Chapter 14
14
In the morning, we flew back to SFO on anotherA320. Our seats were on the starboard side this time, to my relief. I was grateful, too, that Dave didn’t touch me during takeoff, instead occupying himself with a block game on his phone. I was free to commune with the handsome plane, having tucked the chunk of his competitor, the 737, inside my flesh.
While night flights possess a glamorous aura, morning flights lay claim to their own sublimity. The cabin was peaceful, passengers sleeping off their hangovers or busying themselves with books and tablets. I watched out the window as we headed west and then north, flying over Death Valley and the Sierra Nevada Mountains. As we descended into SFO, I admired the salt ponds of the bay, rectangles of pink like blood diluted in milk.
Dave insisted on driving me home. I directed him to my intersection, and when we arrived, he took my hand over the center console. “I had fun with you last night,” he said.
“I did, too,” I said uneasily.
“I like you, Linda. I feel like I can tell you anything, and you won’t judge me.”
I was pleased he found me trustworthy, though in fact I’d been constantly judging him. I stared through the windshield, down Taraval. The sky was overcast, a solid gray wall, and I couldn’t tell where it ended and the ocean began. I didn’t relish what I had to do. I’d never broken up with anyone before.
“I don’t think we should keep doing this,” I said.
Dave’s hand tensed in mine. “Oh?”
“Because of work, you know,” I rushed on, though this wasn’t the real reason. “If someone found out, we’d be in trouble.”
“I don’t think so.”
I was surprised. “You don’t?”
“We haven’t done anything wrong, have we? We’re both consenting adults.”
“I doubt Christa would approve of our flights together.”
He laughed and released my hand. “No, probably not. You’re right, Linda. The flights are a bit much. I’d like to do other things with you, though. How about dinner this week?”
He was relentless. “Maybe,” I said, and exited his vehicle quickly, before he could say more.
I escaped into the garage, and only when I saw Mrs. Chen at the washer did I remember I’d abandoned my laundry the day before. We regarded each other warily. I sensed we were both equally unhappy at the prospect of a conversation. I was embarrassed to recall my spasm of extroversion, three months ago, when I’d entered the house and attempted to converse with the Chens.
“Hello, Linda,” she said.
“Hi, Mrs. Chen,” I said, proceeding to the door of my cube. I wanted to go straight to the laundromat, but it would look like I was running away from her. I fumbled my key at the lock, feeling self-conscious in her presence.
“You didn’t come home last night,” she said.
I told her I’d stayed with a friend, touched that she’d noticed my absence from the cube.
“Boyfriend?”
I understood her angle now. “No, not a boyfriend. Don’t worry, I won’t have any overnight guests.”
Mrs. Chen smiled, as if in apology for her nosiness. “We just went to Costco,” she said. “Would you like some toilet paper?”
She piled six rolls into my arms. Upon entering my room, I let them tumble to the floor. I showered quickly, scrubbing my face, which had already broken out from the hotel body lotion I’d slathered on it. I put on the same jeans I’d worn the night before, as my other pants were part of the imperiled laundry load. I donned a 24 Hour Fitness shirt I’d salvaged from a box in the garage marked for Goodwill, and which still smelled faintly of Kevin’s body odor, though I’d laundered it many times since. In lieu of a bra, I wore my jean jacket to conceal the shape of my breasts. I wouldn’t want a stranger glimpsing the outline of my nipples and thinking they’d gotten one over on me. I shuddered at the memory of Dave’s nipples poking through his white T-shirt.
As I’d feared, when I reached the laundromat, my clothes were gone, aside from a single hot-pink ankle sock in the lost-and-found basket, a searing reminder of all I had lost. I lowered myself into a folding chair next to a wall riddled with flyers for open mic nights, housecleaning services, and missing pets. The loss of my laundry felt symbolic of a larger dissipation at the center of my life, a whirlpool sucking the edges of my attempts at respectability. My wardrobe had been bare-bones to begin with, and the loss of an entire load, comprising all the clothes I wore in a typical week, was devastating. I dreaded having to spend money to replace them, which would eat into my flight budget, especially now that I’d cut off my source of free flights. I decided to forgo my end-of-April flight, which I’d normally have booked for around now. I’d already flown twice this month, and I didn’t want to spiral into further recklessness. I would put my affairs in order so that I could fly next month with a clear conscience.
I brought my pink sock, the sole survivor, back to my cube and took stock of what remained. Aside from my present outfit, I possessed two pairs of underwear, the bra I’d worn last night, a white T-shirt with yellow stains in the armpits, and a striped sweater that I never laundered, as it was dry-clean only. Occasionally, I spritzed it with Febreze. Digging deeper in my closet, I found a T-shirt Anthony had thrown to me, out of the trunk of Karina’s Honda, after we’d all had drinks together at the Olive Garden bar last year. It was neon green, a men’s size large. On the front, a cartoon cat puffed a cannabis cigar. I liked the shirt, but it didn’t seem appropriate for work, even by Acuity’s lax standards. Exhausted, I threw myself on the bed and fell asleep, though it was only 5:00 p.m.
I woke in a more optimistic mood. I could wear the white shirt as long as I layered the striped sweater over it, concealing the pit stains. At work, I moderated comments on a video featuring a buxom kindergarten teacher reciting The Very Hungry Caterpillar to her students. I rapidly green-lit the comments, which ranged from graphic descriptions of sex acts with the teacher to fantasies of murdering her and consuming parts of her body with various side dishes. These were all fine as long as they didn’t contain any banned words. Either I was getting even better at moderation, or they were tossing us easy ones to distract us while they made plans to lay us all off. I glanced at the whiteboard and was gratified that my number remained at the top of the H&H vertical.
It felt good to be an employee, and to know that the minutes spent at my desk were being converted to currency that would soon appear in my bank account, the climbing numbers indicating I remained woven into the fabric of society. I was further comforted to work alongside Karina, who smelled great as usual, like gardenia perfume and baby powder and sweet mint Orbit.
At lunch, I hugged Karina by the fridge. She laughed.
“What’s gotten into you?” she said.
“I’m just glad to see you,” I said. “I missed you this weekend.”
“Aw, that’s sweet.”
A knot formed in my throat. I busied myself scrounging in the cabinets. The Costco run had dwindled to its most unappealing offerings—chocolate-covered coffee beans, stale saltines, and some peppermint bark that had appeared after Christmas. I wasn’t picky, however. I loaded a paper plate with servings of these food-adjacent items and joined Karina at the table.
“Is that all you’re eating?” she said.
I crunched some beans. “It’s fine,” I said, my mouth full of grit.
Karina brought a fresh plate from the cupboard and scooped half her salad onto it. “It’s just kale, sunflower seeds, mandarin slices, and dried cranberries,” she said. “No meat.”
“I feel bad taking your lunch,” I said.
“Yogurt’s the main event for me, anyway.”
I thanked Karina, feeling cared for. Today she wore a green seersucker halter dress and a white cardigan. Her hair was gathered into a messy bun. She appeared fresh and glowing, unburdened by the fears that usually troubled her.
“So you found a place for your wedding?” I said.
“Yeah, this Catholic church in South City,” Karina said. “Anthony went there as a kid, and Celia still goes to mass every Sunday, so she has some pull.” She smiled. “I know it’s old-fashioned, doing a church ceremony, but I don’t want to take any chances, with what’s at stake.”
I asked her what was at stake, and she shivered, pulling her cardigan around her shoulders. “Eternal damnation. Hell. Purgatory. I worry God would sabotage our marriage, or make me infertile, or kill one of us, or kill our baby. Something like that.”
I’d known Karina believed in cosmic forces, given her faith in the vision board and her cryptic references to deserving punishment, but I’d never heard her mention God before. “I didn’t realize you were Catholic, too,” I said.
“I’m not, really, but I might as well cover my bases,” Karina said. “Besides, Celia would never forgive Anthony if he didn’t get married in the church.”
“What about your mom?”
“Is she religious, you mean?”
I nodded.
“She’s Wiccan now, or something. She lives in Mendocino with her boyfriend. She’ll come to the wedding, but I’m not counting on her for much more than that. She’s a real free spirit.” Karina said this derisively.
“And your dad?” I realized Karina had never mentioned him.
“I didn’t invite him,” she said, with an edge to her voice.
I gathered the man was alive but disqualified from attending. I was savvy enough to drop the subject.
“So what did you do this weekend?” she asked, returning to her salad.
I admitted I’d seen Stewart again. “We spent Saturday night together,” I said. I shot the microwave a defiant look, no longer caring if Dave was listening. I wouldn’t betray him, but I reasoned I had a right to discuss my weekend in general terms.
“You must like him, then?”
“Not really.”
Karina looked confused. “Did something happen?”
“I think he’s still hung up on his ex.”
“Eww. That’s the worst.”
I knew Karina was waiting for me to say more, and I was curious how she’d react to Dave’s behavior, which I’d found disturbing. “He took me out to this bar, saying a friend of his owned it,” I said. “But it turned out they were enemies. They got into an argument. At one point, I thought they were going to physically fight.”
“Oh my god,” Karina said. “That’s so scary. What did they fight about?”
“His ex-wife,” I said. “It sounds like she cheated on Stewart with the friend, years ago, and Stewart’s still mad about it.”
“This guy sounds like a mess.”
“He even asked me to pretend to be his girlfriend for the night,” I said, on a roll now.
“No! Stop!” Karina was laughing. “What an absolute freak.”
I was glad to entertain her, though I felt embarrassed to have been part of the charade. “I broke it off with him.”
“Good. You can do better, Linda.”
I felt redeemed by Karina’s friendship and vowed to be a better friend going forward. I would no longer be a parasite who ate half her salad. After work, I went to Trader Joe’s, where I bought some premade salads for lunch, along with string cheese, high-fiber fruit leather, carrot juice, and pretzels. I brought these groceries back to my cube, where I packed my mini-fridge to capacity. I looked at clothes on the internet, but quickly felt overwhelmed by the options available in a globalized marketplace.
At lunch the next day, Karina noticed I was wearing the same outfit as the day before, and I admitted my laundry had been stolen. She insisted we go shopping after work, as I couldn’t wear the same sweater every day. I knew she was right. Though I was no longer worried about losing my job on a sartorial pretense—Dave’s point about mutually assured destruction was apt—I still had some pride. Also, at a certain point the armpits of my sweater would not be able to absorb any more Febreze.
We drove to Stonestown and went to the Uniqlo store, where Karina guided me in the selection of several T-shirts, a pair of elastic-waist trousers, some socks and underwear, and a new striped sweater to reduce the strain on the original one. The total was $146.78, a sum that made me wince. But what else could I do? I trusted the universe was working hard on my behalf, but I had to tend to my corporeal being in the meantime, feeding and clothing my body while I awaited my destiny.
We sat in the food court, drinking milk teas. The tables around us were crowded with young people, probably students from SF State or nearby high schools. The air had a cloying, powdered-cheese smell I associated with teenagers. I felt superior to them, having been born in an earlier decade. I was proud to be seen with Karina, who was surely the most beautiful woman in the mall, if not in the entire 94132 zip code. Her engagement ring sparkled on her hand as she brought the milk tea’s thick straw to her lips.
“I need to ask you something,” she said. Her brown eyes were grave beneath her fake lashes, and I braced myself, fearing she’d somehow found out about my flights with Dave.
“Would you want to be one of my bridesmaids?” she said.
I was stunned. “Are you sure? I’ve never done that before.”
“There’s not much to it. You just have to wear a dress in a jewel tone and walk up the aisle before me, with one of Anthony’s groomsmen. His friends are dumb bros, but they’re harmless.”
“I’d be honored,” I said. “If I’m still around then.”
Karina’s eyes narrowed. “Where else would you be?”
I couldn’t tell her that I might be married by then, too. “Oh, you know, just in the way of, like, who knows what tomorrow holds.”
“Yes, living in the moment is important and all, but we have to book the venue three months in advance.”
“Count me in.”
“Yay!” Karina said. She came over to my side of the table and gave my shoulders a squeeze. Upon returning to her seat, however, her face took on a pensive look. “There’s just one wrinkle in our wedding plans.”
“Oh?”
“The honeymoon,” she said. “This big shot from the T-shirt community has a house in Kauai, and he invited us to stay as long as we want. I always dreamed about having my honeymoon in Hawaii. It would be so perfect.”
“But you’d have to fly there,” I said.
She nodded. “I worry I’ll have a panic attack and ruin the whole trip. Or, if we make it there, I’ll be fixated on the flight back the whole time, and it’ll be miserable. I suggested we go to Tahoe instead, even though that seems depressing.”
“You really have nothing to worry about with flying,” I said. “You’re much likelier to die in a car crash than a plane crash. You aren’t afraid of your Honda, are you?”
“No, but I probably should be.” Karina’s eyes lingered on my face. “Simon told me you like to fly places by yourself.”
“He did?” I was embarrassed, yet flattered, that I’d been the subject of office gossip. I hadn’t realized Simon and Karina spoke outside of work, and I felt a little jealous, as though Simon and I were Karina’s children, vying for her affection.
“He said that time you guys had coffee, you were flying to Phoenix after,” Karina said. “Do you do that a lot?”
I knew I had to tread carefully, so as not to alienate her. “Sometimes,” I said.
“How often is sometimes?” Karina pressed, with the same cross-examining look she’d had while critiquing Morgan’s vision board.
“Once a month or so.”
Karina sucked some tea through her straw. “That’s a lot. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I was worried you’d think I was weird.”
“Not at all. Solo travel is something I’ve always wished I could do.”
I felt emboldened to confide in her further. “Stewart and I flew last weekend,” I said. “The brewery wasn’t in San Francisco. It was in Denver.”
Karina’s eyebrows rose. “How glamorous.”
“And the week before, after we met at the club, we flew to Houston.” My face grew hot as I realized I’d just admitted to having lied before, about going back to Stewart’s place. Karina studied me across the table.
“What did you do in Houston?” she asked.
“Nothing. We flew back the next morning. We didn’t even leave the airport.”
Her nose crinkled, and I saw I’d lost her. “Isn’t that kind of wasteful? Not to mention expensive?”
“All of life is wasteful.”
“Don’t planes use a lot of fuel?”
“The flights would run whether we took them or not,” I said, wincing at how defensive I sounded. “Anyway, he paid for it. It seemed like something fun to do on a date.” I was channeling Dave now, when he’d proposed making an app for people to fly recreationally, though I still loathed his idea.
Karina shook her head, unconvinced. “I wish I was as brave as you. Whenever I think about flying, I just imagine all the things that could go wrong.”
I saw that Karina’s questions about my flying habits had been rooted in envy rather than judgment. I was free to fly wherever I wanted, while her fear kept her grounded, her options limited. I wished I could help her, but I worried I’d do more harm than good.
Karina offered me a ride home, and for once, I accepted. When we arrived, she asked if she could see my room.
“Maybe another night,” I said. “I need to clean.”
“Okay. I have something for you.” She hopped out and retrieved an object from her trunk: a small, box-shaped object from which a cord dangled.
“It’s a lamp that treats seasonal affective disorder,” she said. “You mentioned your room doesn’t get much light.”
I’d never claimed to suffer from SAD, but I was moved by the gesture of this useless gift. I couldn’t remember ever being given a present by a friend. Back in my cube, I plugged the lamp into my power strip. It shone blindingly, like a false sun. I was disturbed by its brightness but felt uneasy stashing it in the closet, as it seemed wrong to possess the lamp, yet not allow it to shine as it was meant to. I compromised by turning its bright face to the wall.