Chapter 12 #2
“My mother and I aren’t speaking.” I’d broken my own rule, but Isabelle was looking at me with such sympathy that I felt it was okay, just this once, to speak about my mother. “I really disappointed her by moving away in the first place.”
“That’s awful,” Isabelle said, voice soft. I didn’t realize how nervous I’d been that she would, like James, jump to cast my mother as wrong. The simplicity of her comment loosened the rubber band inside me. She added, “It’s hard to do anything when you know your mother’s mad at you.”
I lifted the mug to my lips. The cocoa had condensed into a small lump at the bottom of the cup. Sticking my tongue out to rescue the dregs, I felt very close to crying. It was true. My mother was mad at me, and I couldn’t do anything about it.
I put my cup down, and Isabelle put her hand on mine. It comforted me. She did. I let her.
—
After Isabelle left, I walked to a grassy knoll and sat with my legs crossed.
The air cooled. Next to my feet, two beetles were deep in battle, seemingly to the death.
One was much bigger than the other. I felt embarrassed for the smaller beetle for taking on such a dubious challenge. Already he was being overpowered.
I searched for Isabelle on Instagram. A notification of her follow request came through while I was zooming in on her profile picture, a grainy shot of her laughing with her hand over her mouth. I let it sit for two minutes before accepting.
A new post popped up from Lou. I felt weird liking it just a few seconds after she’d posted, like I was obsessed with her. But she liked it when people were obsessed with her, so I figured it was okay.
The post revealed her new apartment, clearly bigger and more to her taste than Anna’s.
She had two new roommates. One was a girl named Becca, whose bright red hair I recognized from Lou’s other posts.
In one of the photos, Becca lay curled on a green velvet couch with some guy called Nicolo, who had a familiar cartoonish face.
He appeared to be both Becca’s boyfriend and Lou’s third roommate.
Lou captioned the photoset: breaking: hot LES couple adopts a third.
I zoomed in on Becca and Nicolo. It was true, they were attractive, but only if you were open-minded about it.
Then I realized why Nicolo looked familiar.
He was the Italian man who’d hit on me at Lou’s birthday party last spring.
My chest panged. Suddenly I wanted very much to be back with Lou in our terrible apartment, discovering curls of her dark hair in the corners of my room.
Did I even thank her for the birthday cupcakes?
I pictured Lou buying Becca cupcakes and felt sad.
Even worse was the idea of Lou doing anything for Nicolo.
Nicolo didn’t like Lou; he was snarky about her at her party.
“Your friend begs for a lot of attention,” he’d said.
I’d responded, “Doesn’t everyone?”
“If you like attention so much,” Nicolo had replied, “why are you so quiet?” I pinched him, hard, which he interpreted as flirting.
He told me I reminded him of Mulan, which was important to him because it was the first American film he’d ever seen, back when he still lived in Rome.
And now he and his sexy oblivious girlfriend got to listen to Lou’s shower playlist every day.
Your new place is nice!
Also Nicolo’s that guy
Who called me Mulan at your birthday party
Lou liked my message complimenting the apartment.
no he did notttt lmao
yes he did!
She liked my message but did not respond.
I pictured her showing the messages to Becca, the two of them laughing at my desperation.
My phone vibrated with another incoming call from James.
I put it down, tried braiding my hair. Had Lou always been this important to me?
I called her my roommate, but instead, all this time, she was my friend.
I felt like the butt of a joke: the last to understand why it was funny, and then why it was sad.
Furiously I thought about the law library, the payroll lady on vacation.
If she’d paid me on time, I would’ve handled the utilities, and Lou might not have moved out.
I pictured flinging myself down the steps of the law library when I was back in the city, but they’d probably just send me to HR.
Even if I did something truly terrible to my body, they would not be obligated to care.
They would simply employ somebody else—they already had—and it was me who owed them anyway, me who should be grateful they let me continue after graduation.
But what about common decency? What about kindness?
I emailed all of this to the payroll lady, including the sentence about flinging myself down the steps of their building.
I read it over. I added, at the beginning, I hope your vacation is going well!
Then I accidentally clicked send. It sent.
There was no automatic reply. I filled with regret.
Next to my toe, only one beetle remained, belly-up, legs wriggling.
The other one, the winner, had gone. I couldn’t tell if this was my beetle and reached to flip it.
But I stopped myself. If this was the bigger one, then maybe, I thought, he should stay down.
I watched the beetle struggle for a few minutes, becoming gradually disappointed by its ineptitude, then left.
—
The sun had set by the time I returned to James’s house.
The moment I opened the door, I was hit with the bitter, familiar odor of vomit.
I raced upstairs, skipping every other step.
On the bedroom floor lay an empty aluminum tin.
All ten tubes of watercolor were pierced and leaking, the cowhide rug covered in violet puke.
For a second I thought: Oh good, now I no longer have anything to paint with.
Then my knees buckled. My hands found Silver beneath the bed.
I cradled her, limp and unconscious, to my chest.
I called Isabelle and asked her calmly if she could drive me to the vet.