “Before you go, could you help me with a couple more chores?”
We move silently through the living room. She scrubs oatmeal off a pillow, and I dust her air conditioner. She collects cups, and I arrange all of Penny’s shoes at the door. She folds laundry, peeking over at me, while I break down some diaper boxes. “Could you take out the garbage?” she asks, her voice cracking a little. “Then I need help assembling that little baby bookcase you and your dad got Penny.”
“Okay.”
I think she’s catching on.
I place the envelope of cash on the kitchen counter when she leaves the room.
Even as I grab the trash bag out of the bin, I know I won’t be able to return. I step out into the hallway and throw the bag down the chute. If I go back in, I’ll never leave. And if I don’t leave, I’ll die in that apartment, possibly in front of Penny, and that’s not how I want to be remembered—Rufus’s approach is really smart and thoughtful.
I pull out my phone and block Lidia’s number so she can’t call or text me to come back.
I feel nauseous and a little dizzy, slowly making my way back downstairs, hoping Lidia understands, and hating myself so much I race down the stairs faster and faster. . . .
RUFUS
6:48 a.m.
Who put down ten dollars I’d find myself on Instagram on my End Day? Because you’re now ten dollars richer.
The Plutos still haven’t responded to a single text or phone call. I’m not freaking out too hard because they’re not Deckers, but damn, could someone at least let me know if the cops are still on my ass or not? My money’s on everyone being passed out. I’d nap too if you put a bed in front of me. A chair with armrests would work as well. Definitely not this lobby bench that could seat two people max. I’m not about to rest fetus-position style, that’s not me.
I’m scrolling through Instagram, expecting to find a new post from Malcolm’s account (@manthony012), but there’s been nothing since nine hours ago when he uploaded that unfiltered photo of a Coca-Cola bottle with his name on it. He’s Team Pepsi in the world war of Pepsi versus Coke, but he was so happy seeing his name in that bodega fridge that he couldn’t resist. The caffeine only got him more hype before the fight.
I shouldn’t call that thing with Peck a fight. Peck couldn’t even get a swing on me with the way I pinned him.
I’m texting Aimee an apology, even though I only half-mean it because her little shit boyfriend unleashed the cops on me at my own damn funeral, when Mateo comes running down the stairs at a dangerous speed. He’s bulleting to the front door and I catch up with him. His eyes are red and he’s breathing hard, like he’s fighting back a serious cry.
“You good?” He’s not, that was stupid to ask.
“No.” Mateo pushes the lobby door open. “Let’s go before Lidia chases me down.”
I’m eager to get a move on too, believe me, but his silent mode isn’t gonna fly with me. I wheel my bike alongside him. “Come on, get whatever it is off your chest. Don’t carry this around all day.”
“I don’t have all day!” Mateo shouts, like someone finally pissed off he’s dying at eighteen. Turns out there’s some fire in him. He stops at the curb and sits down, straight reckless, probably waiting for a car to knock him out of his misery.
Down goes my bike’s kickstand, up goes Mateo as I slide my arms under his and pick him up. We move away from the curb and lean against the wall and he’s shaking, like he really doesn’t wanna be out here, and when he slides down to the ground, I go with him. Mateo takes off his glasses and rests his forehead on his knees.
“Look, I’m not gonna hit you with some impassioned speech. I don’t have one in me and that’s not what I’m about.” I gotta do better than that. “But I know that frustration you’re feeling, dude. You have options, thankfully. If you wanna go back to your dad or best friend, I’m not stopping you. If you wanna ditch me, I’m not chasing you. It’s your last day, live it however the hell you want. If you want help living it
, I got you.”
Mateo lifts his head and squints at me. “Sounded pretty impassioned to me.”
“Yeah. My bad.” I like him better with his glasses, but no-glasses is a good look on him, too. “What do you wanna do?” If he ditches, I’ll respect it, and I’ll figure out my next move. I gotta see what’s what with the Plutos, but I can’t sneak back there, I don’t know if there are eyes on the place.
“I want to keep moving forward,” Mateo says.
“Good call.”
He puts his glasses back on, and, I don’t know, if you wanna put together some analogy on how he’s seeing the world with new eyes or something, be my guest. I’m just relieved I’m not taking this day on alone.
“I’m sorry for yelling,” Mateo says. “I still think not saying goodbye is the right move, but it’s something I’ll regret all day.”
“I didn’t get to say my piece to my friends either,” I say.
“What happened at your funeral?”
All my talk about honesty and getting stuff off your chest, and I’m not being straight with him. “It got interrupted. I haven’t been able to reach my friends again since then. I’m hoping they’ll hit me up before . . .” I crack my knuckles as cars go by. “I want them to know I’m okay. No mystery over if I’m dead yet or not. But I can’t keep texting them until whatever happens finally goes down.”
“Set up a CountDowners profile,” Mateo suggests. “I’ve followed enough stories online and I can help you navigate it.”
I bet he can. Going by that logic, I’ve watched enough porn to make me a sex god. “Nah, that stuff isn’t me. I never even got on board with Tumblr or Twitter. Just Instagram. The photography stuff is still pretty new, just a few months. Instagram is dope.”
“Can I see your account?”
“Sure.”
I hand him my phone.
My profile is public because I don’t care if some stranger stumbles onto it. But it’s crazy different watching a stranger scroll through my photos. I feel exposed, like I’m stepping out of the shower and someone is watching me wrap a towel around my boys. My earlier photos are pretty amateur-hour because of bad lighting, but there’s no edit button and that’s probably for the best.