20. Alex
I. Hate. Down. Town. And why is it so damn hot ?!
Alex still has one more block to go before she reaches Yuna and the “quaint boutique” where she suggested they get their ball gowns.
People have been testing her patience the entire walk, bumping and slapping their sweaty arms against her despite how hard she tried to avoid them. But it was tough luck for a group of five kids probably on their way to hang out somewhere. When Alex realized their horizontal line on an already narrow sidewalk wasn’t moving, she planted her feet on the ground, forcing them to break into a duo and trio.
“You can’t even hear everyone talk if you walk like that,” she mutters, finally reaching the boutique, Carol’s.
“What’s wrong?” Yuna asks, leaning against the brick structure.
“I’m here. That’s all that matters.” Alex opens the door to a rainbow that stretches across the entire space. Quaint is appropriate, but still not the most fitting description. Alex can’t recall ever using the word “lovely” unironically, but Carol’s is lovely. Dresses from every gradient hang gracefully on the walls. Some brush the floors, while others are of a modest calf-length. “I’ve never been here before.”
“It’s a well-kept secret. Well, not really. But it is inclusive and normally uncrowded.”
“I can see why,” Alex mumbles, eyeing a price tag.
Yuna turns abruptly. “Oh! Don’t worry about that. It’s the least…” She trails off and covers her face with a corset shaper.
“You started without me?!” Ben semi-yells from behind. “I guess I—why do you look like that?”
Alex continues to scrutinize her best friend. “I’m trying to figure out if I should be mad at you or not. You could’ve at least told me you were closing early. Did you let Patrick go home?”
“Obviously. But where else would I be? Your drought is almost over and I’m so happy. With Nik out of the picture, I thought you’d become a nun. It’s basically a holiday.”
“Don’t be a jerk.” Alex fans out a violet ball gown with floral embroidery.
Yuna’s head pops out from behind a canary-yellow gown. “Yeah, don’t be a jerk, Ben. But he is somewhat right—we’ve been building up to this moment for-freaking-ever. Definitely need a statement piece. You were telling me you want to go for something red? Normally I’d say dress for you, but it just so happens I think you would look stunning in scarlet. Or ruby.”
“Though I doubt how it looks on will matter as much, if you know what I mean,” Ben says.
Alex blushes. “The Ball itself is still important.”
“Yeah, it is!” Yuna scoffs. “Plus, you’re not just presenting yourself to Moretti, but everyone in attendance. Same for me. You’d think with this being my fifth time I wouldn’t feel like I had anything to prove, but some of those people can be really…” She rubs the dress between her fingers.
“You OK?” Alex asks, going over to put a hand on Yuna’s shoulder.
“Yeah, no. I was just…” She laughs. “Having a dumb moment. All good.”
“Hey—we don’t have to hide ourselves when we’re together, remember?”
“Right. Damn. I guess…” Yuna’s eyes glisten a bit. “Umm…so like, how can I phrase it? I don’t necessarily look like my mom. And my name, although it is very Japanese, when you go to school alongside Lakeynns and Moons, and Denims and shit, you don’t stand out for a name like Yuna. You stand out for a name like…”
“Sara?” Ben asks, plopping on an ottoman.
“Yup. And I grew up more exposed to my dad’s side, so I fit in early on. Or, I thought I did. People used to call me exotic. Which I get now is offensive, but back then, I took it as a compliment. But sometimes I wonder, what if it were the opposite? And just because that’s how it was for me doesn’t mean it’ll be like that for my kids. I can’t imagine one of them coming home and telling me…”
Yuna doesn’t need to be specific. Alex has plenty of her own memories to fill in the blank. When she was younger, there were a few jerks who would tease her about superficial things—her hair, her glasses, her belly—but they were the kinds of bullies that would find something about anyone. By the time she got to high school, she’d found Ben, and their friendship was often louder than their noise.
“How do I—make sure they’re equipped to deal with that if the time comes?” Yuna continues. “Or just as important, make sure they aren’t the ones who single out someone else’s kid? It’s so overwhelming just to think about. And then it’s like…am I condoning it all by participating and knowing how these kinds of events can make me feel?”
Alex pulls her ear. “I didn’t realize this when I was younger, but for pretty much every social function where I was one of the few who looked like me, my parents took me somewhere that was the opposite. I went to Black hair stylists. I took karate with a Black sensei,” she laughs, “that didn’t last long. I did this coming-of-age thing on weekends with a Black woman who wrote books on youth empowerment. And in college, every chance I got, I took a course taught by someone Black or of color. I remember when I first learned about microaggressions.”
“And after she learned, she schooled me,” Ben says.
Alex gives him a grateful look. “It occurred to me I had been letting people slide with a lot of shit. Sometimes, I admit I still try not to make waves, but I think about the little ones who’ll come after me—maybe my future children—and I feel like I owe it to them to be bold. Be the change, and all that. Because the best way to teach them is to show them. Wrap them up in love and confidence…compassion. That way, they don’t need validation from anyone else, and their hearts don’t know that kind of animosity. But with so many outside forces, it is hard. So we have to take it one day at a time. One Ball at a time. And anyone waiting for us to prove anything will be waiting for a long-ass time.”
Ben snaps. “Damn right, beautiful.”
Yuna wipes her eyes. “Hell yeah.”
Alex smiles. “I’m gonna go try on a few of these.”
With the focus back on the Ball, Alex changes out of her clothes while Ben narrates Yuna’s browsing process. She picks up twelve dresses and subsequently finds twelve reasons to return them to their racks. A short while later, the two move to the dressing area and await Alex’s top choices.
“I get how important this is to you, beautiful, but it’s a dance, not a wedding.”
“Don’t listen to him, babe. He’s just jealous he’s not going. Take your time!”
“But it’s not just her time she’s taking, is it?”
“This coming from the guy who just up and left work?”
Alex tunes out her friends’ droning. She feels underwhelmed as she slips in and out of each dress, until the last option—one of Yuna’s picks.
Alex’s favorite of all the selections, it envelops her in tulle and organza, with a sweetheart neckline that strikes a perfect balance of refined and inviting. She twirls around, envisioning the hem skimming the ballroom floor, her fingers laced in Antonio’s as they dance sweetly. “Yuna, you’re seriously the best!” she calls out.
“Wait, what?” Yuna responds. “But we haven’t seen anything yet.”
“This is it,” Alex insists, drawing back the privacy curtain and stepping out gracefully.
“Well, damn…” Ben’s jaw hangs loose. “I take back everything I said. The man will drool.”
Yuna waves over an attendant and they mutter secretively. “Okay. We’re good to go.”
Alex’s face scrunches. “What do you mean? I have to pay for it.”
“Babe, it’s taken care of.”
“Yuna. This dress is too expensive. I appreciate it, but I can’t let you do that.”
“Technically, I’m not doing anything.”
“What does that mean?”
Yuna just taps her nose and smiles. “What I will do is treat you both to dinner. How’s that?”
Ben stops marveling and pushes Alex back towards the fitting booth. She huffs, and a smile and a frown fight for a spot as she deduces the true identity of her benefactor, his stormy eyes clear as day.
The Wednesday before the Ball, Alex heads to prism early, ready to hunt for a specific face. She doesn’t have to look long at all; it’s at the lobby bar.
Pete meets her eyes and quickly looks away, downs his drink, and rushes off opposite Alex’s direction.
“Pete. Pete!”
He stops but doesn’t turn around. “Are you trying to make things difficult on purpose?”
“Of course not! I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while, but you keep avoiding me.”
He walks off again. “Then take the hint.”
“No hints. If you want me to leave you alone, say it to my face. Just take this first,” Alex requests, rushing to catch up and hand him an envelope.
Pete only eyeballs the golden square. This is the longest he’s ever faced her, and Alex realizes it’s the first time she’s been able to see what he really looks like. During debriefs in the comms room, she would only get glimpses of soft-looking, short, curly dark-brown hair, and skin the color of an almond shell.
“What is that?” he asks, breaking Alex out of her observation.
“It’s the number of one of the best physiotherapists in Philly. And some gift cards. The number’s for your mom. The cards are for both of you.”
“You think I can’t get her shit like this on my own? No thanks.”
Alex shoves the envelope in his hand, anyway. “Why would you say something like that? Of course, I don’t. I think you’re a kid that has a lot on his plate.”
“A kid? What are you, fifty?” Pete folds his arms. “Besides, you don’t even know my mom. You barely know me. So, why?”
“Because, Pete. Despite what you think, caring about someone isn’t a weakness. Showing emotion doesn’t make you any less of a man. And you know where the word man comes from? Hu-man. You’re human. And as a human, it is natural to have emotions.”
Pete’s expression never changes during her speech, and even Alex has to admit it was pretty much bullshit–at least the etymology part. “That was really dumb,” he says.
She sighs.
“Save your preaching, Alex. We don’t need to be friends. I just need to stay away from you.”
“Fair enough. But even if we never talk again, I hope you use all that. Don’t punish your mom because you feel some type of way. That’s dumb. And by the way, I’m less of Mary Poppins and more Maria von Trapp.”
“Neither of them fit in here.”
“If you watched the movies you’d know they fit where they want to.” She detects the slightest lift in Pete’s lips. Slight, but visible. “Look, you have every right to not want to talk. I just want to make sure it’s because you don’t want to, and not because you feel like you can’t.”
“And then what? You’ll be my therapist or something?”
Alex shrugs. “Or…how ‘bout your friend?”
Pete stares, pinching the envelope.
“Just something to think about. No pressure. I’ll see you later.”
“You’re weird, you know that?” he asks after she turns away from him.
She turns back. “Yes. And you’re a jerk.”
Just like Antonio, except in an annoying little brother type of way. Honestly, Pete hasn’t earned any of Alex’s courtesy, but it’s a symptom of wielding the double-edged sword known as flexibility. Ben often points out she bends too much, but she tries to pick her battles wisely.
“Since we’re just standing around, can you help me change the light bulb in my office?”
“There are actual people here who get paid to do that. Or you could just get a ladder and do it yourself.”
“Or…” Alex looks Pete up and down. “I could ask the six-foot-five man in front of me.” Gosh, he really is a freaking giant. “The new bulb is already on my desk; it’ll take you like five seconds. Then you can go back to ignoring me and whatever else you kids do these days.”
“You sound like my mother.”
“Awesome and wise?”
Pete’s dull expression dismisses Alex’s attempt to lighten the mood. He takes two glances at the staircase before following Alex, and he has to duck slightly under the door frame when they reach her office. “She is awesome. And wise,” he says, immediately reaching for the round light fixture in the middle of the ceiling. He twists it off and sets it on the desk. “I wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t. And I definitely wouldn’t have started fighting. Our insurance is shit, and minimum wage jobs didn’t put a dent in those bills. Even now, most days I feel so…guilty ‘cuz I can’t do more. And others, I feel like a piece of shit, wondering how much easier life would be without her. Not her, but—the her that has this fucking stupid disease. And that’s weak,” he grunts, unscrewing the old bulb. “I’m weak. ‘Cuz she doesn’t complain, so neither can I. I just gotta do what I gotta do.”
His confession gives Alex chills. Pete has been walking around with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and she hopes saying all that helped him feel lighter, even if it were only an ounce.
“Whenever I think about how much she suffers some days… I get…“ He stares at the bulb in his hand. “How can one person throw you off your game like that? Be responsible for all these…emotions? I’m supposed to be better than that. I’m supposed to man up and take care of her.”
Alex sits on her desk, but the corner impales the back of her thigh, so she decides to stand. “Pete…I think your heart is in the right place. But I also think if your mom truly knew how you were feeling—that you’re inhibiting yourself like this? It would devastate her. Just like seeing her in pain hurts you. I’m gonna blow your mind with this—”
“Doubt it.”
This kid really is such a…“The thing is, men are ruled by emotions just as much as they believe women are. One specific emotion—and that’s pride. Think about it. Men will go to war over territory. Over women. Over policies and ideals. All to show who’s more superior. Who’s more right. They’ll decimate each other in the process, and the cycle repeats itself every generation. Doesn’t that sound exhausting?”
“I guess. What does that have to do with me, though?”
“It has everything to do with you. The only difference is you sound like you’re at war with yourself because your perception of manhood and your reality don’t line up. All adults, not just men, should make mature, thoughtful decisions. And thoughtful means not just based on emotions, and not what we consider pure logic, either. And sometimes…” Alex lifts a shoulder. “We still feel like we made the wrong choice. Trust me.”
“If you did all that to say I was wrong on what I said about you, I already got that.”
That does admittedly make her feel better, but it’s not why she said it. “This is way bigger than me. ‘Cuz it doesn’t matter whether you’re here or if you move on to somewhere else. I don’t want you walking around with a chip on your shoulder. And I don’t have to know your mom to believe she wouldn’t want that, either.”
Pete finishes installing the new light bulb and resets the fixture. Alex thinks she might have officially reached the limits of her preachiness, because then he just stands there, tall and glum, in the middle of the room.
“Maybe I’m jealous,” he says quietly. “I don’t see how you can be both.”
“Both what?”
“Some lovesick puppy one second, and the next, barking orders. Meanwhile, I can barely even look at my mom some days.”
Alex tries not to get sidetracked. She’s used to the teasing of how drastically different Antonio’s behavior has been, but from people like Gio and Frankie, she never took it too seriously. From Pete, whom she’s come to expect forthright (and thus somewhat thorny) commentary, his remark strikes a different chord. Alex doesn’t believe she’s making Antonio become a different person, he’s just accessing parts of him he wrote off as unnecessary.
“It’s not black and white, Pete. You’re allowed to struggle and be confused. You can love your mom, take care of her, be sad for her, and also be about your business. One doesn’t cancel out the other. We’re complex creatures, and we adapt to what the situation calls for.”
“We’re hu-man,” Pete deadpans, and Alex smiles.
“Okay…you really are a jerk, you know that? But thanks for your help. And make sure you give my friend a call; she’ll be expecting you.”
“Yeah…Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, Petey.”
“That is not my name.”
Alex throws up a hand. “Aw, come on. It’s like a symbol of our breakthrough.”
“Whatever. See you later.” Pete doesn’t wait for a response; he walks from her office as if they didn’t just have an incredibly sensitive conversation. Alex feels accomplished regardless.
Time will tell how much Pete will take to heart, but having some closure there seems like the final component of Alex’s assimilation into prism life.
Tech Me Outwill always be her baby, her beacon of hope. But there’s no denying the contrast. There’s the phenomenal custodial staff, like Evren. This green swivel chair she drops onto that feels like a throne, sturdy and compelling. And having a fully-stocked bar less than one-hundred feet away is a much appreciated luxury. Though, the biggest thing Tech Me Out lacks is…
Antonio Moretti.