“Astrid. Astrid.” Oliver continues to repeat my name as he leads me to a chair.
“Don’t move. I’ll be right back,” he says.
My vision narrows to pinholes, and my skull is ready to crack wide open any second now.
Someone places a cold towel on the back of my neck. I breathe in. I breathe out.
Oliver kneels down beside me. “Do you want me to call for help?”
I shake my head. An echo of the pain remains, still loud, but diminishing.
“Can you walk?”
“I think so.” He helps me stand, and I take his arm as we leave the club.
Outside, the gusty air slaps my cheeks and helps revive me. I put a palm to my forehead, even though the pain is on the opposite side.
“Do you get migraines a lot?” Oliver asks.
“No, but since the accident . . .”
“I want to make sure you get home okay. Can you make it to the taxi stand?”
“I’m only a few blocks away.” I point in the general direction.
“We’ll take it slow.”
I’m stable enough to walk on my own, but I don’t let go of his arm the entire way to The Lab. It’s like nothing can hurt me as long as I hold onto him.
“This is me.” I point to the house, but I’m too tapped out to make it up to the landing. Instead, I do this graceless slither onto the front steps and pat the seat next to me.
Oliver sits like he’s hovering above the step, like he might leap up at any moment. “What else can I do? Maybe get you coffee or aspirin or something?”
I hold up a palm. “I’ll be fine, really. I’m mostly used to the headaches, just never had one that snuck up on me this bad before. It’s almost gone now. The air is helping.” The alarm on Oliver’s face doesn’t diminish. “Seriously, I’m gonna be okay. I’m even well enough to be a little embarrassed about it now. Thanks for being all Jane-Austen-hero-like and—”
“Coming to your rescue? It’s cool, I’m used to having women swoon at my feet. One of the hazards of being this charismatic.” He rolls his eyes at his own false arrogance.
“Oh yeah, what are the other hazards?” My words carry an unexpected weight and the look that passes between is pensive, deep.
Instead of answering my question, he asks, “Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?”
I surreptitiously hold my fingertips to the tail of Oliver’s shirt, press the fabric against the stone step.
This shirt is real. This stone is real. Oliver is real.
“Okay,” I say. “But I still . . .”
“Need my help finding Theo. I get that. I can work around that.”
“So does that mean I’m not allowed to bring him up tomorrow?”
“I won’t tell you what you can and can’t talk about on our date,” he says. “Who knows, maybe we’ll have more interesting things to discuss. How about dinner in Chinatown?”
He writes down the name and address of a restaurant, and I agree to meet him there.
When we stand, there’s an awkward beat.
“See you tomorrow.” Oliver gives me a hug and kisses my temple. Both gestures are too brief for me to extrapolate any deeper feeling from them.
I take the steps slowly, turning back once when I unlock the door.
He doesn’t leave until I am safely inside.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
..................
9/9/99
It was dark when Astrid and Theo came out of the movie theater.
“Do you want to keep going?” he asked.
“Only if you do.”
“I do.”
“Then it’s your turn, kiddo.” Astrid kept her eyes lowered, unable too look at him, though she wanted to. She smiled at his footwear: black Converse All Stars. She had a pair like that in high school.
What would he suggest they do next? She was scared that she’d agree to just about anything at this point.
“How about dinner in Chinatown?” he offered.
“Sure. Can we walk there?”
“I was hoping you’d be up for walking. Taking the T when it’s this nice out would be criminal. Especially after spending the last couple of hours inside. Not that I’m complaining about any of it. Except for the movie itself, which, c’mon, you have to admit was the worst.”
Astrid held up both hands in an exaggerated I-give-up pose.
They started down Boylston Street and soon reached the fountain and church of Copley Square. Perfect wedges of grass stretched out to the next avenue over.
“It’s so weird how there are buildings all up and down Boylston, but when you get to Copley, all of a sudden the block opens up and there’s all this space.” Astrid resisted the temptation to do a Mary Tyler Moore twirl; it helped that she had no hat to toss in the air. “I heard that’s because of the Trinity Church. It’s considered a historic landmark or something and it’s against the law to build anything around it within a certain radius, to let the sun shine through the stained glass windows.”
“Which is funny, because when it was built, all the windows were made of regular glass. The stained glass came later. But you’re right about it being a historic landmark. It was declared one in 1970. Also, did you know it’s one of the Ten Most Significant Buildings in the United States according to the AIA?”
“The AIA?” Astrid cocked her head.
“American Institute of Architects. The clay roof, stone arches, and tall tower makes it look European, but the American architect, HH Richardson, lent his own distinct style to it, which went on to be known as ‘Richardson Romanesque’ and influenced other architecture throughout the country.”
“Well that’s the last time I try to impress you with my limited local knowledge.”
Theo cracked a crooked smile. “I like that you’re trying to impress me, but it’s not exactly a fair competition. I was a tour guide for a couple of years out of college. Don’t ask. I thought it might help me get ideas for movie settings and stories. It didn’t, not really. But I could tell you a lot about the other historic buildings around here: the Boston Public Library, Museum of Fine Arts, John Hancock Building—hey, what’s going on over there?” He pointed to the fountain.
From further away, it looked like it was filled with snow, but as they got closer, they saw mounds of white foam between the two obelisks.
“What happened here?” Astrid scooped up a handful of bubbles and blew them into the air like a small cloud.
“Looks like somebody put detergent in the fountain again. This happened a couple of years ago. Let’s check out the other side.”
They walked around to the broad, rectangular basin of the fountain, which was the size of a large swimming pool. The spigots had been turned off, but not before massive quantities of suds had accumulated. Despite the weather cooling after sundown, many of the younger crowd—likely college students—had taken off their shoes and were playing in the froth.
“It looks like a bubble bath for a giant. This is insane!” Astrid laughed.
A group of guys in fraternity T-shirts stripped down to their boxers, waded around, and threw foam at each other as if having a snowball fight in slow motion. A toddler in a far corner squealed and clapped his hands as his parents—a gaunt duo wearing sunglasses—blew sudsy handfuls at him. Adding to the scene was an overweight man with a shaved head and hairy chest who tried to cover his entire upper body with the bubbles and jogged around the perimeter of the fountain like a deranged abominable snowman.
The crowd grew larger as more people stopped to watch the fountain hijinks, most gathering at its perimeter. Random camera flashes lit up the darkened basin.
A laughing couple came out of the fountain toward Astrid and Theo, bubbles in their hair, slipping on the stone steps and holding onto each other to keep from falling.
“Astrid! Theo!” The woman ran over and took turns hugging them. She was small and tan, with big curly hair, her proportions similar to a mushroom’s.
“Jen?” Astrid called out.
“I didn’t know you guys knew each other.” Jen stepped back, beckoned to her companion, a stocky man with a horse-like face and wire-rimmed glasses. “Steve, I don’t think you met Astrid. She moved in with Simon—when was that, last summer?”
“Um, actually, I’m not living with Simon anymore. I’ve been subletting in Allston.”
Mortification flickered across Jen’s face. She quickly turned her attention to Theo. “And where have you been? I used to run into you at the Phoenix Landing just about every week. Did you move out of Cambridge?”
“I’m over in Davis Square now. I’ve been tied up at work . . .”
“I think the last time I saw you was Melina’s going away party.” Jen brushed bubbles off the hem of her shirt.
“Probably. How’s San Francisco treating her?” Theo asked.
“Not very well. The dot-com she was working for went bust, so she returned last week. In fact, I think we’re gonna have a welcome back party for her soon. Which is also gonna be a farewell party for us. Steve just got a job in Singapore, so we’re moving out there next month.”
“What’ll you be doing in Singapore?” Astrid directed the question at Steve, but Jen answered for both of them.
“Systems support for a large investment firm, and I’ll get my scuba certification and figure it out from there. They’re giving him an amazing relocation package, and I have all this money saved up from the freelance web design I’ve been doing. Maybe I’ll take up sailing, who knows?”
“Congratulations. Sounds really exciting.” Astrid felt a tug on her jacket. “I wish we could catch up more, but we’re running late for our movie.”
Jen waved them off. “Of course, of course. What are you seeing?”
“Other People’s Bedrooms.” Theo and Astrid answered in unison.
“Ooh, that looks really good.” She turned to Steve. “You and I should go see that before we move. Who knows what movies we’ll get out there.”
Steve pulled a face.
Jen cupped the side of her mouth and said in a stage whisper, “Steve doesn’t like movies unless they have lasers in them.”
“That’s not what I said. What I said was, any movie can be made better with the addition of lasers.”
“Laser Citizen Kane, I can only imagine. Anyway, I’ll send you guys Evites to the party. You should totally come.” She shook her head free of stray suds and pulled her boyfriend onward.
Theo and Astrid exchanged raised eyebrows and continued down Boylston Street.
“So . . . The plot thickens,” he said.
“How so?”
“Simon . . .?” A tone of stating the obvious.
“How does Simon thicken the plot?” Maybe if she kept her voice casual, he wouldn’t dig any deeper.
“First your spooky friend mentioned him and now Jen, and you got all tense both times. You and Simon lived together, so he’s obviously a part of the story.”
“There’s no story.” A note of defensiveness in her breezy response.
“Maybe not now, but there was. I’m guessing it didn’t have a happy ending.”
“It ended, that’s it. The end. Roll credits.”
“You’re a hard person to get information from.”
“And you’re not?” She nearly missed a step, and Theo put a hand on her lower back to steady her.
“Eh, I thought maybe you could be coerced into sharing, since you’re too shy to volunteer personal details.”
“I’m not shy.” Astrid’s arms stiffened, and she nearly pulled away when he tried to take her hand, but she gave in, though her mouth remained in a grim line.
“Relax. Shyness is not such a bad thing,” he said. “Unless it’s stopping you from doing all the things you want to, like wise old Morrissey once said.”
“My friend Daphne loves quoting that song to me.” She sighed.
“Sorry to be unoriginal.”
“You’re forgiven. Anyway, remember how you got all weird on the bridge when I got too nosy asking you personal questions?”
They approached a sculpture of a giant bronze teddy bear with oversized toy blocks, which marked the entrance to FAO Schwarz on the corner of Berkeley Street. Theo let go of Astrid’s hand, instead placed it on one of the bear’s enormous paws as if to catch his balance.
“Fair enough. It wasn’t about it being personal, though, just . . . something I didn’t want to think about right then. I was having a really good time with you and didn’t want anything to spoil it.”
“Was?”
There it was, that gleam of mischief, the dare in his eyes. “I mean, you have to admit the rest of the day has gone totally downhill.”
“Totally,” she echoed.
“Totally.” He stepped closer.
They matched grins, and something finally snapped into place, a derailed train returning to its rightful track. Theo took another step closer and Astrid lifted her head. He touched her hair, leaned down and brushed his cheek against hers. She thought he might whisper something in her ear, a sweet sentiment expressing surprise or desire, something perfect to hear at that moment, but he only breathed and that was fine too, probably better. She put tentative palms on his waist, like an uncertain grade-schooler at a dance, and waited for the natural moment when their faces would shift by degrees, realign for the inevitable. A minute passed like that, frozen in utter silence. No cars or people going by, just Theo’s mouth warm against her ear, then jaw, then cheek, then an inch from her lips. They paused, not debating or deciding, just basking in that second before, which you can never get back no matter how many kisses follow, because there’s only ever one moment of anticipation leading to the first. Gradually, both leaned in and their mouths fit into place, a hungry breath of air passing between them. He squeezed the back of her neck, and she slipped her hands beneath his jacket, no longer tentative, wanting to slip in further, under his shirt, under his skin. Their mouths still tasted like popcorn and chocolate, salty and sweet.
It was impossible to determine how long they stood beside that statue, wrapped around each other. It was like being under sedation; it could’ve been a few minutes or a few hours. The wind picked up around them, but neither felt the cold, or heard the fire trucks that clanged past. The only sound they heard was breathing, back and forth, back and forth.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
..................
TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 28, 1999
I MEET OLIVER AT A small corner restaurant with no sign at the edge of Chinatown near the Mass Pike, where cars audibly whizz by. Inside are four curved booths and a handful of tables that could’ve been rescued from a garage sale. He waits for me in one of the booths, stands to greet me. We hug, and what is that fresh powdery smell? Is it his cologne or detergent or his natural scent? And why didn’t I notice—really notice—his eyes before? They’re so persistently blue, if it weren’t for the glasses I’d think he was wearing colored contacts.
Despite my reluctance to break the hug, I’m careful to keep some distance between us when I slide into the booth.
“How’s the head?” he asks.
“Like it never happened.”
“And the new job?”
“You tell me.” It was meant to come out guarded, but it sounds flirtatious instead. I can live with that.
“Hmm, well, let’s see . . . You set a new record for selling two-headed chicken taxidermy, found a mistake in the books saving the store thousands of dollars, and negotiated a deal on a bird skull earring line, so obviously you’ve been promoted to store manager?”
“Some psychic you are. I nearly got fired thanks to your terrible idea. I meant to tell you about it yesterday, but then my head decided to implode.”
A middle-aged Asian man with an Elvis pompadour and sideburns comes over to take our order. I glance at my menu: none of it’s in English, though there are blurry photographs of the food.
“Do you want me to order for us?” Oliver asks me.
“Okay. But would you mind
getting something with noodles?”
“Sure thing.”
He points out a few things on the menu to the waiter and smiles his thanks.
“So remind me of this terrible idea of mine?” He twists toward me and drapes an arm over the top edge of the booth, closing the distance between us.
“I’m not supposed to talk about it tonight. But it had to do with the phone book.”
“Ah, you mean the phone book that was your idea to begin with? The one I also told you would be a waste of time, Miss Smirky?”
“I’m not . . .” But I am, so I shut up.
“So how was your day? How are you feeling?” he asks.
“If I’m Miss Smirky, you are Mr. Questions tonight.”
“Sorry, nervous habit.” A little-boy bashful smile sneaks across his face. I find both the fleeting grin and his nerves endearing.
“Let’s talk about you for a change. What did you do today? What do you do any day?” I ask.
Bowls of soup are placed before us, wafting of ginger and scallions. My mouth waters.
“Real estate. Mostly rentals for college kids. Mostly around Allston.”
“That’s where I lived before the fire. Hang on . . .” After rooting around in my pocket, I bring out his business card. “That’s what ‘Finder’ means? I could’ve used your services when I was homeless the other week.” I put away the card and try the soup. It’s even better than it smells. “Funny, I thought ‘Finder’ had something to do with your special abilities.”
“I know.” He wiggles his eyebrows Groucho Marx-style, takes his soup bowl into both hands, and tilts the contents back into his mouth. “So tell me about this fire.”
There’s some yelling coming from the kitchen, and I wait for it to die down before I respond. “I feel like—part of me thinks you already know about it, like you already know all about me, but you’re humoring me.”
“Why would I do that?”
“So that I forget that you’re not . . .”
“Normal?” His smile is self-effacing.
“Normal,” I agree, with reluctance.
“It’s okay. I like that you can be straightforward with me.”
Asleep From Day Page 18
