Everybody Has Everything

“Holy,” said Ana.

“Yeah, that’s better. I was going to say ‘awesome,’ ” said Charlie, laughing.

The conversation moved to small details, films recently seen, Ana’s work and how Charlie had arrived in the city (on a bus from Victoria, with a scholarship in his pocket). These ordinary things seemed intimate now, because of that one true moment that had come before. They finished the bottle and looked at each other.

“Well,” she said. She saw that Charlie was blushing. “I should go.”

He nodded.

They made their way through the war zone in the living room.

“Private Miller, noooooo! Charlie—the Emperor is totally giving the signal!”

Charlie didn’t answer.

At the door, Ana wondered if she should lean in and give him the two-cheek kiss that had become fashionable among her friends. But she wasn’t sure she could put her face so close to his without wanting to add her body, so she moved fast, waving as she went down the rattling staircase.

Ana walked light-headed, uncertain. She headed back along College. The bar where she’d seen the woman sing was now closed.

When she got home, the lights were off. She flicked them on and saw the living room strewn with toys, plastic bits and Lego and animals. She began to move through the room, tossing objects into Sarah’s wicker basket, which sat now in the hearth. Occasionally, things beeped and whirred. But halfway through her tidying, Ana felt exhausted, weighted. Without finishing, she turned out the lights. Upstairs, she passed the door to Fi

Ana undressed in the bathroom and slipped into bed next to James, who was half snoring on his back. She nudged him to roll onto his side and he mistook it for sex, coming at her hips with his hands, throwing a leg her way.

She pushed him away gently, rolling him like an overturned car until he was facing the wall, away from her.

The next day James made lunch for himself and Fi

The doorbell rang. Fi

“Wait!” called James, wanting to stop Fi

Fi

“Sign here, sir.” The invoice read: Kingston Engineering. Though young, the man had a military demeanor, chest puffed. Maybe it was just the courier uniform.

“Box!” cried Fi

James tore off the tape strip: CD-ROMs, memory sticks, file folders labeled with various projects: ROBERTSON CREEK, GARRISON PARK.

“Look,” said Fi

James pulled out a stack of business cards: Marcus Lamb, Civil Engineer, Trenchless Technology Specialist. There were so many of them, the box was brick heavy.

“Put the picture back in, Fi

What was he preserving it for? For Sarah’s great awakening? What movie did he think this was?

“You want it?”

Fi

James pressed the curled tape back along the box’s spine and carried it to the basement, Fi

One of them, in black marker, read: THE BOOK. James stopped and pulled it down. Fi

“What this?” Fi

Fi

“Wait for me, Fi

“No,” he said quickly, reddening. “I have another package, that’s all.”

As James signed, the courier muttered: “Our computers were down. I just got flagged.”

He handed James another box, smaller, the size of a paint tin.

BASIC CREMATION SERVICES, said the invoice.

James shut the door.

“I see box?” asked Fi

“Not now,” said James. He tried to walk past Fi

“Box?”

James thought of the $1,600 charge on his credit card and reminded himself to invoice Marcus’s insurer quickly.

James knew that he was focusing on his credit card because he could not think about what would befall this little boy were he to learn that the box contained the answer to every question he would ever have, and that the box would never speak of these things, and the box was filled with dust, and the dust was the father he would never know. This is his childhood. It’s happening right now, thought James. And he has no father to take him through.

Fi

James rubbed at his eyes and managed a smile. He walked back down to the basement, to the shelf containing Marcus’s business detritus. He put the box on top of the larger one so it resembled the world’s brownest, most depressing wedding cake. He gave the small box a gentle pat.

Fi

“Hey, wait a second,” said James, rescuing the balled-up picture. He smoothed it out against the wall. “Now, this is a really good picture. I think it should have a place of honor, don’t you agree, Sir Fi

In the kitchen, James put it on the fridge. It was a blank stainless steel canvas. They didn’t even have a magnet, and James had to root around for tape.

“Fantastico,” he told Fi

Hours later, James put Fi

The door to James’s office was closed. He hesitated, then went inside.

He hadn’t been in there since Fi

James felt instantly soothed by the chaos of the room, the papers and teetering books. He removed the hockey helmet from his guitar and plugged in the amp. He turned it high and began to play. How long had it been? His fingers on the strings were too silky, uncallused, but the pain felt good. He went back and forth through the chords, closing his eyes, trying not to see Marcus when he did. He breathed hard, letting the sound get bigger and bigger.

When he opened his eyes, Ana and Fi

“Fi