The heavy door to the bar swung closed so quickly behind Jenna that she hopped forward to avoid getting smacked. I hope he didn't see that, she thought, then firmly reprimanded herself for caring. The Taghkanic was the local dive, one she had never been cool enough to sneak into in high school and had not had occasion to patronize since. It was even more desolate than it appeared from the outside: sullen bartender on his phone in a corner, remnants of smoke pervasive even though smoking indoors had been banned for ages. Jason was alone at the bar, a mostly empty glass beside him. He was still in his collared shirt from earlier, though it was now unbuttoned, rumpled. The torn scrap of fabric was still pinned to his chest pocket. The kipah he'd been wearing earlier that day had been hiding a thinning spot in the center of his scalp.

 

He smiled at her as she approached. "I was beginning to think you'd stood me up. I realized I didn't even have your phone number," he sounded a little bleary, not that he wasn't entitled. 

 

She folded her jacket and placed it over the torn leather of the barstool before sitting. She put her phone, wallet and mothers' enormous keyring—why did she have so many keys?— down on the bar. "I kind of thought everyone would be here."

 

What had the exact wording of the invite been? In her mind he'd said, we're meeting up at the Taghkanic, you should come. But could it have been only, you should meet me at the Taghkanic?

 

He finished off the drink in the glass. "Let me get you something."

 

She didn't want to explain why she wasn't drinking, nor leave him drinking alone. "Just a beer," she said, "and just one. My flight's early tomorrow."

 

They flagged down the waiter as they traded the basic information: he was working in commercial real estate, she at a web-conferencing company; he was in Manhattan, she was in Seattle, just in town for a conference, extended the trip for a weekend to see her parents. 

 

"They said they were heading over to Shiva, so I thought I should..." she trailed off. His face clouded up slightly. She felt herself growing warmer. The swing between indoors and out was the worst—give her the fog any day of the week.  She tied her hair back into a tiny ponytail.

 

"You ever think about moving back east?" he asked. 

 

"No," she said, surprising herself with her honesty. She'd lied about this several times that very afternoon. It was easier to lie than have her parents overhear the truth. But Jason's bleak face made her want to at least approximate vulnerability. 

 

"You don't miss anything here?" he leaned his head on one hand as he faced her, and she felt her stomach flutter a bit, like it used to in Chem lab when he turned towards her in that exact same way and waited for her to tell him what to do.

 

"I miss the Jews," she said. He turned away and picked up his drink with an oh sure attitude. "No, I'm serious. I miss not having to explain what a Shiva is to a bunch of people. I miss using a Yiddish word here and there without it being a whole statement about my identity, you know?"

 

He nodded, "No one knows you like the people you grew up with. Is your husband Jewish?"

 

She shook her head. "Adam's like the platonic ideal of a WASP." She winced at herself; this had always been her problem; she sounded like she read too much. She changed the subject. "Is your mom home all alone now?" she asked.

 

He shook his head, closing off in a way he hadn't been a moment ago. "There's still all her friends there. And I'm sticking around this week. I haven't slept in my old bed in..." he paused, calculating, "years. It's weird."

 

She remembered his bed from the few occasions she had gone over to study with him. Queen-sized, utterly decadent, grey sheets and a grey down comforter that he lounged over with textbooks while she sat primly at his desk on a cheap swivel chair. 

 

"I'm not looking forward to the next few days," he said, rubbing his temples. 

 

"It'd be weird if you were."

 

He snorted, "Man, you haven't changed a bit, have you Finestein?"

 

"What's that supposed to mean?"

 

"Ice cold. You don't sugar coat anything."

 

Her mouth almost dropped open. She had been so careful with him in high school. She never wanted to make him feel bad when he didn't catch on as quick as her in class. He was smart, just not as smart as her. She thought of him sometimes, when her 360 reviews came in and everyone praised her diplomacy. It meant that she was good at protecting male egos.

 

"I'm sorry," she said reflexively. She didn't like how his body sagged when she asked about his mom, so she tried to lighten the mood. "To be fair, I haven't seen you in almost twenty years, so for all you know I'm actually worse than I used to be."

 

This elicited a choked smile, at least. 

 

"You must think I'm a real townie, huh?" he asked. 

 

She shook her head, but he was right. She'd spent much of the Shiva thinking about how small her classmates' lives seemed. Geography shouldn't matter that much, yet she felt smug about leaving.

 

"We all knew you'd go and never look back," he continued. "You were too cool for this place."

 

This was so absurd that she cackled. "No one has ever described me as cool."

 

His brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "No, you were like..." he trailed off for so long she thought maybe he'd forgotten where they were in the conversation. She opened her mouth to change topics when he finally said, "a caged tiger."

 

"What?"

 

His smile grew sideways; he seemed deeply pleased with himself. "A tiger. Terrifying. Exotic. Dangerous."

 

Maybe it was the beer, but it was as if she could feel the outline of her teenage self beating against the insides of her body, more insistently than the baby, demanding reparations. She forced herself to look away, to pick up her beer and take another large gulp. 

 

"Do you remember when I came to school with that big hickey?" she asked. She rushed over his blank denial. "We were in the darkroom for photo lab and you came up right behind me and poked your finger into my neck and asked who had done that."

 

"You wouldn't tell me," he said, "I've been left wondering all these years."

 

"Yeah, right," she said.

 

He sat back, scoffing. "See, this was the issue in high school, Finestein, you never took me seriously."

 

"Never took you seriously? I was always throwing myself at you and you just laughed at me."

 

He grabbed her arm and she turned to find his bright eyes on her again. "I was never laughing at you. You scared the crap out of me." This was what had always undone her. It wasn't special to him. But he was the first person whose gaze could unlock her. Make her weak and pliable. Take her breath away. She hated it. She craved it. "You still scare the crap out of me."

 

Their gaze locked and all the ways she'd been inexperienced and ashamed in high school melted away. The power between them had shifted, or maybe she was finally seeing it all clearly. 

 

"Let's get another drink," he said. 

 

She inhaled slowly. She could see the next few hours unfolding, coming into focus like those darkroom prints in their chemical bins. More drinks, reminiscing, rewiring of memories to make them seem star-crossed, a playful tap on the arm, hair brushed out of her face, bodies moving closer together. 

 

"I can't," she almost groaned. "I'm pregnant."

 

It was like a door had slammed shut between them. All the parts of him that had faced her, open and ready, clicked shut. "Oh. Congratulations."

 

She wanted to say thanks but could only manage to nod. Her teenage self—caged tiger—rattled the bars, prowled in circles, waiting for her to relax her watch. But even dangerous prisoners exist only at the mercy of their guards.