Page 51 of 10 Things I Hate About Zombies

‘Mushroom stuff?’ Nick sounded delighted at the very concept of this. ‘That sounds very illegal. I would love to hear what you think mushroom stuff entails.’

Before Zoey could come up with a fitting reply, Reba came strutting over, brandishing her half-eaten cheese toastie. Her purple Doc Martens squeaked on the tiles.

‘Did I hear someone say mushroom stuff?’ she bellowed. ‘No, wait, it’s smoothie girl again. Have you thought about putting magic mushrooms in those? Maeve never went for it, but I bet you’d make bank. Especially with this audience. And it’s Portland. No one’s going to narc on you. You can buy mushroom chocolate online these days. Just be careful if you’re a chocoholic like me, because things can go sideways fast. Like the walls. And your sense of embodiment.’

Zoey blinked, trying to process this. Meanwhile, Reba picked up a jar of taro smoothie and squinted at the purple mixture. ‘Hmm, I’ve got a tie-dye that matches this one. Back in a tick.’

Polishing off the rest of her grilled-cheese sandwich, she squeaked off to a huge tent with a tie-dyed canopy. Dyer on the Mountain, proclaimed a hand-painted sign that Zoey suspected was older than she was. Ainsley needed to pop over to touch it up.

‘Here you go, love.’ Reba thrust a purple bookbag at Zoey. It was printed with the text Read or Dye and embellished with bookish ornaments. ‘And a tie for your man here. Get it? A tie-dye.’

‘I knew I liked you, Reba,’ said Nick. He poked his tongue out in concentration as he tied the tie over his Movie Madness T-shirt.

‘How’s that?’ he said, showing off the vibrant tie, which somehow looked good on him, because of course it did.

‘You can wear it to your wedding,’ said Reba. ‘I know a girl, if it comes to that. And a guy who does funerals, if it comes to that.’

‘All the important bases covered,’ said Zoey. Who was this woman?

‘Ah! And I’ve got something for this good girl here.’ Reba stooped with a groan and the snap-crackle-pop of ageing joints. The huge silver rings on her fingers flashed as she gently tied a bandana around Alice’s neck. ‘Oh, but she’s cute. Let me take a photo. No, wait, that’s my banking app. And that’s … oh, now I’m locked out. Technology! This is why Gracie handles all this stuff when we’re on the road together. I hit the wrong button so often it’s a wonder I haven’t time-travelled.’

Zoey snapped a few quick shots of Alice on her phone. ‘Here. I’ll text these to you. And I’ll flag down Gracie next time she comes past.’

‘You’re a dear. Oop! Punters! Gotta jog!’ Reba hurried back to her tent to greet a trio of punk women whose skin was as brightly patterned as her garments.

Zoey shot Nick a wry grin. ‘I’m going to need a Pep in My Step smoothie to recover from that. Although it’s nice to meet a friend of Maeve’s.’

And it was. It made Maeve feel real again, instead of just a memory Zoey was trying to keep alive through the business.

‘She’s great,’ agreed Nick. ‘Reminds me of my gran. Eighty-one and still tearing it up on the boules green. Makes a mean shepherd’s pie, too. Actually, can you text me that picture of Alice to send to her?’

Zoey was always fascinated by these glimpses into Nick’s family tree. Where Zoey’s family tree was a stick that was decomposing on the forest floor, his was like one of the huge conifers at Laurelhurst Park: it stretched on forever, yet somehow felt close, tight. She could barely imagine what it might be like to have family members you wanted to share little moments of your day with.

Nick chuckled. ‘She came right back with a picture of her cat wearing a bee beanie. A bee-nie.’

‘Remind me never to challenge your gran to a duel. Or any of those grans,’ said Zoey, pointing.

In addition to the InkWell shoppers, the mall was starting to grow busy with elderly mall walkers in bright runners and matching tracksuits. It was quite the juxtaposition.

Zoey checked her watch. ‘I wonder if Joaquin’s going to make it in time.’

Her roommate had a cool-looking set-up over by a pretzel stand, which as olfactory experiences went was hard to beat. For weeks, Joaquin had been banging on about trying out their new vegan inks to a fresh audience, and they’d put in a huge degree of effort with their booth, which resembled a miniature version of the Inkstigators shop off Hawthorne.

Nick followed her gaze. ‘Why, thinking about getting a tattoo?’

Zoey rubbed the spot on her wrist where the temporary tattoo that Joaquin had applied had all but rubbed off. Only a few tiny flecks of ink remained – the stuff was more stubborn than henna.

‘Maybe?’ She shrugged. ‘I think I’m the only person in Portland without tattoos. You know, I was walking on Broadway once, and this old guy pulled over and shouted, “You’re not from here, are you? No tattoos!”’

Nick nodded sagely. ‘The aesthetic shibboleth.’

‘I just haven’t found something I really want. That I could commit to having on my body for life. What about when I get old and wrinkly?’

‘Then you’ll be old and wrinkly.’ Nick shrugged. ‘I suppose I don’t worry too much about what my future self would think. I’m young-ish and not-wrinkly now, and this will be the youngest and not-wrinkliest I’ll ever be for the rest of my life. If something brings me joy or delights me, then why not?’

Zoey considered. This was a reasonably compelling argument.

‘Do yours all have meaning?’ she asked, thinking of the trees and birds that ribboned his arms.