KEEP TALKING

Carmella’s eyes were bloodshot and she smelled milky sour, like baby spit-up. When she pulled me in for a quick hug before dragging me towards the double-decker we took across the city, I told her she looked good. I look like shite, she said.

She said things like shite and flat and lift and jumper now.

Carmella’s attention drifted to what was balanced on my thighs: porridge I bought at the Edinburgh train station while I waited for her, when the minutes had turned into an hour and a part of me wondered if Carmella had forgotten about me, or if this was all one big prank. Neither would have surprised me.

Cash hates porridge, Carmella said.

Out the window, going uphill then downhill, the bus drove past a blur of identical sandstone structures while swollen grey clouds scaled the sky. I said, My doctor told me I might meet the love of my life in Scotland.

This was your shrink?

Or Wyoming. He mentioned both were possibilities. I’m keeping my eyes open.

A film of moisture gathered across my face after we hopped off the bus; mist shrouded the city, all the cobbles so slick with drizzle. Carmella pointed at her home, a two-storey building along a row of colony houses. Built by people who worked in the harbor many years back, the houses were now owned by wealthy Londoners who’d fled the city during the pandemic, settling into Edinburgh with their cushy remote jobs. But it was because of their cushy remote jobs I was out here in the first place. Cash and Carmella were quick in springing for plane tickets after hearing of the car crash that had nearly killed me one month back.

Do you hear that? Carmella asked.

I swiped away the dampness that smothered my face. What? I said—I didn’t hear anything.

The baby, she said. It’s the baby.

The baby was six months old—and while I was his godfather, I could only remember his baptism name. St. Jude. My mind came up empty when I thought of his actual name. Didn’t everyone just call him the baby?

I knew the toddler’s name. Sweetpea. A happy child, Sweetpea was always giggling and running around, though he had yet to speak. He’d said Mama once, many months ago, but hadn’t said anything since. He chewed into an oily pizza slice quietly, smiling after each swallow.

Meanwhile, Cash scrolled his phone. Cash was always on his phone, and he never made eye contact. He was a little autistic like that, and what went unsaid is that Sweetpea probably was too. We should go to Arthur’s Seat, Cash said.

But he only just got here, Carmella said as I stood there, still hovering at the door with my luggage. Across the kitchen table, a stack of delivery bags, all from different spots. A pizza place. A crepe place. A juice place. I haven’t even told him about the Airbnb, she said.

There’s a schedule, Cash said.

We don’t have to be in a rush.

You got me an Airbnb? I asked.

I made the schedule, Cash said.

Carmella scooped up the baby and vanished into one of the rooms on the first floor. I stayed where I was, thinking about their seasonal return trips to New York, how Cash always took reign of the itinerary. He loved being a tourist: Times Square, the Statue of Liberty, the Charging Bull, the ferry. A I <3 NY cap sat on his head the entire time.

I sank into a spot beside him to finish my porridge while he spoke about the refurbished cruise he wanted to buy with some of his work buddies. Cash was doing well in crypto.

When I thanked him for the Airbnb, he simply shrugged, eyes still fixed to his screen. By the way, he said, what is going on with your back?

I rubbed the small knot. You noticed?

Yes, he said, there’s a large hump you keep scratching. Is that from the accident?

I pressed at it, something tiny but solid. And I was still pressing on it when Cash offered Sweetpea a bite from his crepe. When Sweetpea only shook his head, Cash brought the crepe closer to Sweetpea’s face. Again, he refused. Cash tore a lump and tried shoving it into the toddler’s mouth, but Sweetpea turned away. He doesn’t want it, I said, surprised by Cash’s force.

He has to eat, he said.

He’s eating pizza.

I know he’d like a piece of crepe, Cash said, and when Carmella returned, she snatched off a hunk of crepe and also tried wedging it into Sweetpea’s tiny, oily mouth.

Before, Carmella was lean and striking. Now, Carmella had a round red face. Sometimes I wondered if this was the stress of motherhood, the cortisol spikes that led to fat accumulations and flushing. Her mother, too, from the pictures I’d seen on social media. Like a proper grandmother, bloated and with a dyed pixie cut. Even Cash, who was portly and pale now, always with the grey sweats that carried the not-so-faint aroma of urine.

Carmella gave up and tossed the piece of crepe into her mouth. After swallowing, she pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose. She rummaged through her purse before fishing out her first inhaler, then her second. Carmella closed her eyes and sucked.

I pee a little when I sit down now, I said. Like you.

Is that normal? Carmella asked. You haven’t given birth, twice.

It’s a side effect.

A side effect of what?

I’m on a mission to improve myself. I’ve also been taking this pill that gives me a soft erection throughout the day.

Aren’t you still at that middle school? I don’t think having an erection and being around children is a good idea.

It’ll stop after three weeks.

Carmella squeezed my hand. A sleepy, grateful look filled her face. I’m glad you’re on a mission to improve yourself, she said. You had me so worried.

---

The Airbnb was a two-bedroom that looked out onto a tiny cemetery. The city was filled with tiny cemeteries. And the buildings all looked the same, so much so that every time I left the house I got turned around. I only found my building because of the man that loitered there. He’d been there when I left and he was there now that I was back. Have you seen the second moon yet? he asked.

At the door, I searched for my keys, giving the man a slight nod, unsure how to respond. The second moon, he said. Haven’t you heard about it? He leaned against the stone wall mottled with chewing gum in various states of decay. Some spots pink and fresh, others black like tire rubber. Beneath his large camo winter coat, which he kept unzipped, was a tattooed chest partly covered by a loose wifebeater. His beard was large and unkempt, a light brown color. Though there was something a little grubby to the man, I couldn’t be sure he was actually homeless; there didn’t seem to be many homeless people in Scotland. He kept his hoodie on, which would have felt threatening elsewhere, but for some reason suited him here.

I don’t know anything about a second moon, I said.

It’s not really a moon, he said. It’s a meteor.

He stood beside me, turning me slightly with his wide palms, and he pointed up at the sky. I saw the moon. Beside it, something small and bright. Our second moon, he said.

There’s always something, I said.

I think you’re meant to enjoy it, he said. Change.

Is that what you’re doing? I asked.

He smiled something easy and free. Yes, he said. I love my life actually, can’t you tell?

---

Past a threshold of shining string beads and into a dimly lit room that smelled powerfully of lavender and other oils, I asked the woman at the front desk if they could take a walk-in that morning. She nodded peacefully, her gaze unfocused but aimed in my general direction. Then raised her finger before disappearing into the back of the massage parlor I’d found a few blocks from my Airbnb.

First time here? asked a man sitting in the waiting room. Come for the surprise?

What’s that? I asked—I couldn’t always understand when people spoke in Scotland. Sometimes it took me a moment, sometimes I made some inferences, and sometimes I understood nothing at all.

She can’t see. Or can’t you tell?

She’s blind?

All of them are.

Now, another woman wearing sunglasses was having me undress to my underwear. I slipped under a towel stretched out on a table. Her palm reached for my leg and she squirted large puddles of oil and rubbed. It’s so lovely outside, she said. This has to be my favorite season.

A cold snap had stripped the trees of their leaves; the colors were gone. But I hummed in agreement and said, Yes. The colors.

The colors, she said. I can’t see them.

She continued rubbing at my calf. When she had me flip, she told me I had a knot. Are you stressed at work?

I don’t think it’s from work.

She asked where I was visiting from and I told her New York.

New York isn’t for everybody, she said.

I already lived there for years. It is for me.

Maybe it once was, maybe it no longer is. People change. Our sensibilities.

Were you born blind?

It’s not so polite to ask that.

She rubbed, the rest of the massage continuing on in silence, and when I walked to the Airbnb afterwards, I felt for the lump. I couldn’t be sure, but a part of me thought it felt harder now. More solid.

---

With the back of her hand, Carmella dabbed oil away from her t-zone. A small off-coloured splotch—spittle from the baby—stood at the center of her chest. Even when I’m away, she said, I can’t stop thinking about them.

Why don’t you have a full-time nanny? You have the money.

Slumped into the wine bar’s worn cushions, she exhaled theatrically before saying, It’s rare to have hired help in these parts. I wouldn’t want the neighbors to judge.

Even someone to help around the house a few days a week?

Oh, she said, we have one of those.

Does Cash help?

Of course he helps. Who do you think is with them now? Carmella said this then scooped up her inhaler from her purse. Shaking it before taking another powerful suck. And when she wasn’t inhaling, she seemed to always be blowing into her handkerchief.

When the server came, we ordered a bottle of red to split. I’m such a lightweight nowadays, Carmella said after a few quick sips, and she giggled.

Me too, I said.

She settled her gaze over me. I don’t think that’s true, she said. You haven’t changed.

I told you, I’m on a mission to improve myself.

A serious look possessed her then. I know you drove the car into a wall on purpose.

Who said that? I said, and laughed.

Your mom told me. Were you really going to keep it a secret?

So that’s why you flew me out here, I said. You thought I tried killing myself.

I drained my glass. My eyes wandering to the street outside. The dampness that coated everything. The never-ending drizzle. A shiver shot down my spine. It was so cold in Scotland. Too cold.

Wouldn’t you have done the same? Carmella asked with a defeated, sour tone. She seemed almost offended.

Don’t pity me, I said. I’m embarrassed as is, that I hit the brakes too late.

On purpose?

Of course not, I said. But that’s what my mom thinks. You know how it is.

Carmella stared at me with skepticism as silence filled the space between us. Old wine corks glued together stood squashed beneath a glass frame over the table. And I considered the bottle, still half full, and my glass, all empty. But any desire I had to be slightly drunk had vanished.

Let’s get some sticky toffee pudding, Carmella said after, and with the wave of a hand. I think we could both use it.

Then: I’m a little drunk, she said, and giggled one last time.

You always get what you want, I said.

You keep scratching at your back, Carmella said, and her eyes fell to the bill on the table. She wanted me to get it.

---

With Carmella, Cash, and the kids, I took in the city. A walk down Princes Street, down and into the garden. Cherry blossoms carried by the wind as the castle towered from above. Down the old cobbles of the Old Town, and up the Royal Mile, a gush of tourists on every side. We took the tram to Newhaven, where we scarfed down fish and chips by the water. Hiked up Calton Hill and waved at the people across the dip, sat up on Arthur’s Seat. At a bookstore, I sank, exhausted but content, finally, and a bookseller settled a tiny tray of tea and biscuits beside me. Free of charge. A wink of the eye, and when he spoke, I nodded, unable to understand a word. Carmella planted a kiss on the baby’s forehead and said she still barely understood some accents, even after five years. Cash scrolled on his phone, then reminded us of our next stop.

I noted at one point that I hadn’t seen any cops around. It was eerie, especially coming from New York. Carmella said it was the safest place she’d ever lived. And when I asked if she even felt safe walking at night, she said she did.

Tell him about the robbery I stopped, Cash said.

Cash is exaggerating, she said.

I stopped a man from stealing an electric bike, Cash said, and he threatened to stab me. This was down the block from our house. He had a gnarly scar on the back of his neck. It looked like a fishhook. That’s all I saw before he ran away.

Did you report it?

I’m not sure almost stealing a bike is much of a crime.

I think threatening to stab someone is.

He wouldn’t have done it, Cash said.

Are you so sure?

Cash looked at his phone. We’re off schedule now, he said. Let’s go.

---

The man who loitered outside my Airbnb was doing tricks on a kids bike. Everything still happening at lightning speed? he asked, swiveling the bike with an impressive kick of the leg. Above us, the moon glowed, and the tiny meteor beside it glowed too.

Is this how you always spend your free time? I asked. Out here, like this?

How else should I spend it? he said, parking his bike by my side. He fiddled with the strings of his hoodie, his hoodie still up—it would always be up in our meetings.

How I spend my time is probably my most embarrassing secret, I said.

Because what you do isn’t something one should be proud of?

Because I spend so much time alone.

Are you so lonely?

It came as a surprise to me too, I said.

The man frowned. This is too depressing, he said. How does a pint sound? Pub won’t close for another hour.

When he waved me forward, I stopped. I didn’t even know his name.

Oh, he said. It’s Antonio.

Like every other pub I’d seen so far in Scotland, the one Antonio led me to was wood-paneled and quiet, light chatter among the thin crowd of locals the only sound. A few loose dogs roamed with snouts pressed to the floor. Antonio told me about the shop he worked at. The tiny souvenirs he made for the tourists who flooded the Royal Mile. The working conditions, according to him, were abysmal. The shopkeeper was a total sadist. Antonio spent his days in a windowless basement with a handful of other men. Sometimes fantasizing about killing the shopkeeper.

Why don’t you?

Because that’s not how society works, he said, chewing on his hoodie’s strings.

You make your bed and you sleep on it. But trust me, you can make your bed however you want, I said. I was a little drunk.

Antonio’s gaze lingered over me. Tell me why you’re so lonely again.

I’m so bored.

Sorry, Antonio said with a laugh, I thought we were having a grand time.

With life, I mean. How come you’re named Antonio if you’re Scottish?

You can’t tell accents apart, can you? I’m from Ireland. My mom was a bit of an oddball. But I like the name. Find it quite fitting.

I like it too, I said.

When the server cleared our plates of fish and chips, I ordered more beer. Licked my fingers clean before planting a hand over Antonio’s palm.

Oh, Antonio said.

I rubbed.

That’s not what this is, he said, looking around the room to see if anyone else had seen. He patted my hand with his free palm before removing the one I held in my tight grip. Warmth filled my cheeks. Of course, I said, and my mind wandered to the hump on my back. Was this why Antonio was declining my advances? The beer came and I drained the amber bottle in one go.

Antonio looked on in concern, his amusement gone. That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, he said. Isn’t that what you want? Friends?

---

Many blocks away, I found another pub to thump into. The man who chatted me up was thin and mousy, and I couldn’t say I understood much of what he said either. But when he invited me to his place, I said yes. That I understood.

He excused himself from his bedroom when his phone rang, saying it was his daughter. I rolled across his bed. Feeling strange and unsettled. When he returned, he asked if I had any kids. I laughed before saying no.

That funny to you? The man smiled at me. Flashing a row of bottom teeth all aimed in different directions, some sharper than others, all of them a pale yellow color. He said, My daughter has Down’s. She’s the world to me. Anyway, I need to go pick her up. Do you remember where I parked my car?

We didn’t drive here.

Fuck, he said, rubbing both his palms down his face. Not again.

Did you lose your car?

I’ll find it eventually. I always do.

How drunk are you?

I’d still like to take you to bed, he said, thrusting his groin slightly in my direction. A lump of hardness was visible through his jeans. I told him I wasn’t sure if I was feeling it any more.

Okay, he said. Okay.

Okay?

He stared at me for a moment, straightening his thoughts, considering what he wanted next, before the request came. Could you pose for me? he asked. Like, undress and just pose. And I’ll have myself a quick wank?

You don’t mind the lump on my back?

The man squinted his eyes, briefly, before saying no, that he found it special.

Okay, I said, and I undressed.

---

A different person worked on my body the following morning. More of a talker, the masseuse asked how I was doing, and if I did anything special over the weekend. I told her I thought the lump on my back was getting smaller.

That doesn’t surprise me one bit, she said. You seem like a carer.

Thanks, I said.

Maybe a little icy. Do you have an icy side?

My mother always thought so, I said.

Then: I want my happy ending, I said.

The woman stiffened. We don’t do that here.

I want good things in life, I mean. I just seem to keep failing.

The woman nodded. There’s a storm over you right now, she said. Something is happening.

When I told her I didn’t believe in psychics, she said people weren’t so hard to read. But because the world is filled with narcissists, she said, we usually don’t see what’s happening with others. We’re too busy thinking about ourselves.

And so I told her about the car accident. The weeks I spent at home after, with my mother. And then Carmella’s call, the one that was filled with so much promise. Though our relationship was an imperfect one, I still considered her one of my closest friends. There was so much history, after all. It was only natural that a distance would come after her first baby, then her second. Motherhood had taken over her life. I couldn’t blame her for that.

I’ve never thought about killing myself, the woman said. But I’ve often wondered what it would be like to kill someone else. I probably could have gotten away with it in my native country. People die all the time. Nobody cares to solve their deaths. God knows I’ve had opportunities. But it’s about self-control. It’s about math, too. Is it worth the risk to possibly destroy your life? All for the sake of a tiny bit of knowledge. Besides, who knows how mentally, emotionally, ruined you’ll be for the rest of your life. PTSD!

Do you think that’s why people do it? Out of curiosity?

No, she said in a serious tone. I think people do it for dumber, simpler reasons. Have you gone sightseeing? I recommend the ghost tour.

You are an observer, I said.

So are you, she said. You observe, and one day you’ll crack. Just like me.

---

Watching Carmella paint her face for dinner later that night, I thought of all the times we’d gone through the same motions back when we shared a flat a decade ago. Joined at the hip, there was never a second in those days when I didn’t know what Carmella was up to. Not until she abandoned me in New York for graduate school in Scotland, where she’d go on to meet Cash and make a new life for herself out here. So much had changed in the years since. She had kids now, and a whole different world I knew little about. Yet, we were the same people, with the same likes and dislikes, the same pesky habits, the same dark moods, so nearly nothing had changed at all. As Carmella got a misty look in her eyes, I knew she was similarly measuring the distance between our lives then to our lives now. I’m so glad you dragged me here, I said.

It’s the hormones, that’s why I’m crying, she said.

It went by too soon.

It always does.

Carmella sucked from her inhaler before applying lipstick and smacking her lips together. Are you really improving yourself? she asked. Or was that all smoke up my ass?

Two moist dots bled through her blouse. I scooped up a rag and pressed them against her chest. You’re leaking, I said.

Thanks, Carmella said. But she didn’t reach for the rag—she continued filling out her lips while my hand stayed pressed against her breasts.

Don’t I seem better? I asked. Carmella ignored me, giving her face one final inspection. Content with her lips, she pushed past me and towards the baby’s crib.

The baby’s gotten so big, I said, pulling his foot.

The baby has a name, Carmella said.

I know.

Do you? Carmella asked.

Then: Stop scratching at your back.

I think it’s gotten better, I said, and I pulled on the baby’s leg again. When do you think Sweetpea will speak?

We all have our own personal timelines, Cash said, entering the bedroom as he scrolled his phone. When I turned to face Carmella, she had her finger on my hump, and she tapped it.

This only felt fair. Hadn’t I had my hand on her nipples as they leaked?

---

The knocking grew persistent and so I swung open the door: it was Antonio. Are you busy? he asked. It was midnight. He smelled vaguely of smoke as he pushed himself past me and into the Airbnb. I thought I’d never see you again, he said.

Isn’t that what you wanted? I asked, closing the door behind us.
Antonio sucked on the plastic nub of his hoodie’s string. Has a stranger ever left such an impression on you that your head is left swirling?

Strangers always leave an impression on me.

You know what I mean, Antonio said. He ran his fingers through his beard, and I thought it looked more orderly than usual, as though he’d cleaned up for his visit. I let him make a perimeter of the apartment, taking in the furnishings, before I let him make us gin and tonics. Nice place, he said. You’ve even got the chimney going.

I’m so cold again, I don’t know how you do it.

All you Americans are so alike. It’s practically still summer.

He drained his glass quickly then apologized.

It’s not your fault, I said. According to my mother, I’m an erratic person. I shouldn’t have jumped to any conclusions, and I definitely shouldn’t have left you at the bar.

Pub, not bar. Anyway, you don’t seem so erratic to me. No more than any other person.

Between my teeth, ice cubes broke apart. Have you ever been in a car crash? I asked, sucking on the largest shiver.

I don’t know how to drive, he said. Besides, I’d be too afraid of losing my keys.

I said: I did hit the brakes, but I was too late, and I no longer know how intentional that was, and did I want to die? Did I only change my mind at the last second? My mother says I did it on purpose.

Finally, I’d told Antonio everything I’d wanted to say. To him. To Carmella. To anyone who would have listened.

She’s gotten into your head, he said.

She’s usually right about most things. Mother’s instinct. Why are you here again?

Antonio had his knee pressed against mine, both of us folded against the couch. What you did before, he said, it’s not that I didn’t want it. It just wasn’t the right place for it. You left before I could suggest anything else. Do you follow? he asked. I nodded. Then he stood to make us another round, and when he returned, he said: What if I told you I burned it all down?

Burned what down?

The factory. The sadist. All of it.

Is that why you smell of smoke?

Antonio grinned. I’m only joking. He reached for me then, and as we twisted across the couch, he slipped out of his hoodie, and as he went down on me, a large scar at the center of his neck caught the light. Shaped like a fishhook, it glowed.