by Orton, D. L.
The only sound is the soft click of my knife hitting the wood. I slide the small, round slices of banana to the edge of the cutting board and pick up the star fruit.
She takes peanut butter out of a cupboard and spreads it over two slices of bread, then changes her mind and adds a third. After placing the bananas on top, she adds another slice of bread and cuts each sandwich corner to corner, then arranges the white triangles on a matching blue plate. She licks the dull knife and sets it in the sink. “Are you afraid of getting old?”
Over the course of the last few hours, I’ve had plenty of time to think about questions to ask her, but I just can’t seem to get started. The lack of sleep combined with hunger and stress—and my frustration with my own lack of initiative—spills out, and I hear myself say in an annoyed voice, “I have no idea.”
“Ouch.” She gazes out the kitchen window at a grove of palms rustling in the breeze, then stops what she’s doing, puts everything down, takes me by the shoulders and turns me to face her.
“Ay yai yai.” I give her a tight-lipped smile.
She crosses her arms. “Okay, Tego, what’s up? Have I asked too many questions? Am I dredging up deep, dark secrets? Do you hate peanut butter and banana sandwiches?”
I stand there, knife in hand, feeling sheepish. “Guess I’ll cut right to the quick.”
She doesn’t smile.
“I’m hungry and a little tired.” I continue with more resolve. “And I’m frustrated. I want to know what’s going on with you.”
And what’s going on with us.
She bites her lip and scans my face. “Okay.”
“Enough with the cloak and dagger shit, Iz. You know all this stuff about me, but I barely know anything about you.” I look down at the half-cut mango. “I keep struggling to find the right moment to start asking, and when I finally do, you just blow me off.”
“You won’t believe me.”
“I don’t believe you now.” I return to chopping the mango, stopping to toss the pit into the trash using more force than necessary. “What’s the deal with you? Are you sick? Why won’t you tell me the truth?”
She stands still, watching me wash and dry the cutting board. I take the bowl of fruit and the plate of sandwiches and place them on the small kitchen table, and then slide out a chair and sit down.
She glances away.
That worked wonders.
Chapter 40
Isabel: You Have No Idea
I take a couple of glasses out of a cupboard and put ice in them, my heart racing. “I’m sorry, Tego.” I set plates and napkins on the table. “But I don’t know what to tell you.”
“How about the truth?”
I get a pitcher of iced tea out of the fridge, take two forks and spoons out of a drawer, shut it with my hip, and return to the table. “If I tell you the truth, you’ll think I’m psycho.”
“Try me.”
I sit down and peer across the table at him, all pretense gone. “I’m from another universe.”
He gives me a fake smile and then takes a couple of sandwiches, serves himself some fruit, pours iced tea into both of our glasses, and starts to eat. “I can see that you’re sick or something.”
God, he’s persistent.
I take a sip of iced tea.
His eyes are on his plate. “Is it serious?”
I take a sandwich and some fruit and put them on my plate, still considering what to tell him.
“You’re dying.” He blurts it out, his voice tight, and then he clears his throat. “That’s why you won’t answer my questions, and why you’re so forward with me. You have nothing to lose. You’re just using—” His voice trails off but the accusation hangs there.
“We’re all dying, Tego.” It comes out harsher than I intended. “You don’t know how long you have to live and neither do I. And you’re wrong about my interest in you. It’s not just some last fling with whomever happens to be available.”
He looks up from his plate. “You should have chosen Beto. This is more his sort of gig.”
“I don’t want Beto or anyone else.” I pin him with my eyes. “I want you.” I exhale, feeling adrift. “So do you feel used?”
He shakes his head and then turns away.
“Liar.”
He doesn’t bother to disagree.
I take a long drink of iced tea, emotions raging inside me.
He sets down his fork and puts his head in his hands, his elbows resting on the table. “Why are you doing this to me?”
I reach over and place my hand on his forearm, and then wait for him to look up.
He does, but then he sits back in the chair, pulling away from me.
There’s a stabbing pain in my chest, and I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a windy cliff.
He picks up his fork and continues eating, his eyes distant.
I take a deep breath and jump. “Well, despite what you think, I’m madly in love with you, and it’s all I can do to keep from ripping your clothes off every time I see you, let alone touch you.” I glance down at his open mouth. “Just looking at you makes me believe the world is worth saving—and that’s saying something.” It’s a simple statement of fact.
He freezes with his fork suspended over his plate, his eyes wide.
I take a bite of fruit salad, feeling emboldened. “And every time you say my name or look at me that way, or god forbid touch me, everything else in the universe seems—” I glance out the window, “inconsequential. And trust me, that’s not such a good thing.”
He stares at me, eyebrows furrowed, trying to make sense of the incongruous mix of words. And then he drops his fork—and his gaze—to the plate.
I smile, enjoying his discomfort with the truth he’s begged so hard to get. “Like I said, I’m from another universe, so we don’t have much time. There are things I need to tell you, things you need to learn, important things, but I don’t know where to start.” I let out a heavy sigh. “And all I want to do is curl up in your arms and forget about everything.”
It’s liberating to finally stop the charade.
I watch him push fruit around on his plate.
“Oh, and I wasn’t supposed to tell you any of that. I probably just blew up someone’s Multiverse Doohickey and made a butterfly in China disappear.” I uncross my arms and pick up my fork. “Is that enough naked honesty for you?”
He pours us more iced tea and then continues eating, a whole dictionary of emotions playing across his face.
I set down my fork, no longer hungry.
He narrows his eyes, feigning concern. “So, how long do you have?”
“Does it matter?”
He takes a bite from the last quarter of his second sandwich. “At the risk of obliterating more Asian insects, can you tell me what it is I need to learn—what my glaring ignorance is?” The expression on his face softens. “And can you repeat the part about ‘ripping my clothes off,’ please? I’m not sure I heard you right.”
I wad up my napkin and throw it at him.
“It’s not just a coincidence we met, is it?” He’s on a roll. “What’s really going on?”
“Let’s see.” I tick the items off with my finger. “I’m from your future, sort of. And we’re lovers, kind of—“
“Kind of?”
“Well, if it wasn’t for the fact that you ran off and got yourself killed, leaving me to face the collapse of civilization alone—which I’m still annoyed about, mind you—we still would be.” I cross my arms. “And don’t get me started on your damn seashell.”
He looks nonplussed.
“Some government scientists spent a lot of time and money getting me and one skimpy towel into your universe.” I nod at the limp cloth draped over his chair. “Just so I could talk to you. And I may appear twenty-something, but I’m way older.”
A smile flirts with his lips. “Wow. You make a stunning cougar. Beto is going to be so jealous.”
I ignore him. “My goal, however improbable, is to make sure that after you fall in love with my parallel in this universe, the two of you don’t screw it up like we did in my universe.”
He sits eating and nodding, giving no indication that he suspects I’m a lunatic. “Uh huh.”
I take another sip of iced tea. “And as I said, we don’t have much time. Oh, and if I fail, mankind—and all the golden retrievers—are doomed.”
“Of course. Who is your parallel in this universe?”
“The fucking Queen of Sheba.” I set my glass down and look up at him. “You don’t believe a word of it, do you?” It’s not really a question.
“Nope.”
“Okay, I was kidding about the Queen of Sheba part. I don’t even know where Sheba is. The rest is more or less true.”
“Right. I’ll go along with you, Agent 99, but you’ll have to give me the secret handshake and tell me something that only my lover from the future would know.”
I flip him the bird.
He laughs and starts stacking the lunch dishes. “When I accused you of using me, I was more thinking along the lines of sex slave, but I suppose signing me up to save the world technically counts.”
I stare at his chest, watching the muscles in his shoulders and arms flex as he clears up the table. “Okay.” I walk over to the nightstand and take my shell out of the drawer, and then bring it back and set it on the table. “Mine is exactly the same as yours, only it came from another universe. My universe.”
He puts the dishes in the sink and then turns and leans against the counter, his face amused. “Is that all you got?”
“You dressed up as a cat for Halloween when you were six, a little heavy on the face paint but great moccasins. You hate black olives, but you love olive oil. You like to kiss with your eyes open. You toast the bread for your sandwiches.” I give him a condescending smile. “And you like to have your nipples bitten, or at least you will.” I blush.
Where’d that come from?
“You wear Vétiver Carven aftershave. Your right index finger is slightly misshapen because you nearly cut it off as a child, and your father, who’s a surgeon, sewed it back on. Your favorite holiday is Christmas even though you wouldn’t know Jesus Christ from Attila the Hun. Your favorite perfume is Arpège, probably because your mother wears it, and your favorite author is—” I purse my lips. “Damn. I don’t have any idea.”
He sits staring at me with his mouth open.
“You don’t like cats, but you will later. You and Gus like to make love with the lights on. Your favorite part of a woman’s body is her thong-covered butt—smooth, white triangles, anyone? And you make the World’s Best Chocolate Cake.” I leer at him. “How am I doing?”
He gives an uncomfortable laugh. “This is getting weird.”
“You have no idea.”
He tips his head to the side. “Okay. So you do know my brother, and he told you a bunch of stuff about me, showed you a photo album or something. Is that it?”
“Ah, Tego, you’re too quick.” I raise my hands and let them fall into my lap. “Of course. I chatted with your brother, and he told me all about how you like to kiss, and the part about Gus, and your nipples and lighted sex. And the tan lines on my butt. He particularly enjoyed telling me about that part.”
His eyes get big. “I’ll have you know, I almost never toast the bread for sandwiches—only if it’s getting stale.”
“Keep the bread in the freezer, dude. Your brother told me that too.” I get up, feeling lost, overwhelmed by forces I don’t understand and can’t control. Even to myself, I sound like a raving lunatic.
How can I possibly expect him to believe me? And if he doesn’t believe me, how can I possibly change him?
I gaze out at the tranquil sea. “Come on, let’s go for a swim.”
Chapter 41
Isabel: Drowning in Regrets
The late afternoon sun splashes brilliant vermilion across the scattered high clouds, sending dazzling shards of light careening off the water all around me. In another place and time, it would be the tantalizing prelude to a perfect tropical evening, but here and now, it only serves to remind me of the long, lonely night that awaits.
I stand chest-deep in the water, fighting back tears, and watch as Tego wades out of the surf and flops down in the sand, the diffuse light changing his skin to bronze. He’s tired, he tells me, and needs time to think.
Right.
He glances up at the radiant light, and then begins gouging the sand with a stick, scooping it up with his hand, and tossing it out into the waves.
I scan the horizon, wondering where the other me is right now, but certain that she’s not as exhausted and disheartened as I am. Now that I’ve told him everything, I can’t seem to stay focused. I’m tired of being strong, tired of struggling to convince him, tired of fighting to save a world I’ll never see again.
I take a ragged breath, tears streaming down my face.
Since the first moment I saw him, I’ve wanted nothing more than to be in his arms, his touch making me forget about anything else. I long to make love with him, soft and wet, deep and hard, slow and intense, and then fall asleep with his body wrapped around mine, his hands on my skin, his breath against my neck. This whole absurd mission is just a ruse, an excuse to be close to him one last time, and he’s seen through it.
I shut my eyes, trying to summon strength, and then open them again and gaze at my lover. He stands and brushes the sand off his shorts, and then scans the beach for his soccer-playing friends, his hand shading his eyes.
I’ve lost him.
I turn away, my heart breaking, and dive underwater, swimming out into the near-perfect solitude, my tears mixing with the vast depths of the Pacific.
Stroke, breathe, kick, glide. Stroke, breathe, kick, glide.
When the sea floor drops into the blue abyss, I flip over onto my back, drifting up and down with the swell, watching a lone seagull riding the air currents high up in the fading light.
No, Iz, you didn’t lose him. You never had him.
I release the air from my lungs and close my eyes, sinking into the arms of the sea. The water cradles my body, rocking me like a lost doll in a sinking ship, the low murmur of the distant surf comforting me as I sink deeper into the Pacific’s ever-colder embrace.
Something snags my wrist, stopping my descent.
I open my eyes and gaze up into a corona of sunlight filtering through the water above me. Tego wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me against his chest, and then kicking hard, he drags us both up to the surface.
I didn’t think he could swim that well.
He faces me, treading water with difficulty and breathing hard. “Isabel.” He takes a quick breath. “It’s Gabriel.” Another ragged breath. “García Márquez.”
I give him a blank look.
“My—” He takes a deep breath and releases me. “Favorite author.”
I let my head slip under the surface, sweeping the hair out of my face, and feel his tight grip on my arm again. I come back up, treading water with my legs. “I’m okay. Just tired.”
He stares at me, his eyes wide, and then nods and releases me. “Yeah. Me too.” He glances between my eyes. “Just because it seems impossible, doesn’t mean I don’t believe you. But do you think we could discuss it—” He motions toward the shore, “some place where the water isn’t so deep?”
I can’t take my eyes off his mouth.
“Please?” He looks at me, his gaze steady. “I have no idea what you want from me, but I’m willing to try.”
“I love you, Tego Nadales.” I leap up out of the water and throw my arms around his neck, kissing him, sinking us both.
As soon as we are back in the shallows, he stands and pulls me against his chest. I wrap my legs around his waist and grab on to his shoulders, the waves gently pushing me against him.
He puts his hands on my hips. “Thanks. I was in way over my head.”
I peer into his face, still trying to get my emotions back under control. “Ditto.”
“Okay, Iz, I’m listening.” His voice is level, but his expression is mischievous. “You know, I always wanted to have my own cougar.”
“Hah.” I run my hand down his cheek, across his shoulder, and let it rest against his bare chest. I can feel his heart beating beneath my palm.
“And I’m already starting to like cats.” He brushes a stray lock of hair away from my mouth, his eyes following his hand. “Tell me, Isabel, Queen of Sheba, what do I need to learn?”
I look up into his face, not sure what to say until it comes out. “OK, here’s the deal. For the rest of the afternoon, I want you to guess what I’m thinking.”
“Which means you think I’m going to get it wrong.”
I glance down at my hand on his chest and then back to his deep brown eyes. “If you do, I’ll tell you what I was thinking.”
He nods, looking a bit skeptical, but willing to indulge me.
I toss my tangled hair back over my shoulders. “Don’t take it personally. Just learn from it and move on. The journey is the reward.”
“Easier said than done when it involves you.”
“You can handle it, Nadales.” With my legs still wrapped around his waist, I cradle his chin in my hands, enjoying the feel of his soft beard stubble beneath my fingertips.
I pull his face closer. “Go.”
He laughs uncomfortably.
“Yes?”
“You’re thinking about kissing me.”
“Correct.” We are close enough that I can feel his breath on my cheek.
He waits—casting his gaze to my lips and back—and then he shuts his eyes. “And I’m all for it.”
I study his face, letting my eyes linger on a single raven lock of hair curling around the sharp edge of his jaw.
