The Futures(95)

I had an e-mail on my phone from Abby. She and Jake were in Barcelona. We’d promised each other that we’d Skype at least once a week while she was on her European jaunt. Her e-mail asked if I wanted to talk that afternoon around 4:00 p.m., their nighttime in Spain. It was 3:52. I opened Elizabeth’s computer and logged on, and soon the computer chimed with the sound of an incoming call.

“Abby?”

“Buenas noches, amiga!”

“Hey, you’re practically fluent!”

She laughed, her voice echoing as it traveled the span of the Atlantic.

“Are you guys having fun?”

She sighed, or I think she sighed. I couldn’t tell with the lousy audio connection. “Holy shit, Jules, it’s amazing. I’m quitting my job and never leaving.”

“How long are you there?”

“Barcelona for another two nights. Then Valencia next week, then Málaga, then we’re going over to Morocco.”

“Where’s Jake? How is he?”

“Too much wine at dinner. He passed out. He’s good. We’re”—she smiled, glancing down—“I’m really happy. Things are really good.”

“Oh, my God, you’re blushing. When’s the wedding?”

“Shut up.”

“You know, I’m the reason you guys met. Dibs on maid of honor, right?”

“All right, all right. Hey, what about you? Where are you? I don’t recognize it.”

“In New York. I’m staying at Lizzie’s.”

“Jules! You had to wait until I was gone, huh?”

“It’s just for a few days. I’m going home on Monday.”

“Why such a rush?”

“Well,” I said, looking around the tiny apartment. “For one, I don’t live here anymore. And I’m staying in Lizzie’s roommate’s bed. She’s back on Monday.”

“You should stay longer. You can stay at my place. It’s just sitting there.”

“You didn’t find a subletter?”

She shrugged. “Too much of a hassle. My rent is cheap. Jules, I’m serious. You should stay there. What else are you going to do? Aren’t you bored to death up in Boston?”

“But your roommate—”

“Cat won’t care. You know she practically lives with her boyfriend.”

It seemed too crazy, too all-at-once. “I don’t know. Let me think about it.”

“I’m going to e-mail Cat now. I’m gonna say that you’ll call her tomorrow and get the keys, okay? I’ll send you her number and stuff. Hey, have you talked to Evan lately?”

“Evan?” His name felt funny when I said it out loud. “No. Why?”

“Well, are you going to see him? Now that you’re back?”

“I doubt it. We haven’t talked since December.”

Abby was quiet on the other end. I thought the video had frozen, but I could see the flicker of her eyes. Part of me was tempted to change the subject, avoid the Evan minefield, but I remembered what Abby had said on the phone. Enough of this repressive WASP bullshit. She was right. “Okay, spill. What’s up?”

“I saw him. The other week. At a party.”

“You saw Evan? How is he?”

“Are you sure you want to hear?”

My stomach dropped. He was with another girl. Or he’d launched into a tirade against me. Or both. But I needed to know, all of a sudden. Evan. The thought of him filled me with an aching curiosity. “Yeah. Tell me.”

“He’s good, actually. He has a new job. Spire let him go. They let a bunch of people go. It sounded like things were pretty rough for a while.”

“Where’s he working?”

“Brace yourself. He’s a hockey coach.”

“You’re joking.”

“At some summer program up in Westchester. It’s sort of temporary while he figures out what he’s going to do. I guess he got a bunch of severance from Spire. He seems to like it, though. He said the kids are great.”

“Is he still living in our old place?”

“I think so. Jules, listen. You should call him. Or at least let him know you’re back in town. Don’t you think that’s only fair?”

Fair. I was glad for the shitty video connection, disguising the hot beginnings of tears. I could only think of that night, Evan making it so clear that he didn’t want to see me again. Fair wasn’t a factor.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Abby. Did he…um, did Evan—”

“Did he ask about you?” She shook her head. “I think he wanted to. I mean, you know Evan. He’s so Canadian. He probably didn’t want to be rude and put me on the spot. But so what? Call him. Life is too short. Hey, so I’m sending you Cat’s number. Go get the keys from her. Deal?”

“Deal.” I smiled. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. I’m glad you’re back.”

That night, on the sticky tar roof of her apartment building, I told Elizabeth about Abby’s idea. Part of me was hoping for one last exit ramp, for Elizabeth to raise her eyebrows and say it was crazy. But instead she exclaimed that it was a brilliant idea, and she clinked her plastic cup of wine against mine. I wondered how my parents were going to take the news. I’d have to ask my mother to send down a box of clothes.