If the Fates Allow: A Short Story(4)

Reagan nodded.

She couldn’t really think of anything to say after that. And her grandpa didn’t seem to want to talk more, either. And there was no one to make them be sociable.



Reagan had quit smoking a long time ago. After college. Smoking used to make her feel like such a badass. But then she got out of school and started working—and smoking just made her feel hard. Even the way she held the cigarette in her hand and in her mouth . . . It was like she was always smirking. Always making a face like, “Well, isn’t that fucking perfect.”

Reagan already felt hard enough. She didn’t need any accessories. She didn’t need to telegraph it out to the world.

Also she kept getting bronchitis. It was a fucking drag, so she quit.

But she still missed cigarettes. She missed having the excuse of them. The “Be right back”s. She missed the way decent people would leave you alone as soon as you pulled out the pack.

She still took cigarette breaks sometimes.

After dinner, she and her grandpa moved into the living room to watch television. Reagan didn’t want to watch Fox News, so they settled on the Weather Channel. He sat in his easy chair, and Reagan sat on the couch, fiddling with a crochet hook she’d found tucked between the cushions.

After a half hour, she said, “I’m going to get some air.”

Her grandpa nodded.

She put on her coat and headed out onto the back deck. It was too cold for the snow to melt, but it wasn’t freezing—or it was just barely freezing.

“Hey,” someone said.

Reagan jumped.

It was Mason again, standing on his parents’ deck. “I swear to God,” he said. “I’m not trying to startle you.”

“Jesus Christ, Mason.”

“Sorry.”

Reagan frowned at him. “What are you even doing out here?”

“Getting some air. Do you want me to put on a mask?”

She looked between them. They were at least twenty feet apart. And they were outdoors. “Yeah,” she said. “If you’re gonna keep talking to me.”

Mason fished a mask out of his pocket.

Reagan did the same thing. She wasn’t sure why she was bothering; she should just go back inside. “What are you out here avoiding?” she asked, sliding the elastic behind her ears.

“Who says I’m avoiding something?”

“Well, you’re standing outside in the middle of winter. And you’re not smoking a cigarette or waiting for a bus.”

Mason laughed. “I’m just taking a moment for myself.”

Reagan hummed. “Me, too.”

“Hey, I’m, um . . . I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t expecting him to say that. “Thanks. I guess that’s what I’m out here avoiding.”

“Your loss?”

“Pretty much. I thought I was doing my grandpa good by making sure he could still have a Christmas, but I think I’m just reminding him that it’s Christmas and that she isn’t here.”

Mason didn’t reply to that. Why should he? He was a complete stranger.

“Sorry,” Reagan said. “I think I’ve forgotten how to talk to people.”

He laughed again. “Don’t worry about it. This is the first in-person conversation I’ve had with anyone other than my parents—and your grandpa and the UPS guy—in months.”

“Yeah? You pretty locked down?”

“Oh yeah.”

“I thought this was no-mask country,” she said.

“Maybe it is, I wouldn’t know. I don’t leave the house.”

Reagan smiled. He couldn’t see it. “You live there with your parents?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “I mean—I guess I don’t know how to answer that question.”

“O-kay . . .”

“Technically, I live in DC. I have an apartment there. But I was going a little crazy after two months of isolation, and I was worried about my mom and dad . . .”

“So you came back to Arnold?”

“Yeah, I guess I did.”

“You’d rather quarantine in Arnold, Nebraska, than in Washington, DC?”

“I mean . . . yeah.” He was smiling. She could sort of hear it. She could imagine his chin disappearing. “Honestly,” he said. “It’s been nice. I took my brother’s old room—it’s huge. It’s half the size of my apartment in DC. And I can be outside here without wearing a mask. You know, usually. And my parents are much less irritating than I remembered from high school. I watch M*A*S*H every night with my mom. It’s kinda great.”

“So why are you out here getting some air?”

Mason was quiet for a second. Then he said, “I don’t remember you being this chatty back in school.”

“Well, I don’t remember you at all.”

He laughed.

“Seriously,” she said, “were we in school together?” She wasn’t trying to be mean. (She didn’t have to try. It came naturally.) She just recognized him as her grandparents’ neighbor.

“There’s only one high school, Reagan.”

“Yeah, but you’re a lot younger than me, right?”