Chapter 1 Might as Well have a Giggle #2
So Sasha made some big changes. She stopped working for the first time since high school.
She moved from her second-floor brownstone apartment (vulnerable to break-ins) to a high-rise, doorman building (as secure as Fort Knox).
Without work to focus on, and nowhere to be, her life became a collection of quiet, unwitnessed moments—played out within the walls of her home.
She ordered sushi and binged Love Is Blind.
She read a captivating book about the history of rats in Manhattan.
She installed a claw-foot tub she bought online from Home Depot.
And, most significantly, she rarely ventured outside.
After a while, friends stopped asking her out.
Texts dwindled. But she didn’t mind the solitude. It felt healing somehow.
Things didn’t get weird till the fourth or fifth month, when Sasha had a terrible realization.
She really, really didn’t mind the solitude.
She saw how shockingly easy it’d be to become a recluse (savings pending).
Every day, she got cozier with isolation.
And it wasn’t scary. It was a relief. In fact, she craved it.
There was no one to hurt her. No one to judge.
No one for her to annoy with her constant, creeping blues.
She created her own world. No shower, no problem.
Weep through breakfast, nap through lunch.
Sometimes she’d climb in her empty tub with pillows, a water bottle, and a bag of kettle corn.
For days, she’d lay there in the dark, bingeing niche history podcasts.
Any topic would do, from abandoned malls to bizarre defunct professions (“funeral clown” was her favorite).
By the second day in the tub, she’d begin to dissociate.
She was no longer Sasha Cruz, deceptively glamorous industry player.
She was a bodyless blob, floating away into the pitch-black cocoon of the podcasts—where nothing existed but fun facts, trivia, and lore about long-ago places and people. Dead-and-gone things.
This was worrisome behavior. This was shut-in behavior. But it was hers. She’d built a safe haven. No one talks about how self-satisfying depression can feel.
But then, Sasha caught an endless cold that wasn’t a cold, at all.
It was aspiration pneumonia, and it landed her in the hospital for five days.
Her doc explained that, if left untreated for a few more weeks, it could’ve killed her.
She would’ve died alone. Possibly in her new bathtub.
And that thought, she found, was not satisfying.
In fact, it terrified her into rejoining the world.
Sasha suspected that it wasn’t the healthiest choice, allowing fear to motivate another huge life decision.
But whatever. There were worse reasons to yank yourself out of a dissociative bed rot.
Step one? Write an elegant, sane-sounding “somebody hire me, please” post on LinkedIn.
Before she had time to panic and delete, Seraphina contacted her.
And now, the Paris trip would kick off her fresh start.
She was thirty-two, back on her feet, and stronger than ever.
Was she seeking guidance from a baby nail tech moonlighting as a fortune teller?
Sure! But Sasha was a savvy woman. And savvy women know that wisdom sometimes comes in unconventional packages.
“Got it, your bracelet stays on,” said Maxi, as she continued to trace the lines in Sasha’s palm. Abruptly, she stopped. Frowned. And then, she pulled a tiny magnifying glass out of her apron pocket. Closing one eye, she held it above Sasha’s palm.
Sasha was alarmed. “What happened? What do you see?”
“Nothing, I’m just processing your palm map.”
“Is it bad?”
Maxi shook her head, slowly. And then, with a huge smile, she looked up at Sasha. “No, it’s great news. You’re gonna meet a man.”
“A man,” repeated Sasha flatly. “That’s the great news?”
“I get it, most men are flops. But your palm’s saying that the right one awaits you.”
“I’m sorry, Maxi, I just don’t believe in the soulmate industrial complex.”
“Better start believing. You’re gonna experience a chance meeting that’ll set off a chain of events—events that’ll end in happily ever after.” Maxi leaned forward, peering into Sasha’s eyes. “The right connection can bridge hearts through time and space. The right connection can change the world.”
Sasha smiled kindly, but was skeptical of Maxi’s overwrought advice. So she changed the subject. “You have an incredible mouth. I’m casting a Seraphina lipstick commercial, any interest?”
“How’d you know I was an actor? I just landed an audition for the new Sade movie.”
I still got it, she thought, happily.
“Let’s stay in touch.” Sasha slid her a business card from her purse. “I’m a casting director.”
“God gave with both hands today!” exclaimed Maxi. She pocketed the card, and took Sasha’s hand, again. “But back to you. Your palm’s telling me you’re hiding from your life. Is that true?”
“Welll . . . not no.”
“Life’s too short to hide, sis. Aren’t you excited to see what happens next?”
Sasha considered this. Maybe “excited” was too dramatic a word.
Excitement required a level of trust in the world that she didn’t quite feel, yet.
But she was curious about the future. And, for the first time in a long time, she was curious about people.
At the beginning of her sabbatical, she felt relieved not to have to interact with strangers (or anyone, really).
People were too unpredictable. But lately, she’d started peering out her bedroom window; spying on the rush hour crowd seventeen floors down on Grand Army Plaza.
Behind the safety of her curtains, she’d wonder where everyone was headed, who they were meeting, and what drove them out of bed every morning.
Who was out there? Did anyone feel as unmoored as she did?
Had anyone else read and loved Rats: Observations on the History & Habitat of the City’s Most Unwanted Inhabitants?
Sasha did want to know people again, and be known, herself.
What was the point of living a life, unwitnessed?
And when it came to dating—well, ever since that long-ago October, she’d rejected men as a species and a concept.
But she was exhausted from the effort. She was tired of clinging to fear like a security blanket.
It was time to open herself up to adventure.
Enjoy some light wining-and-dining. Yes, she was a self-sufficient queen, but, for once—why not let a man sweep in and handle the bill, trash day, her orgasms?
In her quietest moments, she fantasized about someone telling her, Don’t worry, I’ve got it.
Sasha was tired of always gotting it.
“Maybe,” she started quietly, “I’m a little excited to see what happens next.”
“Of course you are, hon,” said Maxi. “And not for nothing? No one wants to die alone.”
No one wants to die alone.
In the end, that’s what made her believe in Maxi’s reading.
Somehow, Maxi had read her mind and saw her fears.
It was one thing to have the thoughts rattling around in her mind.
It was another to hear them spoken aloud by an absolute stranger.
Literally, all Maxi knew about Sasha was that she was allergic to almonds.
No one wants to die alone.
That line was still ringing in Sasha’s ears, hours later—when she heard it, again. Spoken by a most unexpected gentleman.