Always/Never

Chapter 9 / Go Seahorses

As it turned out, Cal was a pretty wonderful cook, and as I sat in the shared kitchen, nursing a bowl of something other than rice or boxed noodles for once, my mood lifted as if I'd gotten filled with helium.

They lived in the last residence in the semi-circle, a fair distance from the main buildings, which explained why we'd crossed paths on the track field: it was a long way out. It held a lot more students, and every block shared a kitchen. Its pots and pans bore bright colours, with the tags still visible, scraped off in haphazard lines. Almost all of them were different brands, yet there seemed to be multiples of everything. When I'd chosen my seat at one of the many barstools behind the counter, Cal asked if I had any requests.

Anything, I'd said, and I meant it.

I shovelled bite after bite of stir-fry into my mouth. The backsplash of the kitchen tile glimmered in black and white, reflecting the fairy lights strung from the walls. Movie posters hung from above the well-worn, dull orange chairs. The TV was on, without sound, projecting images that stuttered and changed in constant motion.

Cal pointed at the pan. "Are you... was that enough?"

I lifted my plate. They placed the last of the food in front of me. Spice sizzled from their cooking, like the burn of a warm radiator. In the dim hue of the light, it was like this residence was older, weathered. Everything seemed to carry the sepia tinge of a box camera around it.

"Thanks," I said at last. It struck me that I hadn't yet said that. I didn't know why. It seemed implied that because I'd trailed them through the woods and joined myself to the hip of their journey back here, I wanted to hang out. Was I assuming too much?

They placed the pan and its accompanying spatula in the sink. Steam rose in a plume.

In four years, why had I never done this more? I tried to think. Once I graduated, I'd never hear from anyone again. Not Michaela, not my group partners from any of my classes, and not even the students I always passed in the hallway.

I had Tandem, sure, but that was about it. Not that he counts. Does he?

Swinging myself from the seat, I helped them dry the dishes, and when we were done, I got introduced to their roommates. We bounced from room to room, and they showed me their rock collection, which spanned three shelves, each with handwritten labels and descriptions.

I kept saying, as if I couldn't find any other way to explain it, "Wow. Wow."

Once I'd spent a couple of minutes gazing at it, Cal shrugged. One of their roommates passed to ask if they were going to the theatre. Apparently, there was free popcorn.

So Cal turned to me, and having never said no to anything free in my life, I certainly wasn't starting today. While their roommates got sorted, we waited in the kitchen.

I said, slowly, like the words were hard to admit, "We, uh... did I ever get your phone number?"

Cal shrugged. "I think we emailed when we were working."

"Why?" It seemed so out-of-date, so time-consuming, and that wasn't like me at all. Except it was. Before the system, I hadn't updated to the modern cellphone age. My phone was for calls, and not much else permeated its barrier. I left it to charge it more often than I used it, and even when I had Michaela's number, she got on my case endlessly about it. I was stuck in the email paradigm.

"Don't know."

"Me neither," I said. "You should give me your number. I'll text you when I get back to residence."

Of course, I'd have to text them using Rory's phone, but whatever. She'd understand. This is too important to leave alone.

Cal searched for a notebook, tearing off a sheet from the back, and in light green ink, penned it out. Was this going to change the universe in some monumental way? Was it possible there was a reason I hadn't done this the first time?