Jack’s looking at me with intensity. “You make me want to explore the unknown. I love the idea of taking the scenic route, but could we still use GPS?”
He says this softly and quickly, as though he could take it back at any second.
“We do have each other’s phone numbers. Let’s see where that takes us,” I say, feeling hopeful. Maybe whatever this is between us really can make it to tomorrow. Maybe the daylight will shed golden lights of clarity, and maybe only then will it all become clear. It sounds too good to be true. “Maybe our paths will cross again, Times Square.”
Jack holds his hand up against his chest. “That’s how you’re going to remember me? As Times Square? But you want to punch it in the face. I hope there’s a good metaphor or deeper meaning behind that.”
“New York isn’t New York without Times Square,” I admit.
Where Jack once looked hopeful, his expression deflates a little. “It doesn’t have as nice of a ring as Lobster Girl. I just—I don’t do long distance,” he says reluctantly before catching himself. “Not like I was trying to imply anything, of course. Just in the grander scheme of things, it’s too hard to be away from people I care about.”
“I get it,” I say. I have a feeling there’s more to this, but Jack doesn’t add anything else.
Earlier when we talked about fate, I felt so close to convincing him. If he doesn’t believe in it, would we ever truly be able to be together? Really, Rooney? I think there’s a world where we can be together? This man I hardly know who lives across the country? Still, I’m hung up on us meeting. Why is this man so different?
Sleep, daylight, clarity, I repeat.
We polish off the dumplings and take the last sips of our tea. Jack folds The Fate Test menu into a perfect square and slides it over to me. An artifact of our night together.
“You should keep this,” he says. “Unless you’d really prefer to let fate do its thing. Then we can toss it.”
My eyes could burn a hole through the paper with how hard I stare at it. I reach for the folded square, my attention fixed on the words “Hot and Spicy.”
I know these Fate Tests won’t actually do me any good, but I had fun playing along with Jack. In his way of understanding me better, I also got to know him better. The man who needs operationalizing and tests and measurements. No, tests won’t help me find my stringmate. I’ll leave that up to fate, but I’ll cherish the game for giving us our own inside jokes and more time together. A set of theories that we could use to figure each other out.
I wave the paper in the air. “If only we had this much power over our destinies,” I say, attempting to lighten the weight of the reality of our night ending. “I’ll keep this. As a memento.”
Jack smiles. “Yes. A sweet-and-sour memento.”
No more time, no more tests. No more Jack. I tuck the paper into the back pocket of my sketchbook.
Jack signals the waitress for the check and pays for the food with cash, per the restaurant’s rules. We head outside, where the air isstill and the falling flurries have retired for the night. A light breeze blows the already-fallen snow off tree branches.
Occasional bright yellow taxis roll past us down the avenues, slowing just enough to make their presences known. There’s one about every three minutes or so, its roof light blinking on for attention before it disappears out of sight. New York City’s version of fireflies.
I check the time on my phone. An ache grows in my chest. Midnight has come and gone, and at some point, we really do both have to go home.
“We’re fifteen minutes into tomorrow. How did that happen?” he asks.
“You and your gravity,” I say with a playful roll of my eyes.
A smile flashes across his face, and the weight of the moment intensifies.
Fresh snowflakes. Matcha ice cream. Kittens in tiny sweaters. Jack.
Jack here. In front of me but for real this time. Jack with his warm brown eyes and crescent moon lip scar. No longer just in my imagination when I close my eyes. Jack, who has to leave tomorrow morning. Jack, who I know nothing and everything about.
“I guess this is it? The last stop on the food tour,” Jack says. “Unless you want more ice cream?”
“You could probably churn me into ice cream right now, it’s so cold out,” I say.
Jack’s cheeks tint. “You would be one delicious ice cream.”
We linger outside. How do you say good-bye to someone when that good-bye will be the first and last? Does the situation even warrant one?
“We could walk until we get cold… er,” I offer. “Are you cold?”
Jack’s visibly shaking but tries to hold still. “Is—is it cold out? I hadn’t even noticed.”
