by Nicola Yoon
I DART OUT of the Fifty-Second Street subway and almost run into a couple making out like nobody’s business. Even without the blue hair, they’d be hard to miss because they’re basically fused together from head to toe. They need a room, and stat. Seriously. It’s like they’re having an emergency make-out session right here on the sidewalk. They’ve each got the other’s ass firmly in hand. Mutual ass grabbage.
A pinched-face man makes a disapproving clucking sound as he walks by. A little boy gawks at them with a wide-open mouth. His dad covers his eyes.
Watching them makes me unreasonably happy. I guess the cliché is true. People in love want everyone else to be in love. I hope their relationship lasts forever.
I MAKE THE RIGHT onto MLK Boulevard and walk toward Daniel’s store. At the shop next door to his, a girl is standing on a milk crate, playing violin. She’s white, with long black hair that hasn’t been washed in a long time. Her face is too thin—not fashionable thin, but hungry thin. She’s such a sad, strange sight that I have to stop.
The sign next to her tip hat reads PLEASE HELP. NEED $$$ TO BUY VIOLIN BACK FROM LOAN SHARK. A thick black arrow on the sign points to the pawnshop. I can’t imagine how life led her to this place, but I take out a dollar and throw it into her hat, bringing her total to two dollars.
The door to the pawnshop opens, and an enormous white guy in a white tracksuit comes out and over to us. He is all jowls and scowls.
“Time’s up,” he says, holding out his giant hand to her.
She stops playing immediately and hops down from the crate. She gathers the money from the hat and gives it to him. She even gives him the hat.
Tracksuit pockets the money and puts the hat on his head.
“How much is left?” she asks.
He takes a small notebook and pencil out of his pocket and writes something down. “One fifty-one and twenty-three cents.” He snaps his fingers at her for the violin.
She hugs the violin to her chest before relinquishing it.
“I’ll be back tomorrow. You promise not to sell it?” she asks.
He grunts an assent. “You show up, I don’t sell it,” he concedes.
“I promise to be here,” she says.
“Promises don’t mean shit,” he says, and walks away.
She looks at the storefront for a long time. I can’t tell from her face whether she agrees with him.
EVEN IF NATASHA WERE STILL here, I wouldn’t know where to go in the glass monstrosity of a building. I stare at the directory, trying to divine her location. I know she went to see a lawyer, but the directory is not very specific. For instance, it doesn’t say Attorney So-and-So, Immigration Lawyer to Seventeen-Year-Old Jamaican Girls Named Natasha. I ransack my mind and come up with nothing.
I take out my phone to check the time. Just over an hour until my Date with Destiny. It occurs to me that I should check the new address the receptionist gave me earlier. If it’s too far away, I’ll have the perfect excuse to ditch it.
According to Google Maps, though, I’m already there. Either Google is having an existential crisis, or I am. I look at the address again and then back up at the directory.
No shit. My interview is in this building.
I am already where I’m supposed to be.
I PUSH THE DOOR OPEN, and the bell chimes with happy optimism. I am not that optimistic about my chances here. But I have to try.
I expect to see Daniel’s dad behind the counter, but Charlie’s there instead. He’s typing something on his phone and barely glances up. I wonder who I’d have more luck with—Charlie or his dad. I don’t have a choice, though, because his dad is nowhere in sight.
I walk up to the counter. “Hey,” I say.
He keeps typing away for a few seconds before banging the phone down on the counter. Probably not the best way to greet a potential customer.
“What can I help you with?” he asks, when he finally looks up.
I’m shocked to see that his eye socket is red and swollen. It will be bruised black-and-blue by morning. He raises his hand and touches his eye self-consciously. His knuckles are bruised too.
It takes him a second to recognize me. “Wait. Aren’t you Daniel’s little girlfriend?”
He must practice sneering in the mirror. He’s excellent at it.
“Yes,” I say.
He looks past me, searching for Daniel. “Where is that little shit?”
“I’m not sure. I was hoping—” I begin.
He cuts me off and gives me a slow, wide smile. I think he’s trying to be sexy. I can see how, if you didn’t know him at all, it would work. But I do know him a little, and the smile makes me want to punch him in the other eye.
“Come back for the better brother, I see.”
He winks the bad eye and then flinches in pain.
Observable Fact: I don’t believe in karma.
But I might start.
“Do you have his cell phone number?” I ask.
He leans back in his chair and picks up his phone from the counter. “You two get into a fight or something?”
As much as I don’t want to tell him anything, I have to keep this cordial.
“Something like that,” I say. “Do you have it?”
He flips his phone end over end. “You got a Korean boy fetish or what?”
He’s smirking, but his eyes are watching me steadily. At first I think he’s just goading me—but then I realize it’s a serious question. He cares about the answer. I’m not sure if he even knows how much he cares.
“Why does it have to be a fetish?” I ask. “Why can’t I just like your brother?”
He scoffs. “Please. What’s to like? Guys like him are a dime a dozen.”
And then I realize what Charlie’s problem with Daniel is. He hates that Daniel doesn’t hate himself. For all his uncertainties, Daniel is still more comfortable in his skin than Charlie will ever be in his.
I feel sorry for him, but I don’t let it show. “Please help me.”
“Tell me why I should.” He’s not smiling or sneering or smirking at all anymore. He has all the power and we both know it. I don’t know him well enough to appeal to the good part of him. I’m not even sure if there is a good part of him.
“Think how much trouble I’ll cause for your brother,” I say. “He’s in love with me. He won’t give me up no matter what your parents say or do. You can just sit back and enjoy the show.”
He throws his head back and laughs. He really is not a good person. I mean, he might have some good parts. I think most people do. But Charlie’s bad parts outweigh the good ones. I’m sure there are good reasons he is the way he is, but then I decide that the reasons don’t matter.
Some people exist in your life to make it better. Some people exist to make it worse.
Still, though, he does a good thing for his brother: he gives me the number.
MY PHONE RINGS, and I almost drop it like it’s possessed. I don’t recognize the number, but answer anyway.
“Hello?”
“Is this Daniel?”
“Natasha?” I ask, even though I know it’s her.
“Yes, it’s me.” Her voice smiles. “Your brother gave me your number.”
Now I begin to suspect it’s a practical joke by my asshole brother. No way would he ever do something so kind.
“Who is this?” I demand.
“Daniel, it’s me. It’s really me.”
“He gave you my number?”
“Maybe he’s not so bad after all,” she says.
“Not a chance,” I say back, and we both laugh.
I found her.
Well, she found me.
I can’t believe it.
“Where are you?”
“I just left your store. Where are you?”
“I’m at your lawyer’s office building.”
“What? Why?”
“It’s the only place I could think to find you.”
“You’ve been looking for me?” H
er voice is shy.
“Will you forgive me for being such a jerk earlier?”
“It’s okay. I should’ve told you.”
“It wasn’t my business.”
“Yes it was,” she says.
It’s not the three words I want to hear from her, but it’s damn close.
HE’S SITTING ON ONE OF THE BENCHES that face the fountain and writing in his notebook. I knew I’d be happy to see him, but I didn’t expect to feel gleeful. I have to stop myself from jumping up and down and clapping my hands and maybe doing a twirl.
Gleeful.
Which is not like me.
So I don’t do it.
But the smile on my face needs to be measured in miles instead of inches.
I slide onto the bench and bump his shoulder with mine. He pulls the notebook up to his face, covering his mouth, and then turns to face me. His eyes are wide and dancing. I don’t think anyone’s ever been as happy to see anyone as Daniel is to see me.
“Hey,” he says from behind the notebook.
I reach out to lower the book, but he shifts his body back from me.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I might have gotten into a small fight,” he says.
“You got into a small fight and now I can’t see your face?”
“I just wanted to warn you first.”
I reach out again. This time he lets me lower the book. The right side of his lip is swollen and bruised. He looks like he’s been in a boxing match.
“You fought with your brother,” I say, making the connection.
“He had it coming.” He keeps his face neutral, downplaying his feelings for my benefit.
“I didn’t think poets fought.”
“Are you kidding? We’re the worst.” He smiles at me, but then flinches in pain. “I’m fine,” he says, watching my face. “It looks worse than it is.”
“Why did you fight?” I ask.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes it does—”
“No it doesn’t.” His lips are firm and straight. Whatever happened, he’s not going to tell me.
“Was it about me?” I ask, even though I know the answer.
He nods.
I decide to let it go. It’s enough to know that he thinks I’m worth fighting for.
“I was pretty mad at you before,” I say. I need to say it before we go any further.
“I know. I’m sorry. I just couldn’t believe it.”
“That I didn’t tell you?” I ask.
“No. That after all the things that had to happen to get us to meet today, something else was gonna tear us apart.”
“You really are hopeless.”
“It’s possible,” he says.
I rest my head on his shoulder and tell him about going to the museum and Ahnighito and all the things that had to go right for our solar system, galaxy, and universe to form. I tell him compared to that, falling in love just seems like small coincidences. He doesn’t agree, and I’m glad for it. I reach out again and touch his lip. He captures my hand and turns his face in to my palm and kisses the center. I’ve never really understood the phrase they have chemistry before now. After all, everything is chemistry. Everything is combination and reaction.
The atoms in my body align themselves with the atoms in his. It’s the way I knew he was still in the lobby earlier today.
He kisses the center of my palm again, and I sigh. Touching him is order and chaos, like being assembled and disassembled at the same time.
“You said you had good news,” he says. I read the hope on his wide-open face. What if it hadn’t worked out? How would we have survived being torn apart? Because it feels impossible now, the idea that we don’t belong together. But then, I think, of course we would’ve survived. Separation is not fatal.
Still, I’m glad we don’t have to find out. “The lawyer says he thinks he can figure it out. He thinks I’ll get to stay,” I say.
“How sure is he?” he asks. Surprisingly, he’s more skeptical than I am.
“Don’t worry. He seemed pretty sure,” I say, and let my happy tears fall. For once, I’m not embarrassed to be crying.
“You see?” he says. “We’re meant to be. Let’s go celebrate.”
He pulls me in close. I tug the tie out of his hair and run my fingers through it. He buries his hands in mine and leans in to kiss me, but I put my finger against his lips to stop him. “Hold that kiss,” I say.
It occurs to me that there’s one call I want to make. It’s a silly impulse, but Daniel’s almost got me believing in meant-to-be.
This entire chain of events was started by the security guard who delayed me this morning. If it weren’t for her fondling my stuff, then I wouldn’t have been late. There’d have been no Lester Barnes, no Attorney Fitzgerald. No Daniel.
I dig around my backpack and pull out Lester Barnes’s business card. My call goes straight to voice mail. I leave a rambling message thanking him for helping me and asking him to thank the security guard for me.
“She has long brown hair and sad eyes and she touches everyone’s stuff,” I say as a way to describe her. Just before I hang up, I remember her name. “I think her name is Irene. Please tell her thanks for me.”
Daniel gives me a quizzical look.
“I’ll explain later,” I tell him, and scoot my way back into his arms. “Back to norebang?” I ask against his lips. My heart is trying to escape my body through my chest.
“No,” he says. “I have a better idea.”
“WANT TO KNOW SOMETHING CRAZY?” I ask as I lead her back into the building. “My interview appointment is here too.”
“No way,” she says, and stops walking briefly.
I grin at her, dying to know how her scientific brain is going to deal with this epic level of coincidence. “What are the odds?”
She laughs at me. “Enjoying yourself, are you?”
“You see? I’ve been right all day. We were meant to meet. If we hadn’t met earlier, maybe we would’ve met now.” My logic is completely refutable but she doesn’t refute me. Instead, she slips her hand into mine and smiles. I may make a believer out of her yet.
My plan is to get us to the roof so that we can make out in privacy. We sign in for my appointment at the security desk. The guard directs us to the elevator banks. The one we get on must be the local, because it stops at practically every floor. Suited people get on and off, talking loudly about Very Important Things. Despite what Natasha said earlier, I can never work in a building like this. Finally we get to the top floor. We get off, find a stairwell, and walk up one flight and straight into a locked gray door with a NO ROOF ACCESS sign.
I refuse to believe it. Clearly the roof is just behind these doors. I turn the handle, hoping for a miracle, but it’s locked.
I rest my forehead against the sign. “Open sesame,” I say to the door.
Magically, it opens.
“What the hell?” I stumble forward, right into the same security guard from the lobby. Unlike us, he must’ve taken an express elevator.
“You kids aren’t allowed up here,” he grunts. He smells like cigarette smoke.
I pull Natasha through the doorway with me. “We just wanted to see the view,” I say, in my most-respectful-with-just-a-hint-of-pleading-but-non-whining voice.
He raises skeptical eyebrows and starts to say something, but a coughing fit overtakes him until he’s hunched over and thumping his heart with his fist.
“Are you okay?” Natasha asks. He’s only bent slightly now, both hands on his thighs. Natasha puts a hand on his shoulder.
“Got this cough,” he says between coughs.
“Well, you shouldn’t smoke,” she tells him.
He straightens and wipes his eyes. “You sound like my wife.”
“She’s right,” she says, not missing a beat.
I try to give her a look that says don’t argue with the old security guard with the lung problem, otherwise he won’t let us stay up
here and make out, but even if she interpreted my facial expression correctly, she ignores me.
“I used to be a candy striper in a pulmonary ward. That cough does not sound good.”
We both stare at her. I, because I’m picturing her in a candy striper outfit and then picturing her out of it. I’m pretty sure this is going to be my new nighttime fantasy.
I don’t know why he’s staring at her. Hopefully not for the same reason.
“Give them to me,” she says, holding out her hand for his pack of cigarettes. “You need to stop smoking.” I don’t know how she manages to sound so genuinely concerned and bossy at the same time.
He pulls the pack out of his jacket pocket. “You think I haven’t tried?” he asks.
I look at him again. He’s too old to be doing this job. He looks like he should be retired and spoiling his grandkids somewhere in Florida.
Natasha keeps holding out her hand until he hands over the pack.
“Be careful of this one,” he says to me, smiling.
“Yes, sir.”
He puts his jacket on. “How do you know I won’t just go get some more?” he asks her.
“I guess I don’t,” she says, shrugging.
He looks at her for a long moment. “Life doesn’t always go the way you plan,” he says.
I can see that she doesn’t believe him. He can see it too, but he lets it go.
“Stay away from the edge,” he says, winking at both of us. “Have a good time.”
THE GIRL REMINDED HIM a little of his Beth. Direct but sweet. That, more than anything, is why he let them stay up on the roof. He knows perfectly well that the only view they’ll be looking at is each other. No harm in that, he thinks.
He and his Beth were the same way. And not just at the beginning of their marriage, but all throughout. They won the lottery with each other, they liked to say.
Beth died last year. Six months after they’d both retired. In fact, the cancer diagnosis came the day after retirement. They had so many plans. Alaskan cruise to see the aurora borealis (hers). Venice to drink grappa and see the canals (his).