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“Well… I mean, sort of…” Michael said softly, staring down at his boots as if they held the secrets of the universe. Because of this, he completely missed the flicker of emotion crossing Isabelle’s face—irritation melting into hurt, then curiosity, and finally a deep, aching longing.
“I mean… it worked out, I guess. The whole blockchain thing worked out. But everything else didn’t.”
Isabelle waited patiently. When Michael finally looked up at her, he spoke slowly, almost reverently. “The thing is… Isabelle… you’re kind of like the best…”
She tilted her head, curious. “The best?”
Michael stared for a beat, then smiled like he’d just solved a difficult puzzle. “Exactly! Yes! You get it? Okay, good. Yes, you’re the best.”
Isabelle looked at him expressionless for a moment and said “Michael? Why am I the best?”
Instantly he looked confused again, shifting from foot to foot and readjusting his thick black glasses. “You know… the best… like Windows XP before Windows 7? Umm… like World of Warcraft vanilla!” He lit up as if the comparison made everything crystal clear.
Sage leaned into Cal, whispering hot against his ear, “I can’t fucking believe this. It’s like a really bad romcom.” Cal nodded with a slight smile, his big hand rubbing slow circles on her lower back. “Give him time… he’ll get there.”
Isabelle looked at him for a long minute and then said “Windows XP and World of Warcraft vanilla? Michael Barrington, are you saying that I’m ordinary?”
Michael looked stunned, as if she’d suggested the Earth was flat. “What? Are you even listening? How could you be ordinary? The chances of you being ordinary are point-zero-seven-three percent. No—World of Warcraft vanilla doesn’t mean ordinary. It was when the game first started…” He launched into full lecture mode, hands gesturing wildly. “Okay, actually let’s back up. In the mid-90s Warcraft came out and it was a really good game. But then Warcraft 2 built on all the cool things from the first one. Then Warcraft 3 was solid, but World of Warcraft! Vanilla! Original!”
Michael waited for Isabelle. Isabelle waited for Michael.
Finally, she asked softly, “You’re saying that I’m… special?”
Michael beamed. “Yes! Exactly! For a minute I thought you wouldn’t understand.”
Isabelle looked at him, then smiled—slow and warm, like the first crack of sunlight after a blizzard. “Michael? What are you wearing?”
He glanced down at the haphazard, multi-layered snow outfit. “My new Meemaw Margaret got this for me. I was so cold. And my shoes were ruined.” He plucked at the strings of his jacket and whispered loudly, “It kinda reminds me of Gundam mecha.”
Sage had to cover her mouth to stifle her laughter. Cal held her gently against his solid chest, his warmth seeping through her clothes as she leaned into him, shoulders shaking with silent mirth.
Isabelle bit her lip, her body trembling with the effort not to laugh—or cry. “I see. And where is your luggage?”
Michael looked almost accusatory. “Geneva! That ignoramus temp couldn’t… Even if she… not even NASA could—”
Isabelle slowly reached out and covered his fidgeting hands with her own. “Michael? Have you taken your allergy medication?”
He blinked, then gave her a boyish, relieved smile. “Yeah, Margaret made me take it! Thank God for Margaret. I think I probably would’ve died without her. And you know what, Isabelle? The cosplay stores and the arcades—they sucked! I hated them. All of Japan sucked.”
Isabelle asked patiently, “Why, Michael?”
He looked puzzled. “Why? Aren’t you listening? Because you weren’t there!”
Isabelle’s face froze. Her eyes filled with tears. She squeezed his hands once, hard, then turned and rushed past Mary Sue (who quickly pressed a handkerchief into her hand) and disappeared into the kitchen, soft sobs trailing behind her.
Michael stood there for a long second, scratched his head, then wandered back toward Cal.
He looked up at his much taller friend. “Bear? I hate this club.”
Cal nodded solemnly, though his eyes sparkled with quiet amusement. “Yeah, I get it, buddy. But I think maybe you said the right thing this time.”
Michael’s face lit up with pure hope. “You think so?”
They all turned toward the kitchen where Mary Sue was hugging Isabelle tight.
“Yeah, buddy… I’m positive.”
SAGE
