Chapter Twenty-Nine
Mal
On day three of Operation Smoke Josephine Out, Mal finally made contact.
Mal knew Jo was eating his meals. She usually waited until he went to the bathroom or returned home for the night before snatching
her tray into her room. Dahlia sent him pictures of the rinsed dishes in the sink the morning after, with the addition: Poor thing. She tries so hard not to turn the faucet on all the way so I won’t hear it running.
“I’m back,” he said. “I picked up Thai. I asked Dahlia what you like, and she said you’d probably be good with red curry,
so that’s what I got.”
From through the door, a soft voice. “Thank you.”
It was a good thing Jo couldn’t see his jaw drop, or she might have run away again. After days of talking to a wall, it felt
like he’d just heard a ghost.
“It’s no problem,” Mal said, tiptoeing toward her closed door cautiously.
“It is,” she said. Her voice was scratchy with disuse, and she cleared it. “You’re doing too much.”
“I’m doing exactly what I need to,” Mal said. “Not my fault you aren’t used to being taken care of.” He slid to the floor, dropping his head against her door. “Why don’t you come out? Eat with me?”
Jo made a sound that could have been a laugh, could have been a sob.
“No,” she said. “Sorry. I don’t think I can. Not yet.”
“It’s okay,” Mal said hurriedly. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to rush you—”
“You’re not rushing me,” she filled in quickly. “I’m just”—she paused—“embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed?” Mal repeated.
“Yes, of course,” Jo said. “You’d understand, if you could smell me right now.”
“I’m sure I’ve smelled worse.”
Jo laughed, a small huff of a sound. “I hate that you’re seeing me like this.”
“Technically, I’m not seeing you,” Mal joked lamely. He opened his mouth to offer up something else, thought better of it,
bit his lip, then decided, Screw it . “I ever tell you about what happened with my ex? After she left?”
“No,” Jo said. “Not in detail.”
Mal sighed, straightening out his legs. As Dahlia had strictly informed him, the joint Boateng-Cortes household was firmly
anti-shoes-indoors, and so he focused on the design of his socks, the thin line of white that demarcated the gray toes from
black body.
“We owned a photography studio together,” he confessed. “When we were in college, we always dreamed of working for ourselves. We took a loan out from my parents, moved up to Chicago to be close to her family, and opened our studio. She did the marketing, got the clients, and I did the shoots. It was a dream come true for me.
“But Porsh wanted more. From the business at first, and then from me. And when she didn’t get it, she got frustrated, and
then she got mean, and eventually, she left.” Mal swallowed, remembering those first few days after he’d returned home to
find her gone. At the time, he had felt like he’d failed—at being a partner, at being a man. “We’d been together for so long
that I think I lost sight of who I was outside of her. And when I realized she was gone for good... I broke.”
The stillness of the air between them felt potent, like they were both holding their breath.
“How?” Jo asked, after a moment. “I mean. What did breaking look like for you?”
Mal told her. He realized that he’d never told anyone this story before, aside from his therapist, because everyone who was still in his life had been an active player in it. He’d shut down his website. Unplugged his phone. Stopped taking bookings entirely. Google marked his business as closed, and he didn’t refute it. For two months, he let every day meld into the next, playing video games online with potty-mouthed tweens until the sun came up, consuming nothing but takeout and cheap beer, becoming one with his couch. He’d spilled shit on his floor and not wiped it up. Let the vegetables in his fridge develop their own ecosystems. It had taken a surprise visit from Kieran, Kelechi, and his very concerned parents to whip him back into shape. They’d practically forced him into therapy, into the gym, out of his apartment, and stayed on his ass until he emerged from his cocoon with a vision of a future for himself that for once, seemed crystal clear.
“If I’m honest with myself, I probably had been depressed for a while,” Mal confessed. “Definitely anxious. It kept me from
taking risks, asking questions, pushing myself harder. I had this constant refrain in my head telling me that I shouldn’t
bother, and sometimes I listened to it, instead of listening to the people I loved. I had to get to a pretty dark place before
I accepted that I needed help. And when I got it, it was all-hands-on-deck.” He knocked his knuckles back against her door,
one after the other. “So here I am, being your hands.”
He remembered the chokehold of depression. It was hard to admit now, how much of his youth had been eclipsed by it, how, despite
his loving family, he’d always felt it layered on his skin like a fruit mold. He’d gotten better, then worse, then hit rock
bottom, and he knew better than anyone that climbing out of the pit was a Sisyphean task. Every day it took work, and some
days more work than others, and most times being loved the way he, honestly, had always been wasn’t enough.
But every now and then, it got close. Kieran’s voice on the other side of his apartment door, his parents flying in from Texas,
the whole crew pitching in to help clean the biohazard zone he’d created—it had been the gust of cold wind he needed to jolt
him back into reality. And reality was what Jo needed. He couldn’t imagine how she felt, under the onslaught of online attackers
who made a game out of diminishing her. But in the real world, she was loved. If not by everyone in it, by him. And he would
do whatever it took to break through the noise.
The hardwood underneath them creaked; Jo, adjusting herself on the floor. If he concentrated, he could almost hear her breathing.
“Thank you, Mal,” she said, after a moment. “For everything.”
“Anytime,” Mal said. He closed his eyes, considering his next ask. “But can you do something for me?”
Jo snorted. “I don’t think I’m in a position to deny your requests after all you’ve done for me,” she said. “What is it?”
Mal tilted his head toward the ceiling.
“Can you turn on your phone?” he said. “I just... want to be able to get a hold of you.”
The silence stretched on for so long that Mal feared it might be permanent, and he bit down on his cheek, already regretting
making the request. They’d made headway today. Maybe this was too much pressure too soon. Maybe asking her to pick up for
him would give her another thing to feel guilty for, an additional task for her already overburdened mind. But when Mal was
about to take everything back and excuse himself from the premises, Jo cleared her throat.
“My phone’s a scary place right now,” she admitted. “It’s pretty hard to convince myself that I’m not a piece of shit when
tens of thousands of people are assuring me that I am. I got a bit hooked to feeding the beast. Had to put it away.”
Mal started. He hadn’t considered that.
“Oh,” he said. “Oh. That’s probably smart. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be here, anyway—”
“But. Maybe my computer? The trolls found my work email, but my personal is still intact.”
“Are you asking to be my pen pal?” Mal teased, biting back his self-satisfaction when he heard her snicker through the door.
“Yes, I think,” she said. “Do you accept?”
“Of course, Dr.Boateng,” he responded, “I look forward to our correspondence.”
Ampersand screamed at the door when Mal returned home. Despite being generally aloof, she preferred Mal’s presence to his
absence, and his daily trips to Lincoln Park had clearly been ticking her off. He scooped her into his arms and carried her
to his desk, shaking his computer awake.
“Behave,” Mal instructed, and, in a rare display of agreeableness, Ampersand obeyed, stretching out like a sphynx on his lap.
Today was, he thought, a good day. He’d spoken to Jo, then gotten the first chapter of his second novel done. He texted Dahlia
( She talked to me today ), and she responded with a string of excited emojis and a WHAAA AMAZING in all caps.
When Mal volunteered to be Jo’s hands, he’d meant it. But there was another set of hands that were noticeably absent, and
those ones, Mal thought, had the ability to put an end to all of this.
What had happened between Ezra and Jo the night of the health benefit had clearly been monumental: the video of their embrace
was seared into the back of Mal’s head. But for as many times as he watched it, it didn’t look romantic. The glimpse he’d
caught of Jo’s face when Ezra turned to look at the camera had shown sadness, not longing. And there was the context: at a
hospital in the early hours of the morning, after Jo had visited her estranged mother.
Mal would’ve been more curious if he weren’t so annoyed. Because really, what was the point of being best friends with a billionaire
if he couldn’t shut down a media circus?
Mal opened his email to a few new messages, then snickered when he saw the sender.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Hi
Don’t even know what I’m meant to say here. Thank you. I’m sorry. Honestly don’t know why you’re still around. I’m sure I’ve
gone and made your life a living hell. You hate being under a spotlight, and I’ve pushed you right under it. But I appreciate
you being here regardless.
I never told you how good the tortellini you made the other day was. No wonder that was all you ate growing up. If they packaged
the joy I got from every bite into pill form I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be depressed anymore.
From: [email protected]
You haven’t made my life hell at all. Actually, according to my agent, you helped me sell a ton of books. Which is a bit disturbing,
honestly.
And you didn’t push me anywhere that I didn’t want to be. You know how many times I’ve watched that video of you telling a
whole room of people that I was yours? So many times it would make you sick. You would run away from me, if you knew.
My tortellini always hits. That’s why I made it. Happiness in every bite.
Anyway. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay. I want you to be too.
P.S. Ampersand says hi.
P.P.S. Your email handle made me laugh. How old is this account?
P.P.P.S. When you’re ready, can you tell me how things went with your mom?
From: [email protected]
To answer your question, ancient. Made it in high school. Applied to college with this address, if you would believe it. Nobody
told me any better. I still think it’s cute tho.
To be honest, not sure what okay feels like. Have I ever been okay? Maybe not. I just kept myself so busy that I barely gave
myself time to think about it. I used to be so much more resilient, I think. I was a stony-ass kid. Nothing anyone could say
to me could shake me. And now look at me. Stuck. Did all this work and I have nothing to show for it. I told Denise I wasn’t
going to do social media anymore. But who’s going to hire me to be their doctor now? When they google me all they’ll find
is this shit.
OH. Speaking of you in the spotlight. Were you on Lana Porter’s show??? And why did I have to find that out on a post calling
me a dumb cheating bitch????
Can tell you about mom stuff now. In summary: She had a heart attack, then a stroke. Got most of her mobility back, has started speech therapy. Her boyfriend has been emailing me updates. And yes, she has a boyfriend, and yes, they are living in sin. Who would’ve thought.
More Ampersand, please. I think that photo generated at least three more molecules of serotonin.
From: [email protected]
I can understand that feeling. When you’ve been living in darkness so long, you learn to function within it. You start to
feel like the light is just a myth, like everyone else squints their way through life too. But it doesn’t have to be that
way. You deserve more than a perpetual dusk.
And, at risk of overstepping my bounds, I don’t think you were more resilient. I think you had no choice but to keep moving,
and when you hit the finish line, you ran out of gas. Like those people who collapse right after they finish a marathon. But
you’ll get up again. I know you will. You’re Dr.Jojo. You can do anything.
On that note, you know you don’t have to work in a hospital, right? Maybe seeing patients isn’t for you. I really liked what
you said, about wanting to educate people. Maybe that’s something you can explore more, when you’re in a better place. (Also,
as my publicist said, controversy sells. I’m sure if you want a job, you can get one easy. Even with all the BS going around.)
Re: your mother. TBH I’m not sure how to respond to this. It sounds like communicating with them is giving you peace, though, and there’s beauty in that.
Also, yes, I was, I was going to tell you about Lana, and I hate that you found out how you did. She sprang the clip out of
nowhere.
Re: cat pics: I will consider this permission to empty my entire camera roll into this email.
From: [email protected]
Omg Ampersand is TEARING UP that catnip. You’ve got a little fiend on your hands. Look at her eyes.
Thank you for that. Made me laugh.
I don’t have time for exploration. I still need to pay the bills. Time to put on my big girl pants and stop wallowing.
Rochelle emailed me this afternoon to check in. She says I have good friends. She’s proud of me for building “healthy relationships.”
So there! You have my therapist’s approval.
From: [email protected]
You know. Not to freak you out. Even though it will freak you out. But you know when it comes to money, I got you, right?
I want you to be well. If you need time away from everything to get there, I’m happy to help.
Jo didn’t respond to that, but he hadn’t expected her to. For a woman who extended a helping hand at the first opportunity, she was terrible at accepting the same for herself. But Mal found that, for once, her silence didn’t hurt him. His plan hadn’t changed. Today’s dinner was salmon and broccoli. Today’s soundtrack, Nina Simone. Today’s mission: trying to sweet-talk Jo into eating with him. Eventually, he’d get her to let him take care of her too.
But for Josephine Boateng, all his best-laid plans would always be for naught. She always managed to be one step ahead.
“Hey,” Jo said from the couch when Mal pushed her front door open.
Mal blinked at her, and Jo stared blandly back. She looked tired, a little hollow eyed, but every bit as beautiful as he remembered.
“I was thinking,” Jo continued, like she hadn’t isolated herself for the past week, like they were picking up on a conversation
had over coffee rather than through a door. “You should bring Ampersand over. She was probably just starting to feel secure
in your presence, and if you keep leaving her like this, she might think she’s been abandoned. Obviously we don’t have a litterbox,
but we can set one up in my bathroom. I’m pretty sure Dahlia won’t mind. She loves cats—”
Mal couldn’t quite remember crossing the room or dropping his tote bag at the door. His body snapped to hers like a magnet,
and he felt the breath push out of her chest as he squeezed her close. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized that his desire
to see her again had been more of a desperation, that a part of him had feared that this time, when she broke, it would be
permanent.
“I think she would appreciate that,” he said.