“Hi,” Alice said. Leonard was surprised, and ran his hands back and forth over his beard like he did when he was nervous.
“Al-pal, what’s going on?” Leonard said. “Are you okay?”
Alice took a few steps back and leaned against the wall. “Who’s your friend?”
Leonard sighed. “I did not anticipate this situation,” he said.
“That is not an answer.” Alice slid down the wall so that she was sitting cross-legged on the carpet.
“Her name is Laura, she’s a magazine editor. She’s thirty-four. She lives in San Francisco.” Leonard put a hand flat against his forehead. “We’ve known each other for several years, and when we’re in the same city, we—” He stopped. “I don’t know why I didn’t tell you.”
“I can hear you, you know,” Laura said, pulling the door open wider. “Hi, Alice. It’s nice to finally meet you.” She was nice-looking, with curly brown hair and glasses, and a necklace with a large plastic octopus that covered the top third of her shirt.
“Um, same?” Alice said. It had genuinely never occurred to her that her father might have actual girlfriends, long-term relationships that he didn’t tell her about. And thirty-four! Younger than she was! It felt gross even though Alice knew it wasn’t.
“Not that you weren’t important, Laura,” Leonard said. The tops of his cheeks were magenta. “Just that it didn’t affect you, Al, and I didn’t want to put something else on you. Did I make it too weird?”
“A little,” Alice said. “But it’s okay. I’m glad you have someone.” She wondered how long Leonard had dated this woman, if it had been a brief fling or something serious. Where had she gone? Why wasn’t she at the hospital, holding his hand? “Can we talk, Dad?”
Laura gathered her purse and a room key. She was about Leonard’s height until she put her shoes on, and then she was a little bit taller. Her face was round and then pointy at the chin, like an exclamation mark. It was a happy face, and kind. She touched Leonard on the elbow and said, “I’ll check in a bit later. Alice, very nice to see you in person. I’d like to do it again.” She walked through the doorway and down the long hall and then vanished around the corner, toward the elevator.
“I’m sorry,” Leonard said. He looked like he might cry. “I wanted to tell you.” He clutched his stomach, as if he had a bout of sudden nausea.
“I’m from the future,” Alice said. “Honestly, it’s both great news and the least of my concerns.”
“That is not what I expected you to say.” Leonard held up a finger. “Let me just get my shoes, and then we’ll go back to my room.” He vanished and reappeared a moment later with one shoe in each hand. They walked in silence back to Leonard’s room, and when they got there, the door was open, and Sam and Tommy were leaning out of it, singing off-key. Alice recognized the song—Boyz II Men’s “End of the Road”—but just barely. Sam was clapping, and Tommy had stolen someone’s umbrella and was using it as a cane.
“Good lord,” Alice said.
“Alice!” Tommy shouted. “We lost you! But now we found you.”
“Your dad’s friends bought us some drinks,” Sam said. “Strong ones.”
“Your mother would not be amused by this, Samantha,” Leonard said. “Okay, guys, I’m going to take you home.”
“Wait,” Alice said. She pulled Sam and Tommy into the room. “My friends, meet Leonard’s friends. I just need to talk to my dad for one second. Sam, don’t barf, okay? I mean, barf if you have to. Howard, can you just talk at them for a little bit?” Howard offered a small bow in acceptance of his task, and Alice pushed her friends farther into the room. She then stepped into the bathroom, flicked on the fluorescent lights, and beckoned for Leonard to join her. Alice pointed for him to shut the door behind him, and he did.
“Dad, I’m actually serious. I know it sounds like a joke, ha ha, yes, but it’s literally true. I came here from the future,” Alice said. “I don’t know how to say it better than that.”
“I heard you the first time.” Leonard folded his arms and looked amused.
“Okay, I can see that you find this funny, which I understand, but you may want to sit down.” Alice turned and put her hands on the edge of the sink. Her dad’s Dopp kit, with his toothbrush and toothpaste and floss and god knew what, was sitting there. Everything was so familiar—all the stupid little objects that she’d seen every day of her childhood, they were all still here. Alice knew that familiarity wasn’t the same as meaning, but she couldn’t help it—everything she saw felt enormous and loaded and heavy. These were her father’s things, the same things that were in the hospital. What would happen to them when Leonard was gone?