In the group chat
Three Options in Ninety Seconds
The message from the sports hall landed at 6:02 on Friday evening: a burst pipe, all courts closed, bookings refunded. Malik forwarded it to the group chat from the tram. Erik sent a crying face. Sana wrote, "Well, that's the night gone." Tomas started a sentence about maybe rescheduling for some time next month.
Next month. Malik was already typing with both thumbs. "Night is NOT gone. Option one: outdoor court behind the school, lights are on till ten, I've got a ball. Option two: bowling alley on Canal Street, I'm calling them now. Option three: my place, I cook, we play cards and Erik loses." He hit send and dialed the bowling alley before anyone could reply, because calling was faster than typing. Two lanes free at eight.
Back in the chat, six messages. Tomas wrote that he wasn't sure, it had been a long week, he might just stay in. Malik read that and saw a man who needed a push, so he gave one. "Tomas, you've said 'long week' four Fridays in a row. Put shoes on." Nothing from Tomas.
The tram rocked through two stops. Malik noticed the nothing. He was good at rooms, at catching the half second when a customer's face closed, and a chat was a room with the lights off, but even so. Four Fridays in a row was a thing a person might be keeping count of himself. He considered an apology in the chat and it felt like making it bigger. He called instead.
"I was being an idiot in there," he said when Tomas picked up. "You all right?" A pause. "Tired. Work's bad." "Okay. Then here's the deal. I pick you up, you bowl one game, and if it's terrible I drive you home myself." Tomas made a sound that was nearly a laugh. "One game." "Lanes are booked for eight," Malik said, and got off a stop early to fetch the car.