All the Birds in the Sky(62)

“Patricia,” he said. “I really really appreciate your help. And more than that, I am so damn glad to know you. I’m so sorry I ran out on you when you talked to your cat, when we were kids. I will never run out on you again. That’s a promise I’m giving you, free and clear. I’m probably not supposed to make promises to someone like you, either, right? But I don’t care. Thank you for being my friend.”

“You’re welcome,” Patricia said. They had reached her front door. “Same to you. All of it. I’m super-lucky to have you as a friend too. And I’ll never run out on you, either.”

They stood at her door. At some point, their hands had started touching. And they just stood there, looking at each other, hands in hands.

Patricia’s smile turned sadder, as if she knew something that Laurence hadn’t figured out yet. “Don’t forget the thing you owe me,” she said. “Or it’ll be very bad. I’m sorry.” Then she went inside her house and the door slammed shut.

Laurence was still jangling with a mixture of tipsiness, relief, and emotional gushiness, the whole way home. But he was also feeling a smidge uneasy about the “smallest thing” thing. No big deal, most likely, but Patricia had seemed kind of intense about it. Laurence actually clicked his heels together as he crossed the street in big, hungry strides. He had never done Ecstasy or any kind of mood elevator, but he sort of imagined this is how they would feel.

When he got home, he crashed. The elation wore off so fast, he had to sit down. He was so drained, he felt like he was going to pass out if he didn’t get to sleep right away. And then he thought about the “smallest thing” that he had to give to Patricia. He could look for it in the morning, or in a couple days, or whatever. She hadn’t specified a time limit, or anything … he probably had a few days to find it.

But then Laurence started wondering what it could be and how he was supposed to know. Was it the smallest by volume? By weight? Or just overall size? He owned some pieces of lint that were beyond tiny, but he was pretty sure that wouldn’t count. To be fair, he had to pick something he owned, which meant something that had at least a nominal resale value. You don’t own something you couldn’t sell, right?

So. He had a USB drive that he’d brought home from the Ten Percent Project office, which was the size of two peas—but when he texted Patricia, she said it couldn’t be something he’d borrowed. She needed something he owned himself, free and clear. That ruled out the electronic components and tools littering his desk and shelves, which were all technically on loan from Milton.

Laurence rummaged through his desk. Pencils, pens … that little figurine of Mega Man was pretty tiny, move that to the top of the list. He started a pile, and rummaged through drawers and boxes and closet shelves, trying not to wake Isobel. And then, all at once, he knew.

“Oh no,” he said aloud. “Not that. No no no. Fuck. Fuck no.” He couldn’t breathe. Like an asthma attack, or something. All of the joy he’d felt earlier slipped away as if it had never been there, and he felt instead like he’d been kicked in the solar plexus with a sharp steel toe.

He stayed up most of the rest of the night, searching and searching. But he never found anything that counted as a real possession and was smaller than his grandmother’s ring.

He brought it to Patricia the next morning, eyes sore from lack of sleep. “This is the only thing I have of my grandmother’s,” he told her. “She gave it to me when she was dying.”

“I’m sorry,” Patricia said. She stood in the doorway of her apartment building, in a bathrobe. Maybe he’d woken her, but he doubted it.

“She said it was her mother’s, and she wanted to pass it down to a granddaughter, but I was her only grandchild,” Laurence said. “She wanted me to give it to whoever I married, and then to our daughter, if we had one.”

“I’m really sorry,” Patricia said.

“I was going to give it to Serafina,” Laurence said. “As an engagement ring. I promised my grandma I would give it to my bride.”

Patricia didn’t say anything, just stared in her purple robe. Her hair was a pile of tangles.

“I really have to give it to you? We can’t just call it quits?”

“You really have to. Or your friend might get sucked back into that place. Or you might, instead.” When she put it like that, the ring was a pretty small price to pay.

“You knew it was going to be this.” He handed it to her, still in its tiny, tiny velvet box. Actually, with the box, it was almost bigger than a toy car he owned. But not quite.

“I knew it would be something like this.” Patricia put the ring into the pocket of her robe, where it barely made a lump. “Or the spell wouldn’t have worked.”

“Why couldn’t it just be something like, I have to stand on one foot for an hour? Why does it have to be my most valued possession, and the linchpin of my courting strategy? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Do you want to come in and have some toaster waffles?” Patricia stepped back and held the door open. “I can’t talk about this out here, in the open.”

The toaster waffles failed to materialize, but instead she had locally made organic Pop-Tarts, which were probably better. They sat on the gray lumpy sofa, where Deedee and the other roommate had been watching Jersey Shore every other time Laurence had been there. Patricia kept glancing over toward the hallway for any signs they were stirring or listening in to this conversation.