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She turns back to the time line and moves the Cretaceous boundaries. Her mother is, of course, right.
* * *
On Sunday afternoon, at 4:37 P.M., E.V. sits at a Peets in a beach town north of San Francisco. She sips her latte and considers the crowd. Lots of Sunday tourists. Day-trippers and lovers, heavily paired. There is much hand-holding and butt-cupping.
At least that’s how it seems. Maybe it’s just the way the search engine in her brain works these days.
Aislin is late, but she’s texted a couple times. E.V.’s phone vibrates. It’s another text:
April 24 4:38 p.m.
Sorry, Antonio came over, might be
little late for cafeen.
Spelling is not Aislin’s favorite thing. Antonio is Aislin’s favorite thing. This month, anyway.
On her time line, E.V. marks the emergence of the first reptiles. She’s been working for eleven minutes when she feels a hand—Aislin’s, heavy with silver jewelry—on her shoulder.
Aislin is impossibly leggy, gorgeous, and turning E.V., by default, into the adequately pretty friend. Generally, E.V. is okay with that, but she bristles a little today at the heads turning to take in Aislin’s entrance.
As she sits, Aislin thrusts her cell into E.V.’s face.
“Did you see this shot of the Bob beatdown?”
E.V. sighs. “It has a name now?”
“A hashtag, too. Plus somebody, I dunno, maybe Maira, got some great video of Bob going ballistic.”
E.V. sips her latte, blinks, narrows her eyes. “Read the room, Aislin. Seriously not in the mood.”
“Sorry. But in a few days, it’ll be funny, right?”
E.V. rubs her eyes. “In a thousand years, give or take.” She slams her laptop shut. “Did you finish the history time line for Leach?”
Aislin cups her hand in her chin. “What’s a time line?”
“Yeah, I kinda thought so. The point is: It’s depressing, is all. The irrelevance of everything. Of us. We’re all just blips. Grains of sand on a massive beach.”
Aislin scarfs a sip of E.V.’s latte. “Which means Bob is just a blip, too.”
“He’s not even a blip. He’s not even a zit on a blip.” E.V. stares hard at her friend. “I am not a frigid bitch, you know.”
“No. That’s your mother’s area of expertise.”
“Are you in love with Antonio?”
Aislin examines a fingernail. “I’m in lust with him. It’s much easier to have fun when you’re not so picky, you know.”
“I’m not picky. I’m just … holding out for true love.”
“That’s very noble.”
E.V. drops her head on the table. “I am going to die alone with hundreds of cats, aren’t I? They’ll consume my rotting flesh. I’ll be nothing but bones when you find me.”
Aislin puts her hand on E.V.’s arm. “Grab your drink. ’Tonio’s double-parked. Let’s go for a drive. You need to clear your head.”
“I’m kind of not in the mood to sit in the backseat and watch you guys exchange bodily fluids.”
