Chapter Forty
I stop on the street in front of the Target two blocks from my apartment and as gently as possible place four brimming grocery bags on the ground at my feet.
I wipe the sweat from the back of my neck and shake out my arms. They’re sore from carrying two heavy bags each.
I also have red marks on the underside of both elbows from where the plastic straps slid off my shoulders and down my arms. In a word, I’m a mess.
Taking an Uber from a supermarket that’s literally down the street from my home felt extravagant at the time, but now I regret the decision to walk.
Blocks feel like miles when carrying a hundred pounds of food.
I remove my phone from my purse and text Marcia.
Sabrina: Are you around tonight? I bought shrimp, scallops, and fresh veggies and thought I’d make us dinner Something I should have asked before I added the expensive ingredients to my cart.
Since getting home from Europe a week and a half ago, I’ve noticed Marcia’s been spending more and more time with Sharon, which is great, but if they already have plans tonight, I’ll save this attempt at stir-fry for another night—hopefully within the next two days since according to Google that’s about how long fresh shrimp and scallops last in the fridge.
Thanks to my mom’s generosity, my checking account has surplus funds and while I’m determined to save most of it, splurging feels less like a foolish indulgence when shared with someone else.
Also, I decided to take the summer off from school.
The session started while I was on vacation and most of the classes conflicted with my schedule at the library anyway.
I’m happy with the choice, other than a smidge of pesky guilt over delaying the completion of my master’s degree, but it leaves me with nothing to do several nights a week.
Why not fill some of it by exercising my cooking muscles and spending time with my roommate?
Seriously. It’s time to move forward and remember all the reasons I loved when it was just me and Marcia…
before Adam showed up and made it even better.
The bubbles dance on my screen while Marcia writes me back.
Marcia: Hi Sabrina. I’d love that!
I chuckle at her overuse of emojis and return my phone to my purse.
I glance at the groceries at my feet and frown.
With a longing gaze at my building still a ways down the block, I huff and lift the bags back over my shoulder, where they immediately slide down my elbows again.
The sweat from the early August heat has left my skin damp and more conducive to slippage.
My sunglasses slide down my nose and when I raise my hand to push them back up, the weight of the bags follow me.
Ping.
Happy for the excuse, I free my arms once again and check my phone.
Marcia : How about we cook together? ?
I clap my hands. Dinner is guaranteed to taste good now!
Sabrina: Fun! I’ll pick up a bottle of wine
Right after pressing send, I look over my shoulder at the liquor store I just passed and curse my offer to add yet more pounds to my already heavy load. But an offer made cannot be rescinded. New York is a great walkable city, but sometimes walking sucks!
By the time I finally get home and release the four grocery bags hanging on my elbows, purse over my shoulder, and bottle of wine in my hands, my arms feel bloodless.
Though I could use a drink, I doubt my ability to hold a glass right now without dropping it, and I’m sweating like I personally picked the grapes for the wine.
After a desperately needed shower, I join Marcia in the kitchen. She’s already chopped the vegetables and laid out the seafood for the stir-fry. I handle the rice. It’s boil-in-a-bag and completely within my range of abilities. Soon, the combined aromas of garlic, ginger, and onions fill the air.
Marcia and I dance around each other to the cooking playlist I helped her create on Spotify.
“Did I ever tell you I saw Earth, Wind and Fire live during their Spirit tour in seventy-six? Life-changing!”
I stop watching the rice boil and turn to her. “Yeah? How so?” I love Marcia’s stories of partying in the seventies. I imagine her in a satin pantsuit grooving to the Hustle on a dance floor of flashing multicolor lights like in Boogie Nights .
“It was right before I got pregnant and—”
Beep beep beep . Beep beep beep .
Marcia groans over the noise. “Every damn time!” She opens a kitchen window to let the smoke out.
I race into the living room calling, “I’ll get the front door,” behind me.
The smoke detector goes off whenever we fry. The high screech of the alarm is like nails on a chalkboard. All we can do is open the windows and the front door and wait until the apartment cools down enough for it to stop.
I don’t even notice Rocket behind me until he flies out in the hallway to the other side of the floor, barking all the way.
Sneaky little fucker. “Rocket!” I call his name only once before giving up.
Let him tire out. He’ll come back inside when he’s ready.
It will be a while, but thankfully, our neighbors love the rascal and don’t complain.
I lean against the open door and face Marcia, who’s now standing at the edge of the kitchen where it meets the living room.
“If Adam were here, he’d sweet-talk Rocket back inside in no time,” I say, with a glance behind me to make sure Rocket hasn’t entered another apartment or gotten on the elevator.
Marcia looks at me funny. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Why?” I blink and feel a tear slide down my cheek. I wipe it off. “Must be the onions.” It’s a flimsy excuse since Marcia cut the onions, not me. Cooking was a nice distraction from thinking about Adam, but one mention of his name and he’s front and center on my mind again. It was real.
When Carley asked who I was emailing whenever we had Wi-Fi and I told her it was Adam, she gently suggested (okay, more like on-the-verge-of bullied me into) asking if his feelings for me were real from the safety of a different continent.
I whined in protest, but she insisted if I didn’t do it, I’d always wonder.
She also banned me from telling him that Dean (Jacked Guy) is gay because, in her words, “let Hot Ex-Roommate be jealous!” Except rather than his answer satisfying a curiosity, it might have made things worse because real or not, Adam moved back to Philadelphia and now I worry I’ll never like anyone else as much for the rest of my life.
Marcia’s eyes soften knowingly, although the content of her knowledge is unclear. “I’ll finish dinner. You wait for Rocket,” she says.
Eventually, running up and down the hallway loses its appeal and Rocket comes back inside. He finishes his own dinner before settling under the kitchen table while we eat ours, no doubt waiting for crumbs to fall to the floor.
I bite into a tender and buttery scallop and moan. “This is so good.”
Marcia bites into a shrimp. “Perfectly crisp.”
I stand, remembering the bottle of wine I bought that’s waiting on the island. After suffering through getting it home, I intend to enjoy every sip.
“Have you spoken to Adam lately?”
I freeze with my back to Marcia and squeeze my eyes shut. “Not in a bit.”
I return to the table with the bottle and pour us both glasses.
“He told me you sent him photos from Europe.”
Back in my seat, I rearrange the veggies on my plate. “Yeah. He’d urged me to be honest with my mom that I was struggling financially and needed her help. I thought he should know the outcome.”
I don’t mention that I never replied to his last email.
What was I supposed to say? It was real for me too?
I’m in Manhattan and he’s in Philadelphia, where he has an apartment and a job that’s “not the worst.” Considering the way his last long-distance relationship ended, I doubt he’d want to do that again.
Marcia’s forehead crinkles. “I didn’t know you were struggling financially.”
I swirl my wine and take a sip. “It’s not the kind of thing you want to tell your landlord.”
Marcia’s face falls. “I’m more than your landlord. I’m your friend!”
“You definitely are!” I dip my chin as my chest tightens with guilt.
I’d be beyond hurt if Marcia ever introduced me to someone as just her tenant, but I didn’t want her to worry about whether I’d be able to pay my rent.
“Honestly, it’s not something I was proud of.
I only told Adam because he was always around when it came up.
” First at Keybar when I realized I missed the deadline to apply for the scholarship.
Then in the library when I complained about not being able to afford Europe.
And finally in Marcia’s room flipping her mattress when my automatic payment was declined.
He was consistently supportive and listened without trying to fix it for me…
aside from urging me to tell my mom, that is.
“Well, I’m glad your mom helped you out.”
“Me too!”
She tops off my wine. “Have you ever been to Philadelphia?”
“Interesting segue.” I chuckle. “I don’t think so. Other than possibly driving through it.”
“It’s a great little city. But Adam fell in love with the energy here and fit right in.”