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“No! Oh, no, no!” She rubbed his shoulder. “I’m sure Brandy is fine! I bet she’s thriving, actually!”
But it was too late. Having replenished his body’s moisture reserves, Will found himself crying again. Brandy had been through so much. She’d had such spirit. Such pluck. What a life.
“Brandy,” he wailed.
April cast a helpless glance around the room as if some whisperer of grief-stricken homosexuals might appear ex nihilo to console Will, but when none were forthcoming, she did the next best thing: grabbed the glass of water from the coffee table and tossed a good half of it in his face.
Will froze, more from shock than from the cold. The glass had been sitting there for nearly an hour, and was room temperature at best.
“I can’t believe you did that,” he said.
April, seemingly just as stunned by her own actions, replied, “Me neither.”
Neither of them spoke for a moment, both seemingly uncertain how to proceed. Then Will raised a hand to wipe the dripping water from his chin and began to laugh. Not because it was funny, necessarily, but because it seemed better than any alternative. After a few seconds, April started to laugh, too, albeit nervously, like somebody who had just stepped off a roller coaster. Once their awkward giggles had subsided, she rejoined him on the sofa, avoiding the growing damp patch surrounding Will.
“So,” she said. “Patrick?”
“Gone.” Will placed a cushion in his lap and hugged it for comfort, even though Margo would be far from thrilled he was making it soggy in the process.
“I know. But…are we talking gone gone? Or more like, he just needs to cool off and then he’ll be back on a private jet with a bunch of flowers and an Oscar-worthy apology speech?”
“He’s not that good an actor.” Will sank further into the sofa. “And the first Kismet movie wasn’t that great either.”
“You watched it?”
“I watched the trailer on YouTube. And a deeply off-putting video essay about what it did and didn’t ‘get right’ by a man with a patchy beard and vocal fry. I much prefer when you’re the one giving TED Talks on this stuff.”
April smiled. “Thanks. Actually, on that subject…”
“Yeah?”
“Never mind.”
“April, what.”
“I finally found a half-decent lead on the Omega Issue.”
Will, whose face had all but buried itself behind the cushion, emerged, groundhog-like, at this revelation.
“You did?”
“Yeah. An old lady in California got in touch after I put out all those feelers online. Seemed a bit kooky, but sound.”
“Kooky, but sound,” Will echoed. “We know a thing or two about that.”
“I was going to put her in touch with Patrick,” said April. “But if we hate him, I won’t. I mean, obviously we hate him, he’s a pillock of the highest order, but…”
“We don’t hate him,” said Will. “Not really. Or at least, not fully. He’s just let a load of bullshit get inside his head and he shouldn’t be with anyone until he’s got that sorted out.”
“That’s very mature of you.”
“I would also not be morally opposed to him getting just a tiny bit run over.”
“Yeah?”
“Nothing huge. A Nissan Micra or something. Just to wake him up a bit.”
“That sounds proportionate,” April said.
