The Good Luck of Right Now(66)

“You’re all set, Mr. Neil,” the receptionist said, and then handed me two rectangular room keys.

We keyed into our room on the fourth floor, and Max immediately began to get ready for bed by changing into his PJs—which were dotted with cat silhouettes and had these words blocked in red across the chest: THE CAT’S PAJAMAS—brushing his teeth, washing his face, and then diving into the bed closest to the widows. “Time to f*cking sleep,” he said.

“Max, it’s only eight and we haven’t eaten dinner yet,” Elizabeth said, but he was snoring almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

“Should we get dinner?” I asked, and Elizabeth nodded.

We bundled up and walked into the snowy city, feeling the sharp wind whip off the Ottawa River.

“It looks like England here,” Elizabeth said as we strolled by the Parliament Buildings. “Clocks in high towers and whatnot.”

“Have you been to England?”

“No. You?”

“Never.”

“But wouldn’t you say this looks like England?”

“I guess so.”

We walked sort of aimlessly for a long time, taking in the city, feeling the cold on our cheeks, and it felt good to walk after driving from Montreal.

Elizabeth stopped in front of a window full of Chinese zodiac symbols, behind which a fat jade Buddha sat cross-legged, and she said, “Do you want to eat here?”

“Sure,” I said, and we went in.

She ordered lo mein, so I did too, and we waited in silence for the food to come, while some sort of Asian-sounding melody played—high-pitched flutes and what sounded like a depressed music box.

I thought maybe lo mein would taste different in Canada, but it didn’t.

When we finished eating, the fortune cookies came.

Elizabeth’s read: THE ONLY THING WRONG WITH HARMONY IS THAT BY DEFINITION IT CANNOT LAST.

Mine read: A FRIEND IS A PRESENT YOU GIVE YOURSELF.

“What do they even mean?” Elizabeth said.

I didn’t have a clue, so I shrugged.

We sat there for a time, drinking the rest of the green tea that came in a black kettle shaped to look like a dragon, which we poured into little white cups that had light blue Chinese symbols painted on them.

“Why do you think we’re here together in Ottawa?” I said. “I mean, what are the odds?”

Elizabeth stared out the window at the passing traffic, and her face seemed to turn to stone.

When I had paid the bill, she stood, I followed her lead, and we ambled around the snowy city of Ottawa for what seemed like hours.

Elizabeth kept her lips sealed, and so did I.

We just walked.

And walked.

And walked.

And even though I was very cold, I didn’t say anything about that either, because I wanted to walk with Elizabeth forever and I didn’t want to do or say anything that would prematurely end my being with her.

Elizabeth seemed to be deep in thought, and I somehow knew that it was best not to say anything—and so I didn’t.

In the hotel lobby she asked if I’d like to have a drink with her at the bar, and I said yes before I even realized that I was about to fulfill my last remaining life goal.

Elizabeth ordered a dirty Ketel One martini on the rocks with extra olives, and even though I had no idea what that was, I said I’d have the same.

The drinks came, and I paid with Father McNamee’s credit card.

We sat down in the fancy leather chairs, and the bartender put a bowl of trail mix next to our drinks on the little table that rested below our knees.

“Cheers,” Elizabeth said, and lifted her martini glass.

Even though her voice wasn’t all that cheery, I lifted mine and we touched rims, just like they do on TV.

When I sipped, it tasted mostly like salty olives; I enjoyed the burn.

I was having my first drink with a woman, but it didn’t feel all that special—not like I thought it would.

I took a few tiny sips.

She took several gulps.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence, during which I could tell Elizabeth was having an argument with herself deep in her mind.

Suddenly she reached into her purse, produced an orange bottle of pills, and set it down on the table next to her drink.

“What are those?” I asked.

“These were my exit strategy,” she said.

“I don’t understand.”

“Really?”

I shook my head.

“Max and I have no place to go. We have no home. No relatives. I promised my brother I’d take him to see Cat Parliament for his fortieth birthday. I’m going to deliver on that tomorrow. But then there’s nothing left. No other options. And I’m tired, Bartholomew. I’m really tired.”

It took me a second to understand what Elizabeth was saying, but when I did, I snatched the pill bottle off the table and said, “What if you came to live with me? Max can live there too. We could make a go of it. As a family.”

“What type of family would we be?”

“The best kind,” I said.

She smiled and looked at the floor. “You’re just being nice.”

“What’s wrong with that? Maybe all of this, everything that has happened—my mom killed by cancer, Max and me meeting coincidentally, all of us needing to go to Canada, my seeing you at the library, noticing that you were different, and even Father McNamee dying—maybe all of it happened because the three of us are supposed to be together.”