I’m saved by the couple who pushes through the door, bringing in a gust of frigid air. I pull my hands away, grab my bag and my coat. I’m halfway to the warm inner room of the coffeehouse when he calls my name.
“Mae.”
I turn. I shouldn’t, because I know those chemicals will rush through me even harder when I look into his eyes, but it’d be rude to ignore him, and I am a polite person.
“One of the benefits of meditation is that it helps you develop patience. A lot of it.” He smiles. “Just so you know.”
“Astronauts have a lot of patience, too.”
His eyebrows go up, and the light comes back in his eyes. “May the best nerd win.”
I don’t have to come up with a clever response to that because he has to help his customers and because Nate walks through the door. As soon as I see my cousin, I nearly collapse with relief. I don’t think I could have held out against Ben Tamura much longer. He’s a formidable opponent.
My cousin gives me a quick once-over and shakes his head. “Fill me in on whatever has produced that look on your face.”
I drag him into a corner booth. Ben’s right. I do need help. Just not his.
Nate leans back, watching me.
“So … you and Ben.”
“At this precise moment, I don’t care about Ben. Table that topic.”
He leans forward. “Listen, he’s not quite as good at math as we are, but he’s pretty good, Mae. And his physics—spot-on. In fact—”
“Put your serious face on, Nate.”
He sighs. “Okay. What did he do?”
“He didn’t do anything. He’s perfect. It’s Micah.”
“Micah?”
“You can’t tell her, okay, because it will be so bad and I don’t—Micah’s cheating on Nah. If I tell her, she will … I don’t know, but I’m scared what she’ll do. And also she has some drug dealer or something and—”
“Wait, what?”
I am betraying my sister, but I don’t have a choice. I really don’t think I do. If I’m going to do something as extreme as possibly give up Annapolis, there will be questions. Dad always said, “Let’s put more brains on this business,” when there was a problem he couldn’t solve. I need more brains on this business.
“I know this is Nah’s story to tell,” I say, “but it’s an emergency and I can’t—I can’t do this on my own anymore, Nate, and—”
“Hey, hey.” My cousin rests a hand on my arm. “Buzz. It’s okay. Whatever it is—I got you. Just give me the data, yeah?”
“I found Percocet in her bag. Your parents didn’t have any, did they?”
“Not that I know of. Is this the only time she’s messed with this stuff?”
“No. She was … she was in an outpatient rehab earlier this year. It was bad. She was doing better, sober for five months, but then the wave happened.”
“Fuck.” Nate’s frown deepens. “And Micah—how do you know he’s cheating on her?”
I tell him.
When I’m done, Nate takes a breath. Undoes the little pearl buttons on his blouse. Rolls up his sleeves.
“Okay. I need coffee. And some graph paper.”
“Graph paper?”
Nate shrugs. “We have a problem. Problems require graph paper.”
He stands, takes a step toward the counter, then turns to me.
“I’d like the record to note that you said he was perfect.”
“What?”
“Ben. You said he was perfect.” He leans forward and chucks me under the chin. “You know, Buzz, for someone willing to strap herself to a bomb and blow her body into outer space, you’re kind of a wimp.”
Maybe he’s right. But I’m looking at the math on this one. If a girl is left by everyone she loves, what is the probability that the next person she loves will leave her? You don’t need to be a statistician to figure that one out.
i wish angels were real.
Bench
Public Garden
Boston
19
Hannah
I reach into my purse for a pill, but the Altoids box I keep them in is empty. Panic slices into me, the same flavor as that time I thought I’d left my wallet on the D Line. I didn’t realize I’d gone through them so quickly. How could I have—
No, that’s impossible. There were six in here yesterday. I know it. I counted.
Mae.
The four corners of my bedroom—my new bedroom with its bare walls and unpacked boxes—slide in, closer and closer.
I’m off my bed and in the hallway, down the hallway, throwing open the door of her room before I even think to do any of it.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” I say. Snarl. Growl. Spit.
She is not surprised to see me. My sister sets the huge book on her lap aside and clasps her hands together over her knees. Just like Dad.
“I’m sorry,” Mae says. “I had to.”
I let it go that first time. Tried to be sneakier. Didn’t want to get into it with her. But now: We’re fucking getting into it.
“No, you didn’t. You have no right to go through my things—”
“Where did you get them?”
“It’s none of your goddamn business,” I say. “Give them back.”
She looks at me, the smooth surface of a dark lake.
“I flushed them down the toilet.”
Someone—not me—reaches for the nearest thing and throws it at her. As it flies toward her, I see what it is and I stop breathing.
Mae reaches out to catch it, not to block herself but to catch it, but the model falls on the hardwood floor and shatters.
Mae stares.
Hundreds of shards—wood and plastic and bits of metal—are scattered at our feet. I see them now as they were all those years ago, when Mae and Dad took over the dining room table to build the International Space Station and a shuttle docked against it. It took several weekends. Their fingers, painting and fitting and gluing. Dad, building her dream right alongside her. His hands, shaping her world.
“Mae.”
My sister doesn’t make a sound as she slides off the bed and onto her hands and knees. Crawls.
“Mae, I’m—”
“Get out.”
This. Right here. This is why my parents wanted another baby. They must have known, even then, what a mistake they’d been stuck with when they had me.
I don’t remember to grab a coat when I leave. I didn’t ever wear one in LA. Sweaters. That’s all I ever wore. I hear Aunt Nora call my name, but I hurry away before she can grab me. Run to the T.
I call Drew before it goes underground. He picks up on the first ring.
“Drew’s Pharmaceuticals, how may I direct your call?”
“I could use some more of your pretty little pills, Drew. Can we meet somewhere?”
He’s quiet for a moment.
“Drew?”
“You’re out of them already?”
I sigh. “Oh, Jesus, not you, too.”
“Not me, too?”
“Look, sell to me or don’t. I can find someone else who will—”