“Let Caspian be your bowling partner,” says KK. “He’ll crush it.”
“Or be crushed by it,” adds Johan.
“That’s the hope,” says KK.
“The monstrosity to my right is no longer a sentient being to me,” says Caspian about KK.
“The monstrosity to my left should remember he’s a fucking sock puppet who can’t actually feel, much less perceive, sentience.”
“More champagne,” says Parker, holding up his glass. “Soon enough, none of us will be able to feel anything, either.”
Sam refills his glass as I step over to Li, who pulls out her cards. “San Juan Bautista, California, and a unicycle. Where’s San Juan Bautista?”
Sam says, “Central California. KK. It was a mission town where one of the crucial scenes in the Hitchcock movie Vertigo took place.”
“More important,” says Parker, “it’s also a quick distance from Gilroy, California, the garlic capital of the world, and the sweetest-smelling place you’d ever want to visit.”
“Better than Hershey, Pennsylvania?” Johan asks.
“Better!” says Parker. “It smells like every pasta dish you’ve ever loved.”
“STOP TALKING ABOUT CARBS!” yells KK. Everyone ignores her.
“I’d ride the unicycle from San Juan Bautista to Gilroy!” says Li, pleased. “And have burned off all the calories for all the spaghetti with hella tons of garlic I’m going to eat when I get there. Oh, I love this game.”
I love her for loving my favorite game.
I’m the only person left. I sit back down at my seat and take out the two remaining cards. “Andalusia, and yarn.” I feel confident that the first card was what Parker wrote down, and the second was what Li wrote down. What is the magic hat trying to tell me?
“Andalusia’s not a real place,” says KK. “Someone made that name up. Sounds like a fairy world.”
“Andalusia’s a real place,” says Parker. “It’s on the southern tip of Spain, opposite Morocco. It’s where flamenco dancing originated.” He looks at me, and gives me that smile that melts me. “Ilsa’s best dance.”
I was never a great competitive ballroom dancer, but when I was at my best, it was because I was dancing the flamenco. The sultry, powerful dance where the female is the star. Sam says, “It’s not a bad idea, Ilsa. Go to Spain for a while and study the art you love the most!”
Li says, “Or come to Taiwan with me next month. To study knitting.”
Taiwan! What the? Someone believes in me enough to think I could learn to knit?
Johan asks, “Taiwan is known for its knitting schools?”
Li says, “No, but my great-grandma’s house is. She’s a boss knitter. I go to hers for a few weeks every summer. You should come with me, Ilsa. See something else of the world beyond Manhattan. Go to a place that’s completely foreign to you. Learn to knit some scarves.”
Manhattan is such a huge universe unto itself, I’ve never given serious thought to traveling or living anywhere else. That’s not true. I’ve given serious thought to it—but never formulated any realistic initiatives to make that wish come true. I mean, I applied to schools that would take me elsewhere. But I had no actual intention of going. Maybe that’s what’s been most reckless about me all along. Not that I’m flighty, but too rooted. It’s Sam I’ve accused of playing it too safe. Maybe I should have been looking more closely at myself.
“I couldn’t afford that airfare,” I say. I have babysitting money saved, but not that much.
“I bet Mom and Dad or Czarina have frequent-flyer miles they’d give you,” says Sam. “Although, if you and Li are going to be anything more than friends, impulsively going away to visit her family might not be the smartest way to find out.”
When have I ever taken the smart approach?
Are Li Zhang and I more than friends?
Our lips touched, but just for a second.
It felt like a second that changed everything I knew and understood about myself.
It’s not like suddenly I’m a lesbian.
But suddenly I’m not as straight as I assumed I was.
Suddenly I’m more open-minded than when I started the evening.
Just as suddenly, we hear some keys being tapped on the piano. Sloppy keys. Our heads turn and we see Jason slumped at Sam’s piano. He looks up and says the one thing he knows for a fact that only I am allowed to say to Sam. Jason says, “Play it, Sam.”
eighteen
SAM
The song that Jason’s playing (badly) tells us that, as time goes by, the fundamental things apply. For evidence of this, we’re given a kiss and a sigh. I’ve always been clear on the kiss, a love-story standard. But the sigh has always confounded me. Is it a sigh of pleasure or a sigh of disappointment? Which is the more fundamental?
I stand up to relieve the keys from Jason’s fingers but am stopped when Johan stands up as well and asks me to dance.
Everyone is watching. For that reason, I can’t say yes. And also for that reason, I can’t say no.
So instead, I don’t say anything at all. I let him walk me over the glass shards I created by hand (in combination with the wall). I let him hold me like it’s our last night in Casablanca, and the whole nightclub is watching to see what we’ll do. At first, I’m a cardboard cutout of myself, thinned by insecurity. But then I allow myself to lean into the music, however poorly played. And by leaning into the music, I find myself leaning into Johan, to this dance.
I look over his shoulder and see Ilsa extend a hand to Li, who takes it. Soon they’re dancing, too. Then Parker, no doubt to annoy KK, asks Frederyk to dance, and Caspian, no doubt to annoy KK, accepts.
Jason isn’t singing, so we all supply the words in our heads. This doesn’t leave room for many other words, so instead of trying to speak, we rely on fingertips and motion, steps and sways.
It’s not a long song, but when it’s over and I check my watch, I see we’ve
