you check in and next thing they’ll hand you a mountain of papers. Tell me you’ll lounge at home and do nothing else.”
He assured her he’d take as much time as he needed. One of the great things about DePaul was how little emotional investment he had in his work. They were currently raising funds for a new parking garage.
Yale wouldn’t be able to carry these boxes home, even in a cab, so he promised he’d return next week when Teresa was here again from California. She’d been back and forth since Charlie died in December, though Yale wished she’d just go sun herself in the Caribbean for a month and sleep. “The fact that this plant is alive,” he said, “means you’ve been doing too much.”
He called Asher, who’d volunteered to pick him up. It would be the first time he’d seen him since the protest, since the kiss. Yale had been the last into that particular paddy wagon, so although Asher had been arrested a minute later, he never saw him—in part because, thanks to Fiona’s persistent screaming about lawyers, Yale was sent to the hospital rather than put in the holding cell.
Asher could be there in five minutes. Yale leaned his head back on the sofa, smelled the fabric. Teresa was going around with the Dustbuster. He said, “I have a story about the map.” The one Nico had drawn on. She stopped cleaning, sat on the floor in front of the couch, her knees tucked under her chin. “Okay, this little car he drew, way over here?” Yale pointed. “We were in our friend Terrence’s car, and we were supposed to head south on the expressway, but we ended up shooting off west on the Eisenhower instead. Terrence had no sense of direction. Which is odd for a math teacher, right? So we got off the highway and got totally turned around, and it’s this terrible neighborhood.” Yale remembered all of them slinking low in their seats, as if that would keep them safe. “But we went in a big circle and eventually we found all these streets named after presidents, which we thought was good, because they go in order, and they stretch all the way back downtown, to the lake. Charlie was always complaining he couldn’t find his way around downtown because he couldn’t remember the presidents. If they were named for the British monarchy, he’d be set. So we’re going back down through the president streets, you know, Madison, Monroe, Adams, Jackson—and just in that one part of town, before Van Buren, the next thing was this tiny street called Gladys Avenue. And Charlie goes, ‘There was a President Gladys?’ He was serious. Terrence never let him forget that, oh my God. He used to make up facts about the Gladys administration.”
Teresa let out a small, shallow laugh.
“I’m not telling it right,” he said.
“No, I like that. I like it very much. He had such good friends, didn’t he? He had a family here.”
And there was the low buzzer, a sound from his distant past. Yale kissed Teresa’s cheek and she told him again to walk carefully, to breathe fully.
* * *
—
Asher didn’t have his car. “It’s too nice out to drive,” he said. Yale promised he was okay walking—it really only hurt when he bent or twisted—and Asher suggested they stroll around and wind up at St. Joe’s, where he had a two o’clock appointment. “I’ll get you a cab from there,” he said.
Yale was too nervous to talk normally. He found himself chattering and then falling silent for long stretches. Asher needed to duck over to Halsted to find an ATM. As he pocketed his cash he said, “You heard about County, right?” No, Yale hadn’t. “Cook County Hospital is now officially, drumroll please, treating female AIDS patients.”
“Seriously? That fast? Like, because of the protest?”
“You didn’t think it would work, did you. Listen, Yale, I’m not making it up. This shit works. I want you to stay involved.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“I need to tell you something.” They turned down Briar again, although there were more efficient routes to St. Joe’s. “I’ve put off telling people, and I’ve particularly put off telling you. But I’m moving to New York.”
“Oh.” He felt it as a pain in his rib, even though he hadn’t twisted, hadn’t bent. They were back in front of the apartment now, in front of the same place he’d gotten his heart broken four years ago, so why not break