I turned eight.”
Right. Of course their parents were behind Gretel reading young adult literature from the eighties and nineties.
“Why?” Gretel asked, confusion splashed across her small face. “Do you . . . want to read them?”
“Yes.” Everett nodded.
“Really?” Gretel asked, staring at him.
“Yes. An, uh . . . a friend of mine recommended them.”
Gretel narrowed her eyes. “Oooookay,” she said slowly. “The entirety of the series would be way too much for you to carry out of here, but”—she leaned over her bookshelf and pulled out a few—“here are the first six books.”
“Thanks!” Everett said, easily holding three slim, tattered paperbacks in each hand. With his head, he gestured toward the stack of books on her bed. “What are you reading?”
“Gene Luen Yang, Lynda Barry, and Jerry Craft. Graphic novel research,” she said, sitting back down on her creaky bed. At the first squeak, a black shape squeezed out from under the bed and rubbed against Everett’s leg.
“Sassafras!” Everett said, bending down to greet the cat with a pet. Sassafras purred in response, so he picked her up. Sassafras loved attention from Everett, a fact that annoyed Gretel to no end.
“You don’t even live here,” she said, pouting. “Why does she like you so much?”
Everett put Sassafras down, at which point she jumped on the bed. Gretel pet her possessively.
“Just the effect I have on the ladies, I guess.”
Gretel groaned.
“And on that note, I’m out of here.” Everett held up the books. “Thanks for these.”
“Hey!” Gretel called when he was halfway down the stairs. He turned to see her silhouetted in the doorway, still holding Sassafras.
“Yeah?” Everett asked.
“What girl are you trying to impress?”
Everett scoffed. “Who says I’m trying to impress a girl? Maybe I’m broadening my horizons.”
“Well, whoever she is,” Gretel called after him as he kept walking, “she has good taste.”
Everett smiled without looking back. As he started down the second staircase, he heard, “Not staying for dinner, man?”
He startled but thankfully stopped himself from tripping down the stairs. “Rob. Wow. I, uh . . . wasn’t expecting you to still be there.”
Rob looked back at him, not offering an explanation.
“No, I have to get home now. But thanks for the offer,” Everett said, before realizing he was thanking a stranger for inviting him to dinner at his own parents’ house.
“No problem,” Rob said with a smile. “I’ll let Miranda know you stopped by.”
Everett nodded. “Go ahead and do that.”
And then he walked onto the porch and shut the door. The night had turned cold, but in that pleasant early-fall way that people liked to describe as “crisp.” You could wear a jacket, but you didn’t need a hat. Couples walked down the street with their dogs, headed for Goodale Park, and parents trailed kids on scooters. As if to complete the picture, a single leaf twirled down from the sky and landed at Everett’s feet.
As he picked up the leaf and spun it around, a rogue feeling shocked him. Something he wasn’t sure he’d experienced ever, or at least not recently. He was struck with the sudden desire to share this moment with someone, to be one half of one of the couples walking down the street, to be holding on to both a hand and a leash, to point out his observations about this night to another human being, instead of saving them in his head with hopes of using them on some episode of the show that discussed seasons.
He shook his head and walked down the stone steps. These emails. They were doing things to him.
20
Dear Theodora,
You have my word that I would never, ever judge your chassé. Mostly because I don’t know what that is. To be honest, it sounds too inappropriate for what is technically my work email, so I’ll change the subject.
Regarding the “shouldn’t thirty-year-olds have their lives figured out?” question: well, that’s hard for me to say. After all, you’re talking to a freak of nature who’s been interested in puppetry since the tender age of four. I realize that’s not necessarily normal.
The breakup happened four years ago, which seems both like a lifetime away and like yesterday. She’s married with a kid now, and honestly, I’m happy that she finally got what she wanted, even if it wasn’t with me.
Good job telling your shitty ex no. So what else is happening on the “do one thing every day that scares you” front? Have you skydived yet? Bungee jumped? Watched Human Centipede?
Of note: I’m halfway through the second Alice book. I