The Best Possible Answer

by E. Katherine Kottaras

  I mean, he’s flirting with her. He responded to a half-naked photo of her with his phone number. It’s what she wanted. And I need to remember that as good as I felt in that crazy, wonderful moment yesterday, I don’t want him. Life is complicated enough as it is. And I want Sammie to be happy.

  “He wants me to text him.”

  “So, text him, then.”

  “Okay. Yeah. Yeah? Okay. I’ll do it.”

  She hovers over her phone and sends him a message. I don’t ask what it says. I lie back down.

  She lies back next to me. “Okay. I sent it. Oh God. I can’t believe it.”

  “Did he say anything else with the picture?”

  “No. It’s just his number. I hope it was meant for me. Maybe it wasn’t meant for me?”

  “It was meant for you.”

  Her phone lights up. She reads the message and nearly wakes the whole building with her squeal. “HE WANTS TO COME OVER!”

  “Wait. What? Here? Now?”

  “Yes.” She ignores my questions while she types something back to him and then throws the cover off our legs. “He’s riding his bike over from campus. Come on. Get up. We’ve got to get ourselves together. Will you fix my hair? Maybe that cool braid again? I’ve got to put on some lipstick or something. He’s going to be here in ten minutes.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. He says he needs us for something.”

  “He knows I’m here?”

  “Yes, I told him.” And then it hits me at the same time it hits her. “Maybe he just wants to see you.”

  She’s right. She’s totally and completely right. This is the point where I should admit it all. I should tell her that he kissed me—that I kissed him.

  But I don’t. Instead, I insist that’s not what it is, because I can’t let it go any further. “He messaged you,” I say. “He texted you.”

  “Yeah, okay. You’re right.”

  We get ourselves dressed quietly so as not to wake her mom, who probably came home around two, like usual. I braid Sammie’s hair and then sit on her bed while she works her makeup magic in her mirror: foundation, eyeliner, mascara, lipstick, the works.

  I throw my hair in a ponytail and put on my bra.

  Her phone buzzes, and she checks it. “He’s downstairs,” she says.

  She tells the doorman to send him up. A few minutes later, there’s a soft, rhythmic knock at the door.

  “He’s here.” She looks terrified.

  “So answer it.”

  “Yes. Okay. I’ll answer it.”

  I follow her down the hallway and through the empty living room. She opens the door. Evan’s standing there, clearly upset.

  He doesn’t say hi or anything—there are no formal greetings, no pleasantries or salutations. He walks past us and sits on the couch. “I need your help. Professor Cox needs your help. He’s in trouble. Deep trouble.” He’s breathless and upset.

  “Shhh,” Sammie says. “My mom’s sleeping. Come on. Let’s go up to the roof.”

  Sammie leads us out the door, and we follow her toward the elevator. Evan looks at me, and I have to look away, for fear of acknowledging what happened yesterday. He reaches for my hand to try to hold it, but I pull back and shake my head.

  Sammie turns and asks, “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing!” I say.

  This confuses Sammie. “What? What are you talking about?”

  “What? Oh, you mean with Professor Cox? Yeah—” I try to recover. “What’s going on, Evan?”

  The elevator door opens. “I’ll tell you when we get upstairs,” Evan says. “I’ll explain everything. Or at least I’ll try to.”

  Inside the elevator, the air between us is thick. We’re all facing one another, our backs against the mirrored wall, and it’s so incredibly awkward. Sammie looks at Evan, and then Evan looks at me. I try my best to keep my attention on the numbers that rise one by one as the elevator takes us up to the roof.

  Finally, the elevator door opens. We follow Sammie out, and she uses her keys to unlock the fire door.

  We walk through the party room and exit onto the roof. The sky is dark and blue in the west, while Lake Michigan, in the east, is lit up orange from the rising sun. Below us the city is not quite awake. There’s a weird silence in the air, and I’m not sure if it’s because of Evan or if it’s something else completely.

  At first, we try to sit down on the benches, but they’re wet with dew, so we just lean against the railing and look out at the sunrise. It’s early Monday morning, and most Bennett residents are on their way to work. Even my mom must be up already, getting Mila ready for camp. I probably should go down and let her know I’m with Sammie. But I figure if she were really worried, she would have texted Sammie already.

  “Professor Cox called me last night. He’s in jail. Someone called after that tomato stunt. I was his one phone call. He needs my help.”

  “What tomato stunt?” Sammie asks.

  Evan fills her in on what happened yesterday.

  “I can’t believe I missed it,” Sammie says. “What does he want from you?”

  “Well, first, to make sure his dog is okay. And something about clearing out some things. Some incriminating things, maybe?”

  “That’s why you came here?” Sammie asks, clearly disappointed that he hasn’t come for her. “To convince us to do what, exactly?”

  “Honestly? Nothing. I just needed to get into the building. And now that I’m in, I don’t really need you to do anything, I guess. He said there’s a key under the mat, and technically, I could just go in myself.” And then he says, “But I’d like for you guys to come with me.”

  “Okay,” Sammie says quickly. “I’m in.”

  I know Sammie doesn’t want me here, so this should be the perfect excuse to say no, but I’m worried that if I leave Evan and Sammie alone together, he’ll tell her about our kiss.

  “Ugh,” I say. “Really? We’re really doing this?”

  “Don’t you want to prove to Professor Harold Joseph Cox that there’s love in the world? I mean, he reached out for help, and we need to show him that there are good people like us who could love him.”

  “And destroy evidence for him?”

  “Yes.” Evan laughs quietly. “And destroy evidence for him.”

  “Fantastic,” I say. “This is exactly what I want to be doing on a beautiful summer’s morning. Sneaking into odd men’s apartments and committing possibly illegal but ultimately altruistic acts of deception.”

  The building, with its skeleton of concrete and steel, breathes heavily against the push of the elevator’s descent. There’s a constant hum of air—it sweeps up through the elevator shaft as we descend toward the eleventh floor—it’s louder than usual, maybe because we’re not stopping at multiple floors to pick up more passengers. Or maybe it’s because we’re all quiet and nervous, and it’s even more awkward and weird between us now. Along with the loud hum of the building I hear the beating of my own heart inside my head.

  The doors open to the silent and empty hallway.

  “Professor Cox said it’s eleven eighteen,” Evan says.

  “This way,” Sammie says. “He’s kitty-corner from you. Right, Vivi?”

  “Let’s see, if I’m in sixteen twenty-two—” We walk to 1118. “Then yes, he’d be two over in this direction.”

  A door opens down the hall and a mom with a kid in a stroller emerges, the kid in full tantrum mode, crying and screaming for his pacifier. She gives us a suspicious look, like she knows we don’t belong here.

  Rather than stopping at Professor Cox’s door, Sammie and I follow Evan as he continues walking down the hall. “Did we get off at the wrong floor?” he says, and then we follow him into the emergency stairwell.

  We wait there for a few minutes until we hear the ding and the shutting elevator doors, which drown out the wailing kid’s cries.

  Evan sneaks a peak into the hallway. “All clear,” he says. We follow him to number 1
118.

  Evan bends down to look for the key, which Professor Cox said was under the mat. We hear sniffing from behind the door. “Must be his dog,” I say, and then he starts barking and scraping. “Is it there?”

  “Got it,” Evan says. He stands up and holds out a gold key. “Here we go.”

  He puts the key in the lock and turns. The door opens. The dog jumps at our feet, and his barking echoes through the hallway even louder now. “Quick, get in.” Evan bends down and picks him up. “Shhh, boy. It’s okay. Everything’s okay now.”

  Sammie and I follow Evan inside, and I shut the door.

  I expected the smell of dog, but instead I’m hit by the thick, sharp smell of incense—patchouli and orange. Even from Sammie’s apartment, we could only really see the front room, the dining room, where his cactuses are. I also expected a bizarre dungeon of a room, but when I step inside, I’m shocked by the emptiness of it. It’s a small studio apartment that’s decorated all in white, like a hospital room. There’s a small white futon that looks like it serves as his bed, with neatly folded sheets and blankets on the table next to it. Apart from the dining room table, there’s not much else—just a desk with some papers scattered on top and a small white bookshelf with a few dozen books stacked in piles.

  “It’s like he just moved in,” Sammie says.

  “Or is about to move out,” I say.

  Evan picks up Professor Cox’s shivering dog in his arms. He takes the dog to the kitchen, where he pours out some food and water. “He already went on the floor,” he calls. “Poor guy. We’ll need to take him out.”

  “Does he have a name?”

  “His dog tag says ‘Peyton Manning.’ Never would have taken Professor Cox for a Broncos fan.” The dog takes a break from drinking his water to lick Evan’s hand. “But he’s cute.”

  I walk around the apartment and try to figure out what it is, exactly, we’re searching for. On the walls are a few of his paintings and some framed photos of Professor Cox posing with his dog, and I have to admit, it’s really sweet, but also really sad. There are no photos of him with anyone else. I wonder who the photographer was.

  Sammie runs to the closet. “Let’s look for the bathing suits!”

  “How about we just take care of his dog,” I say. “And then let’s get out of here?”

  “Found them!” Sammie’s standing at the open closet, and there they are: a few dozen bathing suits, each on a hanger.

  “Unbelievable.” I turn to Evan. “What, exactly, are we supposed to be looking for?”

  He shrugs. “Honestly, I’m not sure. Something he’s worried about the police finding? Anything that looks weird or suspicious, I guess?”

  “All I see are clothes. And shoes. And bathing suits. Lots and lots of bathing suits.”

  The dog emerges from the kitchen and runs straight to Evan. Evan picks him up and takes him over to the desk. “What have we got here, boy?” Evan shuffles through a stack of postcards. “Oh no … take a look at this.”

  Sammie and I walk over and each of us picks up a batch to skim through. They’re notes, postmarked and sent via USPS. All addressed to Professor Cox, from Petyon Manning—the Chihuahua, not the football player.

  “I didn’t realize it was so bad,” Evan says. Some are notes, little philosophical musings about “idealism” and “materialism,” which are vaguely familiar to me from my history classes, and then other notes on “reflexivity” and “agency,” which I’ve never heard of before. Then there are the orders, written from his dog, telling him to do things. They’re harmless reminders to pay the electric bill and do the laundry, but there are quite possibly hundreds of these postcards. It doesn’t seem like it’s something that was done for fun.

  “This doesn’t prove or disprove anything, really,” I say.

  Sammie heads toward the balcony. “Maybe it’s something in his paintings. I’ll check out here.”

  “I’ll check the bathroom,” I say.

  “Good idea,” Evan says. The dog barks, and Evan picks him up. “Come on, boy.”

  I did not mean for him to follow me, but it’s done. I walk into the bathroom, Evan behind me, that silly dog panting in his arms.

  Evan closes the door partway and puts the dog down. I open the cabinet door and find it near empty, a toothbrush and toothpaste, deodorant, and Tylenol. “Nothing here,” I say.

  Evan puts his hand on my shoulder, and I turn toward him. “Can I kiss you?” He whispers this. “I’d like to kiss you again.”

  I want to say no. First of all, Sammie’s in the other room. Plus, this is all so weird and complicated, standing in some man’s apartment, searching for something—I don’t even know what.

  But then I don’t say no. I don’t say anything. Instead, I stand there, silent and still. And I lean up to him. And we kiss.

  Again.

  “Viviana!” It’s Sammie, calling from the other room. “Viviana, I think—I think you need to come here.”

  “Oh, no.” I step back away from him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Sammie calls out to me again. “Vivi, quick!”

  “I’m sorry.” I shake my head. “I can’t do this.”

  I leave Evan in the bathroom and I want to run out of the apartment, but Sammie’s calling for me to come to the window.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Vivi, it’s—” She points outside. “It’s your dad.”

  “What are you talking about? My dad’s in Singapore.”

  Sammie shakes her head. “He’s right there. On your balcony.”

  I look up out the window toward my apartment, and she’s right. It is my dad. Not in Singapore. He’s here. He’s home.

  Why is he home?

  I head toward the balcony. I’m too excited. I’m not sure if he’ll be able to hear me, but I’ll call for him. Maybe he’s going to surprise us.

  As I step out on the balcony, I’m hit by a warm gust of air—it’s early morning, but it’s warming up already. I can’t help but think that my dad should change out of his suit, that he’s going to be too hot today.

  I’m about to call out to him, but he’s on the phone.

  His words float down to me before I can call out to him.

  “No, honey … I’m sorry.… I love you, too.… Yes, Paige, I told you I’d be home this week, but they need me here longer.… When I get back, I’ll take you out.… I promise.… Paige, listen—”

  Paige? Who’s Paige?

  “Yes, a special date, just you and me … like we used to.… Yes, in the beginning.”

  Who is he talking to?

  “Yes, Paige, I love you, too.… I always have.… Yes, more than anything. More than ever.”

  Oh my God. What is happening?

  The words register, one by one.

  The truth swells over me.

  The truth about why he’s leaving. Or rather, why he left. Why he disappeared and my mom’s back in school and why no one’s explained anything about anything.

  The city sways below me. I could fall into it, into the reality that is my life.

  “Vivi? Are you okay?” Sammie’s leaning out the door.

  I look at her and shake my head.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I can’t be out here right now.”

  “Okay.” She reaches her hand out to me, and I take it.

  I step inside, into her arms.

  But then I pull back.

  “I kissed Evan,” I say. “And he kissed me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Sammie.”

  “Wait … what? What are you talking about? When did you kiss Evan?”

  “Yesterday. At the pool. After you left.”

  “Before I told you I was over him?”

  I nod. “And again. Just now in the bathroom. Oh God—” I feel like I need to sit down. I reach out to her, but she pulls away. “Sammie, I’m so very sorry. I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore.”

  I say this, but it’s too late. Her face changes. She sees
me now for what I am. Whereas a minute ago she was my only friend, I can see that, here, now that I see the truth of what I am and where I came from, I am nothing but her ultimate pain and betrayal.

  Just like my dad.

  “Nice,” she says. “Real nice. You know how much I like him. I thought I could trust you.”

  “You can, Sammie. You can—”

  But then she turns away from me and starts running toward the door. She’s stopped by Evan, who emerges from the bathroom, two pill bottles in each hand.

  “I think I found it,” he says. “I think I found what he doesn’t want anyone to know.”

  “I could really care less,” she says. And then she runs past him, out the door. Behind her, Professor Cox’s dog barks at her ankles and then moans when the door slams.

  Evan looks at me, confused. “What was that about?”

  “Nothing.” The dog comes up to me and barks at my feet.

  I feel sick. Nauseous. Dizzy.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “No,” I choke out. “It’s not.”

  Evan walks toward me and reaches out to touch my arm.

  I step back. “Please don’t touch me.”

  “Okay…”

  “And please don’t kiss me. No more. Not ever again.”

  “You kissed me.”

  “I know. I did. And I shouldn’t have. I can’t do this. I shouldn’t have done this.”

  “Is this about Sammie?”

  “Yes—no. I mean, it is. And it’s not. It’s just—I need to get out of here.”

  I run out of the apartment, half-hoping to find Sammie in the hallway so I can beg for forgiveness, half-hoping she’s gone so I don’t have to face her.

  The hallway is empty. I can’t go back to my apartment. I can’t face my dad.

  I can’t call Sammie, and I can’t go back to Evan.

  I take the emergency stairs all the way down to the lobby. I exit the building.

  The city has woken up. The sidewalks are bustling with businesspeople, families, kids.

  They’re all spinning around me. Spiraling around me.

  I can’t pass out again. I can’t end up in the ER again.

  I crouch down on a curb and try to breathe. I’m stuck, in the middle of the sidewalk, crying, sobbing, heaving for breath. I can feel passersby giving me funny looks, so I wipe my face and start walking.