“He...he passed. This afternoon,” she said distractedly, like she’d taken a sedative, and maybe she had. Her voice was unnaturally calm.
An image flashed into my fuzzy brain: Billy sitting behind the wheel of his car after he’d dropped me home for the last time. He’d smiled as he drove off, only his smile was too wide, uneasy. I tried to recall a happier moment, his pleased expression earlier that day when he’d bought me the dog, his face whenever I solved one of his riddles. Instead, I kept seeing that forced smile as he waved goodbye for the last time, how he’d failed to hide his sadness from me.
“Oh, Mom.” I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t imagine how she felt. Even though they hadn’t spoken in sixteen years, she must have been devastated.
“I should let you get back to your party.”
“No, Mom, it’s just a party.”
“You go have fun. We’ll talk soon, all right?”
“Mom,” I said before she hung up. “I’m really sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too,” she said.
I stayed on the stoop, watching her number blink across the screen until it disappeared. It was a sweltering night. Nine years in Philadelphia, and I still wasn’t used to the humidity, how it outlasted the sun. I thought back to the last conversation I remembered having about Billy, how Mom had told me she didn’t know if they would work it out, and they never did. I must have asked her about Billy after that, but she made it clear that Billy was a ghost, disappearing him from the stories of their childhood, avoiding Temescal Canyon where the three of us used to hike, the scenic beaches in Malibu that had been Billy’s favorite. Eventually, I must have stopped asking after him. Billy was dead now, but he’d been gone from us for years. Still, I felt his loss acutely. And I could tell Mom did, too.
The vibrations of Jay’s footsteps thundered as he neared the door. I was relieved that he’d come looking for me but wasn’t ready to share the moment with him.
“Hey you,” he said, offering me that smile that made me dizzy, only I felt the greater dizziness of Mom’s words, of thinking about Billy after such a long time. The smile fell from Jay’s face. He leaned against the frame like he was posing in an outdoor catalog. “What’s wrong?”
“My uncle died.”
“Fuck.” Jay sat on the step, hugged me toward him. “Should we get rid of everyone?”
“No, I don’t want everyone to know. It’s just... I haven’t seen him in, like, sixteen years. I can’t believe he’s dead.” Even as I said it, it still didn’t feel real.
“I can set off the smoke alarm, light a match under the sprinklers. That will get everyone out.”
I forced a laugh. “We don’t have sprinklers.”
“Okay, then, a fire in the trash can? Nothing dangerous.”
My smile grew strained. “Please don’t set our apartment on fire. Really, I just want to not think about it for now.”
Jay didn’t seem convinced, but he lifted me off our stoop and led me upstairs. Before we walked into the apartment, he wrapped his arms around me.
“One word and they’re all gone,” he promised.
But as soon as we were back inside, one of Jay’s friends lured him into a circle with the thick promise of a blunt. The walls had begun to sweat. Our couch and coffee table had been pushed against the wall, enlarging the dance floor. My old roommate spotted me from across the room and dragged me onto the dance floor where bodies coupled, their limbs entwined as they swayed to the music.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Billy, the scavenger hunts he’d crafted in my backyard, the adventures we took together across the parks and beaches of Los Angeles, the presents he bought me abroad—beaded jewelry from South America and electronics from Japan. I wondered what had happened to those gifts, if they were still in my parents’ house, if Mom had thrown them out long ago.
Jay’s arms appeared around my waist, swinging my body almost to the beat. I tried to move with him as one, but I was distracted by Mom’s words—I’m sorry, too—how quickly she’d rushed off the phone before revealing the depths of her grief.
And as suddenly as Jay was there, he disappeared again, to the far corner where there was a commotion over something that had broken. My limbs grew heavy as they mimicked the movements of those around me. Jay crouched down to pick up whatever had fallen, cradling it as he carried it toward the bedroom. The song ended and the couples surrounding me danced to the rhythm of drunken conversations as they waited for the next song to begin. I shut my eyes and saw Billy, his conflicted smile. What was it he called me as a child? “My special girl?” No, “my favorite girl.” There’s my favorite girl, he would say before whisking me off on one of his adventures.
The music kicked in. I tried to get swept up in the rhythm of the room, but I was lost in thoughts of Billy, his lessons on geology and biology and evolution disguised in adventure. He’d taught me almost everything I knew about the world, how it had shifted and collided and evolved, how our lives were shaped by the movements of the earth. I stopped moving and opened my eyes. Of course. I didn’t know how I’d missed it. My legs felt like lead, but I forced them to move, jostling between the gyrating couples until I reached the kitchen. The blonde on the greeting card still smiled from the refrigerator, only I now knew as much as she did. Understanding prepares us for the future. Those were Billy’s words. It was something he said to me after my first earthquake.
In the morning, the remains of last night’s party looked staged: cups scattered haphazardly across the living room floor; a fedora resting on the couch’s arm; the hum of the stereo speakers left on after the music had stopped. It was already hot, the moist air rank with spilled beer and cigarette butts.
“It smells like a frat house in here.” Jay coughed harshly.
“I wouldn’t know.” Although there were several fraternities at Penn, I was more the type to indulge in jugged wine with the other members of the history review, making drinking games out of the presidents and state capitals. You’re such a nerd, Jay had declared proudly when I’d described my version of college partying.
“Come on, nerd,” he flirted. “I’ll buy you brunch.”
We walked to what had quickly become our regular spot. The tables lining the sidewalk were overcrowded but the dim, cool dining room was mostly unoccupied.
Jay ordered two Bloody Marys. The sight of that red liquid glittering with pepper sent a sharp punch to my gut. Jay gulped his down in a matter of seconds and didn’t fight when I pushed my drink toward him. Despite the news of Billy’s death and a pounding headache from a night of too much beer and not enough sleep, I couldn’t shake an expectant feeling. It couldn’t be a coincidence that Billy sent me something before he died. And where there was one clue from Billy, there were always more. I found the card in my bag and slid it across the table. Jay wiped his hands before carefully removing the card from its envelope.
“I got that yesterday from my uncle,” I explained.
“What’s it mean?” he asked, reading the inside of the card.
“It’s something he said to me after my first earthquake.”
That night was one of my first vivid memories. My parents had gone out, and Billy was babysitting. We stayed up late to watch Return to Oz. I wasn’t allowed to watch the movie, but