“I need to know that you’re actively trying to get them adopted, Virginia,” Dad said. I could hear him from my bedroom. I’d just punched in Rachel’s number on my phone. I’d done this before, but I never pressed Call.
“I am. I’m building profiles today for the Vancouver Feline Rescue website.”
“Do I have your word?”
“Andreas, for God’s sake—”
“We can barely afford the others, Virginia. You know this. The food, the litter, the vet bills—it adds up.”
I closed my door to block them out.
I took a great big inhale and pressed Call.
“Hey, this is Rachel, sorry I missed your call. Leave me a—”
I hung up. Had she really missed my call? Or had she seen my name on caller ID and made an executive decision?
When I came out of my room, Dad had left for his epic Sunday run and Mom was getting ready to go to yoga.
I heard a ping. It was such a rare sound that both Mom and I glanced around, puzzled. “Oh,” I said. “It’s my phone.”
It was a text. Rachel, I thought.
But it wasn’t Rachel. It was Jacob.
Finished editing video. Want to come for brunch and a viewing?
“Ooh, from the cute boy!” Mom had come up behind me and read my private text over my shoulder.
“Mother!”
“You’re saying yes, right?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think he likes you,” Mom said in a singsong voice.
“Please. As if.” With everything he knew about me, that was a scientific impossibility.
She picked up her purse. “I wish you wouldn’t underestimate yourself, Tula. You’re a beautiful young woman.”
“Mom, stop. He just wants to show me our assignment.”
“Fine. Then text him back and say yes.”
“I will,” I said. “When you’re gone.”
“Nope. Now.”
It was a standoff. Then my mother did a shocking thing. She grabbed my phone from my hands and typed, Love to. Address?
“Don’t you dare press Send. If you press Send, I will never speak to you again.”
She pressed Send.
“I’m doing this for your own good, sweetheart. You’ve shut yourself off from the world for far too long.”
A moment later, Jacob texted me his address. See you in half an hour.
Mom slipped on her boots and left, humming to herself.
Jacob’s building was a modern low-rise condo, right on English Bay. It was just a handful of blocks from the Arcadia, but it felt like a world apart.
I stood across the street, trying to summon the courage to go in. The sun was out and the seawall was full of outdoor enthusiasts in a rainbow assortment of spandex. I couldn’t believe how many rollerbladers and cyclists without helmets I saw. If you have an accident your head will split open like a cantaloupe! I wanted to shout.
Since I didn’t want to jaywalk, I headed a block out of my way to the light and crossed. When I arrived outside the front doors I took a few deep, calming breaths.
The lobby was huge and airy, with an enormous modern chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Even though I could tell the place had been built with earthquake proofing, there was no way I’d be caught standing under that massive light fixture. I edged around it to a desk manned by a guy in a blazer. His name tag said SERGE. “Serge the Concierge,” I said as he buzzed the Cohens’ apartment. “It’s like it was destiny.”
He didn’t crack a smile. “They’re expecting you,” he said. “Sixth floor.”
I took the stairs. When I emerged, Jacob was waiting for me by the elevators. “I don’t do elevators,” I said, out of breath.
“Ah. I should have guessed. I don’t, either.”
“Right. Confined spaces.”
I heard his bionic hand whir, and next thing I knew he’d plucked my cat hat from my head and put it on. “I keep meaning to tell you, I love this hat.”
I tried to grab it back, but he dodged out of the way. “Haven’t you heard of lice?”
“You’re accusing me of having lice?”
“Anyone can get lice.”
“Maybe you just gave me lice.”
“Impossible. I check my hair every week.”
“Of course you do.” He handed me back the hat. “Did you make it?”
“Yes.”
“You’re very talented, Petula.”
I felt my armpits get moist; I was having a teenage hot flash.
Jacob took me by the elbow and guided me down the hall. “I’d love a hat like that. Would you make me one? Preferably a dog? I had a beagle back in Toronto.”
“Sorry. This is all old stuff. I don’t knit anymore.”
“Why not?”
Because the last thing I knit was the wolf suit that killed my sister. “I just don’t.”
“Well, sure. If it’s too complicated—”
“It’s not too complicated. I’m a knitting champion. Won two contests. Over a thousand bucks in free wool.”
“Wow. So a dog hat should be a piece of cake.”
I was pretty sure I was being played.
He pushed open the door at the end of the hallway and we stepped inside.
The apartment was the exact opposite of mine, not in size but in newness. It had polished hardwood floors, high ceilings, and a wraparound balcony that overlooked the ocean. Best of all, it was neat as a pin.
Jacob’s parents appeared from the kitchen. Mrs. Cohen wore tights, a loose-fitting cashmere top, and big purple glasses. Mr. Cohen was in jeans and a T-shirt, with a frilly apron that read WORLD’S OKAYEST COOK.
“Petula, nice to meet you,” said his mom. “I’m Miranda, and this is David.” When we shook hands, I hoped they wouldn’t notice that I’d left my mittens on.
We moved into their living/dining area. David served eggs Benedict. “I’m not much of a cook, but I do a mean brunch,” he said. As we talked, I wolfed down my food, with the exception of one underdone egg, which I discreetly pushed to the side of my plate. No need to court salmonella poisoning.
David said, “I hear you and my son shot a movie starring cats.”
“Yes.”
“It’s so nice to see Jacob making movies again,” said Miranda. “He used to do it all the time with—” She stopped.
I looked up. Jacob’s jaw was clenched. Miranda looked close to tears. David looked anxiously from his wife to his son.
Jacob tossed his napkin on the table. “Come on, Petula. I’ll show you the video.”
“Thank you so much for brunch.” I started to clear my dishes, but David stopped me.
“It’s okay. Leave them. We’ve got it covered.”
Jacob led me down the hallway. “What just happened?” I asked.
“Nothing. I just don’t like talking about the past, and they know it.”
We entered his room. It was like the rest of the apartment, neat and tidy. A massive DVD collection was stored on three bookshelves. Two framed movie posters hung on one wall, one for Inglourious Basterds, the other for The Grand Budapest Hotel. His digital camera sat on a shelf beside a handful of books on cinema and directing.
That was it. There were no photos, no trophies, no souvenirs, no knickknacks.
Jacob pulled an extra chair up to his desk and we both sat down. His laptop was hooked up to a huge monitor, one of two.
We were so close, our knees grazed.
Then I felt his hand touch mine.
Sometimes the body has a response that the mind has zero control over. My mind didn’t want my body to feel like jelly all of a sudden. I didn’t want to have this overwhelming desire to lean into him, to feel his arms around me again.
Still. He was touching my hand. Was he sending a signal?
No.
It was his robot limb. A hunk of carbon fiber.
He had no idea his hand was touching mine.