21
When Stevie got back upstairs, Vi was bundled up on the sofa, looking miserable, their face red from the cold.
“Is Janelle . . . ?”
“Bathroom,” Vi said, their voice rough.
Janelle was at the sink, carefully putting her hair back in a silk wrap for sleeping. She had changed into a deep blue flannel
pajama set with lemons all over it.
“So what happened?”
“Nothing. We walked around.”
“That didn’t look like nothing,” Janelle said, giving Stevie a stink eye.
“Nothing,” Stevie repeated. “We talked. No conclusions. Nothing . . . happened. Really nothing.”
“You can’t fix him,” Janelle said again.
“What if he decides to fix himself?” Stevie asked.
“Good for him. Even if he does, you still don’t have to take him back. You’re not obligated to take the refurbished model.
You don’t have to accept his lame-ass letter.”
Stevie stared at the tiled bathroom floor, with its softly elegant sage green and cream, as if white and green or black would have been too harsh for the delicate feet of its occupants.
The letter had sounded good to Stevie. Maybe she wasn’t bright.
She definitely wasn’t as bright as Janelle.
No one was. Janelle’s favorite subject in sixth grade was optics.
Well, she had wanted it to sound good. Maybe that was the difference.
“I didn’t say anything either way,” Stevie said. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Good. Let him suffer a little. Then more. Then let him keep suffering. Let the suffering continue.”
Stevie let Janelle finish getting ready for bed and joined Vi in the living room. They had changed into flannel pajamas and
settled on the inflatable mattress. Stevie settled down on the sofa. Vi nudged Stevie with their foot.
“I thought the letter was good,” they said.
“Did everyone read it but me?”
“No.”
“You thought I should burn his coat in a ritual fire.”
“Yeah, but that was before I read it. The coat . . . was freaking you out.” They had a coughing spasm, then continued. “And
it sounded fun to have a ritual burning party.”
Vi was right. Stevie would have enjoyed a ritual burning party, had it not been for this coat and, symbolically, her life.
“I kind of like him even though he seems like a nightmare to date,” they said as quietly as they could without coughing. “I always have.”
“Me too,” Stevie said. “This is why I’m screwed.”
Stevie settled into her pile of cushions on the sofa and attempted to sleep. This was a pointless exercise, as her brain was
entirely filled with David. Whenever she nodded off, a burst of Vi’s coughing woke her, or a siren outside, or some reveler,
still working off a night of drinking, went down the street yelling, “Happy New Year!”
Happy New Year. The calendar page had flipped. Her last year at Ellingham was now in its final months. She was eighteen, on
her own, and deeply confused. She tried to drown out the confusion with a podcast, with music, with an episode of her favorite
mystery show, but it all felt a bit flat. So she would set the phone aside again, and then there would be another cough, another
siren.
Somewhere around nine, Janelle shook her awake.
“Vi’s sick,” she said quietly. “They have a fever of 102 and they’re coughing a lot. It’s not COVID. I ran out this morning
and got a test. But they’re not okay.”
Stevie sat up quickly and looked over the edge of the sofa. Vi was on their side, coughing violently.
“Should we go to the doctor?” Stevie asked.
“It’s okay,” Vi mumbled.
“They don’t want to go. If it’s the flu, the treatment is fluids, something to bring down the fever, rest. I’m going to go and get them some juice and Gatorade and some medicine.”
Janelle went to the bathroom to get dressed. Stevie stayed by Vi’s feet and patted the blanket that covered them. Vi peered
over the blanket. They looked unfocused, their eyes puffy.
“Hey,” they croaked. “I don’t think I should have gone last night.”
“Probably not.”
“Don’t tell Janelle that.”
“I think she worked that out already. Just rest. It’s okay.”
“I didn’t want to let her down. I . . .” They dissolved back into a coughing fit.
Stevie texted Nate.
Stevie: Don’t come out of your room. Vi has the flu.
Nate: Oh no
Oh shit
I don’t mean to make this all about me but what the fuck am I going to do?
Just stay in there, Stevie replied. I will bring you food.
this is going well, he replied. if they’re sick they should be in here. that way I can come out.
That was a solid idea.
Stevie: okay. get your stuff and we’ll move them in
Nate—wearing his airplane mask—and Stevie successfully completed the operation.
Nate’s stuff was out of the bedroom. Stevie found clean sheets in the closet and made up the bed, and Vi shuffled in and crashed onto it gratefully.
Nate opened the windows wide and found some Lysol under the kitchen sink.
He was spraying out the room when Janelle returned from CVS, brow furrowed.
“They’re in the bedroom,” Stevie said, pleased at this outcome.
Janelle’s brow remained in its concerned position. She widened her eyes, trying to silently communicate something to Stevie
without Nate’s noticing.
“Let’s go see Vi,” she said, holding up the bags.
Stevie followed Janelle into the bedroom and shut the door.
“Why are there cops downstairs and in the hall?” Janelle asked in a low voice. “They almost didn’t let me come up.”
“Cops?”
“They’re at the other end of the hall.”
“I have no idea. I’ll find out.”
She left Janelle in the room with Vi and walked casually through the living room, where Nate was spraying the sofa cushions
one by one. She crossed over to the door and opened it to peer out into the hall. Lance was standing by his apartment door,
an inflatable chair by his feet, looking pale and queasy and not like Stanley Tucci at all. There were three cops there as
well. Stevie recognized one from Helen’s apartment. When he saw her, he jerked his head, indicating that she should go back
inside.
Stevie backed up and shut the door.
“Something going on?” Nate asked.
“Just people cleaning up from last night,” Stevie lied.
Their apartment peephole faced Elliot’s apartment, but Luna would be able to see straight out of hers. That’s where the cops were. She sent @greymoonghoul a message:
Can you see what’s going on in the hall?
The reply came within a minute.
Luna: there’s a gurney in the lobby
oh my god theres a body outside
down by the trash
it’s benny
she looks dead