12. Rachel
12
RACHEL
"I hate him."
"Who?" Eva asked. "The stalker?"
"Asshat Derrick."
We were at the Pilates studio. The last class had ended ten minutes ago. I was wiping down the reformers as Eva repositioned the springs at the front of the machines.
"Well, you did say the worst thing you can say to a guy." Eva pressed her lips together and gave me a what-did-you-expect face.
"I didn't mean to. He was being a jerk and I exploded. You know I can't stand when a man treats me like leftover sashimi."
Eva looked up from the reformer, a confused look on her face.
"Like I'm stinking up the place and he wants to throw me out with the trash." I tossed the wipes away, turned off the lights, and walked to the reception desk, shutting down the computer.
"You said you were weirded out after your gyno appointment. Maybe he was too."
"That doesn't mean he gets to be a dick to me."
It had been two days since Derrick screamed me out of his office, and my skin still prickled when I remembered the fight. Which was all the time.
Eva looked pointedly at me. "You did call him a soft cock."
"A what?" I flicked my eyes up from the machine I was wiping down.
"I heard it on some Australian comedy. But you know what I mean. ED is a serious problem. And you shamed him."
The anger I had been gripping tightly vanished with her words. Eva was right. "Fuck. I'm the asshole."
"You are. But a lovable asshole." Eva put her arm around me and hugged me sideways.
"I was in such a state…I didn't know what was coming out of my mouth." We walked outside and tucked into the evening commuters.
"You need to apologize."
We walked to a row of Citi Bikes in tense silence. Eva was right. I had to say sorry. Not just because it was the right thing, but because I wanted to keep working at Dreamary. I’d only saved a fraction of the money I needed for the cruise, and when I called my mom this weekend, she sounded exhausted, burning the candle at both ends as always. I sent an email to her boss, who I’d known since I was a kid, and asked if my mom could get a couple of weeks off this summer. I asked her not to say anything. That the trip was a surprise.
I was more excited than ever to do this for my mom, but I might have ruined it by losing this job and my second stream of income.
I unlocked one of the bikes and climbed on, stuffing my backpack in the metal basket in front of the handlebars.
"Where are you going now?" Eva asked as I walked her to the subway entrance, rolling the bike beside me.
"I have a practice at Le Frak tonight." It was a public rink in Prospect Park that the Brooklyn Bashers sometimes used for drills. "And then some of us are going to that bar Skater Girl in Bed-Stuy. You can come too."
Eva stood aside as commuters hurried up the stairs from the last train.
"I'm going to have a night in with Ethan."
"And what sex cosplay are you two getting into tonight?" I asked.
Eva smiled, a twinkle in her eyes. "Soccer coach and team owner."
"That's a new one," I said.
"We've been watching Ted Lasso ."
Eva waved with a wiggle of her fingers and descended the steps. I climbed on the bike, maneuvered into the bike lane, and rode downtown to the Brooklyn Bridge.
* * *
"I'm sexy and I know it!" I skated around barstools while singing the LMFAO song at the top of my lungs.
After practice, several of my teammates and I went to Skater Girl, a bar that encouraged patrons to wear roller skates, dance, and drink.
I flopped against the bar and gulped my water.
"I'm starving," I said to Priya, who was twirling in a circle next to me. Her derby name was Piranha Priya "Flesh Eater."
"There's an Italian deli down the block that has the best dulce de leche."
"That sounds too sweet. And not very Italian."
Priya shoved a few strands of her sweaty brown hair out of her eyes.
"I think one of its owners is Hispanic. There's a variety of stuff."
I shot the rest of my water back, glided out into the steamy night, and followed Priya to the deli.
Priya was right. The food was delicious. I ordered a rice and bean dish and the dulce de leche. The place was cute. Modern, but it still had the nostalgic feel of an old-school deli with a lunch counter and tables sprinkled throughout. We chose a seat outside at one of the sidewalk tables.
"How's your mom?" Priya asked, shoveling another bite of the creamy dessert into her mouth.
Priya and I initially bonded over our Indian heritage. Mainly the food we grew up eating and the many cousins and aunties always in our lives. I’d been the beloved odd girl out in the community up in Syracuse where I grew up since I looked nothing like any of my mom's family and friends.
Not that I’d been ostracized or treated badly. It was the opposite. I was a unique and cool addition to the community. A Chinese-White girl who knew how to wrap a saree and drape a dupatta.
"Exhausted. And she won't take a damn vacation. Which is why I'm saving up to get her ass on that Alaskan cruise she's always wanted to go on."
"Can't she afford it? She's a doctor."
"She'll never make the effort and book it, but if I've already paid and got the okay from her boss, then she'll have to go. It's my evil plan," I said.
"Are you still working at the Pilates place?" Priya put her fork down and sat back, her hand resting on her stomach.
"Yep. The owner is grooming me."
Priya sat up, alarmed. "What?"
"Oh, no," I laughed, realizing my wording. "I mean, she's been teaching me everything about the business, hoping to pass it on to me."
"Is that what you want?" Priya asked.
"I used to think so, but since I started working at Dreamary, I'm not as excited about it now."
"Tell me more." Priya leaned forward. She was a therapist and often asked these open-ended questions. She reminded me of Lexi in that way.
"I used to want to run a place like this.” I looked sideways into the deli. “Not a deli, but a business that felt like a family, you know."
"The guy whose family owns this place is kind of famous," Priya said.
"Really?" I asked, my mind shifting to thoughts of Dreamary and how it had started to feel a little like a family. I already knew many of the employees because of Eva, but now that I'd spent time with Lexi and Peyton, I was feeling more at home there.
Except the whole dropping a grenade between the boss and me. I mean, all families have problems, right?
Priya was still talking, and I was half listening, thinking about the mess I'd made, when Priya said, "...and it's called something like Missing Girl ."
"What did you say?" I asked, my attention fully on her.
"That guy whose family owns this, he solved that cold case about those missing twin sisters. The second season was about a young real estate agent who went missing in the nineties. She went to show a new client a house and she was never seen again. I think the podcast is called Missing Girls ."
I shot my head around, sweeping the inside of the deli for Derrick. This was his parents' place?
"I used to be obsessed with true crime," Priya said. "Now it depresses me."
Priya shoved her trash in the bin near the door and slung her messenger bag over her shoulder.
"I gotta run. Are you good to get home?" she asked.
"Yeah," I said and waved her off, distracted.
When Priya was gone, I quickly googled the deli, and sure enough, there was a short article in New York Magazine profiling the place. At the end, there was a brief mention of Derrick: The owners' son, Derrick Jacques, is the successful and well-known podcaster whose company was recently acquired by NOW Media.
I was on high alert now; every towering man that walked down the sidewalk or into the deli drew my attention. I was sure Derrick wanted nothing to do with me right now, but I hated having unresolved business. It felt ick.
Catching him off guard might be the best bet to get him to listen to an apology. It sounded like a great plan, but after sipping my soda for thirty minutes, there was no sign of him. It was a long shot that he’d be there. He lived in Manhattan, and I had no idea how often he visited the deli or his family.
I skated two blocks to the subway, walked down the steps on my toe stops, and waited on the platform.
The train barreled in, the wind whipping up my flaming red hair, the color du jour. The doors opened and I stood aside, waiting for the passengers to disembark.
A young woman about my age stepped out, her dark hair in a high ponytail, silver hoops in her ears. Behind her was a tall, barrel-chested man. I noticed the tattoo on his arm first, the snake that slithered over his thick forearm and around his biceps and disappeared up his sleeve.
Derrick.
He was laughing at something the woman said, and his eyes skimmed over my head, not spotting me, but he must have felt me gaping because he twisted his head back toward me. Our eyes met and he clamped his mouth shut, cutting off his laugh.
"Come on," he said to the woman, hastily pulling her along the platform, ignoring me.
"Wait." I skated toward them, the train screeching forward, leaving without me.
The woman locked eyes on my skates, recognition lighting up her face. "Are you?—"
"She's not worth our time," Derrick interrupted loudly over the departing train.
I opened my mouth to fire something hurtful back, but the sting from his words silenced me and I couldn't form a comeback.
He took the steps two at a time, not looking back. The young woman smiled apologetically and then hurried up after him.
I glared at his retreating back, grinding my teeth, furious. A simple apology wasn't going to cut it, I realized. His dismissive words were nothing compared to the insult I had flung at him in his office. It wasn’t like me. I didn't typically use someone's pain or difference to attack and shame them.
I had to do something. Not just to save this job, but to make amends for my awful behavior.
I crossed my arms and waited for the next train, a plan formulating.