“No, I’m serious. I know you think I can’t handle it, but I can. I love having you in my apartment. You and the kids. We can do this. We can do anything together. You don’t need Mom and Dad or anyone. I’ve got you.”
Her lips made a thin line. “If I sayyes, will you stop trying to take your IV out?”
I lifted both my palms to prove I’d stopped fiddling with the IV line.
We lapsed into tense silence. Squeaky made a gurgling sound, settling down, and Kira started going through her mom’s purse, taking items out one by one and lining them up on the floor.
“Was he cute?” Aleena asked. “Your future husband?”
I grinned. “I’m pretty sure I hit on someone’s dad.”
The tension broke, and we both started laughing so hard that the nurse finallydidactually come by to check in on me.
10
Ophelia.Then.
I (mostly) forget about the incident and the silver fox in the ambulance until I was rummaging through dirty laundry, desperate for one shirt that didn’t have baby food or spit-up on it, and I found the card again at the bottom of the hamper.
Seekers Welcome. Friday.7 pm.
I was suddenly plagued by the memory of a paramedic with the tight-lipped smile and a small, curved birthmark on his jaw.
It was Friday. I could check it out.
I pocketed the card. Evening rolled around. Aleena and I were both too tired to cook, so I picked up a couple shawarma sandwiches. By the end of the night, she was parked in front of the TV. Kira was fast asleep, her head in her mommy’s lap, and Squeaky was passed out in Aleena’s room, the baby monitor on the table. I snatched a pint of ice cream from the freezer, two spoons, and cuddled up beside Aleena. Aleena was dressed in her soft, fluffy PJs. Normally, I too would have my PJs on at this point, so I could feel her eyeing my jeans-and-shirt suspiciously as we shared the pint.
“Going somewhere?”
I shrugged, trying to be blasé. “Maybe. I don’t know. I was considering it, but then you turned onPirates of the Caribbean...”
Aleena sat up, picked up the remote, and flipped the channel.
“Do it,” Aleena said. “Now, you have no excuse.”
I pressed my lips together. “I don’t want to abandon ship…”
“What ship?” She motioned to the sleeping kids. “The crew is out of commission.Go. Before I physically shove you out of the house.”
I hesitated. “Are you sure?”
She screwed her eyes at me. “One of us has to have a life.” She took the pint from me and dug in. “Tell meeverythingwhen you come back.”
“Obviously.” I pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Call me if you need anything.Anything.”
“Out, out.”
That settled it. Permission granted, I started to get excited. I was a creature of the night, and it’d beenmonthssince I’d be able to make bad decisions in the dark. I checked the clock on my phone. It was almost seven already. I’d be fashionably late. I jumped in the shower, untangled my hair so it fell into perfect curls around my shoulders, and adorned my eyes with dark liner. I pulled on a fitting, chocolate-brown slip and a puffy, faux-fur jacket.
I left my bedroom and found Aleena still on the couch. She had her head tilted back, mouth open, and the pint was melting in her lap. I put the ice cream away, pulled a blanket over her and Kira, and then headed out.
Seekers Welcome. I couldn’t get that out of my head. Who wereSeekers? There was a good chance I was walking into some kind of occultist cult experience and—you know what? Why not? I’d look good in a white dress and a pair of antlers.
I hopped on the subway, taking the G to the C, which dropped me off near a park in Harlem. My heels clicked along the sidewalk as I took in the aging brownstones, the family-run barbershop, and a Spanish grocery store. A guy sitting on his stoop gave me a nod and a, “hey, baby,” and I greeted him right back. New York was a city with a constantly racing heartbeat—everything was fast, relevant, andtrend setting. Harlem, however, was a neighborhood with an old soul. Things slowed down here. There was a reverence in the air. If you were really quiet, you might hear the ghost-tunes of Billie Holiday playing from the Apollo theatre.
My directions led me to a jazz club. The club was bumping, muted sounds of sax and trumpets bleeding from red-tinted windows. A plaque next to the door touted the building as a registered landmark.
I checked my card. I was a door off. The address didn’t lead me to the jazz club—it directed me to the brownstonebesidethe jazz club. The building was a clay-red structure with a dark door. I climbed the steps, and I noticed someone smoking outside of the jazz club. His eyes didn’t leave me and he wore a Cheshire-cat grin, like he knew something I didn’t.
