4. Murphy Beds Are Severely Underrated
4
MURPHY BEDS ARE SEVERELY UNDERRATED
W hen my phone goes off during lunch, a thrill courses through my entire body. I don’t even have to check my phone to know it’s him. My face breaks into a giant grin.
Will.
Instinctively, I reach out to read his text—probably his response to the link for goat yoga classes in Brooklyn I went to yesterday just to prove to him they existed. I did not invite him to come with me.
Will
That’s insane. Those poor goats! You’ve goat-a be kid-ing me.
I snort at his excessive use of goat puns, my heart doing more somersaults than an olympian—something that’s been happening way too often when we talk.
He’s so adorable with his stupid dad jokes .
“Um, ma’am?” Molly eyes me suspiciously over our salads on our lunch break. “What’s going on here? Who has you smiling like that?”
My entire face falls, whatever flip was happening in my chest moved down to my stomach at the possibility of getting caught, of having to reveal this secret friendship. Because even though Molly and I have been close for several years, I’m sure she wouldn’t approve of whatever Will and I have. Not when it can affect my job and, in turn, hers for having been the one who helped get me hired. “Um. No one?”
“No one? Your face was about to split in two from how big you were smiling, and you literally just giggled. Giggled . Who even does that anymore?”
Admittedly, it shouldn’t be that difficult to hide this secret pen pal relationship I’ve been carrying on with a member of our client team. I mean, among the million things I could’ve done, I could’ve also just not checked my messages while in close proximity to anyone else. But my guard was down in front of Molly since she’s also a real life friend, and it was just too tempting to ignore the obnoxious personalized ringtone I set for Will—the chorus from Get Knocked Down by Chumbawamba (it’s a long story that revolves around him telling me about the time he performed a dance in a talent show to this very song in parachute pants and me promising to never let it down. He refuses to send a picture of said performance, but I’ve vowed to obtain it one day).
Recently, we’ve evolved from email buddies to texting buddies, which has somehow opened up our relationship even more. Besides the fact that communicating has become faster and easier, having each other’s numbers has given way to the possibility of actually calling , of hearing each other’s voices. For some odd reason, though, I don’t feel ready enough for that yet. It’s like the stakes have been raised, but I’m not ready to push the limits. Still, knowing that it’s a possibility, that the opportunity to take this to verbal communication is there, is thrilling. It could be that it all feels like a secret neither of us can tell. It could also be that there’s an obvious attraction via text.
I sigh. “Just someone I met through Tinder.” As if I’d ever be caught dead on that app again. Vom. “ We’ve only been chatting, though. No IRL communication, yet.”
I know I told Will I never lie, but this is different. I’m just trying to protect my job—and, honestly, probably my relationship with Molly. What would she say to finding out I have a flirty virtual friendship with someone from one of our clients? Would she tell me I was doing something wrong and chastise me? Tell me I’m going to get fired and ruin her reputation?
Still the guilt of the lie begins to eat at me, because it’s not in my nature. My throat tightens as if I’m having an allergic reaction to it or something. I swallow hard a couple of times and force a smile that I hope says I am not hiding anything—I promise!
Molly eyes me suspiciously because she knows I’d die before joining another dating app. My only experience with them was short-lived and with good reason. I mean, what about meet cutes? Whatever happened to those? I understand that over fifty percent of relationships start like that now—possibly even more—but I want my movie moment.
“Tinder?” She asks, definitely not buying it.
“Yup.”
“Let me see that.” She reaches over the table to grab my phone, but I pull it away just in time.
“That’s private . Just focus on… on finishing your sixteen dollar salad!”
Molly frowns, looks down at her overpriced, yet delicious-looking chopped salad, and back at me. “Seventeen-fifty. They increased the price of avocados again.”
I gasp, bringing a hand to my chest. “I didn’t know you came from old money,” I tease. But also, who in their right mind would pay that much for a salad?
She pokes at her lettuce with a sigh. “No more good fats for me. I’m gonna have to start bringing lunch from home like a normal person.”
I think for a moment I’ve saved myself, distracted her enough by changing the topic to the same thing she eats every single day, until her eyes flash back at me.
“You’re deflecting,” she accuses, through narrowed eyes. “What’s going on? I thought you were holding out on dating again after the whole Roger thing.”
Ah, well. There’s that, too. Because “the whole Roger thing” is a euphemism for how the guy I was dating eight months ago kinda, almost destroyed my life. Three months into our relationship, he had already lied, cheated, scammed people around me into giving him money for a fake business, and somehow managed to get me kicked out of my previous apartment, leaving me homeless, before disappearing into the night with all my money and whatever material valuables I had (which admittedly weren’t many).
Thankfully, he didn’t take the only thing that truly matters to me: Ginger. That, and Grandma’s old teal chair.
“Oh. That. I forgot about that.” I sink in my seat.
“You forgot about that? How could you just forget about something like that?” she asks, a brow raised so high it almost gets lost beneath her bangs.
I shrug once and spear a piece of lettuce with my fork. “You know me. Always trying to focus on the positive.”
“The positive? The guy took off in the middle of the night with your grandmother’s necklace and pearl earrings which she gave you the night before she died. Wasn’t she the only family member you liked?”
“Dating Roger at least taught me what I don’t want in a relationship: a liar and a criminal?—”
“Way to set the bar super high,” Molly deadpans.
“And I’ve never disliked people in my family, necessarily. They’ve just historically… not been good to me. Except for Gran, of course.” I close my eyes and shake my head, not wanting to let thoughts of Mom ruin what started off as a great day. The hurt is inevitably followed by guilt, because I know Mom had her own demons to fight since her mental health problems were left untreated. She couldn’t help who she was or how she acted, and I was too young to find access to the right care. But even Gran couldn’t do anything, she’d told me. For years, she’d tried to get Mom to go to doctors, put her in a hospital. Nothing stuck, though.
When Mom died, I went to live at Gran’s which left me feeling both depressed and relieved at the same time. My mother was gone, but I was finally in a living situation where I didn’t have to be scared 24/7.
“I only met my mom’s brother a couple of times and he was whatever. And I don’t know who my father is,” I go on. “So there’s hope that, if I ever meet him, he could be a nice guy.”
Molly scoffs. “Doesn’t the fact that he also disappeared into the night negate the possibility of that?”
“We don’t know that. My mom was the one who said he ran away when he found out she was pregnant, but who’s to say with her? She was unstable and unreliable. Maybe he doesn’t even know I exist, you know? What if she never even told him? Or what if she never even knew who he was?” Molly looks at me with a sympathetic expression, like she wants to reach over the table and hug me. “Oh, stop it,” I tell her.
“Stop what?”
“Stop looking at me like I’m some sad three-legged puppy in a shelter that you want to adopt. I’m totally fine.”
“But you are a three-legged puppy in a shelter—or at least the human equivalent.”
“I highly resent that. Roger leaving turned out to be a good thing. Especially for Ginger, who hated him and resented having to share a bed with him. I lead a fantastic life now.” I say it with my whole chest because I believe it to be true. I’ve never been more mentally exhausted, but it’s a good thing. Every day I’m being challenged, working in a difficult environment—absolutely—but one that will take me places so long as I keep going.
“You live in a pest-infested shoe box where you sleep on a shitty Murphy bed, work at a demanding, low-paying job, and have been fucked over by too many people close to you.”
I mean, she’s not wrong. But…
“First of all, you were the one who found me this place?—”
“Because you had no other choice.”
“—and Murphy beds are fun . They’re basically magic: they come out of a closet, so I don’t have to make my bed every day because I can just put it away. Outta sight, outta mind. And my apartment is no longer pest-infested thanks to some basic insect repellant and Ginger’s hunting abilities—seriously, you should see that cat kill a water bug. She’s a pro. And as for the job? Sure, it doesn’t pay much. But I’m positive once they see how hard I’m working and how well I’m doing, they’ll reward me for it.”
Molly bursts out laughing and pats my hand. “Oh, sweet, innocent, sunshine child of mine. You think the world of fashion is that simple? Nuh-uh. But I envy your positive energy. I just don’t want you to get hung up on this false sense of hope or toxic positivity. Yes, I love that you love your job and you’re doing your best to, quote, look at the bright side of things . But don’t let that deter you from taking chances or asking for more. Don’t let yourself just accept how things are with a smile and a good attitude—you deserve better.”
I look down at my salad and spear some more of it before stuffing my face. “Thanks,” I say, mouth full. “But I got this.”
I understand where Molly is coming from—I do. But after the life I’ve had, I can’t let myself sit in stress for too long without doing my best to get something good out of it. Which is why I want to be careful with the whole Will situation. What we have is an odd friendship or dynamic. Something delicate that I’m not sure I’m ready for Molly to know about just yet. I’m not scared ; I’m just trying to protect this one thing.
When I get back to my desk, I see I have another message from Will:
Will
Did you stop replying because you thought my brilliant goat puns were baaaaad?
“Oh my god.”
I giggle and I hit reply.