Lucky Caller(56)

That sealed it for me. Jamie had already left. He probably thought we were meeting there. He was probably there already. Or maybe not, but the idea of Jamie sitting at a booth alone waiting for me, wondering where I was, propelled me back downstairs and outside.

I walked to the bus stop. It was a little chilly, the sky overcast. I hadn’t worn a jacket, just a sweatshirt, and I pulled my hands in the sleeves.

I took the bus downtown, and by the time I approached the strip mall where Sushi Boss was located, heavy clouds had gathered.

I pulled open the door, stepped inside. A quick scan of the place revealed that Jamie wasn’t there.

If he was, he had left. Or maybe he hadn’t come in the first place.

I had come all the way down there, though. I ordered a roll, even though I didn’t want it.

I sat by the window and scrolled on my phone, refreshing the same three apps over and over despite knowing that I should stop, that we were getting short on data this month, then switching over to this dumb woodblock version of Tetris. I kept getting the urge to check my phone for messages, which made absolutely no sense, because I was literally looking right at it. No texts came through.

I poked at my food, stomach uneasy, ate a little despite my better judgment, and asked for a box.

It was raining when I left. I pulled up my hood and headed back to the bus stop clutching my leftovers, but it was Sunday evening, and the next one wasn’t for almost half an hour.

It was stupid to come here.

I thought about calling Mom, but I had made a big deal about missing dinner because I had plans, and anyway, she was all the way uptown at Dan’s and it would take just as long to get down here. I was embarrassed, and annoyed, and sad, and I knew deep down that I deserved something like this, for sure, at minimum, but I thought that Jamie was being genuine the night before. Jamie was always genuine—it was like the number one Jamie quality, it was among the things I liked best. He wouldn’t stand me up.

Except he did. And I was too obtuse to even accept that it was happening. I went forward with the not-date brainstorming session all on my own, despite all evidence that I was being stood up.

By the time I reached the Eastman, I was drenched in rain. No one was back yet, thankfully, to see my pathetic return. I was fumbling with the key to our apartment when my phone buzzed.

It was Jamie.

Papa’s in the hospital

I blinked.

Before I could reply, four messages came back quickly:

He had a mini stroke today

He’s doing a lot better now

But he has to stay there for a couple days

Gram’s still there but she just sent me home

The next message came through as I was on my way back to the elevator:

I should’ve texted you sooner, I totally forgot

Don’t worry about that, I sent as I pressed the 7 button on the door panel.

Jamie swung open the door to their apartment just after I knocked. He still had his coat on.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He nodded. Then his lips twitched in that way that people’s lips do when they’re trying not to cry. Or at least, in that way that Jamie’s lips twitch when he’s trying not to cry. I had seen it before—it was the same look he had when we were little kids and he accidentally let go of his balloon at the zoo, all of us with our faces turned upward, watching the red balloon float off into the sky—

“Come upstairs,” I said. “Rose will be home soon. She can take care of us.”

He blinked at me. “Why are you all wet?”

“I forgot my umbrella.”

The balloon look flickered again. “Did you go to Sushi Boss?”

I just held out a hand. “Come upstairs.”





53.


ROSE WASN’T HOME YET WHEN we got up there. Our room was a disaster area, but at least my side was manageable, so Jamie sat on the bed. I pulled out some sweats from the laundry.

“Be right back.”

I changed in the bathroom, and when I came back in, Jamie was still sitting on the edge of my bed, coat on, looking lost in thought.

“Take off your jacket, stay a while,” I said, and stretched out on Sidney’s bed.

“Cold,” he replied.

“Get under the covers, then.”

He looked at me for a moment, then shrugged out of his coat, toed off his shoes, stretched out on my bed, and pulled up the sheets.

Our beds were close—there was a narrow nightstand in between, where Sidney would stack books and leave her glasses. I’d keep my phone there.

When we first moved to the Eastman, Sidney was only three. She’d get scared at night by the traffic sounds and the elevator, so she’d sleep in my mom’s room a lot of the time. Eventually she started staying in her own bed, but she would still get scared every now and then, in the dark of the room at night. She would want Rose to sing to her so she would know Rose was there. She would want to hold my hand across the space between our beds. I remember forcing myself to stay awake until she fell asleep, until I felt her little hand slacken in mine.

I thought about reaching across the space for Jamie’s hand, but I didn’t. Instead I just looked over at him, his head resting on my pillow. His eyes were shut.

I wanted to know what happened, how it happened, where they were, if Papa was going to be okay, but I didn’t want to make him recount anything he didn’t want to in this moment. I had never seen him look more tired.