CHAPTER 14
Sybil
The following morning, excitement had wriggled its way into my chest when I opened the front door. The bag Nash left was different today—bigger, and a new shade of gray.
I grasped it and stood there for a moment, letting the sun hit my face. I was no longer working so hard to duck away and stay hidden, even letting the crisp morning air flush out the staleness of my entry vestibule, breathing deep and enjoying it with the door wide open.
Feeling satisfied with that minor victory, I shut the door. In the kitchen, I set the bag down in the pets’ presence, their eyes ripe with anticipation.
I rolled the bag open and peeked inside.
Right away, an array of smells greeted me—coffee, sweet cinnamon, vanilla, graininess, and a floral note as well. I saw the familiar clear plastic container with a dog treat, as always, and—
I froze.
There was—a rose? I sucked in a sharp breath.
Willing myself onward, I plucked it out, examining it as Mr. Beans plotted forward to do the same. He rubbed his cheek against it. I never grew roses; all my attempts had been a disaster. My yard didn’t get enough sun.
I held it to my nose, the velvety petals brushing my lip. Breathing in, the richest scent flooded my nostrils, and my eyes fell shut. I wanted to melt at the smell, so distinct, and unlike any other flower I’d come across.
Bill’s lack of patience became clear as he perched his two front paws on the counter, effectively breaking my trance as he attempted to root his nose into the bag.
Using my elbow, I pushed him back onto the floor. “Bill, no.” I was awful at making him maintain his manners. The world’s most ill-behaved emotional support dog.
I made quick work of preparing his plate, setting it down next to him before pulling out the rest of the bag’s contents. There was a travel tray with what I assumed was a vanilla latte. I wrapped my hand around the cup; the warmth felt wonderful.
Eager to try it, I took a sip, moaning at the fresh taste. I didn’t drink lattes very often because it required going somewhere to get them, but Cat had brought me a few. She’d had me try many flavors over the years, but vanilla was always my favorite.
Next to the drink was another bag. I unrolled it, took a peek, and discovered the biggest, gooiest cinnamon roll imaginable—and it was still warm.
I nearly died. This whole thing was—incredible. Male man-cannon status maintained.
I grabbed a new plate and set the cinnamon roll atop it, not caring when Mr. Beans ventured to lick the cream cheese frosting. We could share.
My attention fell back on the rose. I picked it up again.
It was light at the center before darkening at the tips of each petal.
Picking up my phone, I pulled up ChatGPT—though rife with controversy, it was a very important and useful tool in my world of black and white and a savant to the handicapped.
I could appreciate it for that reason. I took a picture of the rose and asked ChatGPT to describe it to me.
The information immediately filled the screen. “Circus Rose,” it read, “characterized by its soft yellow petals that fade to an often dramatic deep red at the tips, symbolizing budding friendship or new love.”
My gut fluttered reading that.
I looked at the rose again, touching the bit that would be yellow, and the tips that would be red. Whether color or black and white, the rose was dramatic, as its name would suggest.
Finding my kitchen string in the drawer, I cut a piece and tied a knot around the short stem before hanging the rose from one of my cabinet knobs. I wanted to let it dry so I could keep it with the rest of my collection.
My phone dinged, and I smiled.
Picking it up, I expected it to be Nash. It wasn’t. Another new number graced my screen with a long message.
Unknown: Hey girl! I saw you on your porch this morning! Isn’t the weather nice?!
Unknown: This is Bee, by the way, across the street! I stole your number from Nash. I hope that’s okay.
Unknown: I don’t have boundaries. ??
I blinked at the messages that flooded in, one after the other. It was so sudden. I didn’t know how to react. Biting the seam of my sweatshirt sleeve for a moment, I pondered over what to text back. While I didn’t know what to say to her message, I had to admit I was—excited?
Happy?
All I’d gathered about her personality at the art show was that she was outgoing.
She seemed confident, and didn’t shy away from one-sided conversation.
It was perfect. She seemed to handle her brother well enough, and her clothes were obviously to die for.
Maybe she could teach me to be a more ‘normal’ woman.
Mulling over what to say, I didn’t want to come across too passive and shy, even though I was. I couldn’t just go with ‘Hi’; that sounded too curt, didn’t it? I didn’t want to sound annoyed or bitchy, though, either.
Pacing, I continued biting my sleeve as I loosened a thread. Passing in front of Mr. Beans and his cream cheese feast, the smell finally drew me in and I tore off a curve of cinnamon roll. When I took a bite, my mouth tingled with cinnamon spice.
Maybe a comment about the weather would suffice? Everyone did that, right? The go-to subject. It’s what she led with, after all.
Mouth full, I began typing.
Me: Yeah, I always prefer the colder months, not a big fan of the summer heat in New York. I live in sweatshirts.
I let that marinate on my screen for a moment before I sent it. Did I say too much? Did my comment about sweatshirts make me seem like a slob or lazy? Was I lazy?
Waiting, three dots appeared as Betty typed a reply. I felt so proud of myself. I was joining a female conversation that wasn’t with my therapist—and with a woman my age!
Snatching Mr. Beans around his middle to give him an excited squeeze, he hissed before licking his chops a few times. I put him down on the floor, effectively preventing any future diabetes. He let out a disdainful meow of protest.
I peeled off another curve of cinnamon roll and ate it, eyes rapt on the screen, then a pic popped up with a new message.
Betty: I just bought the most amazing winter coat. I can’t wait for snow.
I analyzed the coat in the image. It was a gorgeous material, light in shade. The tailoring was really interesting and detailed.
Betty: Isn’t that color amazing?
I faltered, ceasing my munching for a moment before thinking fast and copying the image.
Switching back to ChatGPT, I asked it to tell me what color it was.
ChatGPT replied immediately. “A warm cream coat with gold buttons and gold piping accents along the seams, found in the latest issue of Vogue.” I thanked the gods of AI before switching back to messages.
Me: It is! The gold piping is especially beautiful.
Me: It really shows off the tailoring and sets off the cream color.
Betty: Right?
Betty: It’d be gorgeous with your hair. You should get one too! Twinsies!
I replied with a GIF of Austin Powers and a movie quote.
Me: “Twins, Basil. Twins.” ??♀?
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I was proud of myself, taking a big gulp of latte in celebration. Clicking the side buttons on my phone, I took a screenshot and sent it to Cat, wanting to share in my triumph.
Cat: Sybbie! Is this another new friend?
Me: It’s Nash’s sister
Cat: This is great!
Cat: How did you know the color?
Me: ChatGPT told me.
Cat: Brilliant! I should have thought of that!
I laughed, of course she’d say that. The way I felt at this moment was luscious. I could scarcely recall a time I’d felt this good. I asked Alexa to play music, dancing as ‘Love Shack’ by the B-52’s played over the house speakers. My phone dinged again. This time, Nash’s name surprised me.
Nash: Did you like it?
My hands shook suddenly as a multitude of feelings converged in a single moment. I needed to maintain composure, as these were, after all, positive emotions.
Me: Thank you. I enjoyed it very much.
Me: My cat especially enjoyed the yellow and red rose and the cream cheese frosting.
It felt good being able to describe the color of something, even if it made no sense to me. It was a few minutes before he replied.
Nash: You have a cat, too?
I took a picture of Mr. Beans, who’d made it to the front windowsill.
Me: He’s a calico. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed him holding court in my front window. It’s one of his favorite spots.
There were a few more moments before he replied.
Nash: Now that I see him, I recall a cat sitting in the window from time to time.
Nash: Name?
Me: Mr. Beans. Cat toes, you know. People call them toe beans.
Nash: Now that’s a name.
I gave his comment a thumbs-up.
Nash: I’m about to walk into work, but perhaps tonight we can text a little?
Nash: No pressure.
His soft approach was appreciated. My inner scared child liked it.
Me: Yeah, I can do that.
Nash hearted my comment.
I switched back to my conversation with Betty, but there wasn’t a reply. I almost felt disappointed. Pressing her number at the top of the screen, I added her to my contacts.
Christ on a cracker, three contacts?
I was officially interacting with more people than animals, and I felt good about that. Who was this new Sybil?
I’d never be an extrovert like Bee, but I liked the thought of being an introverted person who could still break out of their shell. The desire to test my boundaries was blooming. Something about it felt right.
Grabbing my latte, I took Bill to the garden. Mr. Beans followed, hopping into my lap as I sat in a chair near my pots. He curled up and together we watched as the bees flitted from flower to flower, gathering the last bit of pollen before hunkering down somewhere for the winter.
I sipped from my cup a few times, thinking I could get used to waking up like this. I’d grown so comfortable being alone, I almost forgot what it was like having people to talk to first thing in the morning.
When I lived with Cat, we’d talk in the morning, and it felt as though my day would start. Living alone, it was easy to lose track of time, having only myself to depend on. While each phase of my life had been part of my healing, it was becoming clear to me that perhaps I had a preference.
It hit me all at once, but with certainty. Living alone wasn’t as great as it used to be. I was almost shocked by this realization. It’s not that I’d changed so much as my opportunities had, and that made all the difference.
I acted fine because I didn’t see any other way. I was too stubborn to admit that I was struggling. Part of me didn’t want to face the unsettling thought that I needed others. Painful as it may be, I had to let myself make friends.