Page 45 of Life Out of Order

“Oh. Right.” Alba closes her eyes for a few moments. “Gomez already told you, didn’t he? That I can’t have children?”

“Yes.”

“And he told you why?”

“Yes. He said your mother nearly died . . .”

“My mother could never leave me alone with my father, in case he disappeared while he was watching me. Even if I managed to have a baby without dying, I’d be terrified to be responsible for it. So I knew I couldn’t be a parent. But you would be a great dad.”

My eyes are brimming with tears. I wipe them away. “Who knows. My parents were great, until they were terrible. Maybe I’d be a monster.”

“No,” Alba says. “You would be wonderful.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I am a coward. I’ve imagined this conversation so many times, and it always ends with you breaking up with me. It wasn’t a hard decision, when I was sixteen, but now you’re here and I might have decided differently . . .” Tears streak down Alba’s cheeks.

I take her hand. We don’t say anything for a while. Then she asks, “Is it a deal-breaker?”

“No. No, but it changes everything. What I imagined my life would be. How we would live.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I love you,” I tell her. I know that, and nothing else.

“I love you, too,” she replies. We lie pressed together, awake, silent, for a long time, until I feel her body relax and sleep comes over us.

Election Day 2024

Tuesday, November 5, 2024 (Alba is 23, Zach is 23)

Alba: It’s one of those days when the world turns from one thing into another. I voted by mail, weeks ago, so I wouldn’t have to go out today, wouldn’t have to see anyone. My friends and family haven’t asked me about the election, but I’m sure they sense my increasing despair.

The only person I told about the outcome in advance was Celia. Months ago, after the Democratic National Convention was over, I was at their house, and Lucinda was rhapsodizing about volunteering for the campaign. I didn’t want to rain on her enthusiasm; she’d just turned eighteen, this is the first election she can vote in, the first Black female major party presidential candidate. It’s so perfect, Lucinda kept saying. I told Celia so she’d be ready to comfort Lucinda when America fails us.

Tonight there’s a watch party for the returns at their place. Mama and Beck are going. They did ask if I wanted to come along, but I told them I was going to Gomez and Charisse’s to stay with Zach. Really, I just want to be alone. Zach has other ideas, though. Let’s order sushi and hang out, he texts, and I end up going over there, after all. I ring the doorbell, Zach answers, I burst into tears, he pulls me into the house and embraces me. So much for keeping a poker face.

Everyone else has gone to the watch party; we are alone. I pull myself together. We ignore the internet, eat sushi, talk about some of the coming insanity. We go to bed early. Chicago is eerily quiet. I hear Charisse and Gomez come home around midnight. They bustle around, trying not to wake us. Then they are in bed and the house is silent again.

Early in the morning, in the dark, Zach is already awake, scrolling on his phone, when I wake up. “How do you feel?” he asks.

“Numb,” I reply. “You?”

“Steely,” Zach says. “Ferocious. Tell me what to do. Anything, point me at it.”

“Anything?”

“Well. Not cannibalism. Nothing involving kids.”

“Understood. How much illusion of choice would you like to preserve?”

“None,” he says decisively. “I don’t want to feel the remorse in advance.”

I turn on the lamp, grope around on his bedside table for paper and a pen, start to make a list. “Here,” I say, “these are the ones I know about for sure. There are some that you and Gomez did on your own, all I know is the dates.” I pass him the list. Zach studies it. “How do you know this?” he asks. “You were there?”

“Sometimes. Other Alba told me most of this. So we could prepare.”

“This is all defense. What about offense?”