This Story Might Save Your Life(11)

His mouth twisted in amusement. “What do I do?”

I nodded once, my face the picture of seriousness. “How does one survive such a magnitudinous experience?”

“Magnitudinous?” He cupped his chin, appearing to give it serious thought. “Depends how big the explosion is, I suppose. Is there blood everywhere? Can I breathe?”

“You can breathe but you’ve been rendered speechless.”

“Am I in pain?”

I nodded again. “The most exquisite kind.”

A flight attendant tapped him on the shoulder and asked him to move his backpack for the drink cart. He kicked it out of the way and returned his attention to me. “So I can breathe but I can’t talk, and the pain is exquisite. Is my best friend with me?”

“She is.”

“Is she worried about me?”

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Whether he’d intended it or not, the question was loaded. Was I worried about him? Was there a reason to worry? Now that I knew he’d been blaming himself for his mother’s death, now that I understood what hurt he’d been holding deep inside, I didn’t think I could say no. “A bit.”

His expression wavered. “I wouldn’t want to cause concern, so I guess I’d just—” He put on an unconvincing smile, and gave me two thumbs up.

We’d found the first four seasons of Happy Days in his dad’s basement on Christmas Eve, and after marathoning the show, we’d taken to impersonating the Fonz—his double thumbs-up, his laid-back greaser-boy Ayyy. If you’re not familiar with this 1970s show about post–World War II middle-class America, you might not know that the Fonz was once the coolest character on television. He could power on jukeboxes with the thump of a fist and release sodas from vending machines with the tap of a shoe. If I could’ve used the “Fonzie touch” to magic the sadness out of Benny right then, I would have.

But before I could respond, he shook his head and let out a little laugh. “Magnitudinous.”

Indeed. I offered my own double thumbs-up in response, rested my head on his shoulder, and promptly fell asleep.

Back in LA, Benny moved into the apartment below mine. If we weren’t inseparable before, we were then. We went on grocery runs together. Shared Wi-Fi and logins for Netflix and Amazon. We started a book club with our neighbors. Canceled the book club when no one else read the books. Joined a dodgeball team. We attended film mixers together to scrounge up more audio engineering work for him, more graphic design work for me. I took him to art openings, and he took me to the Rose Bowl parade. He dared me to cut my hair short, and I dared him to shave his beard, and we both grew them back as fast as we could. Dancing happened. Naps happened. We went vegan together for two minutes. Ate a lot of ramen. There were countless pizzas and countless belly laughs at each other’s stupid jokes, and just thinking about this idyllic time makes me want to cry because we loved each other so much. And maybe, just maybe, we were a little bit in love with each other.

But then his dad died, and everything changed.





Benny Abbott


Day One

The detectives standing inside Joy’s bathroom are so far apart in age I almost ask if it’s Bring Your Grandson to Work Day. The younger of the two, Detective Price, has the nebulous jawbone and pliant skin of someone who hasn’t yet grown out of his baby face, on which he wears a constant smirk, probably in preemptive defense of said face. I instantly dislike him and focus all my attention on the senior detective, Keller, a woman with braided white hair, striking amber eyes, and the asterisk lip wrinkles of a smoker.

“Walk me through this one more time,” she says, pulling a latex glove from her pocket. “You were here last night.”

I glance back at Mallory, who’s hovering by the bedroom doorway, palms pressed to her abdomen like she’s suffering a stomachache. “Briefly. Thirty minutes tops.”

The glove goes on with a snap. Keller glances at Price, who’s been taking notes off to the side. “During which time your friend announced she wants a break from work.”

“Yes.”

“Did she say why?”

“No. She just said it was complicated, and that she would explain later.”

“Could she and her husband have taken a last-minute getaway?”

I shake my head. “They wouldn’t have left Potsie behind.”

“Maybe they had a neighbor watching him and he got out.”

“Joy would’ve left him with me. It’s not…” I shake my head again. “No. It’s not possible.”

Keller examines the empty window frame. “What did you say your work was, exactly?”

I stifle a sigh. I’ve already explained this. “We’re podcasters.”

“That’s your full-time job?” She says this as if it’s cute that we consider this an occupation.

“They’re actually pretty famous,” Mallory chimes in.

This gets Keller’s attention. Keller keeps her eyes trained on me as she exits the bathroom. “What did you say it was called?”

“This Story Might Save Your Life.”

She pulls back Joy’s white down comforter with her gloved hand. Flips over the pillowcases. “That’s the title?”

I can feel the conversation slipping out from under me. “It’s a comedy survival podcast. Every week has a different theme.”