Page 42 of Life Out of Order

“That’s some serious Beast in the Jungle shit right there.” I can’t help being angry, though not at her.

“What? Oh, right, Henry James. No listen, Alba, it’s not a problem, it’s clarity.” Caralora sounds impatient, and I’m sure she doesn’t want to leave everyone waiting inside for ages while we argue about this. She says, “Look, when the time comes, just, you know, ask future me, and I’ll tell you whether or not it was a disaster, knowing my future. You saved my life; you didn’t tell me frivolously. You had your reasons.”

“Reasons. Okay. Whatever.”

“Alba. Come on. Don’t be pissed at me.”

“I’m not, Caralora, I love you. I just—worry.”

“Okay. Well, don’t.” Caralora opens the back door and holds it for me. “C’mon, I’ve got to vamoose.”

Half an hour later, Caralora is gone, and Zach, Gomez, Lucinda and I are sitting in the kitchen, drinking IPAs and Cokes, waiting for pizza to arrive.

“I could have a beer?” Lucinda says to Gomez, smiling, her voice soft and beguiling.

“Sorry, kiddo. No booze for you.”

“You’re no fun.” The doorbell rings and Gomez jumps up and heads for the front door, patting his pockets for his wallet. Zach lets Lucinda have a swig of his beer. She makes a displeased face, like a cat sniffing a lemon. “Eh, never mind.” She turns to me. “Does Caralora have a new girlfriend?”

“I guess so. More like a friend, a roommate,” I tell her.

“A roommate with benefits?”

“I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

Lucinda shrugs with studied nonchalance. Zach and I exchange glances. “Isn’t she too old for you?” Zach inquires.

“Only five years,” Lucinda counters.

Gomez comes back bearing two pizza boxes. I realize I’ve hardly eaten all day; the smell of burnt cheese makes me drool. “Five years till what?” Gomez asks.

“Till Lucinda’s old enough to become a barfly,” I say.

“I thought you were seventeen now?” he says. She is—Lucinda says something sassy about us always thinking she’s a baby and she’s going to major in Barfly Studies in college. Gomez looks confused, but he doesn’t pursue it. We eat pizza and trade stories of the eccentric 50th Ward residents we encountered at today’s party. “I noticed that you’ve inherited Bony Tony,” Gomez says to Lucinda.

“The skinny old white dude who followed me around all day?” Bony Tony is in his eighties. He must have been dapper in his youth, but now he’s emaciated and his vintage suits hang on him. He’s a fixture at ward meetings, and he usually attaches himself to the youngest, prettiest women and tries harmlessly to make himself helpful.

“Merry Christmas,” Gomez says. “He used to drive Rosa Around. The. Bend.”

“Aw,” Lucinda says. “He wasn’t so bad.”

Zach says, “I just realized. You got your braces off?”

“Yeah . . .” Lucinda smiles so we can appreciate her now-perfect teeth. We ooh and aah and I see her anew: the beautiful Lucinda of the future is here, wearing her girlhood like a glamour that barely obscures the woman she will be. Then I remember that baggie she gave me for Isadora, the wisdom teeth, and have to repress a shudder.

Celia comes by to pick up Lucinda. Once they’ve gone, I collect the dishes and cups and I load the dishwasher. Gomez opens the dining room windows, lights a cigarette, offers one to Zach, who accepts it. I know Zach is trying to quit, but he’ll never manage it while he’s living here. I stare at the two of them sitting across from each other at the table, smoking in happy silence. I think about my dad.

Zach: I can feel Alba watching me. Not in an awkward way. Her gray eyes rest on me, but she’s frowning absently. Gomez finishes his cigarette. “Listen,” he says to Alba. “I hate to ask, but I need a favor.”

“Oh?” Alba replies.

Gomez reaches into the stack of file folders that accompanies him everywhere like an emotional support animal. He opens a folder and flashes a piece of notebook paper covered in ballpoint scrawl at Alba. “What?” she says, suddenly wary.

“I need a source for this. Attribution.”

“You know where I got it. The future. You can’t cite it, it’s not a fucking scientific paper.”

“What is it?” I ask.