Amina jumped. The guy stopped midsentence and stared like I had just ruined his night. He was one of those classic hunks with thick, slicked-back hair and bright blue eyes. I realized that he was also old. At least ten years older than us.
“Who’s the grandpa?” I asked, dissecting him with my gaze.
Amina groaned, but Paisley Shirt chuckled, all laid-back.
“I’m not that old, am I?”
“It’s all relative. Al Pacino is like seventy-five. And Abraham lived to be one hundred and seventy-five, right?”
“Abraham?” Paisley Shirt asked as he waved the bartender over.
“From the Bible,” I said. “Like, the forefather of all religions.”
He ordered a drink across the bar before he looked at me.
“So you’re Christian?”
“Not at all. It’s called being well-informed.”
He laughed again. His teeth were a little too straight and white to seem natural.
“I apologize for her,” said Amina. “She’s not used to drinking.”
“Blame the alcohol,” I said.
“She has her good sides too. If you look really hard, for a long time.”
“So how old are you?” I asked. “Because you are old.”
He struck a pose: put his hand on his side and stuck out his chest as he fired off another smile.
“What do you think?”
“Thirty-five,” I said.
He pretended to be offended.
“Twenty-nine?” Amina guessed.
“Nice. On the first try too,” he said, touching her arm casually. “You’ve won the drink of your choice.”
Amina turned to me.
“His name is Christopher.”
He put out his hand, and after a moment of feigned hesitation I took it.
“Chris,” he said with a wink. “You can call me Chris.”
* * *
I wanted to dance again, and Amina promised to join me soon. As if.
I reached my arms high up in the air and pumped them to the beat. It felt like there was helium in my chest. I had wings.
Time flew by with no sign of Amina. I was sweaty and aching when I finally tracked her down at a table, her gaze sunk deep into Chris.
“We’re drinking champagne,” he said, offering me a glass.
I tried to make eye contact with Amina. What was this? Was she interested in this guy? Amina’s not the flirty type. She would never go home with a guy she met at the bar. Last time she had a serious crush on someone was when we were in fifth grade. And this guy was ten years older than us. Almost thirty.
I filled my mouth with bubbles and got the feeling that there was something shady about this whole thing, that something was off.
“So what do you do?” I asked.
Chris flashed a big smile, as if he appreciated the question.
“A little of everything, actually. Business. Mostly real estate. I have a couple different firms.”
This mostly sounded suspicious to my ears.
“Amina told me she’s going to be a doctor,” said Chris. “So what are your plans?”
I tried to attract Amina’s attention, but she only had eyes for Chris.
“I used to want to be a psychologist,” I said. “But I don’t think I could deal. People have so fucking many problems.”
Chris laughed again. I’ve always had issues with people who seem perfect. Seems like there must be some serious fault behind all that fantastic exterior.
“Maybe I’ll get a law degree,” I said. “My mom’s an attorney, but I guess I’d rather be a judge. I like being in charge.”
“My mom is a lawyer too,” Chris said. “A professor these days.”
“Exciting,” I responded.
It sounded more sarcastic than I had been aiming for.
“Not at all,” he said, laughing. “Jurisprudence is just a bunch of quibbling and splitting hairs.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“You’ll see.”
“Nah,” I said, stretching. “I’ll probably just say fuck law school and go to Asia instead. For years I’ve been dreaming of taking a long trip to Cambodia, Laos, and Vietnam.”
“She’s totally obsessed with that trip,” said Amina. “Ask her a question or two and she’ll talk about it until your ears bleed.”
“Wonderful. I like traveling,” said Chris.
There was hardly a corner of the map he hadn’t discovered. He’d been everywhere in Asia except Mongolia. He’d lived in New York, Los Angeles, London, and Paris. But Lund was his childhood, and his home. For some reason he always returned.