A pinched-face man makes a disapproving clucking sound as he walks by. A little boy gawks at them with a wide-open mouth. His dad covers his eyes.
Watching them makes me unreasonably happy. I guess the cliché is true. People in love want everyone else to be in love. I hope their relationship lasts forever.
I MAKE THE RIGHT onto MLK Boulevard and walk toward Daniel’s store. At the shop next door to his, a girl is standing on a milk crate, playing violin. She’s white, with long black hair that hasn’t been washed in a long time. Her face is too thin—not fashionable thin, but hungry thin. She’s such a sad, strange sight that I have to stop.
The sign next to her tip hat reads PLEASE HELP. NEED $$$ TO BUY VIOLIN BACK FROM LOAN SHARK. A thick black arrow on the sign points to the pawnshop. I can’t imagine how life led her to this place, but I take out a dollar and throw it into her hat, bringing her total to two dollars.
The door to the pawnshop opens, and an enormous white guy in a white tracksuit comes out and over to us. He is all jowls and scowls.
“Time’s up,” he says, holding out his giant hand to her.
She stops playing immediately and hops down from the crate. She gathers the money from the hat and gives it to him. She even gives him the hat.
Tracksuit pockets the money and puts the hat on his head.
“How much is left?” she asks.
He takes a small notebook and pencil out of his pocket and writes something down. “One fifty-one and twenty-three cents.” He snaps his fingers at her for the violin.
She hugs the violin to her chest before relinquishing it.
“I’ll be back tomorrow. You promise not to sell it?” she asks.
He grunts an assent. “You show up, I don’t sell it,” he concedes.
“I promise to be here,” she says.
“Promises don’t mean shit,” he says, and walks away.
She looks at the storefront for a long time. I can’t tell from her face whether she agrees with him.
EVEN IF NATASHA WERE STILL here, I wouldn’t know where to go in the glass monstrosity of a building. I stare at the directory, trying to divine her location. I know she went to see a lawyer, but the directory is not very specific. For instance, it doesn’t say Attorney So-and-So, Immigration Lawyer to Seventeen-Year-Old Jamaican Girls Named Natasha. I ransack my mind and come up with nothing.
I take out my phone to check the time. Just over an hour until my Date with Destiny. It occurs to me that I should check the new address the receptionist gave me earlier. If it’s too far away, I’ll have the perfect excuse to ditch it.
According to Google Maps, though, I’m already there. Either Google is having an existential crisis, or I am. I look at the address again and then back up at the directory.
No shit. My interview is in this building.
I am already where I’m supposed to be.
I PUSH THE DOOR OPEN, and the bell chimes with happy optimism. I am not that optimistic about my chances here. But I have to try.
I expect to see Daniel’s dad behind the counter, but Charlie’s there instead. He’s typing something on his phone and barely glances up. I wonder who I’d have more luck with—Charlie or his dad. I don’t have a choice, though, because his dad is nowhere in sight.
I walk up to the counter. “Hey,” I say.
He keeps typing away for a few seconds before banging the phone down on the counter. Probably not the best way to greet a potential customer.
“What can I help you with?” he asks, when he finally looks up.
I’m shocked to see that his eye socket is red and swollen. It will be bruised black-and-blue by morning. He raises his hand and touches his eye self-consciously. His knuckles are bruised too.
It takes him a second to recognize me. “Wait. Aren’t you Daniel’s little girlfriend?”
He must practice sneering in the mirror. He’s excellent at it.
“Yes,” I say.
He looks past me, searching for Daniel. “Where is that little shit?”
“I’m not sure. I was hoping—” I begin.
He cuts me off and gives me a slow, wide smile. I think he’s trying to be sexy. I can see how, if you didn’t know him at all, it would work. But I do know him a little, and the smile makes me want to punch him in the other eye.
“Come back for the better brother, I see.”
He winks the bad eye and then flinches in pain.
Observable Fact: I don’t believe in karma.
But I might start.
“Do you have his cell phone number?” I ask.
He leans back in his chair and picks up his phone from the counter. “You two get into a fight or something?”
As much as I don’t want to tell him anything, I have to keep this cordial.
“Something like that,” I say. “Do you have it?”
He flips his phone end over end. “You got a Korean boy fetish or what?”
He’s smirking, but his eyes are watching me steadily. At first I think he’s just goading me—but then I realize it’s a serious question. He cares about the answer. I’m not sure if he even knows how much he cares.
“Why does it have to be a fetish?” I ask. “Why can’t I just like your brother?”
He scoffs. “Please. What’s to like? Guys like him are a dime a dozen.”
And then I realize what Charlie’s problem with Daniel is. He hates that Daniel doesn’t hate himself. For all his uncertainties, Daniel is still more comfortable in his skin than Charlie will ever be in his.
I feel sorry for him, but I don’t let it show. “Please help me.”
“Tell me why I should.” He’s not smiling or sneering or smirking at all anymore. He has all the power and we both know it. I don’t know him well enough to appeal to the good part of him. I’m not even sure if there is a good part of him.
“Think how much trouble I’ll cause for your brother,” I say. “He’s in love with me. He won’t give me up no matter what your parents say or do. You can just sit back and enjoy the show.”
He throws his head back and laughs. He really is not a good person. I mean, he might have some good parts. I think most people do. But Charlie’s bad parts outweigh the good ones. I’m sure there are good reasons he is the way he is, but then I decide that the reasons don’t matter.
Some people exist in your life to make it better. Some people exist to make it worse.
Still, though, he does a good thing for his brother: he gives me the number.
MY PHONE RINGS, and I almost drop it like it’s possessed. I don’t recognize the number, but answer anyway.
“Hello?”
“Is this Daniel?”
“Natasha?” I ask, even though I know it’s her.
“Yes, it’s me.” Her voice smiles. “Your brother gave me your number.”
Now I begin to suspect it’s a practical joke by my asshole brother. No way would he ever do something so kind.
“Who is this?” I demand.
“Daniel, it’s me. It’s really me.”
“He gave you my number?”
“Maybe he’s not so bad after all,” she says.
“Not a chance,” I say back, and we both laugh.
I found her.
Well, she found me.
I can’t believe it.
“Where are you?”
“I just left your store. Where are you?”
“I’m at your lawyer’s office building.”
“What? Why?”
“It’s the only place I could think to find you.”
“You’ve been looking for me?” Her voice is shy.
“Will you forgive me for being such a jerk earlier?”
“It’s okay. I should’ve told you.”
“It wasn’t my business.”
“Yes it was,” she says.
It’s not the three words I want to hear from her, but it’s damn close.
HE’S SITTING ON ONE OF THE BENCHES that face the fountain and writing in his notebook. I knew I’d be happy to see him, but I didn’t expect to feel gleeful. I have to stop myself from jumping up and down and clapping my hands and maybe doing a twirl.
Gleeful.
Which is not like me.
So I don’t do it.
But the smile on my face needs to be measured in miles instead of inches.
I slide onto the bench and bump his shoulder with mine. He pulls the notebook up to his face, covering his mouth, and then turns to face me. His eyes are wide and dancing. I don’t think anyone’s ever been as happy to see anyone as Daniel is to see me.
“Hey,” he says from behind the notebook.