Zeke laughed, and his eyelid spasmed twice as quickly.
Beartown:Ok, so then Sudoku. What’s the prize for winning? I’m a virgin, I should add, so go easy on me.
Mama2Twins:Well, I mean, I guess I don’t judge? Your private life is your private life.
There went Zeke’s ears again. In person, the models who flirted with him, who left their palm too long on his forearm, would tilt their heads back and laugh. Fuck. Why was he so bad at this now?
Beartown:No, no, shit, sorry, a Sudoku virgin. See? I told you. Words have never been my thing.
He searched his emojis to emphasize his mortification but worried that might only make things worse.
Mama2Twins:What’s been your thing then?
Beartown:Long story.
Mama2Twins:Technically, we have all night, but I get it. We probably all have long stories.
Zeke thought: His wasn’t even that long of a story.Prodigal child, eggs all in one basket, carton dropped, eggs shattered, now what?He could tell her all of that in under a minute. How despairing, that his whole life could be summed up in fewer than twenty words.
Mama2Twins:Anyway, we can share our sad stories another time. Tonight, we play for pride. Isn’t that what we’re always supposed to play for these days since everyone always gets a trophy?
Zeke rested his head on the back of the couch cushion and considered it.Pride.That sure as shit sounded nicer than the bells and whistles that he’d gotten used to over the past decade. The five-star hotels. The endorsement deals. The interviews and photo shoots and hot actresses whose publicists slipped him their numbers. Zeke wasn’t complaining. He knew he was breathing rarefied air. His dad was a middle school principal, and his mom taught third grade. Lani was a dental hygienist. He hadn’t grown up with any of this, and he appreciated—he really did—how lucky he was to have earned it. But still. Pride. Yes, remember when he used to play for that? In Peewee League? In Little League? In travel club? In the Youth Nationals?
Pride. He didn’t have much of it anymore.
So Sudoku might be the best place to start. Zeke held down his eyelid again, trying to deceive his body that it wasn’t as depleted as it was. And anyway, nothing could go wrong playing a little Sudoku. Low stakes, no skin in the game. That’s what Zeke was all about right now. That’s exactly what he needed.
3
Night One
Julian
Julian paced fromhis living room into his bedroom then back into his living room again, trying to find the goddamn cat. Felix liked to play this game in the middle of the night: cause some sort of alarming crash, then scurry under the furniture or on top of a bookshelf when Julian came to check on him. Often, he was skulking around the fish tank in Julian’s home office, as if he were only one lucky break away from a snack. Other nights, he was as elusive as sleep was to his owner. Julian once spent forty-five minutes searching for him only to discover him in the dryer, which he had left slightly ajar earlier in the day.
Julian was not actually a fan of cats. Nor was he a fan of fish, but four years after Robin died, Simone moved out for college, and his boss suggested he get a pet. When it became obvious that Julian was going to ignore his boss’s suggestion because he was both pigheaded and fastidiously devoted to his routine, the boss, always one for protocol and hierarchical command, had the tank—and sixteen different fish—delivered on a Saturday when he knew that Julian wasn’t on the road. When Juliancomplained to Simone, she suggested a cat as a joke. She probably said it because she was only half listening, not because she wanted the cat to eat all the fish and resolve Julian’s problem, but he remembered that Robin had a cat when they first started dating, and he figured maybe that would be nice. Maybe Robin would approve.
“Felix!” he shouted into the kitchen. Nothing.
“Felix!” He checked the bathroom and opened the under-the-sink cabinets. Nothing.
This was how Julian was going to die. He knew it. Alone, looking for a cat, up all night loaded with regrets. He took a deep breath, felt the air rattle in his chest, which was happening more frequently these past few months, and sank onto his couch. He fought his impulse to retreat to his office and review old files; once he did that, he’d never make it back to bed. He opted instead to text Simone—she’d still be awake. He knew that she didn’t really want to hear from him all that much and that he needed to do more to bridge their gap than send her late-night texts. But it was at least a start.
Julian:Hi Simmy, you up?
He had to retype it three times because his fingers were tingly and felt a little disconnected from his body.
He imagined her phone buzzing on her nightstand, her reaching for it, rolling her eyes.
Simone:Dad, not really. Can we talk another time?
Julian double-tapped her message and gave it a thumbs-up, masking the slap he felt from her dismissiveness. He knew toexpect it. He thumbed over his screen and logged into the forum he’d found a few months ago when it became clear his sleeplessness had embedded itself into his life as much as breathing had.
His phone vibrated within seconds.
Mama2Twins:hey buddy, just checking on you and saw that you’re online. Another night staring at the ceiling?
Initially, Julian had wondered how secure the forum was, if it were smart to use his real email, to forge connections with strangers. He ostensibly knew better. He wasn’t your typical clueless elderly dude, as Simone liked to tease when she felt like they had a relationship where she could tease him. He was up on technology and online security and wasn’t about to be duped by, say, an email telling him that he had been gifted ten million dollars by a Nigerian prince. ButMama2Twinshad greeted him so kindly when he first logged in that his hackles softened, his edges blurred.Dad, you run a candy store,he could hear Simone say.Just relax, okay? No one is looking to, like, steal your identity.
