IN THE TENTH grade, when I got home from my date with Penny Giovanni, my mom was waiting up for me at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. In all her infinite wisdom, she sensed that something was wrong. I confessed my disappointment at not getting to hold Penny’s hand and confided I was worried maybe there was something wrong with me (this, of course, was prior to my realization that there was something wrong with me in Penny’s eyes—my gender). Mom waved off my concerns. “Love is all about timing,” she said, and the logic of that explanation spoke to my rationality. It comforted me. It demystified the frilly feelings and fluttering hearts that girls always talked about in movies and books.
But leaving Jubilee’s house, I now realize that what she should have said is: “Relationships are all about timing.” Because love—it’ll show up when you least expect it, when you’re not at all looking for it, in the middle of a small-town library with a wild-haired woman wearing a nightgown. When it comes to timing, love doesn’t give a flying fuck.
“I’VE FOUND A therapist in New Hampshire that I think would be great for Aja,” says Janet, sliding a card across the table to me. “He’s made a lot of progress, and I don’t want him to backslide.”
I take the card and sit up a little, so I can stuff it into my back pocket. “No, of course,” I say. “I’ll call as soon as we get settled.”
Aja has made progress in that I’ve been sharing stories about his dad and he lets me tell them. He even laughs at some of them (like the Fourth of July Dinesh ate thirty-six hot dogs on a bet that he could beat the Coney Island champion, and was sick for three days after). He also hasn’t been practicing telekinesis as far as I can tell or trying to control electricity (I was worried he might start after the library incident), and I think maybe we’ve moved past that, which is a relief.
But his big, brown eyes are still rimmed with sadness, and some nights, late, I’ve even heard him cry. Though, to be honest, since leaving Jubilee’s, I’ve not exactly been a paragon of joy. We’re what my mom would call a couple of sad sacks.
“How long does this . . . grieving process usually take?” I ask, unsure if I’m asking for Aja or myself.
She presses her lips together in a kind smile. “Longer than you’d expect,” she says. “It gets better, but it never really goes away.”
I nod.
“Keep the lines of communication open. And just keep being there for him,” she says. “Just like you’ve been doing.”
I put my hands on my knees and push down, using the leverage to help me stand. “Well, thank you,” I say. How do you say good-bye to a therapist? A handshake? Are we supposed to hug? I opt for a little wave. “You’ve been so helpful. To both of us.”
She nods. “Just doing my job.”
I walk toward the door and reach for the handle.
“Oh, and Eric,” she says from behind me.
“Yeah?” I turn around.
“It’s about Jubilee.”
I freeze.
“I think Aja would benefit from saying good-bye to her. He seems a little—bereft, when he talks about her, and how their relationship ended so . . . abruptly. I think they grew quite close.”
She squints at me and I wonder how much she knows, or suspects, anyway. I nod and hold my hand up at her in acknowledgment. “Thanks,” I say.
ON THE WAY to the car, I pull out my phone and text Ellie. I’ve been texting her every day, even though she doesn’t always respond. Some are serious and some are like this one: Been thinking of getting a nose ring. Should I go hoop or stud? Dad I slip my phone back into my pocket and turn to Aja. “Pizza for dinner?” I ask as we both get in the car.
“I don’t care,” he mumbles, pulling on his belt buckle.
We drive for a few minutes in silence. I wish I had escaped from Janet’s office before she had the chance to say anything, but I know she’s right. I can’t just sweep Aja and Jubilee’s relationship under the rug, as much as I want to try to put Jubilee behind me. To move on. It’s not fair to Aja.
“Hey,” I say.
He looks up.
“You know it’s not Jubilee’s fault you had to stop going to the library.”
He raises his eyebrows. “It’s not?”
“No,” I say. “It’s mine.”
He doesn’t ask why, and I’m glad not to tell him. “I know she misses you. Do you want to try and see her once more before we leave?”
He bites his lip and looks out the window. After a few minutes he says: “Yeah. I do.”
“OK,” I say, dreading having to say good-bye again, while at the same time dying to see her. “We’ll go on Saturday.”
My phone buzzes and I pull it out at the next red light.
God, you’re such a dork.
I smile.
“WHAT ABOUT RUFUS?” Aja asks that evening as we’re packing up the final boxes in the kitchen. I’m writing COFFEE MUGS in big black letters on the cardboard where I stashed my collection, so I don’t lose them again.
The dog barks when he hears his name. “What about him?” I say, folding the flaps of the box over themselves.
“I think we should leave him—with her,” he says.
I pause. “Who?” I say, even though I know exactly.
“Jubilee,” he says.
“Why?”
He shrugs. “She likes him,” he says slowly. And then he drops his head. “I’m afraid she’ll be lonely without us.”
I nod. My fear is selfishly, jealously the opposite. I’m afraid she won’t be lonely for long enough.
“Yeah, bud,” I say. “We can give her the dog.”
At that, Rufus barks, and the matter is settled.
ON SATURDAY EVENING, I pull the car up in front of Jubilee’s house, but not in the driveway, having decided that as much as I want to, I can’t see her again. Not face-to-face.
Aja gets out and opens the back to get Rufus.
I peer out through the darkness as he walks through the yard up to the front door, knocks on it, and waits. The porch light comes on. The door opens. Rufus jumps up on Jubilee, almost knocking her down. I’m surprised, realizing just how much he’s grown in the few months since we first got him. She kneels and he’s licking her face with his pink tongue, while she giggles. She strokes his fur, calming him, and then her face grows serious as Aja explains why he’s there.
She shakes her head, once. Twice. And then Aja says something to convince her and she smiles, nodding.
Then she disappears inside, shutting the door. I wince, like I’ve been punched in the gut. She didn’t even look at me. Didn’t wave. And I wonder, though it’s only been a week, if maybe she’s already over it. Maybe her feelings weren’t as intense as mine.
But then I notice Aja hasn’t moved. He’s not coming back to the car. So I wait along with him, for whatever is about to happen next.
And then, the door opens. And Jubilee is standing there with a blanket open wide. I open my mouth to say something. Shout. Warn her that Aja hates being hugged. But it’s too late. She engulfs him in the blanket, squeezing tight. And—miraculously—Aja doesn’t move. He stands there, letting himself be loved.
Over his blanket-covered head, I see Jubilee’s eyes look toward the car, searching for mine in the darkness. I don’t know if she can see me, but I smile at her so hard, my cheeks will be sore for a thousand tomorrows. And I think, how silly of me not to realize that out of all the people in the world, Jubilee would be the only one that could touch him.
twenty-seven
JUBILEE