Optimists Die First Page 6

  “Except my hand is way cooler than his. And I’m better-looking.”

  Koula, who was hunched over her drawing, snorted.

  “Want to hear a joke?” Jacob asked.

  Ivan nodded.

  “What do you call a man with no arms and no legs in a hole?”

  I groaned. “Seriously? That’s so old.”

  “Doug,” said Jacob.

  It took Ivan a moment. Then he started to laugh.

  I had never heard him laugh.

  “What do you call a man with no arms and no legs on a wall?” Jacob continued. “Art. What do you call a man with no arms and no legs in a pool? Bob.”

  Ivan was laughing so hard, he had to hold his stomach.

  “Old and offensive,” I said.

  “I’m an amputee,” Jacob replied. “I’m allowed.”

  Betty returned to the table. “All right, who would like to share first?”

  “I’ll go,” said Koula. Her drawing was in charcoal. She was depicted at the center, with a bunch of angry faces circling her. “I pissed off so many people when I was drunk or high. Now none of them will talk to me.”

  Because you have the personality of a jackal, I thought.

  “Can you tell us how that makes you feel?” asked Betty.

  “How do you think it makes me feel? Like crap! Stupidest question ever.”

  Betty stood up and went back to her office. She returned a moment later, carrying the Jar. “Pay up.”

  “Screw you,” said Koula.

  “Oops. Two quarters.”

  “Bite me!”

  “Three.”

  “Bitch!”

  “A dollar even.”

  Koula glared at Betty. She extricated a dollar from her pocket and tossed it across the table.

  “Okay,” Betty said. “Next.”

  Alonzo showed us his piece. He’d cut out a black-and-white photo of a man carrying a rainbow flag. Over the image he had pasted letters that formed words. EVIL. ABBERATION. FAGGOT.

  “Those are some of the kinder words my dad used when I came out,” he said. “I’m trying hard to be proud of who I am. But sometimes…” He stopped. “Sometimes this inner voice still says my dad is right. That I am an affront to God.”

  Jacob patted Alonzo’s shoulder and Koula wrapped her arms around him. “I want to pop your dad in the nose,” she said.

  “Me too,” I said, feeling a small connection to Koula for the first time.

  “Please,” she snorted. “You’d never have the guts. You’d be worried about a stranger’s blood. You’d have to put on rubber gloves and a hazmat suit and a mask before you even tried.”

  “We all know violence is never the answer,” Betty said. “Alonzo, you’re a good person. I hope that one day your dad will be able to get past his prejudices and open his heart.”

  “And maybe one day pigs will fly,” he said.

  “Why don’t you tell us about someone or something who’s a positive in your life right now?”

  “Well, my aunt is great. And I have supportive friends.” Alonzo looked at Koula. “And I’ve started taking this…well, it’s sort of a movement class.”

  “Like dance?” asked Koula.

  “Sort of. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do, so. Carpe diem, right?”

  It was Jacob’s turn next. Drawing wasn’t his strong point. His picture was of two stick people on a cloud, and another stick person—him—down below, with a frowny face.

  He told the others almost word for word what he’d told me, about the accident that had killed his friends.

  “That sucks,” said Koula. “Tell me the driver went to jail.”

  “Yeah. For six months.”

  “What a joke.”

  It was almost dismissal time when Ivan slid his drawing across the table. In the background he’d drawn a bunch of people standing in front of a coffin. In the foreground he’d drawn a house. A boy was in the window.

  The bell rang. “Why don’t we all stay a few extra minutes, hear from Ivan, and put the heart back together?” said Betty.

  But Ivan just belched loudly and made a beeline for the door. The rest of us weren’t far behind.

  Ivan was already at the curb when the rest of us stepped outside. We watched as he hopped into a red Mazda with its engine idling under a sign that read TRAFFIC-CALMED AREA. PLEASE DON’T IDLE YOUR ENGINES. The man in the driver’s seat—presumably Ivan’s dad because he had the same mop of black hair—didn’t turn his head when Ivan got in.

  It was raining hard. We huddled under the roof’s overhang. “What was Ivan’s drawing about?” asked Jacob.

  “His mom drowned two summers ago,” said Alonzo. “It’s not really clear whether it was an accident, or…”

  “Suicide,” Koula said. “You of all people should be able to say that word, Alonzo. You’re the expert.”

  “Nope. Amateur. My attempt failed.”

  “If you become an expert, I’ll kill you.” Koula and Alonzo burst out laughing.

  Jacob looked at me, startled; I just shook my head and shrugged.

  “Ivan was eleven when it happened,” Alonzo continued. “His grandparents thought he was too young to go to the funeral. So he stayed home with some old aunt.”

  “He didn’t get to go to his own mother’s funeral?”

  “Nope.”

  “Harsh.”

  “Kind of explains why he gets that look on his face sometimes,” said Koula. “Like he could murder you in your sleep.”

  We all nodded agreement.

  Alonzo looked at Koula. “Want to make a run for the bus stop?”

  “Sure.”

  “Or we could go for coffee,” said Jacob.

  Awkward silence. “Um,” I said.

  “Um, what?”

  “We don’t really do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Hang out.”

  “Why not?”

  “We don’t…”

  “Like each other,” said Koula.

  “I’m buying,” Jacob said.

  Koula and Alonzo shared a look. “Does that include fancy stuff? Like s’mores Frappuccinos?” asked Koula.

  “Sure.”

  “We’re in.”

  Jacob turned to me. “Petula?”

  I didn’t answer right away. I was thinking about bathrooms. I had become very good at structuring my days around seldom having to use public toilets, which were like ground zero for germs, perverts, and unattended backpacks. I’d learned to pee right before leaving for school, and as long as I didn’t drink a lot of water I could hold it till I got home.

  Right now I needed to pee.

  “Make up your mind, Grandma,” said Koula. “It’s freezing.”

  Lovely. Now Jacob knew her nickname for me.

  “We won’t stay long,” said Jacob.

  So I went, hoping Grandma’s bladder could hold out a while longer.

  —

  JJ Bean was packed. The rain had sent everyone inside. It smelled damp and funky, and it was hot and noisy.

  I froze just inside the doorway. Jacob noticed, because he took my mittened hands and placed them on his waist, then pushed his tall frame through the crowd to a free table by the window. I just held on and followed. “Thanks,” I murmured. I tried to stay focused. I tried not to get distracted by the man at the next table who kept coughing without covering his mouth. Or the woman who kept coughing into her hand. Elbow! You cough into your elbow!

  We talked about this and that. Or rather, they talked. I was finding it hard to concentrate. Even though I’d passed on coffee, my need to pee was reaching crisis point. I couldn’t hold it much longer. I edged my way out of my chair, slipping my mittens back on so I wouldn’t have to touch any surfaces with my bare flesh. “I’ll be right back.”

  Koula smirked. “No you won’t.” She turned to Jacob. “You watch. I guarantee she’ll be in there for, like, ten minutes, making sure no one’s lurking in the stalls, putting down one of those paper
toilet seat covers even though I’d bet good money she’s a hoverer, flushing the toilet with her elbow, using paper towels to open and close the doors. Et cetera.”

  I had the urge to throw myself at her and start scratching her face. But it would be like David going after Goliath. Minus David’s victory.

  I went to the bathroom.

  And for the record, I was only eight minutes.

  I timed it.

  —

  Even though I hadn’t had any coffee, I was feeling jangly when we got ready to leave. This was the first time I’d gone out with people my own age since Maxine died. Even if they weren’t friends, even if one of them was possibly a psychopath, it hadn’t been entirely awful.

  I was just buttoning up my sou’wester when Koula said, “Uh-oh, Grandma. Your twelve o’clock.”

  I followed her gaze.

  Rachel, the Girl Formerly Known as My Best Friend, was at the counter with Aleisha Durmaz and Mahshid Vaziri.

  “Couldn’t you get arrested right now?” Koula grinned. “Like, doesn’t she have a restraining order against you or something?”

  I started sweating profusely, and not just because I had my sou’wester on. “Shut up, Koula.”

  “Ooh, good comeback.” She turned to Jacob. “Rumor has it Grandma here went at her ex-bestie with a carving knife—”

  “That’s a total lie!” I shouted. People turned to stare.

  Including Rachel.

  Our eyes locked. I saw the sadness in her gaze.

  And the pity.

  I pushed my way between the tables and the people and made it out onto the sidewalk, where I gulped the fresh air. I started fast-walking toward home. Screw Koula. Screw Koula and her ugly misspelled tattoo!

  My blood sounded like an ocean in my ears. I’d stopped focusing on my surroundings; I was just barreling toward home. So I was completely unprepared when a hand gripped my shoulder. I swiveled and brought my knee up, hard.

  “Aaaagh!”

  I’d just kneed Jacob in the nuts.

  He doubled over in pain. “What’d you do that for?”

  “Never, ever sneak up on a woman like that!”

  “I didn’t sneak! I was calling your name. Holy jeez…Lucky I pack to the left and you aim to the right.”

  “Sorry.”

  He attempted to stand, wincing as he did so. “You want to tell me what really happened with Rachel?”

  “I didn’t go after her with a carving knife.”

  “I figured as much.”

  I took a deep breath and came out with it. “I cut off her hair.”

  “You what?”

  “I was at her place, a few months after Maxine died. We were making greeting cards. She had really long hair then. It was pulled back in a braid.” We started walking again. “Owen was there. Her little brother. He and Max were the same age.” Tears started rolling, unbidden, down my face. “Owen kept making Rachel laugh. Then he toddled over and gave Rachel a hug and curled up in her lap. I felt like they were rubbing it in my face. And I snapped. I picked up my scissors and I grabbed her braid and I cut it off.”

  Jacob just shook his head, speechless for once.

  “Owen started to scream. Their parents came running. Rachel just kept feeling the back of her head and looking at me with this mystified expression on her face. And the worst part is, I didn’t even feel bad. I just thought, Now you know what it feels like to lose something.”

  “And she never spoke to you again?”

  “No, she did. She came over to our apartment a few nights later and said she forgave me. She still wanted to be friends. And I said to her…” I paused. “I said awful things.” I wiped one mittened hand across my face. “Then she never spoke to me again.” We had arrived outside the Arcadia. “Now you know the truth about me.”

  “What truth?”

  “That I’m not a good person.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “You really think that?”

  “Sometimes, when I got mad at Maxine, I told her I wished I was still an only child.” There. Now he knew everything.

  I heard a whirring sound. Jacob took my chin in his carbon fiber hand. He tilted my face upward. With his other hand, he wiped a bead of snot from my nose. I was totally disgusted, and a tiny bit moved. “You’re wrong, Petula. You’re a good person. You’re a much better person than I am.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  He looked like he was about to say something more. But instead he put his real arm and his bionic one around me and held me close.

  My body stiffened. My first instinct was to push him away.

  But with my face pressed into the damp warmth of his orange parka, and the weight of his arms around me, my limbs started to relax. He held me like that for a long time. “You are your own worst enemy, Petula Harriet De Wilde.”

  I couldn’t argue with him there.

  “I need to know that you’re actively trying to get them adopted, Virginia,” Dad said. I could hear him from my bedroom. I’d just punched in Rachel’s number on my phone. I’d done this before, but I never pressed Call.

  “I am. I’m building profiles today for the Vancouver Feline Rescue website.”

  “Do I have your word?”

  “Andreas, for God’s sake—”

  “We can barely afford the others, Virginia. You know this. The food, the litter, the vet bills—it adds up.”

  I closed my door to block them out.

  I took a great big inhale and pressed Call.

  “Hey, this is Rachel, sorry I missed your call. Leave me a—”

  I hung up. Had she really missed my call? Or had she seen my name on caller ID and made an executive decision?

  When I came out of my room, Dad had left for his epic Sunday run and Mom was getting ready to go to yoga.

  I heard a ping. It was such a rare sound that both Mom and I glanced around, puzzled. “Oh,” I said. “It’s my phone.”

  It was a text. Rachel, I thought.

  But it wasn’t Rachel. It was Jacob.

  Finished editing video. Want to come for brunch and a viewing?

  “Ooh, from the cute boy!” Mom had come up behind me and read my private text over my shoulder.

  “Mother!”

  “You’re saying yes, right?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I think he likes you,” Mom said in a singsong voice.

  “Please. As if.” With everything he knew about me, that was a scientific impossibility.

  She picked up her purse. “I wish you wouldn’t underestimate yourself, Tula. You’re a beautiful young woman.”

  “Mom, stop. He just wants to show me our assignment.”

  “Fine. Then text him back and say yes.”

  “I will,” I said. “When you’re gone.”

  “Nope. Now.”

  It was a standoff. Then my mother did a shocking thing. She grabbed my phone from my hands and typed, Love to. Address?

  “Don’t you dare press Send. If you press Send, I will never speak to you again.”

  She pressed Send.

  “I’m doing this for your own good, sweetheart. You’ve shut yourself off from the world for far too long.”

  A moment later, Jacob texted me his address. See you in half an hour.

  Mom slipped on her boots and left, humming to herself.

  —

  Jacob’s building was a modern low-rise condo, right on English Bay. It was just a handful of blocks from the Arcadia, but it felt like a world apart.

  I stood across the street, trying to summon the courage to go in. The sun was out and the seawall was full of outdoor enthusiasts in a rainbow assortment of spandex. I couldn’t believe how many rollerbladers and cyclists without helmets I saw. If you have an accident your head will split open like a cantaloupe! I wanted to shout.

  Since I didn’t want to jaywalk, I headed a block out of my way to the light and crossed. When I arrived outside the front doors I took a few deep, calming breaths.
<
br />   The lobby was huge and airy, with an enormous modern chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Even though I could tell the place had been built with earthquake proofing, there was no way I’d be caught standing under that massive light fixture. I edged around it to a desk manned by a guy in a blazer. His name tag said SERGE. “Serge the Concierge,” I said as he buzzed the Cohens’ apartment. “It’s like it was destiny.”

  He didn’t crack a smile. “They’re expecting you,” he said. “Sixth floor.”

  I took the stairs. When I emerged, Jacob was waiting for me by the elevators. “I don’t do elevators,” I said, out of breath.

  “Ah. I should have guessed. I don’t, either.”

  “Right. Confined spaces.”

  I heard his bionic hand whir, and next thing I knew he’d plucked my cat hat from my head and put it on. “I keep meaning to tell you, I love this hat.”

  I tried to grab it back, but he dodged out of the way. “Haven’t you heard of lice?”

  “You’re accusing me of having lice?”

  “Anyone can get lice.”

  “Maybe you just gave me lice.”

  “Impossible. I check my hair every week.”

  “Of course you do.” He handed me back the hat. “Did you make it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re very talented, Petula.”

  I felt my armpits get moist; I was having a teenage hot flash.

  Jacob took me by the elbow and guided me down the hall. “I’d love a hat like that. Would you make me one? Preferably a dog? I had a beagle back in Toronto.”

  “Sorry. This is all old stuff. I don’t knit anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  Because the last thing I knit was the wolf suit that killed my sister. “I just don’t.”

  “Well, sure. If it’s too complicated—”

  “It’s not too complicated. I’m a knitting champion. Won two contests. Over a thousand bucks in free wool.”

  “Wow. So a dog hat should be a piece of cake.”

  I was pretty sure I was being played.

  He pushed open the door at the end of the hallway and we stepped inside.

  The apartment was the exact opposite of mine, not in size but in newness. It had polished hardwood floors, high ceilings, and a wraparound balcony that overlooked the ocean. Best of all, it was neat as a pin.

  Jacob’s parents appeared from the kitchen. Mrs. Cohen wore tights, a loose-fitting cashmere top, and big purple glasses. Mr. Cohen was in jeans and a T-shirt, with a frilly apron that read WORLD’S OKAYEST COOK.