“Can’t go wrong with a classic.” Everything I said dated me. My dating skills are dated, I thought crazily. I date datedly.
“Should we sit down?” We settled on a bench, looking out at the skyline, a mosaicked cliff of brick and glass.
“Which building is yours?” he asked. I pointed it out: a gleaming silver one next to a big black spire.
“That’s the Tress building, right?”
“Yeah, I work at Sir magazine.”
“Seriously? I used to read that!”
“Not anymore?”
“I think my subscription ran out. Wow, what do you do?”
“I’m the research chief.”
“So you research the articles?” He’d succeeded in sliding out the slices, each on its own paper plate.
“Not exactly. I fact-check the articles after they’ve been written. Well, I lead the team that does.” He handed me the top plate, which was probably a nice gesture, but it meant its bottom was soaked with oil, so I couldn’t set it on my lap. I pleated the slice and took a bite.
“Wow, so you’re a boss lady.”
“I guess. Tell me more about what you do.”
“You know, it’s just boring operations stuff.”
“Do you want to be an architect eventually?”
“Not really. I studied civil engineering and got really into the technology piece: 3-D printing and advanced CAD, that kind of stuff. Kinda figured I’d end up at a startup, but they hired me first.”
“Well, they do have a cornhole room,” I cracked. He smiled, chewing. “What’s it like working for Greg?”
“Oh, he’s the best. Really good guy, really smart. Everybody loves him.”
“Are you just saying that because he dated my friend? You can be honest. She dumped him.”
“No, I’m serious, he’s awesome. Your friend really missed out.” He shot me that beautiful goddamn grin, and something between my chest and stomach cartwheeled.
“All right, I believe you.” I worked up something new. “So how long have you been there?”
“Two years last month.”
“Since right after college?” Please let him be older than twenty-four.
“Yep!”
Twenty-four, then. A barge glided by, majestic in the sun’s glare.
“And do you like it?”
He shrugged. “It’s good, they treat us well. Eventually I’ll probably start my own company.”
Right, easy as pizza pie. “Doing what?”
“Probably with 3-D modeling. Making it more accessible to the masses.”
“So that the masses can do…what?”
“Whatever they want. Print their own custom orthotics. Or jewelry. Or, like, a bust of their great-grandfather. There are instructions online now for printing and constructing a functional handgun.”
Handgun. This was the arrhythmic pattern of the last couple of weeks: periods of distraction, of time passing normally, and then screeeh, jolt, and crash.
“Do you think that has, you know, ethical implications?” I dabbed my lips with a napkin.
“I don’t know. It’s just a tool. You know the phrase: Guns don’t kill people—people with guns kill people. So it’s kind of a stretch to say that people who design 3-D models for guns kill people. Right?”
I sighed. “I guess. I mean, I grew up in a gun family; I’m not anti-gun. It’s just…wild to think about.”
“What would you wanna print out?” he said.
“Ohhh, gosh. Well, definitely not a gun.” Two assholes careened by on blue and white Jet Skis. “When will we be able to 3-D print a time machine?”
He laughed. “Once we master quantum physics. We’re getting there.”
“You think?”
“Sure.”
I thought for a moment. “That would make it 4-D modeling!”
He chuckled. “When would you go back to?”
August 2009, obviously, so I could stay home that night. Maybe order sushi, walk over to Videology, and rent a DVD.
“It’s funny we always talk about time machines transporting us back in time, right?” I said after a moment. “You could jump ahead, too.”
“That’s true. And it’d be a lot easier to go that way, if we could just figure out how to move at the speed of light.”
“I guess that’s less appealing, since we eventually reach the future, anyway,” I said.
A ferry tooted its horn.
“A physicist would argue that we’re always in the now,” he replied.
“So would a philosopher.”
He laughed. “This is pretty heavy for a pizza lunch.”
He caught my eye and held his perfect smile, his thick hair rumpling in the wind, and for a moment, a small, embarrassing part of me wondered if he was my time machine, my wormhole back to when I was twenty-three and happy and free.
* * *
“So did you guys have sex on the dock?” Damien called as soon as I got back to my office, loud enough for others to hear.
“Damien!” I beckoned him in and closed the door. “I