I lean into her shoulder, feeling utterly defeated.
“Your pet portraits are still selling,” Talia says with a small smile. “I can move some artists around and make space for whatever you want to do next.”
I shrug hopelessly. “TodayEntangledbecameUntangled. I don’t have a clue what’s next.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Talia says like the best friend that she is.
I slouch, hugging my arms against my body. “You have to say that.”
“I really don’t. Come on, let’s go make a wish on a lantern,” Talia says, guiding me through the living room as other guests head toward the front door, pulling their hats and scarves off the coatrack on the way out. It feels like everyone’s looking at me, judging me. Then I remember they don’t know who I am or what I do. I might as well be invisible.
I sigh. “It’s the perfect night for a wish. I’m not going to think about today, not going to talk about it,” I say with a terrible attempt at an upbeat tone. I twirl a short piece of red string around my finger, looping and unlooping it around and around.
The rooftop wasn’t an afterthought. Globes of all sizes emanate soft white light around the deck while tealight candles flicker on metal bar tables. Large red- and cream-colored paper lanterns are gathered in rows on long benches as party guests cluster around them, pulling their coats closer around their bodies. It looks like there are double the number of people up here than there were in the apartment.
Lunar New Year was two weeks ago, and tonight marks the finalday of celebrations. Against the starless sky and between a break in the clouds, I locate the full moon, significant for the Lantern Festival. The moon is light against the gray-violet sky, quickly growing in brightness as the night ticks on.
“We don’t have enough lanterns for each person, and these are cumbersome enough to require two people minimum, so we’re going to pair up,” someone who I assume might be the host announces. “Preferably with someone you don’t know. Make new connections!”
Guests naturally divide into couples or with friends they came with while one guy takes it upon himself to group random people together. Having invited several people, Talia spots one of her clients and leaves me for two minutes to say hello.
“Ah, you!” the self-appointed organizer calls out to a tall man coming through the entrance to the rooftop. “You’re just in time. You two are paired together.” He’s referring to me, and before we can object, this man and I are handed a lantern.
When the man steps closer and into the light of a globe, I first notice his lip scar. I trace his lips up to his nose and then to his brown eyes, a sort of weird déjà vu overcoming me.
The word “Jack” tumbles out of my mouth. This guy has my Red Thread of Fate scarf wrapped around his neck. He’s definitely the man from the print shop. And he looks equally surprised to see me.
“Rooney.” He searches my face in recognition. Two times in one day in New York City, where there’s nearly eight and a half million people.
“What are you doing here? Who’s suing me? Am I about to be served?” I ask the series of questions dramatically, but I really do want answers. Who is this guy and why is he here?
Jack lets out a short grunt that could easily be mistaken for a chuckle. “Actually, no. I’m a debt collector. You’re behind on your payments.”
I hope that’s supposed to be a joke. I smile, feeling some of the burden of the day melt away.
I look his face up and down, surprisingly comforted to be seeing him again. “You do have a very debt collector-y face.”
“What does that look like?” he asks.
“You look at everyone like they’re a liability,” I say, deciphering his features. There’s no doubt that Jack is handsome. His brown hair falls perfectly into place and frames his oval-shaped face.
“Wait, so why are you here again?” I ask, cutting my admiration short.
He drags his hand over his face. “I shouldn’t be. My colleague said I could come by. Apparently, his wife has a friend whose cousin’s partner works with the host’s stylist. He has my notebook that I accidentally left behind at a work event.”
I nod in understanding. “I’m here for a similar reason. My friend’s friend’s husband’s coworker’s cat has playdates with the host’s cat. Or something. I only know one person here. Well, now two.”
“That makes two of us,” Jack says. For a split second, his eyes crinkle in what could definitely qualify as an eye smile. I’ll take it. But then something even better happens. He smiles for real. It’s brief, his jaw quickly settling back into its neutral position. His smile feels hard-earned, so I imprint the moment in my memory and safekeep it as a win.
I tilt the lantern on its side and reach into my bag, feeling around the bottom until I find my pen. “Should we write down our wishes? I’ll write mine. Then you do yours.”
Jack angles his body toward me. “Oh, that’s okay,” he says, looking around. His hair sticks up from the wind, giving him a younger appearance even though he must be in his early thirties. “I don’t plan on staying.”
“It’s the Lantern Festival. I’m not letting you walk out of herewithout participating,” I say, writing gently against the paper lantern, careful not to poke a hole through it.
He hesitates. “Okay. But then I have to get going. I’ve had a long day.”
“You and me both,” I mumble. I lift the pen mid-sentence, nodding toward the scarf I made that he’s still wearing. “I hope it kept you warm.”
