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And feeling his head tilted back behind her, Zena looked up, too. After staring for a while, Zena uttered, “It’s beautiful. It’s an eclipse.”
Chins up, ear to ear, hands still clasped from behind, Zena and Adan stared at the moon as if it was their first time seeing it, as if it was a pearl pinned to the sun. Everything beneath the sky disappeared. They were floating astronauts, space twins, drifting in a celestial storm of miracles somewhere between Earth and the heavens.
At school the next day, Zena and Adan told their science teacher, Mr. Palabas, what happened to them the prior afternoon. He was one of those spunky, white, hip earth science teachers who spent far too much time at the school trying to get the students he taught to understand that science was interesting and applicable and cool. When they talked to Mr. Palabas, he acknowledged there hadn’t been an eclipse—including the fact that he had not seen one. The rookie science teacher nodded along as Adan and Zena recalled their story before beginning to let them down gently. From the bookshelf behind his messy desk, he pulled a textbook that weighed more than a toddler and flipped through pages with recorded eclipse dates in the past and future predictions. There were no predictions for April 14, 2000. Without saying it, Mr. Palabas was implying a scientific reality: there had been no eclipse.
“So you don’t believe us?” Zena asked as more kids started filing into the room for class to begin.
“I believe you two experienced an eclipse,” Mr. Palabas answered.
“But was there an eclipse—an actual eclipse of the sun?” Adan asked.
“Not according to these books—not according to science. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t experience one. Maybe it was your eclipse. An eclipse just for you two,” Mr. Palabas said, and Zena and Adan looked at each other.
* * *
After switching from her driving flats to her red-bottom pumps, Zena walked into the lobby of the Peachtree skyscraper, where she rented a small but extravagant space with floor-to-ceiling windows and complementary plush leather office furniture. She promised herself she wouldn’t bring up the wedding or Zola or her mother and definitely not Adan as she got off the elevator on the tenth floor. But when she saw Malak sitting at her desk in the reception area, everything she’d been hoping to hold inside came up and out her mouth the way secrets and gossip force their way to the surface when best friends resume company.
Zena leaned into Malak’s desk and just started.
“Can you believe he went to my mother’s house looking for me again?” She paused but went on with no answer from Malak, who was in the middle of a conversation with the phone receiver to her ear. “I mean, what the hell? What do you want from me? Why are you looking for me? Just because our sister and brother are getting married doesn’t mean we are suddenly besties and you can just roll up at my mother’s house,” Zena said as if she was suddenly talking to Adan, but then she switched back to Malak with, “Can you believe that? Can you believe that mess? Wait, girl. Are you on the phone? Never mind. Sorry.”
Malak slid the phone onto her desk and looked up at Zena with little surprise. “I’m off now,” Malak said. “And, yeah, I know he was looking for you.”
Zena dropped her workbag to the floor. “How?”
“He came here,” Malak revealed.
Zena looked around as if maybe he was still in her office hiding out. “Here?”
“Yes.”
Zena reached over the desk and grabbed the sides of Malak’s arms like she was a reluctant witness to some atrocity. “What? Are you kidding me? He was here? What did he want? Why was he here?” She shook her friend.
“Clearly, he was looking for you.”
Malak raised her arms to break from Z
ena’s hold. She was used to Zena losing all composure when these kinds of things happened. In fact, she’d already told herself that she wouldn’t bring Adan’s pop-in visit up, but since Zena had already opened that door, all promises of silence had been recanted. “Calm down, Z,” she said. “He was just downtown and wanted to talk to you. I think it’s about the wedding or something.” Malak grinned. “He looked good, too. Smelled good. Had on one of those fancy suits. He obviously wanted to impress someone—and it wasn’t me.” She sucked her teeth playfully.
“I don’t care how he looked. He isn’t my man,” Zena said defiantly as she slid into the seat before Malak’s desk—a clear sign she wanted more information. “But what did he say? I need to know everything he said.”
Malak went through Adan’s visit second by second for her best friend—how he’d said, “Ze-ena”; how he looked crestfallen when Malak revealed that Zena hadn’t showed up at the office just yet; that he said he was in town looking for a new office space; that he was bringing his practice to Georgia. He was tired of the New York hustle and wanted to be closer to his dad. Malak shared her condolences about his mother passing and he’d looked down at the floor. He changed the subject quickly, told her she didn’t have to tell Zena he’d stopped by. He’d see Zena soon. He’d make sure he did this time.
Zena froze with her mouth open and heart beating wildly. “What?” she managed to get out. “He said that? Are you sure he said that—like exactly?”
“No, I’m crazy, I made it up. I made it all up,” Malak teased but then added, “Of course, I didn’t fabricate this story. Why would I do that? He said it. All of it.”
“Why? Why would he say that? Why does he want to see me?” Zena asked.
“I have no answers—only information. Good information, though. But, like I said, it seemed like he wanted to talk about the wedding.”
“The wedding? Why do we need to talk about that?”
“Again, I have no answers, but I’m guessing it’s about you being the maid of honor and him being the best man,” Malak said. “Maybe he wants to go half on a gift with you. Or maybe he doesn’t want them to get married, either. Maybe he’s just as pissed off about all of this as you are and needs to vent.”
Zena pondered. “But, still, why talk to me about it? Not like I can stop it.” She scowled as she recalled the last conversation with her sister. “I don’t even want to think about this. And I sure don’t want to talk about it with Adan. Shouldn’t he go vent to someone else if he has an issue? Someone like his wife?”
While she’d been nodding along with all of her friend’s commentary, the last question gave Malak pause. She looked at Zena like she’d misspoke. “His wife?” Malak repeated as if Zena knew something she didn’t or maybe Zena was confused or just wrong. “What do you mean ‘his wife’?”
