“You’re not tired of me yet?” I ask as we wander the blocks of Chinatown.
“Oddly no. At this point, the law of diminishing returns usually kicks in,” he says.
I turn to look at him. “What do you mean?”
Jack moves his hands around in front of him as he speaks. “We can have a great time during hours one, two, and three. But once that optimal level has been reached, it goes downhill from there. Then hours four, five, and six are when we start to get annoyed with each other or are tired of asking and answering questions.”
We walk aimlessly down the near-empty sidewalks.
“And you’re not annoyed with me? We’re on hour, what, five? Six?” I ask, amused.
The corners of Jack’s mouth twist up. “I’m not, though that’s always a fear with anyone,” he says. “You see too much of me at once, I see too much of you. We’re over before we even begin. Those dumplings we ate were delicious, but if we ordered another plate, we wouldn’t enjoy them as much.”
We turn the corner, our shoulders rubbing. “What if there is no limit? What if it’s just you telling yourself there is and you set yourself up for disappointment after a certain amount of time?”
“Few things in this universe are limitless, Rooney,” he says. “It’s why people have coffee or dinner dates. Finite amount of time. Safe. Within the bounds of the diminishing returns. Then you have an out when you’re evaluating whether or not you have anything else to say.”
“When you look at it that way, everything you do is on a ticking countdown. Where’s the room for spontaneity? Long nights like this?”
“Tonight’s an exception,” he says. “Don’t ask me why. I’m still trying to figure it out.”
“Well, I like every bite of dumpling equally, no matter how many,” I say. “Sometimes things do get better over time.”
Jack shrugs. When we turn the next corner, the full moon comes into view. It hangs like a neon sign in space.
He catches me looking at it. “You ever think about how small we are compared to everything out there? Like, we’re just casually part of the universe, living on a planet.”
I laugh. “I think about it a lot actually. What exists beyond the beyond? What is this all even for?” I spread my arms out, gesturing to the sky. “Our time on Earth is so short compared to the bigger timeline of it all. I want my life to count for something. I want to have an impact on people… on the world.”
Jack inhales deeply, his breath visible in front of him on the release. “Yeah. Me too.”
I tilt my head back and watch as occasional snowflakes drift toward me, melting on my skin upon impact. “If other life does exist, what do you think they look like?”
Jack rubs his gloved hands together. “They’d have fur covering their skin to stay warm because other planets have their own atmospheres and are different distances from the sun. They’d have big eyes so they could keep on the lookout for danger. They probably have a lot of sharp teeth because their idea of food might not be the same as ours.” He says this confidently, as though this isn’t the first time he’s thought about it.
I nod along, grinning and processing his version of extraterrestrial life. “That was oddly specific.”
Jack laughs. “And this is the point where it all starts to go downhill,” he says as we find ourselves back at the Chinese restaurant.
“We basically did one big loop,” I say, looking around.
“It was a pleasure to loop with you.”
“I guess that’s the last stop on the tour, for real this time.” Thedisappointment in my voice is a direct reflection of how it feels to be on the verge of good-bye with Jack with no real signal for what will become of us.
I think back on the night and let out a small, sad laugh. Jack and I, we’re a meteor. A streak of light burning up before it has a chance to make it anywhere at all. At least, for one night, we got to be a shooting star.
“I guess so,” Jack says.
I could be hearing things, but he sounds disappointed, too.
Jack’s hotel in the Financial District is in the opposite direction of my Mom’s Upper East Side apartment. We agree to take two different taxis back to where we need to be.
A taxi passes by, but neither of us waves our arm. We turn toward each other on the slushy sidewalk.
“Thanks for showing this tourist all your favorite places,” he says. We ignore the second cab that passes.
“Next time you’re in the city, you know where I’ll be,” I say. “You just have to use the ‘X marks the spot’ photo that you’re not going to let any other eyes see ever.”
