My mom said we were going to see my aunt and uncle the day before Christmas Eve. I remember because she told me to be on my best behaviour. Santa was still watching.
She told me I’d get a chance to play with Matt in his room. He had one of those big car tracks set up all over.
We did go.
I did play with Matt. We moved Hot Wheels up and down the course all day, screaming and running around the whole top floor of the house.
But when we came downstairs because we were hungry, my aunt was crying, and my mom was gone.
I don’t know where she went, and I stopped wondering about that a long time ago. But I do still wonder, sometimes, how many stores my aunt had to rush to—how much she scrambled—to make sure I had just as many gifts as Matt under the tree two days later.
I send my first text back in weeks.
I remember—the pajamas had T. rexes on them.
I press a fist to my mouth. Funny way to repay people who treated me like I was always theirs. To decide I need to up and leave when their real son dies.
If Vai looked over, she might feel a sense of pride in her training for bringing me to the precipice of vomiting.
But the next text, from a number I don’t recognize, turns the nausea into this feeling I don’t really ever remember having before.
Unknown: Hi! Ren Jacobs, Collections Manager of Vertebrate Paleontology, and Knower of Fossils here!Not sure if you remember me—I’m the one who drank too much champagne last night and then talked your ear off about a boring hypothesis and a big, giant asteroid crater down in Mexico?
My thumbs twitch with the corners of my mouth.
Miller: Rings a bell.
The three little dots pop up right away.
Ren: What a memorable picture I paint! Thank you—again. For the coffee and the bagel. They did help.
Miller: I’m glad.
I am.
The dots appear again.
Ren: I think I could use your help with something else, too.
My heart does this weird thing in my chest that has nothing to do with the two hours of sprint-like activity.
Miller: Ren’s Reasons to Be Ren?
Ren: Yeah. I think I’d like help finding them again.
I take a heavy swallow.
Miller: We can start with mine, if that’s easier. I’m in desperate need of groceries. Can’t keep ordering pizza. Team’s nutritionist is getting pretty mad.
Ren: First public outing, and you’re picking groceries?
Miller: Sure, why not? You can tell me about your list over produce.
The dots take longer to reappear, but they do.
Ren: Okay.
A whistle blows, and I know that’s my cue to start the next hour of Vai’s torture. The prospect doesn’t feel as daunting as the idea of cosplaying as the Miller I used to be.
