Chapter 9

ROONEY

It’s the question I keep asking myself. Will we ever see each other again? Frankly, I’m surprised to hear him ask it, too. The signs aren’t clear enough yet, but the obstacles are pretty obvious: thousands of miles between us and fundamental, contradicting beliefs. Yet it’s been so easy being with him.

The thread may stretch or tangle but never break. When the man on the other end of my red string and I are brought together, our strings finally shortened enough to see each other, it won’t be a question. When I meet him, I’ll know. I thought I’d have a clearer gut reaction when I knew. Is this me knowing? How can I be sure?

I focus on my tea, my mind whirling with thoughts. What could that have possibly meant, Jack wanting to take me to Entangled? He didn’t give any indication that he thought that I was the artist, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him what happened to my art. In his memories, the installation can remain intact. It was too sweet that he wanted me to see it. He thought I’d like it, and he’s right. I would’ve. Oddly, I feel comforted knowing that Jack has seen something so important to me, while it lasted.

Does Jack have a red string tied around his ankle? Even if he did, would it lead to me? I need to sleep today off and wake up tomorrow with fresh eyes and a clear mind. Everything will make more sense in the daylight.

“Rooney?”

“What? Yes. Sorry,” I say, breaking free from my thought spiral. I bring my cup up to my lips and blow ripples into the tea, absorbing the heat from the porcelain into my hands. “I don’t know where our lantern takes us, but that’s the beauty of it. If we knew that everything today was leading to this moment, and we knew where we’d end up—in this exact Chinese restaurant—would you have skipped all of tonight just to be here? Would this moment mean as much? Would that change how we feel about each other?” When I say this, my chest overheats at my bold assumption.

Jack’s looking at me with intensity. “You make me want to explore the unknown. I love the idea of taking the scenic route, but could we still use GPS?”

He says this softly and quickly, as though he could take it back at any second.

“We do have each other’s phone numbers. Let’s see where that takes us,” I say, feeling hopeful. Maybe whatever this is between us really can make it to tomorrow. Maybe the daylight will shed golden lights of clarity, and maybe only then will it all become clear. It sounds too good to be true. “Maybe our paths will cross again, Times Square.”

Jack holds his hand up against his chest. “That’s how you’re going to remember me? As Times Square? But you want to punch it in the face. I hope there’s a good metaphor or deeper meaning behind that.”

“New York isn’t New York without Times Square,” I admit.

Where Jack once looked hopeful, his expression deflates a little. “It doesn’t have as nice of a ring as Lobster Girl. I just—I don’t do long distance,” he says reluctantly before catching himself. “Not like I was trying to imply anything, of course. Just in the grander scheme of things, it’s too hard to be away from people I care about.”

“I get it,” I say. I have a feeling there’s more to this, but Jack doesn’t add anything else.

Earlier when we talked about fate, I felt so close to convincing him. If he doesn’t believe in it, would we ever truly be able to be together? Really, Rooney? I think there’s a world where we can be together? This man I hardly know who lives across the country? Still, I’m hung up on us meeting. Why is this man so different?

Sleep, daylight, clarity, I repeat.

We polish off the dumplings and take the last sips of our tea. Jack folds The Fate Test menu into a perfect square and slides it over to me. An artifact of our night together.

“You should keep this,” he says. “Unless you’d really prefer to let fate do its thing. Then we can toss it.”

My eyes could burn a hole through the paper with how hard I stare at it. I reach for the folded square, my attention fixed on the words “Hot and Spicy.”

I know these Fate Tests won’t actually do me any good, but I had fun playing along with Jack. In his way of understanding me better, I also got to know him better. The man who needs operationalizing and tests and measurements. No, tests won’t help me find my stringmate. I’ll leave that up to fate, but I’ll cherish the game for giving us our own inside jokes and more time together. A set of theories that we could use to figure each other out.

I wave the paper in the air. “If only we had this much power over our destinies,” I say, attempting to lighten the weight of the reality of our night ending. “I’ll keep this. As a memento.”

Jack smiles. “Yes. A sweet-and-sour memento.”

No more time, no more tests. No more Jack. I tuck the paper into the back pocket of my sketchbook.

Jack signals the waitress for the check and pays for the food with cash, per the restaurant’s rules. We head outside, where the air is still and the falling flurries have retired for the night. A light breeze blows the already-fallen snow off tree branches.

Occasional bright yellow taxis roll past us down the avenues, slowing just enough to make their presences known. There’s one about every three minutes or so, its roof light blinking on for attention before it disappears out of sight. New York City’s version of fireflies.

I check the time on my phone. An ache grows in my chest. Midnight has come and gone, and at some point, we really do both have to go home.

“We’re fifteen minutes into tomorrow. How did that happen?” he asks.

“You and your gravity,” I say with a playful roll of my eyes.

A smile flashes across his face, and the weight of the moment intensifies.

Fresh snowflakes. Matcha ice cream. Kittens in tiny sweaters. Jack.

Jack here. In front of me but for real this time. Jack with his warm brown eyes and crescent moon lip scar. No longer just in my imagination when I close my eyes. Jack, who has to leave tomorrow morning. Jack, who I know nothing and everything about.

“I guess this is it? The last stop on the food tour,” Jack says. “Unless you want more ice cream?”

“You could probably churn me into ice cream right now, it’s so cold out,” I say.

Jack’s cheeks tint. “You would be one delicious ice cream.”

We linger outside. How do you say good-bye to someone when that good-bye will be the first and last? Does the situation even warrant one?

“We could walk until we get cold… er,” I offer. “Are you cold?”

Jack’s visibly shaking but tries to hold still. “Is—is it cold out? I hadn’t even noticed.”

“You’re not tired of me yet?” I ask as we wander the blocks of Chinatown.

“Oddly no. At this point, the law of diminishing returns usually kicks in,” he says.

I turn to look at him. “What do you mean?”

Jack moves his hands around in front of him as he speaks. “We can have a great time during hours one, two, and three. But once that optimal level has been reached, it goes downhill from there. Then hours four, five, and six are when we start to get annoyed with each other or are tired of asking and answering questions.”

We walk aimlessly down the near-empty sidewalks.

“And you’re not annoyed with me? We’re on hour, what, five? Six?” I ask, amused.

The corners of Jack’s mouth twist up. “I’m not, though that’s always a fear with anyone,” he says. “You see too much of me at once, I see too much of you. We’re over before we even begin. Those dumplings we ate were delicious, but if we ordered another plate, we wouldn’t enjoy them as much.”

We turn the corner, our shoulders rubbing. “What if there is no limit? What if it’s just you telling yourself there is and you set yourself up for disappointment after a certain amount of time?”

“Few things in this universe are limitless, Rooney,” he says. “It’s why people have coffee or dinner dates. Finite amount of time. Safe. Within the bounds of the diminishing returns. Then you have an out when you’re evaluating whether or not you have anything else to say.”

“When you look at it that way, everything you do is on a ticking countdown. Where’s the room for spontaneity? Long nights like this?”

“Tonight’s an exception,” he says. “Don’t ask me why. I’m still trying to figure it out.”

“Well, I like every bite of dumpling equally, no matter how many,” I say. “Sometimes things do get better over time.”

Jack shrugs. When we turn the next corner, the full moon comes into view. It hangs like a neon sign in space.

He catches me looking at it. “You ever think about how small we are compared to everything out there? Like, we’re just casually part of the universe, living on a planet.”

I laugh. “I think about it a lot actually. What exists beyond the beyond? What is this all even for?” I spread my arms out, gesturing to the sky. “Our time on Earth is so short compared to the bigger timeline of it all. I want my life to count for something. I want to have an impact on people… on the world.”

Jack inhales deeply, his breath visible in front of him on the release. “Yeah. Me too.”

I tilt my head back and watch as occasional snowflakes drift toward me, melting on my skin upon impact. “If other life does exist, what do you think they look like?”

Jack rubs his gloved hands together. “They’d have fur covering their skin to stay warm because other planets have their own atmospheres and are different distances from the sun. They’d have big eyes so they could keep on the lookout for danger. They probably have a lot of sharp teeth because their idea of food might not be the same as ours.” He says this confidently, as though this isn’t the first time he’s thought about it.

I nod along, grinning and processing his version of extraterrestrial life. “That was oddly specific.”

Jack laughs. “And this is the point where it all starts to go downhill,” he says as we find ourselves back at the Chinese restaurant.

“We basically did one big loop,” I say, looking around.

“It was a pleasure to loop with you.”

“I guess that’s the last stop on the tour, for real this time.” The disappointment in my voice is a direct reflection of how it feels to be on the verge of good-bye with Jack with no real signal for what will become of us.

I think back on the night and let out a small, sad laugh. Jack and I, we’re a meteor. A streak of light burning up before it has a chance to make it anywhere at all. At least, for one night, we got to be a shooting star.

“I guess so,” Jack says.

I could be hearing things, but he sounds disappointed, too.

Jack’s hotel in the Financial District is in the opposite direction of my Mom’s Upper East Side apartment. We agree to take two different taxis back to where we need to be.

A taxi passes by, but neither of us waves our arm. We turn toward each other on the slushy sidewalk.

“Thanks for showing this tourist all your favorite places,” he says. We ignore the second cab that passes.

“Next time you’re in the city, you know where I’ll be,” I say. “You just have to use the ‘X marks the spot’ photo that you’re not going to let any other eyes see ever.”

I cringe at the realization that My Spot will likely never feel the same without Jack.

“Cross my heart,” Jack promises playfully. A third taxi stops in front of us and honks, eager for our business. “You go first.” He opens the taxi’s door for me.

I rest my hand on top of the door, taking in the scene. Jack’s face, Jack’s scent, Jack’s laugh. Not another second passes before his hand is on my waist, pulling me toward him. Our lips touch gently, like a whisper. It lasts two seconds, maybe three, but it’s all I need to know that this man is meant to be in my life more than just tonight.

“See? Sometimes it does get better,” I mumble, touching my fingers to my lips as I sink into the backseat of the taxi.

“Maybe sometimes it does,” he says.

“Have you ever wondered how many good-bye kisses happen outside of taxis?” I ask, still in a daze.

“This isn’t good-bye, Lobster Girl,” Jack says, looking equally stunned.

“May our paths cross again, Times Square,” I whisper.

Through the back window, I watch Jack step onto the sidewalk and then peer through the glass at me. Twice in one day, I’ve been separated from things I care about. In the reflection, the green neon restaurant sign glows, the letter “R” blinking rapidly. It finally fizzles out, the absence of the letter shadowing Jack’s face before the taxi pulls out into the road. I know I’ll read too much into what the disappearing “R” means later.

Two blocks down, I reach for my phone to send Jack another message. Anything to feel connected to him. Minutes later, my phone buzzes with a text. My heart soars before I see what the message says: Thx for the pic earlier, but also weird. IDK who Lobster Girl is, but think u have wrong number.

Then my heart plummets. Wrong number?!

“Turn around!” I call out to the driver, tapping his seat. “Back to the restaurant. Hurry! Please!”

The driver does as I plead. We wind through the empty streets, but we might as well be moving in slow motion. When we round the corner back to the restaurant, it’s too late.

The sidewalk is empty. Jack is gone.

I guess this really is good-bye.