Oona Out of Order, page 31
“But what about you? You lost your grandmother. I’m crying into Chinese food wondering how many leaps it’ll be before I get to see her again, but you…”
He looked away and cleared his throat. “I’ll be fine. I’ve still got you, right?”
“Goddamn right you do.” They got to their feet. “Now let’s clean up this mess. You grab the paper towels, and I’ll get a sponge.”
As they tidied the floor, Kenzie said, “Can I tell you something weird?”
“Always.”
“I know your whole time travel condition has fucked up your life, but sometimes I’m jealous of it. Sometimes I wish I inherited it from you, even a little bit.”
Oona paused, wet sponge in midair. “Really? Is it so you could … see them again? Shivani and Faye?”
“That’s part of it, sure. And also … I don’t know, when you’re experiencing time in order, there’s probably so much you take for granted. But when you go from year to year randomly, I bet you see things differently. Notice more. Appreciate more.”
“Yeah, you’d think so, but sometimes you’re too busy dealing with what a pain in the ass it is.” Notice more. Appreciate more. Damn, how did I end up with such a wise kid? Not that she could take too much credit—if anything, it was another reminder of the excruciating decision she’d have to make after he was born.
“No doubt it’s a pain. But you also get to look forward—or is it backward?—to these other moments in your life that are gone for the rest of us.” A wistful smile. “And once in a while you get to be young again. Youth isn’t wasted on you.”
“Oh, I’ve had my share of wasted youth. And come on, you’re only in your thirties. You’re too young to be sounding like such an old man. Though I’m still in my twenties, so technically you’re older than me. Wow, Mom was right, this does get confusing.” She switched on the faucet to rinse out the sponge. “Trust me, you have nothing to be jealous about.”
“You obviously haven’t lived through your European eighties adventure then.”
“I haven’t lived through most of the eighties yet. Wait.” Off the water went as she abruptly turned around. “What kind of European eighties adventure? Is it with Dale?”
“Shit.” Gnawing his lower lip, he shook his head. “I’m not supposed to tell you. Please don’t make me say anything else.”
“It’s okay, I won’t.” Because he’d already said enough. And she no longer wanted to shield herself from tragedy. Which meant—yes, a flood of horrendous feelings awaited her: sorrow, guilt, regret. But it also meant letting her love for Kenzie buoy her. It meant being present for him this year. It meant being hopeful about the years to come.
* * *
As the months went by, Oona and Kenzie muddled through; their grief was ever-present, but lessened by degrees.
Despite routines and distractions, Oona and her son often felt Madeleine’s absence, as if the color and volume on the world had been turned down a notch. They mourned her in the moments when they turned to each other with heavyhearted smiles that said, Madeleine would’ve loved this. Like when they came across a tiny East Village shop selling Indian and Tibetan textiles and trinkets. Or when they caught a TV documentary about the history of flight attendants. Or when they saw a six-foot inflatable bottle of champagne while passing by the grand opening of a liquor store. So many things Madeleine would’ve loved.
The loss of her mother made for a bittersweet reunion with Kenzie—a balancing act of enjoying his company while accepting his inevitable absence from her life, depending on what year awaited her next leap.
One morning in late October, while they sat on a log in the park, feeding the ducks and geese, Oona turned to Kenzie and said, “I haven’t lived through being pregnant and giving birth to you yet, but … do you ever wish I hadn’t given you up for adoption?”
“That’s not a fair question.” He plucked bits off a loaf of bread and let them fall at his feet. “It’s not fair to you or to Faye and Shivani. Because I love having you in my life, but I also loved having them in my life.”
“But losing them so young … what if I could spare you that pain?” Noting his suspicious scowl, she hurried to add, “Not by keeping you from them. I saw what a happy family the three of you were. I’m talking about the accident. I’ve tried to change certain parts of the future, but I’ve never been able to. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough. Mom couldn’t prevent the accident, but there has to be another way—”
“No.”
“But what if it would give you more time with Faye and Shivani?” Even if that means less time with me. “What if it could mean a better life for you?”
“Mom, you need to stop.” He faced her with a stubborn jut to his chin. “Of course I wish the accident never happened. After they died, there were times I would’ve killed for just one more day with them.” Oona opened her mouth to retort. “Hang on, you need to let me finish. Every time we have this conversation, you try to talk over me.” Chastened, she chewed her lip and nodded an apology. “You have no idea how tempting it is when you start talking about this, how my brain goes crazy wondering if maybe this time you would be able to change the future or send me off into a happier parallel timeline or whatever.” He pointed his palms to the sky. “But there’s no way to know what the cost would be—would other people die in their place?—or if it would guarantee a happier life. Maybe I’ve seen too many movies where that kind of thing goes horribly wrong or maybe I’ve just accepted things as they are. I just wish you would, too. Mom, you have to stop trying to mess with your fate. Or at least mine. You need to let the bad shit happen and stop trying to undo it. What went down with you and me in Boston, Faye and Shivani’s accident, let it all be.”
“Are you sure?” Always this nagging remorse that she’d made the wrong choices, took the wrong turns in the maze of her life.
“I’m sure.” He put a hand on her arm and softened his voice. “I have an awesome life. Yes, I’ve lost some good people and I’m a little aimless. I’m thirty-three, single, still figuring out what I want to be when I grow up, still living with my mother. But I’m okay with that. And it’s up to me to change anything I’m not okay with.”
“Fair enough.” A slow nod. “I hope your aimlessness isn’t my fault. When I was with Dale, he had such a clear vision for our lives, which I admired, because I never had a path like that mapped out for myself. But then I was selected for that year abroad and suddenly had two paths to choose from, and then—just as suddenly—none…” She watched two ducks fighting over a crust in the shallow end of the water. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to know your father.”
“Not something you had any control over.” A heavy shrug. “Hey, do you think he would’ve had a problem with me being gay?”
“God no. But he definitely would’ve had a problem with you being a Pink Floyd fan.”
Kenzie laughed and Oona joined in.
“So … um … are you doing okay these days?” he asked.
“Fine, I guess. Why, what’s up?”
“I was … I was thinking of taking a trip.”
“Ooh, where to?”
“New Zealand.”
“What’s in New Zealand?” Reading the glimmer in his eyes, she amended the question. “Who’s in New Zealand?”
“I’ve been chatting with this guy online the last few months.”
“A sheep farmer? Lord of the Rings tour guide?”
“Mom!” But he held back another laugh even as he admonished her. “He’s a tech guy. Web analytics.”
“Tell me all about him.”
“His name is David…”
As Kenzie recounted their digital courtship, Oona’s heart gave a little squeeze at the joy splashed across his face. Was this how she looked in the early days when she told Madeleine about Dale or Crosby or Edward? Had her mother experienced the same surge of elation mixed with trepidation? Elation because how beautiful to see your child’s heart soar. Trepidation because how delicate the flight, how easy to crash.
“I think he’s a good guy, Mom. And I’ve always wanted to visit New Zealand.”
“Well, don’t let me stop you.” When his smile faltered, she said, “No, really. You should go. I’ll be fine here.” Oona forced a breezy tone. “I was actually thinking of going on my own trip.” She wasn’t. “Maybe I’ll take a cruise around the Greek islands.” She wouldn’t.
“You sure you don’t want to do New Zealand with me?” But it was a hollow invitation.
“Maybe some other time.”
“It’ll only be for a few weeks.”
“Get a one-way ticket just in case. Maybe things will go well with David and you’ll want to stay longer.” She thought of exploring Egyptian tombs and markets with Edward, the added enchantment of falling in love in a foreign country. Hopefully, Kenzie’s romantic luck would exceed hers. But better not to think of sour endings or her impending loneliness.
Kenzie did end up staying longer in New Zealand, two months during which Oona continued her routines, feeling both suspended in and fleeting through time. Sleep often eluded her, as did hunger. She’d begun the year thinner than she was in her first leap and continued to lose weight, but it was born out of grief, not health consciousness. No Madeleine plus no Kenzie equaled no appetite.
To distract herself from all the absence, she studied her financial binder, memorizing every page (pragmatic but wishful thinking that the next leap would take her to an earlier year). She also found volunteer work, at an animal shelter and a library. Dogs and books, two excellent defenses against solitude and despair.
In early December, she received a package from New Zealand: a small blue ceramic bird with a red beak. The attached note read:
This is a pukeko, one of NZ’s native birds. It’s reluctant to fly and tends to run and hide when it’s disturbed. But when it does fly, it can cover great distances. Sound familiar? I thought it would make a good addition to your tchotchke menagerie.
XO Kenzie
She added the ceramic bird to the display case in her bedroom. It held numerous knickknacks still missing their origin stories—the Fabergé egg, the Venetian mask, the glass igloo, many others. There was no telling when her collection would be fully known to her, or when it would be complete, but each year was another blank page filled.
Finally, her son sent word he was coming back to New York for Christmas. His flight would get in Saturday afternoon, and that morning, she worked her final volunteer shift at the library. On her way out, in the hallway, she heard guitar strumming and followed it to a room with its door ajar—open far enough to reveal a circle of kids sitting around a middle-aged Asian man playing the opening bars of Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here.” Gray at the temples, wearier behind the eyes, but his face filled with warm recognition when he saw Oona in the doorway.
Peter Han. They hadn’t crossed paths since that last guitar lesson.
You caught me at a bad time, he’d said. And now?
He sang the entire song over the heads of the children straight at her. And when he got to the line about lost souls swimming in a fishbowl, she grinned even as a few sneaky tears slid down her face. Because it was nice to feel less lost and alone, even for a moment. Because of course this would happen right at the end of the year.
After the song, he excused himself and went over to Oona.
“What, no Radiohead?” she asked.
“Oh, you got here late and missed ‘No Surprises.’” Hair a little thinner, but it still fell into his eyes the same way, and he still flicked it aside the same way.
“You sing about suicide to little kids?”
“Eh, they focus more on the lyrics about pretty houses and gardens than carbon monoxide.”
“And I see you’ve gotten over your stage fright,” she said.
“Playing for eight-year-olds is different.” A quirk of his mouth. “It’s good to see you, Oona. Really good. It’s been, what—”
“It doesn’t matter how long it’s been. It’s just stupid time.”
“Stupid time,” he said as if casting an insult, then snickered.
Was she smiling too much? If she was, then so was he.
“Can I take you to lunch?” A sweet bashfulness in his question.
“Yes.” The word out of her mouth before she glanced at the wall clock behind him. “Wait, no. I can’t. I have to leave for the airport in a half hour. I could do a quick coffee?”
“Let me just grab my guitar.”
They went to a café around the corner with exposed brick and a chalkboard proclaiming all tips were donated to a women’s shelter. Peter paid for their coffee, but when he wasn’t looking, Oona slipped a hundred-dollar bill into the tip jar.
Once they were settled at a corner table, hot beverages untouched before them, at first all they could do was stare at each other, tentative, a gossamer anticipation strung between them like fairy lights. The noise of customers and jangly Christmas music receded into the background, like the hush in a dark theater before the show begins. They tilted their heads. Hesitated. Then both spoke at once.
“So how long have you been playing for kids?”
“So what time is your flight?”
They laughed. Paused. And when neither moved to answer, they both did, at the same time.
“I was just filling in for a friend.”
“I’m just picking someone up.”
More laughter. It was okay. They’d have time to get their rhythm right.
“I thought maybe you were also a volunteer,” Oona said. “Because it would make perfect sense for us to spend all this time in the same building but never run into each other until my last day there.”
“Come on, don’t have such a low opinion of fate. That was actually the first time I’d even set foot in that library. But you know, I did see you a couple of years ago, in Prospect Park.” Peter took a long sip of coffee, eyebrows raised as if reliving the surprising moment. “I would’ve said hello, but you were having this intense conversation with someone—a guy.”
“Did he happen to be young and handsome, with cool Tilda Swinton hair?” Her smile mysterious, dreamy.
“I think so.”
“Yeah, that was Kenzie, my kid. That’s who I’m picking up at the airport.” Had Peter seen her during her very first leap? How awkward it would’ve been if he’d approached them, only for her to have no idea who he was.
“I didn’t know you had a child.”
Neither did I. “It’s a long, complicated story.”
“Is it now.” His eyes flashed, playful, ready to accept a challenge. His fingers made a slow path along the table, stopped in the center. “Funny, because you never struck me as the least bit complicated.”
“Yeah, neither did you. Not even a little.” She slid her hand forward until it was just shy of his. There had always been an invisible wall between them, but now he flipped his palm up, and the wall became an open door. The only thing left to do was walk through it, so Oona crossed the threshold and slid her hand into his. He gave one soft squeeze, a greeting: Welcome home.
“I gotta admit, it killed me a little when you stopped your lessons—don’t get me wrong, I understand why.”
“Can you even imagine how awkward it would’ve been if I kept coming? It makes me cringe just thinking about it.”
“I would’ve endured that awkwardness if it meant seeing you. Any day.”
“Even if it made things with your girlfriend weird?”
“Oh, you mean the woman I ended up marrying and having three kids with?” Before Oona could pull her hand away, he grinned. “Kidding. We broke up after a couple of months. I … I wanted to call you. But I didn’t want to be that guy. I also had this sense—I don’t know, like I needed to wait. Like things had to play out a certain way.”
“‘Everything has its time,’” she quoted his tattoo.
“Exactly. I’m just glad we’re sitting here right now.”
“Me too.” She kept her eyes fixed on their clasped hands. So rarely does a fulfilled wish live up to the anticipation of it and even exceed it. “It’s too bad I need to leave so soon.”
“Maybe we could get dinner sometime?”
“I’d love to.” She looked up at him. “But it can’t be until after the new year.”
Any disappointment smoothed over with an understanding nod. “Of course. I’m sure you have a lot going on for the holidays. With your son.”
“That’s part of it. But also … I want to give 2018 Oona something to look forward to.”
He tapped a finger to his chin, weighed the statement. “Then I guess 2018 Peter will also have something to look forward to.”
When the year ended, she wouldn’t be ready to go, but the clock would have no sympathy. Her next leap would always hover on the horizon, unavoidable, waiting to whisk her away.
In some cases, waiting to grant a wish from years ago.
PART IX
All Tomorrow’s Parties
1983: 19/26
30
“Happy New Year!”
Warm lips pressed against Oona’s and firm arms wrapped around her as the room erupted in celebratory shrieks. Eyes closed, she returned the kiss and tightened her arms around a man who’d always felt like home. Eyes closed, in case it wasn’t really true, in case it was a figment.
I need to be sure.
Oona opened her eyes.
She was back in Dale’s basement, back in the mirrored room, surrounded by her motley group of friends. A small television across the way showed Times Square ushering in 1983 while all around her, people popped streamers and created a cacophony with noisemakers and their own hooting.
This better not be a dream.
It wasn’t.
Seven years of disorientation and strange navigation. Seven years of wandering and wondering. Seven long years until she returned.
Oona stepped back and there he was. Dale. His smile lopsided, his big brown eyes full of all the love in the world. She glanced down at her sequined dress and leather jacket, then back up at him.
