Chapter 16
As the spring days skid along, the guilt starts amping up about holding Mango and Squid hostage. I’m tempted to release them
into the East River, but there’s zero chance they’d survive. So I use my Uber profits to buy a massive tank that takes up
the entirety of our tiny kitchen counter at the Inn.
As carefully as I can, I transfer the wiggly little loves from the fishbowl into their new home. It takes them some time to
realize they have more room to swim, but once they figure it out, they’re all jubilant, showing off how far they can swim
and somersault without hitting the walls. Squid is the rascal of the two, playing hide-and-seek in the weeds, nipping at Mango’s
tail. Mango doesn’t seem to mind. She likes keeping up.
After feeding them and measuring the pH level of the water, I wash out their old fishbowl and decide to repurpose it into
a flower vase. Taking it with me into the back garden, I prepare to fill it with a bouquet of ivy and wildflowers.
Hal is out there in her egg chair, except she’s not alone. There’s someone else squished in next to her. A svelte figure with
silky dark hair that falls to her tiny waist, the snatched kind of thing that looks shaped by a rib-crunching corset but seems
to just be a by-product of unfair genetics.
“EJ,” Hal says, and it sounds like an accusation. “I didn’t think you were home.”
“Where else would I be?” I ask.
“At the coffee shop or with Chris or something,” she says.
“You know I never hang out with Chris.” It gets me all agitated because I wish this wasn’t the case, but I’m also not going
to do anything to change it. “Who’s this?” I ask expectantly because we don’t invite visitors over to the Inn. Hal knows that.
“This is Astrid,” Hal says. “I put in the group chat that she was coming over. We met at a women-in-tech event a few days
ago. She’s from Norway, a grad student at NYU’s school of social entrepreneurship.”
Astrid just sits there, looking like a supermodel as she lets Hal deliver her bio. I dislike her straightaway. There’s this
stormy energy about her. Usually I’d enjoy that, the potential for thunder and lightning and fire, but not now.
“Very good to meet you,” Astrid says. Her accent is as angular as her cheekbones, and there’s a palpable danger to her beauty.
She already seems to have Hal wrapped around her long, bony fingers.
“What’re you two up to?” I ask as caustically as I can so they get the message to relocate, vacate the grounds.
“Working on a pitch deck,” Hal says. “We came up with this idea together last night and we’ve been up all night honing it.
It’s like all the others have led me to this one.”
It’s unclear if she’s talking about her failed businesses or failed relationships, and I’m unnerved that she could be referring
to either.
I’m not worried because I know how Hal jumps from person to person as quickly as she jumps from start-up to start-up, but
it’s still got me on edge a bit.
“Well, you know what they say about mixing business and pleasure,” I warn, hoping this will encourage them to put at least
a few inches of separation between their bodies.
“What do they say?” Astrid asks, sounding genuinely curious. Perhaps the adage hasn’t yet reached Norway.
“They say it’s a bad idea,” I elaborate. “A recipe for disaster.”
Astrid and Hal look at each other, like they’re privy to the same inside joke. “Well,” Astrid says, “our start-up is called
Bad Habits, so perhaps it’s fitting.”
“Bad Habits?” My interest is piqued. “What’s it about?”
Astrid opens her mouth like she’s about to tell me, but Hal hushes her. “We’re in stealth mode, remember?” Hal whispers to
Astrid.
“Oh, come on,” I say. “I’m not going to run off blabbing to The New York Times. Though you should thank me if I did; you’d benefit from the PR.”
“Sorry, EJ,” Hal says. “Stealth mode means keeping it secret from everybody until you’re ready to launch and make a splash.”
“Splash and sink, more like it,” I mutter. “You can’t keep everyone away or your product won’t have any buzz.”
“She has a point, Hally,” Astrid says. I don’t like how she already has a nickname for Hal. It feels like they’re moving way
too fast, like Hal’s full-steam-ahead approach has gone too far this time.
Hal seems to consider Astrid’s viewpoint, which isn’t what I expect. “We’ll tell you soon,” Hal says to me. “Just not quite
yet. We need to refine our business model before we open ourselves to the noise and input of the outside world.”
“I’m not the outside world,” I remind her. “I’m your best friend.”
“Who has very strong opinions,” Hal says. “We just need to make sure our own vision is clear enough before other people start
projecting their opinions onto us.”
“I’m not going to project onto you. I’m just going to help you make your idea better,” I say, irritability rising. “But fine,
if you don’t want my help, I’ll just be over here tanning.”
“Don’t eavesdrop,” Hal warns.
“It’s my garden as much as yours,” I say. “If you want a coworking space, go rent an office.”
“You know we can’t afford that.”
“Then I guess I have a bit of bargaining power, don’t I?” But not wanting to upset Hal too much, I add, “Don’t worry. I have my own calls to make anyway.”
And so I lie down on my beach towel and call Chris because he’s the only person I know, except my parents, who’d actually
pick up a phone call. And also because we haven’t talked in too long, not since that night he came to Bushwick to collect
Arnie.
“Chris,” I say, when he picks up. “It’s me.”
I like being able to identify myself as just “me.” I’ve never had that with anyone before, apart from the Redstockings.
“Emily Jane,” he says. He hasn’t dropped the habit of calling me by my full name, and now I’m starting to hope he never does.
It’s a grand thing, making new memories with my old name. Like new life being injected into something I’d left for dead. “What’s
up?” he asks.
“Lots of things are up,” I say. “And lots of things are down. We wouldn’t want one squall of emotion without the other, would
we?”
“Guess not,” Chris says, and I get the feeling he’s already not following me. He can get lost in my words a lot, and lost
in my eyes too. Not that we’re looking at each other right now, but it sort of feels like we are, with how closely I’m holding
my phone to my mouth. “I was actually going to call you,” he says.
“I know,” I say.
“You do?”
“I mean, I know you like talking to me,” I say. “And that talking on the phone is your preferred method of communication.
So I connected the dots, right after I disconnected some others.”
“Right.” He sounds nervous again, almost like the very first time he called to ask me to watch Arnie. “I wanted to ask you
a favor. Olivia and I are going to the beach for Memorial Day weekend . . .”
“The Hamptons. Time to start calling a spade a spade. And yes, of course I’ll watch Arnie,” I say to save him the trouble of groveling for my help, as enjoyable as that sequence may have been. “It would be a delight.”
“Awesome,” Chris says. “Really appreciate it.”
“I mean, I basically kidnapped Arnie last time, so don’t thank me too much.”
“You didn’t kidnap him,” Chris says. “You gave him an adventure. He was in a better mood all week because of it. I was going
to let you know, but . . .” He trails off, and the O word is the obvious barricade between us.
“All good,” I say. “I’ll need a pay raise, though. Due to inflation and tariffs and FX rates and favorable macro headwinds.”
I toss around the buzzwords that I’ve accumulated from Hal.
I can tell Chris is smiling on the other end of the line. “Forgot what a good negotiator you are,” he says and then suggests
a number that’s quite a bit higher than last time. I could probably wrangle him for even more, but I’m not trying to take
advantage of him.
“You’ve got yourself a deal,” I say. “I’ll be over tomorrow so you can show me the routine again. I’m forgetful, as you know,
so I’ll need retraining.” It’s really just an excuse for me to go see Chris sooner than Memorial Day, which is still two weeks
away.
“Sounds good. I’ll be back from work around seven. I’ll leave my key at the front desk if you want to get there early to see
Arnold.”
It’s a nice gesture and reinforces how much he trusts me. I decide not to tell him that I have a key of my own, the copy of
the spare he lent me. No need to make him question my character. “Great,” I say. “I’ll head over after breakfast. Which means
I’ll probably get there late afternoon.”
Chris laughs. “Your life is something else.”
“You know what they say. Opposites attract.”
He goes quiet, then clears his throat. A phlegmy sound ejects as if something small and sharp is stuck in his esophagus. “Well, I’ve got to get back to work now,” he says. “But I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Right.” I’m kicking myself for making that comment, for upsetting the refound balance, not that it was going to last long
anyway. Nothing thwarts adventure quite like equilibrium. If Chris wants back into my life, he’s going to have to do it on
my terms, unstable as they are. “See you then.”